Morning Glory (21 page)

“It looks cheap.”

“Don’t you dare say that about my weddin’ ring, Will Parker,” she scolded him with mock haughtiness, slipping it off and depositing it in his palm. “The sooner you pay for it the sooner we can get on down to the courthouse and speak our words.”

She turned away blithely, but he caught her arm and spun her around.

“Eleanor, I...” He looked into her eyes and didn’t know what to say. A lump of appreciation clotted his throat. The value of the ring honestly made no difference to her.

She cocked her head. “What?”

“You never complain about anything, do you?”

It was subtle praise, but no poetry could have pleased her more.

“We got a lot to be thankful for, Will Parker. Come on.” Her smile flashed as she grabbed his hand. “Let’s go get married.”

They found the Gordon County courthouse with no trouble, a red brick Victorian edifice on a crest of land framed by sidewalks, green grass and azalea bushes. Will carried Donald Wade; Eleanor, Thomas, as they ascended a bank of steps and crossed the lawn, gazing up at the rounded turret on the right, and on the left, a square cenotaph to General Charles Haney Nelson. It sat sturdily on thick brick arches culminating in a pointed clock tower that overlooked the chimneyed roof. The mist was cold on their uplifted faces, then disappeared as they mounted the second set of steps beneath the arches and entered a marble-floored hall that smelled of cigar smoke.

“This way.” Eleanor’s voice rang through the empty hall, though she spoke quietly. Turning right, she led Will to the office of the Ordinary of the Court.

Inside, at an oak desk beyond a spindled rail, a thin, middle-aged woman—her nameplate read Reatha Stickner—stopped typing and tipped her head down to peer over rimless octagonal spectacles.

“May I help you?” She had a cheerless, authoritarian voice. It echoed in the barren, curtainless room.

“Yes, ma’am,” Will replied, stopping just inside the door. “We’d like to get a marriage license.”

The woman’s sharp gaze brushed from Donald Wade to Baby Thomas to Eleanor’s stomach, then back to Will. He firmly grasped Eleanor’s elbow and ushered her toward the breast-high counter. The woman pushed away from her desk and shuffled toward them with an extreme limp that dipped one shoulder and left one foot dragging. They met on opposite sides of the barrier and Reatha Stickner fished inside the neck of her dress to pull up an underwear strap that had slipped down while she walked.

“Are you residents of Georgia?” From beneath the counter she drew a black-bound book the size of a tea tray and clapped it down between them without glancing up again.

“I am,” Eleanor spoke up. “I live in Whitney.”

“Whitney. And how long have you lived there?” The black cover slapped open, revealing forms separated by carbons.

“All my life.”

“I’ll need proof of residency.”

Will thought,
Oh no, not again.
But Eleanor surprised him by depositing Thomas on the high counter and producing a folded paper from her coat pocket. “Got my first wedding license here. You gave it to me, so it should be okay.”

The woman examined Eleanor minutely, without a change of expression—pursed lips, haughty eyebrows—then turned her attention to the license while Thomas reached for a stamp pad. Eleanor grabbed his hand and held it while he objected vocally and struggled to pull it free.

“Don’t touch,” she whispered, but of course, he grew stubborn and insisted, louder than before. Will set Donald Wade on the floor and plucked the baby off the counter to hold him. Donald Wade immediately tried to climb Will’s leg, complaining, “I can’t see. Lift me up.” The boy’s fingertips curled over the countertop and he tried to climb it with his feet. Will gave him a yank to straighten him up. “Be good,” he ordered, bending momentarily. Donald Wade wilted against the counter, pouting.

Reatha Stickner cast a disapproving glance at the faces visible above her counter, then moved away to fetch a pen and
inkholder. She had to adjust her strap again before writing in the wide book.

“Eleanor Dinsmore—middle name?”

“I ain’t got one.”

Though the clerk refused to lift her eyes, the pen twitched in her fingers. “Same address?”

“Yes...” Imitating Will, Eleanor added belatedly, “... ma’am.”

“And are there any encumbrances against you getting married?”

Eleanor fixed a blank look on the woman’s spectacles. Reatha Stickner glanced up impatiently and said, “Well?”

Eleanor turned to Will for help.

Will felt his hackles rise and spoke sharply. “She’s not married and she’s not a Nazi. What other encumbrances are there?”

