“Let’s go then,” the preacher said. “Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here in the presence of this company, to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony, which is an honorable estate, instituted of God and like unto the union between the church and our maker. Therefore, let no one enter into it lightly, but reverently, soberly and in the sight of God. …” I looked at the book he was holding, at the light coming in the dusty window, at the suspenders, the chairs, my shoes. I did not believe I was worthy of such a moment. I could not bear such happiness.

An hour later we were back at the motel packing to leave. We had stopped and eaten breakfast at a small café and endured the stares of the patrons. Every Saturday at least two or three couples found their way to Walhalla to get married. We’re turning into the runaway capital of the world, the citizens must have told themselves. Old Bud Halbritton’s getting rich marrying kids from Atlanta. We ought to build a new motel, now that Walhalla’s finally on the map.

* * *

I didn’t have to wait long for the reaction to set in. We had hardly driven fifty miles back toward Atlanta before we had an argument. God knows what it was about. Maybe I touched his leg and he told me not to. Maybe he started desiring me and it embarrassed him. Maybe he was sorry he had done it and I picked that up. I am deeply intuitive about other people’s reactions and there was plenty to react to that day. My mania was rising to a fever pitch. I am married, I kept saying to myself. Now I will never be alone, never be afraid, never be sad again. Isn’t that true? It must be true. If getting married doesn’t work, nothing will. If getting married doesn’t work, I’ll never be happy. Never, never, never, never, never.

“What will we do tonight?” I said finally. We were leaving the mountains and turning onto the four-lane highway. “We could go get some Italian food and celebrate. I’d really like to drink some Chianti.”

“I’m going back to the house and study,” he said. “I’ve got classes all day on Monday.”

“You’re going to the house? You’re going to leave me?”

“We’ve been gone two days. . . . I’m taking ten hours, Rhoda. I have to do some work.”

“We could go up to Stone Mountain and have a picnic. You can’t just take me home.”

“I have to take you home. I’ll be up studying all night as it is.”