Morning Glory (22 page)

Taken by surprise at the unorthodox beginning, Will was a little slow to reply. He glanced at Eleanor first, then back at the judge.

“Yessir.”

“Yessir,” Eleanor repeated.

“How long have you known each other?”

Each waited for the other to answer. Finally Will did. “Two months.”

“Two months...” The judge seemed to ponder, then added, “I knew my wife exactly three and a half weeks before I proposed to her. We’ve been married thirty-two years—happily, I might add. Do you love each other?”

This time they stared straight at the judge. Both of them turned slightly pink.

“Yessir,” came Will’s answer.

“Yessir,” Eleanor’s echoed, more softly. Will’s heart thundered, while he wondered if it was true.

“Good... good. Now the times when I want you to remember that are the times when you’ll be at cross purposes—and nobody who remains married for thirty-two, or fifty-two or even
two
years can avoid them. But disagreements can become arguments, then battles, then wars, unless you learn to compromise. It’s the wars you’ll have to avoid, and you do that by remembering what you’ve just told me. That you love each other. All right?” He waited.

“Yessir,” they replied in unison.

“Compromise is the cornerstone of marriage. Can you work things out and reach compromises instead of giving way to anger?”

“Yessir.”

“Yessir.” Eleanor’s eyes couldn’t quite meet the judge’s as she remembered the egg running down Will’s face. Then honesty got the best of her and she added, “I’ll try real hard.”

The judge smiled, then nodded approvingly. “And you’ll work hard for Eleanor, Will?”

“Yessir, I already do.”

“And will you provide a good home for Will, Eleanor?”

“Yessir, I already do.”

To the judge’s credit, he didn’t bat an eye.

“I take it the children are yours by a former marriage, is that right?”

She nodded.

“And the one you’re expecting—that makes three.” He turned his attention to Will. “Three children is a grave responsibility to take on, and in the future there may be more. Do you accept responsibility for them, along with that of being a husband and provider for Eleanor?”

“Yessir.”

“You’re both young yet. In your lives you may meet others who attract you. When that happens, I exhort you to recall this day and what your feelings were for each other as you stood before me, to remember your vows of fidelity and remain true to one another. Would that be hard for you?”

Will thought of Lula. “No, it wouldn’t.”

Eleanor thought of the jeers she’d received from boys in school and how Will was the only one since Glendon who’d treated her kindly. “No, not at all.”

“Then, let’s seal it with a promise—to love each other, to remain true to each other, to provide love and material care for each other and for all the children entrusted to you, to work hard for one another, practice patience, forgiveness and understanding, and treat each other with respect and dignity for the rest of your lives. Do you so promise, William Lee Parker?”

“I do.”

“And do you so promise, Eleanor Dinsmore?”

“I do.”

“Are there rings?”

“Yessir.” Will found the dime-store ring in his breast pocket. “Just one.”

The judge seemed unsurprised by its obvious cheapness. “Put it on her finger now and join right hands.”

Will reached for Eleanor’s hand and slid the ring partially over her knuckle. Their eyes met briefly, then skittered downward as he held her hand loosely. Judge Murdoch continued, “Let this ring be a symbol of your constancy and devotion. Let it remind you, William, who gives it, and you, Eleanor, who wears it, that from this day until you’re parted by death you will remain forever one, inseparable. Now, by the power invested in me by the sovereign state of Georgia, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

It had been so quick, so undramatic. It didn’t feel done. And if done, not real. Will and Eleanor stood before the judge like a pair of tree stumps.

“Is that it?” Will inquired.

Judge Murdoch smiled. “All but the kiss.” Then he twisted around to sign the marriage certificate on the desk behind him.

The pair stared at Murdoch’s shoulders but didn’t move. On the chair the boys munched jelly beans. From the courtroom came the murmur of voices. On the stiff paper the pen scratched while Deputy Ewell watched expectantly.

The judge dropped his pen and turned back to find the newlyweds standing stiffly, shoulder to shoulder.

“Well...” he prompted.

Their faces bright with color, Will and Eleanor turned toward each other. She lifted her face self-consciously and he looked down likewise.

“My court is waiting,” Judge Murdoch admonished softly.

