Morning Glory (23 page)
"It don't hardly look like it, and I don't know what I'll do with the boys if it rains. If it does, should we wait till tomorrow?"
He glanced back over his shoulder. "You want to?"
Their eyes met briefly. "No."
Her answer made him smile inside as he headed for the chores. But at breakfast time the tension escalated. It was, after all, their wedding day, and at its end they'd be sharing a bed. But something more was bothering Will. He put off approaching the subject until the meal ended and Elly pushed back her chair as if to begin clearing the table.
"Elly ... I..." He stammered to a stop, drying his palms on his thighs.
"What is it?" She paused, holding two plates.
He wasn't a money-hungry man, but he suddenly understood greed with disarming clarity. He pressed his hands hard against his thighs and blurted out. "I don't know if I got enough money for a license."
"There's the egg money and what you got for selling the scrap metal."
"That's yours."
"Don't be silly. What will it matter after today?"
"A man should buy the license," he insisted, "and a ring."
"Oh ... a ring." Her hands were in plain sight as she stood beside the table, holding the dirty dishes. He glanced at her left hand and she felt stupid for not having thought to take off her wedding band and leave it in her bureau drawer. "Well..." The word dwindled into silence while she pondered and came up with one possible solution. "I ... I could use the same one."
His face set stubbornly as he rose, pulled his hat on low and lunged across the room toward the sink. "That wouldn't be right."
She watched him gather soap, towels and bathwater and head for the door, pride stiffening his shoulders and adding force to his footsteps.
"What does it matter, Will?"
"It wouldn't be right," he repeated, opening the back door. Half out, he turned back. "What time you wanna leave?"
"I have to get me and the boys ready to go and the dishes washed. And I suppose I should pack some sandwiches."
"An hour?"
"Well..."
"An hour and a half?"
"That should be fine."
"I'll pick you up here. You wait in the house for me."
He felt like a fool. Some courtship. Some wedding morning. But he had exactly eight dollars and sixty-one cents to his name, and gold rings cost a damn sight more than that. It wasn't only the ring. It was everything missing in the morning. Touches, smiles, yearning.
Kisses. Shouldn't a bride and groom have trouble restraining themselves at a time like this? That's how he always imagined it would be. Instead they'd scarcely glanced at each other, had discussed the weather and Will Parker's financially embarrassed state.
In the barn he scrubbed his hide with a vengeance, combed his hair and donned freshly laundered clothes: jeans, white shirt, jean jacket. freshly oiled boots and his deformed cowboy hat brushed for the occasion. I Hardly suitable wedding apparel, but the best he could do. Outside thunder rumbled in the distance. Well, at least she didn't have to worry about rain. He had that much to offer his bride this morning, though much of his earlier elation over the surprise had vanished.
* * *
At the house Eleanor was on her knees, searching for Donald Wade's shoe under the bed while upon it he and Thomas imitated Madam, kicking and braying.
"Now settle down, boys. We don't want to keep Will waitin'."
"Are we really goin' for a ride in the big wagon?"
"I said so, didn't I?" She caught a foot and started forcing the brown high-top shoe on. "Clear into Calhoun. But when we get to the courthouse you got to be good. Little boys got to be like mice in the corner during weddings, y' understand?"
"But what's weddings, Mama?"
"Why, I told you, honey, me and Will are gettin' married."
"But what's married?"
"Married is—" She paused thoughtfully, wondering exactly what this marriage would be. "Married is when two people say they want to live with each other for the rest of their lives. That's what me and Will are gonna do."
"Oh."
"That's all right with you, ain't it?"
Donald Wade flashed a smile and nodded vigorously. "I like Will."
"And Will likes you, too. And you too, punkin." She touched Thomas's nose. "Nothin's gonna change after we're married, 'cept..." The boys waited with their eyes on their mother. "'Cept y' know how sometimes I let you come in with me at night—well, from now on there won't be no room 'cause Will's gonna be sleepin' with me."
"He is?"
"Aha."
"Can't we even come in when it thunders and lightnin's?"
She pictured them four abreast beneath the quilts and wondered how Will would adjust to the demands of fatherhood. "Well, maybe when it thunders and lightnin's." Thunder rumbled at that moment and Eleanor frowned at the window. "Come on. Will should be comin' any minute." Distractedly she added, "Lord, I got a feelin' we're gonna be soaked before we get to any courthouse."
She helped the boys into jackets, donned her own coat and had just picked up the red sandwich tin from the kitchen cupboard when the thunder growled again, long and steady. She turned, glanced toward the door and cocked her head. Or was it thunder? Too unbroken, too high-pitched and drawing closer. She moved toward the back door just as Donald Wade opened it and a rusty Model A Ford rolled into the clearing with Will at the wheel.
"Glory be," Eleanor breathed.
"It's Will! He gots a car!" Donald Wade tore off at a dead run, slamming the screen, yelling, "Where'd you get it, Will? We gonna ride in it?"