Everything was silent for three seconds while the stern-faced clerk fixed Will with a disapproving glare. Finally, she cleared her throat, dipped her pen and loftily returned her attention to the application blank. “And how about you? Are
you
a Nazi?” It was asked without a hint of humor while she gave the impression that she might have looked up but for the fact that the person she was serving wasn’t worthy.

“No, ma’am. Just an ex-convict.” Will felt a deep thrill of satisfaction as her head snapped up and a white line appeared around her lips. He reached casually into his shirt pocket for his release papers. “Think you have to see these.”

Her strap fell down and had to be hitched up again as she accepted Will’s papers. She examined them at length, gave him another sour glance and wrote on the application.

“Parker, William Lee. Address?”

“Same as hers.”

The clerk’s eyes, magnified by her glasses, rolled up for another lengthy visual castigation. In the silence Donald Wade’s footsteps could be heard climbing the desk wall as he hung on it and gazed at the door, upside-down.

Will thought,
Go to it, Donald Wade!

Primly, the woman wrote on, taking the information from
Will’s papers. “How long have you been at this address?” she asked, while her pen scratched loudly.

“Two months.”

Her eyes flickered to Eleanor’s bulbous stomach, the thin band of yellow showing behind the brown coat. Her chin drew in, creating two folds beneath it. She applied her official signature, and ordered coldly, “That’ll be two dollars.”

Will stifled a sigh of relief and dug the money from his breast pocket. The clerk dipped below the counter, came up with an official rubber stamp and with curt motions stamped the license, tore it out, slapped the book closed—fap! sktch! whp!—and brandished the paper across the counter.

Stone-faced, but seething, Will accepted it and tipped his hat. “Much obliged, ma’am. Now, who marries us?”

Her eyes drifted over his blue denim work clothes, then dropped to the rubber stamp. “Judge Murdoch.”

“Murdoch.” When she looked up, Will gave her a cool nod. “We’ll find him.”

Acidly she hurried to inform them, “He has a full docket this morning. You should have made arrangements in advance.”

Will settled Baby Thomas more comfortably on his arm, peeled Donald Wade off the counter, headed him toward the door, then clasped Eleanor’s elbow and guided her from the office without acknowledging Reatha Stickner’s high-handed order. His grip was biting and his footsteps unnaturally lengthy. In the corridor, he grated, “Goddamn old biddy. I wanted to slap her when she looked at you like that. What right’s she got to look down her nose at you!”

“It don’t matter, Will. I’m used to it. But what about the judge? What if he’s too busy?”

“We’ll wait.”

“But she said he—”

“We’ll wait, I said!” His footsteps pounded harder. “How long can it take him to mutter a few words and sign a paper?” Coming up short, he stopped Eleanor. “Just a minute.” He stuck his head inside an open doorway and asked, “Where do we find Judge Murdoch?”

“Second floor, halfway down the hall, the double doors on your left.”

With the same stubborn determination, Will herded them to the second floor, through the double doors, where they found themselves in a courtroom presently in session. They stood uncertainly in the aisle between two flanks of benches while voices from up front reverberated beneath the vaulted ceiling. An officer in a tan uniform left his station beside the doors. “You’ll have to be seated if you want to stay,” he whispered.

Will turned, ready to do mortal injury to anyone who got uppity with them again. But the man was no more than twenty-five, had a pleasant face and polite manner. “We want the judge to marry us but we don’t have an appointment.”

“Step outside,” the deputy invited, opening one of the doors and holding it while they filed into the hall. Joining them, he checked his watch. “He’s got a pretty full day, but you can wait outside his chambers if you want. See if he can squeeze you in.”

“We’ll do that. Appreciate it if you’d head us in the right direction,” Will returned tightly.

“Right this way.” He led them to the end of the hall and pointed to a narrower corridor leading off at a right angle. “I have to stay in the courtroom, but you’ll find it easily. His name is above the door. Just have a seat on the bench across from it.”

Neither Will nor Eleanor owned a watch. They sat on an eight-foot wooden bench, staring at a maple door for what seemed hours. They read and reread the brass plaque above it:
ALDON P. MURDOCH, DISTRICT COURT JUDGE.
The boys tired of climbing over the curved arms of the bench and grew fractious. Donald Wade badgered, “Mommy, let’s
go-o-o.”
Thomas started whining and flailing his feet against the seat. Finally he fell asleep, sprawled on the bench with his head in Eleanor’s lap, leaving Will to keep Donald Wade occupied.

