The following year, his mother had no intention of making the same mistake. At breakfast on the Fourth, she announced they would be leaving for Seward right after lunch. But once she had prepared their picnic dinner and opened the cutlery drawer to take out some forks and knives, she stopped and stared. Then turning around, she walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs with Emmett close on her heels. Moving a chair from her bedroom, she climbed up on it and reached for a short length of string that was hanging from the ceiling. When she pulled the string, a hatch dropped down with a sliding ladder that led to an attic.
Wide-eyed, Emmett was prepared for his mother to tell him that he should wait right there, but she was so intent upon her purpose she mounted the ladder without pausing to deliver a cautionary remark. And when he climbed up the narrow steps after her, she was so engaged in moving boxes she didn’t bother to send him back down.
As his mother went about her search, Emmett surveyed the attic’s strange inventory: an old wireless that was almost as tall as he was, a broken rocking chair, a black typewriter, and two large trunks covered in colorful stickers.
—Here we are, his mother said.
Giving Emmett a smile, she held up what looked like a small suitcase. Only instead of leather, it was made of wicker.
Back in the kitchen, his mother put the suitcase on the table.
Emmett could see that she was perspiring from the warmth of the attic, and when she wiped her brow with the back of her hand, she left a streak of dust on her skin. After throwing the clasps on the case, she smiled at Emmett again, then opened the lid.
Emmett knew well enough that a suitcase stored in an attic was likely to be empty, so he was startled to find that not only was this one packed, it was packed to perfection. Neatly arranged inside was everything you could possibly need to have a picnic. Under one strap there was a stack of six red plates, while under another, a tower of six red cups. There were long narrow troughs holding forks, knives, and spoons, and a shorter one for a wine opener. There were even two specially shaped indentations for salt and pepper shakers. And in the recess of the lid, there was a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth held in place by two leather straps.
In all his life, Emmett had never seen anything so ingeniously put together—with nothing missing, nothing extra, and everything in its place. He wouldn’t see anything quite like it again, until at the age of fifteen, when he saw the worktable in Mr. Schulte’s shed with its orderly arrangement of slots, pegs, and hooks to hold his various tools.
—Golly, Emmett had said, and his mother had laughed.
—It was from your great aunt Edna.
Then she shook her head.
—I don’t think I’ve opened it since the day we were married. But we’re going to put it to use tonight!
That year they arrived in Seward at two in the afternoon and found a spot right in the center of the lawn to spread out their checkered cloth. Emmett’s father, who had expressed some reluctance about going so early in the day, showed no signs of impatience once they were there. In fact, as something of a surprise, he produced a bottle of wine from his bag. And as Emmett’s parents drank, Emmett’s father told stories about his penny-pinching aunt Sadie and his absent-minded uncle Dave and all his other crazy relatives back East, making Emmett’s mother laugh in a way she rarely laughed.
As the hours passed, the lawn filled with more blankets and baskets, with more laughter and good feelings. When night had finally fallen, and the Watsons lay on their checkered cloth with Emmett in the middle, and the first of the fireworks whistled and popped, his mother had said: I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. And driving home that night, it had seemed to Emmett that the three of them would be attending Seward’s Fourth of July celebration for the rest of their lives.
But the following February—in the weeks after Billy was born—his mother was suddenly not herself. Some days she was so tired she couldn’t even start the chores that she used to leave half done. Other days she didn’t get out of bed.
When Billy was three weeks old, Mrs. Ebbers—whose children had children of their own—began to come every day to help keep house and see to Billy’s needs while Emmett’s mother tried to regain her strength. By April, Mrs. Ebbers was coming just in the mornings, and by June, she wasn’t coming at all. But over dinner on the first of July, when Emmett’s father asked with some enthusiasm what time they should head out for Seward, Emmett’s mother said she wasn’t sure she wanted to go.
Looking across the table, Emmett didn’t think he had ever seen his father so heartbroken. But as was his way, Emmett’s father pushed ahead, buoyed by a confidence that wasn’t overly inclined to learn from experience. On the morning of the Fourth, Emmett’s father made the picnic dinner. He pulled down the hatch and climbed the narrow ladder in order to retrieve the basket from the attic. He put Billy in the basinet and brought the truck around to the front door. And when at one o’clock he came inside and called, Come on, everybody! We don’t want to lose our favorite spot! Emmett’s mother agreed to go.