With his heart racing, Will placed his hands lightly on Eleanor’s arms and bent to touch her lips briefly. They were warm and open, as if in surprise. He got a glimpse of her eyes at close range—also open, as his own were. Then he
straightened, ending the uncomfortable moment as they faced the judge self-consciously.

“Congratulations, Mr. Parker.” Judge Murdoch pumped Will’s hand. “Mrs. Parker.” And Eleanor’s. As he pronounced her new name Eleanor’s discomfort intensified. Heat climbed her body and her cheeks burned hotter.

Judge Murdoch handed the marriage certificate to Will. “I wish you many years of happiness, and now I’d better get back to my courtroom before they start beating on my door.” He turned toward it in a flurry of black robes and paused with a hand on the knob. “You have a fine pair of boys there—so long, boys!” With one last wave, he disappeared. Darwin Ewell, also due back in court, wished them luck and hastily ushered them out.

It had taken less than five minutes from the time they’d entered the judge’s chambers until they found themselves in the hall again, united for life. The judge’s whirlwind pace left them both feeling disoriented but scarcely married. It had been startlingly unceremonious; they hadn’t even been aware that the first questions were part of the judge’s unorthodox rite. It had ended much the same—no pomp, no pageantry, only a simple pronunciation beneath clasped hands, and—bango!—back in the hall. If it hadn’t been for the kiss, they might not believe a marriage had taken place at all.

“Well,” Will said breathlessly with a mystified laugh. “That was that.”

Eleanor’s perplexed gaze remained on the closed door. “I guess it was. But... so quick.”

“Quick, but legal.”

“Yes... but...” She lifted dubious eyes to Will and thrust her head forward. “But do you
feel
married?”

Unexpectedly, he laughed. “Not exactly. But we must be. He called you Mrs. Parker.”

She lifted her left hand and gazed at it disbelievingly. “So I am. Mrs. Will Parker.”

The belated impact struck them full force.
Mr. and Mrs. Will Parker.
They absorbed the fact with all its attendant implications while their eyes were drawn to one another as if by polaric force. He thought about kissing her again, the way he
wanted to. And she wondered what it would be like. But neither of them dared. In time they realized how long they’d been staring. Eleanor grew flustered and let her gaze drop. Will chuckled and scratched his nose.

“I think we should celebrate,” he announced.

“How?” she asked, reaching down for Baby Thomas. Will nudged her aside and hoisted Thomas onto his arm.

“Well, if my arithmetic is right, I still have four dollars and fifty-nine cents. I think we should take the boys to the movie.”

Excitement splashed across Eleanor’s face. “Really?”

Donald Wade began jumping up and down, clapping. “Yeah! Yeah! The movie! Take us to the movie, Mommy, pleeeease!” He clutched Eleanor’s hand.

Will took Eleanor’s free elbow, guiding her down the hall. “I don’t know, Donald Wade,” he teased, turning a crooked grin on his wife’s eager face. “It looks to me like we might have some trouble convincing your mama.”

Then Mr. and Mrs. William Lee Parker—and family—left the courthouse smiling.

The smell of popcorn greeted them in the theater lobby. With eyes wide and fascinated, the boys stared up at the red and white popcorn machine, then appealed to their mother. “Mama, can we have some?” Will’s heart melted. He was reaching into his shirt pocket before Eleanor could frame a refusal. Inside the dimly lit auditorium, Donald Wade and Thomas sat on their knees, munching, until the screen lit up with
Previews of Coming Attractions.
When scenes from
Gone With the Wind
radiated overhead, their hands and jaws seemed to stop functioning. So did Eleanor’s. Will eyed her askance as myriad reactions flashed across her face—amazement, awe, rapture.

“Oh, Will,” she breathed. “Oh, Will, look!”

Sometimes he did. But he found the study of their faces—especially hers—far more fascinating as they were transported for the first time into the world of celluloid make-believe.

“Oh, Will, look at that dress!”

His attention wavered briefly to the billowing, hoop-skirted garment, then returned to his wife’s face, realizing something new about her: she was a woman whose head could be turned by finery. He would not have guessed so from the ordinary
way she dressed. But her eyes shone and her lips looked as if they were about to speak to the images on the screen.