The door opened and two men bustled out, talking animatedly. Will jumped to his feet and raised a finger, but the pair marched away, deep in discussion, without sparing a glance for the four on the bench.

The wait continued; Eleanor got a backache and had to
find the bathroom. Thomas woke up with an ugly disposition and Donald Wade whined that he was hungry. When Eleanor returned, Will ran to the car for their sandwiches. They were sitting on the bench eating them, trying to convince Baby Thomas to give up crying and try a bite, when one of the two men returned.

This time he stopped voluntarily. “Got a cranky one there, huh?” He smiled indulgently at Thomas.

“Judge Murdoch?” Will leaped to his feet, whipping his hat from his head.

“That’s right.” He was gray-haired, rotund and had jowls like a bloodhound. But though he wore the air of a busy man, he seemed approachable. “I’m Will Parker. And this is Eleanor Dinsmore. We were wondering if you’d have time to marry us today.”

Murdoch extended a hand. “Parker.” He nodded to Eleanor. “Miss Dinsmore.” He gave each of the boys a grandfatherly glance, then assessed Eleanor thoughtfully. “You were here when I left for lunch, weren’t you?”

“Yessir,” she answered.

“How long before that?”

“I don’t know, sir, we ain’t got no watch.”

The judge shot a cuff and checked his own. “Court reconvenes in ten minutes.”

Eleanor rushed on. “We ain’t got no phone either, or we’d’ve called to make an appointment. We just drove up from Whitney, thinkin’ it’d be all right.”

Again the judge smiled at the boys, then at the sandwich in Eleanor’s hand. “Looks like you brought your witnesses with you.”

“Yessir... I mean, no sir. These are my boys. That’s Donald Wade... and this here is Baby Thomas.”

The judge leaned down and extended a hand. “How do you do, Donald Wade.” The youngster glanced up uncertainly at Will and waited for his nod before hesitantly giving his hand to the judge. Murdoch performed the handshake with gravity and a half-smile. Next he offered Thomas a wink and a chuckle. “You boys have had a long enough morning. How would you like a jelly bean?”

Donald Wade inquired, “What’s a jelly bean?”

“Well, come into my office and I’ll show you.”

Again Donald Wade looked to Will for guidance.

“Go ahead.”

To the adults, Judge Murdoch advised, “I think I can squeeze you in. It won’t be fancy, but it’ll be legal. Step inside.”

It was a crowded room with a single north window and more books than Will had ever seen anywhere except in the Whitney library. He glanced around, his hat forgotten against his thigh, while the judge gave his attention first to the boys. “Come around here.” He moved behind a cluttered desk and from a lower drawer extracted a cigar box labeled “Havana Jewels.” The boys peered inside as he opened it and announced, “Jelly beans.” Without objection they allowed the district court judge to set them side-by-side on his chair and roll it close to the desk, where he placed the cigar box on an open law book. “I keep them hidden because I don’t want my wife to catch me eating them.” He patted his portly stomach. “She says I eat too many of them.” As the boys reached for the candy, he warned with a twinkle in his eye, “Now be sure you save some for me.”

From a coat tree he took a black robe, inquiring of Will, “Do you have a license?”

“Yessir.”

A door opened on his left and the same young deputy who’d directed Will and Eleanor to the judge’s chambers stuck his head inside. “One o’clock, your honor.”

“Come in here, Darwin, and close the door.”

“Pardon me, sir, but we’re runnin’ a little late.”

“So we are. They won’t go anyplace, not until I say they can.”

As the young man followed orders, the judge buttoned his robe and performed introductions. “Darwin Ewell, this is Eleanor Dinsmore and Will Parker. They’re going to be married and we’ll need you to act as witness.”

The deputy shook their hands, wearing a pleasant smile. “Pleasure, sir... ma’am.”

The judge indicated the boys. “And the two with the jelly beans are Donald Wade and Baby Thomas.”

Darwin laughed as he observed the pair selecting another color from the cigar box, paying no attention to the others in the room. In moments the judge stood before Will and Eleanor, examining their license, then placing it on the desk behind him and crossing his hands over his mounded stomach.

“I’ve got books I could read from,” he informed them with a benevolent expression on his face, “but they always sound a little stilted and formal to me so I prefer to do this my own way. The books always manage to miss some of the most important things. Like do you know each other well enough to believe what you’re doing is the right thing?”