Will pulled up at the foot of the path and stepped out in his coarse wedding attire. Standing with a hand draped over the top of the car door, he ignored Donald Wade in favor of Eleanor, who came onto the porch in his favorite yellow dress covered by a short brown coat that wouldn't close over her stomach. Her hair was pulled back in a neat tail and her face glowed with surprise.
"Well, you ain't got a ring," he called, "but you got a jitney to ride to your wedding in. Come on."
With the sandwich tin in one hand and Baby Thomas on her free arm, she left the Porch. "Where did you get it?" she asked, moving toward Will like a sleepwalker picking up speed as she neared.
He let a grin quirk one corner of his mouth. "Out in the field. Been working on it whenever I could sneak in an hour here and there."
"You mean it's one of the old junkers?"
"Well ... not exactly one." With a touch at the back of his hat brim he tilted it well forward, his eyes following as she reached the Ford and circled it with a look of admiration on her face. "More like eight or ten of the junkers, a little bit of this one and a little bit of that one, held together with baling twine and Bazooka, but I think it'll get us there and back all right."
She came full circle and smiled up into his face. "Will Parker, is there anything you can't do?"
He relieved her of the red sandwich tin and handed it to Donald Wade, then plucked Thomas from her arms. "I know a little about engines," he replied modestly, though inside he glowed. With so few words she'd restored his exhilaration. "Get in."
"It's actually running!" She laughed and clambered under the wheel to the far side while the idling engine shimmied the car seat.
"Of course it's running. And we won't have to worry about any rain. Here, take the young 'un." He handed Thomas inside, then swung Donald Wade onto the seat and followed, folding himself behind the wheel. Donald Wade stood on the seat, wedging himself as tightly against Will as possible. He laid a proprietary hand on Will's wide shoulder. "We ridin' to town in
this
?"
"That's right,
kemo sabe
." Will put the car in gear. "Hang on." As they rolled away, the children giggled and Eleanor clutched the seat. Pleased, Will observed their expressions from the corner of his eye.
"But where did you get gasoline?"
"Only got enough to get us to town. Found it in the tanks out there and strained the rust out of it with a rag."
"And you fixed this all by yourself?"
"There were plenty of junkers to take parts from."
"But where'd you learn how?"
"Worked in a filling station in
El Paso
one time. Fellow there taught me a little about mechanics."
They turned around in a farmyard which was far neater than it had been two months ago. They motored down a driveway which two months ago had been unusable. They traveled in a car that two weeks ago had been a collection of scrap metal. Will couldn't help feeling proud. The boys were entranced. Eleanor's smile was as broad as a melon slice as she steadied Thomas on her knees.
"Like it?"
She turned shining eyes toward Will. "Oh, it's a grand surprise. And my first time, too."
"You mean you never rode in a car before?" he asked, disbelievingly.
"Never. Glendon never got around to fixing any of 'em up. But I rode on his steel mule one time, down the orchard track and back." She shot him a sportive grin. "The noise like to shake m' teeth outa my skull, though."
They laughed and the day lost its bleakness. Their smiles brought a gladness missing till now. While their gazes lingered longer than intended, the fact struck: they were chugging off to the courthouse to get married. Married. Husband and wife forever. Had they been alone, Will might have said something appropriate to the occasion, but Donald Wade moved, cutting off his view of Eleanor.
"We done good on the driveway huh, Will?" The boy cupped Wilt's jaw, forcing his direct attention.
"We sure did, short stuff." He ruffled Donald Wade's hair. "But I got to watch the road."
Yes, they'd done good. Guiding the wheel of the Model T, Will felt as he had the day he'd bought the candy bars and bluebird—heated and good inside, expansive and optimistic. In a few hours they would be his "family." Putting pleasure on their faces put pleasure on his own. And it suddenly didn't matter so much that he had no gold ring to offer Eleanor.
Her elation dimmed, however, as they approached Whitney. When they passed the house with the drawn shades she stared straight ahead, refusing to glance at the place. Her lips formed a grim line and her hands tightened on Thomas's hips.
Will wanted to say, I know about that house, Eleanor. It don't matter to me. But a glance at her stiff pose made him bite back the words.
"Got to stop at the filling station," he mentioned, to distract her. "It'll only take a minute."
The man at the station cast overt, speculative glances at Eleanor, but she stared straight ahead like one walking through a graveyard at
. The attendant gave Will the twice-over, too, and said, "Nasty weather brewin', looks like."
Will only glanced at the sky.
"Feller'd be happy to have a car on a day like this," the attendant tried again while his eyes darted to Eleanor.
"Yup," Will replied.
"Goin' far?" the man inquired, obviously less interested in pumping gas than in gawking at Eleanor and trying to puzzle out who Will might be and why they were together.
"Nope," Will answered.
"Goin' up Calhoun way?"
Will gave the man a protracted stare, then let his eyes wander to the gas pump. "Five gallons comin' up."
"Oh!" The pump clicked off, Will paid 83 cents and returned to the car, leaving the attendant unenlightened.
When they were on their way again and had left Whitney behind, Eleanor relaxed.
"Someone you know?" Will inquired.
"I know 'em all and they all know me. I seen him gawkin'."