Morning Glory (24 page)
"Prob'ly 'cause you're lookin' right pretty this mornin' .
His words did the trick. She turned a wide-eyed look his way and her ears turned pink. Cheeks, too, before she transferred her attention to the view ahead.
"You don't need to make up pretty words just 'cause it's my weddin' day."
"Wasn't makin' 'em up."
And somehow he felt better, having spoken his mind and given her a touch of What a bride deserves on her wedding day. Better yet, he'd made her forget the house with the picket fence and the gawking gas station attendant.
The ride took them through some of the prettiest country Will had ever seen—rolling hills and gurlging creeks, thick stands of pine and oaks just beginning to turn a faint yellow. Outside, the mist put a sheen on each leaf and rock and turned the roads a vibrant, glistening orange. Wet tree trunks appeared coal black against the pearl-gray sky. The road curved and looped, the elevation constantly dropping until they rounded a bend and saw Calhoun nestled below.
Situated in a long narrow valley, the lowest spot between
Chattanooga
and
Atlanta
, the town stretched out along the tracks of the L & N Railroad, which had spawned its growth. U.S. 41 became Wall Street, the main street of town. It paralleled the tracks and carried travelers into a business section that had taken on the same rangy shape as the steel rails themselves. The streets were old, wide, built in the days when mule and wagon had been the chief mode of transportation. Now there were more Chevrolets than mules, more Fords than wagons, and, as in Whitney, blacksmith shops doubling as filling stations.
"You know Calhoun?" Will inquired as they passed a row of neat brick houses on the outskirts.
"Know where the courthouse is. Straight ahead on Wall Street."
"Is there a five-and-dime somewhere?"
"A five-and-dime?" Eleanor flashed him a puzzled look but he watched the road beyond the radiator cap. "What do you want with a five-and-dime?"
"I'm gonna buy you a ring." He'd decided it somewhere between the compliment and Calhoun.
"What's a five-and-dime, Mommy?" Donald Wade interrupted.
Eleanor ignored him. "Oh, Will, you don't have—"
"I'm gonna buy you a ring, I said, then you can take his off."
His insistence sent a flare to her cheeks and she stared at his stubborn jaw until the warmth spread down to her heart. She turned away and said meekly, "I already did."
Will shot a glance at her left hand, still resting on the baby's hip. It was true—the ring was gone. On the steering wheel his grip relaxed.
Donald Wade patted his mother's arm, demanding, "What's a five-and-dime. Mommy?"
"It's a store that sells trinkets and things."
"Trinkets? Can we go there?"
"I reckon that's where Will's takin' us first." Her eyes wandered to the driver and found him watching her. Their gazes locked, fascinated.
"Oh-boy!" Donald Wade knelt on the seat, balancing himself against the dashboard, staring at the town with unbridled fascination. "What's that, Mommy?" He pointed. She didn't hear and he whapped her arm four times. "Mommy, what's that?"
"Better answer the boy," Will advised quietly, and turned his attention back to the street, releasing her to do the same.
"A water tower."
Baby Thomas repeated, "
Wa-doo tow-woo
."
"What's that?" Donald Wade asked.
"A popcorn wagon."
"
Pop-cone
," the baby echoed.
"They sell it?"
"Yes, son."
"Goll-eee! Can we git some?"
"Not today, dear. We got to hurry."
He watched the wagon until it disappeared behind them and Will mentally tallied up the remainder of his money. Only six bucks, seventy-eight cents, and be had to buy a ring and a license yet.
"What's that?"
"A theater."
"What's a theater?"
"A place where they show movies."
"What's a movie?"
"Well, it's sort of a picture story that moves on a big screen."
"Can we see it'?"
"No, honey. It costs money."
The marquee said
Border Vigilantes
, and Will noted how both Donald Wade's and Eleanor's eyes lingered on it as they passed. Six measly bucks and seventy-eight measly cents. What he wouldn't do for full pockets right now.
Just then he spotted what he was looking for, a brick-fronted building with a sign announcing, WISTER'S VARIETY—HOUSEWARES, TOYS & SUNDRIES.
He parked the car and reached for Donald Wade. "Come on,
kemo sabe
, I'll show you a five-and-dime."
Inside, they walked the aisles on creaking wood floors between six rows of pure enchantment. Donald Wade and Thomas pointed at everything and squirmed to get down and touch—toy cars and trucks and tractors made of brightly painted metal; rubber balls of gay reds and yellows; marbles in woven sacks; bubble gum and candy; six-shooters and holsters and cowboy hats like Will's.
"I want one!" Donald Wade demanded. "I want a hat like Will's!"
"Hat," parroted Thomas.
"Maybe next time," Will replied, his heart breaking. At that moment the only thing he wanted worse than a ring for Eleanor was enough cash to buy two black cardboard cowboy hats.
They came to the costume jewelry and stopped. The display was dusty, spread on rose taffeta between glass dividers. There were identification bracelets; baby necklaces shaped like tiny gold crosses; little girls' birthday sets—rings, bracelets and necklaces—all dipped in gold paint, set with brightly colored glass gems; women's earrings of assorted shapes and colors; and beside them, on a blue velvet card, a sign that said, "Friendship Rings—19c."
Will studied the cheap things, stung at having to offer his bride a wedding band that would surely turn her finger green before a week was up. But he had little choice. He set Donald Wade down. "You take Thomas's hand and don't let him touch anything, all right?"
The boys headed back toward the toys, leaving Will and Eleanor standing self-consciously side by side. He slipped his hands into his hind pockets and stared at the fake-silver rings with their machine-stamped lattice designs covered with crudely formed roses. He reached for one, plucked it from the card and studied it glumly.
"I never cared much before whether I had money or not, but today I wish my name was Rockerfeller."
"I'm glad it ain't, 'cause then I wouldn't be marrying you."
He looked down into her eyes—eyes as green as the fake peridots in the August birth rings—and it struck Will that she was one of the kindest persons he'd ever met. How like her to try to make him feel good at a moment like this. "It'll probably turn your finger green."
"It don't matter, Will," she said softly. "I shouldn't have offered to use my old one again. It was thoughtless of me."
"I'd give you gold if I could, Eleanor. I want you to know that."
"Oh, Will..." She reached out and covered his hand consolingly as he went on.
"And I'd take them two to the movies, and afterwards maybe buy 'em an ice cream cone at the drugstore, or popcorn at that popcorn wagon like they begged for."
"I brought the egg and cream money, Will. We could still do that."
His gaze shifted to the ring. "I'm the one that should be payin', don't you see?" She released his hand and took the ring to try it on. "You got to learn not to be so proud, Will. Let's see if it fits." The ring was too big, so she chose another.
The second one lit and she spread her lingers in the air before them, as proud as if she wore a glittering diamond.
"Looks fine, doesn't it?" She wiggled the ring finger. "And I do like roses."
"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
"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.