The color film disappeared and a newsreel came on in black and white: goose-stepping German soldiers, bombs, mortar shells, the battlefront in Russia, wounded soldiers—an abrupt plunge from fantasy to reality.

Will watched the screen with rapt interest, wondering how long America could possibly stay out of the war, wondering how long he himself could stay out of it if the inevitable happened. He had a family now; his welfare suddenly mattered fiercely, whereas it never had before. It was a shock to him to realize this.

As the newsreel ended he turned and caught Eleanor watching him above the boys’ heads. The gaiety had disappeared from her eyes, replaced by a troubled frown. Obviously the grim reality of war had finally imposed itself upon her. He felt a stab of remorse for having been the one to expose her to it, the one who’d brought her here to have her sunny illusions shattered. He wanted to reach above the pair of blond heads and touch her eyelids, say to her, close your eyes for a moment and go back to pretending it isn’t happening. Be the happy recluse you were.

But just as he could not ignore the battles in Europe, and America’s ever-increasing support for England and France, neither must she. She couldn’t remain an ostrich forever, not when she was married to a man of prime age for induction, one with a prison record who was sure to be one of the first called up.

The newsreel ended and the main feature began.

Border Vigilantes
turned out to be a Hopalong Cassidy movie, and the boys’ reaction made it well worth the six bits Will had laid out. He himself enjoyed the show, and Eleanor’s elation returned. But the boys—oh, those two little boys. What a sight they made with their entranced faces lifted to the silver screen while the hero fought for law and justice on his white steed, Topper. Donald Wade’s mouth hung open when Topper galloped into view for the first time and reared up majestically, his rider flourishing a black hat like Will’s own. Baby Thomas pointed and stared with owl eyes, his
mouth forming a tight O. Then he squealed and clapped and had to be shushed. Eleanor’s expression shifted from one of rapt wonder to childlike delight as the scenes rolled on.

Hopalong got the lady in the end, and when he kissed her Will glanced over at his new wife. As if she felt his survey, she turned again. Their profiles, illuminated by fluttering light, appeared as half-moons in the dark theater while their own first kiss came back afresh, and they were reminded of the night ahead. In that brief moment feelings of anxiety somersaulted through them. Then the finale music swelled, Hopalong rode off into the sunset and the boys set up an excited babbling.

“Is it all done? Where did Hopalong go? Can we come again, Will, can we, huh?”

In the car there was no talk between Will and Eleanor as there’d been that morning. Baby Thomas slept curled on her lap. Donald Wade—wearing Will’s hat—pressed himself against Will’s shoulder and exuberated over the wonders of Hopalong and Topper. Though Will answered, his thoughts projected to the night ahead. Bedtime. He cast occasional covert glances at Eleanor but she stared straight ahead and he wondered if she was thinking about the same thing as he.

At home, Will tended the evening chores automatically, his mind on the bedroom he’d never seen, their first kiss today, how guarded they’d been with each other, the night ahead, a real bed and a woman to share it. But a pregnant woman, pregnant enough to eliminate the possibilities of any conjugal commerce. He wondered what a woman as pregnant as Elly looked like naked and his body felt taut with a combination of chagrin at the thought of possibly seeing her that way, and the idea of lying beside her all night long without touching her.

Had he imagined a wedding day, ever, it wouldn’t have been like this—himself in blue jeans, the bride seven months pregnant, a dime-store ring, five minutes in a judge’s chamber and a Hopalong Cassidy movie with two rambunctious boys. But the unlikely events of the day weren’t over yet.

Supper—due to their late return—was scarcely a wedding feast. Scrambled eggs, green beans and side pork. Donald
Wade bawled when Eleanor refused to let him wear Will’s hat at the table. Baby Thomas spit out his green beans on Eleanor’s yellow dress, and when she scolded him he swatted his tumbler of milk across the room. Eleanor, her skirt soaked, leaped up and slapped his hand. Thomas howled like a fire siren while Will sat by helplessly, realizing that family life had some surprises in store for him. Eleanor went off to fetch a basin and a rag, leaving him to ponder the probability that if this wedding day seemed a letdown to an unsentimental fool like him, it must seem a sore disappointment to her. She returned to the fiasco at the table but he wouldn’t let her get down on her hands and knees in her pretty yellow dress, especially when she had to struggle these days to get up and down.