“Is that true, son? Is you errloping?”

“Yessir,” she heard Pete say. Men began singing, shouting. One man tried to rouse the barroom into a chorus of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” but it didn’t take.

The men emerged on the porch where Ruth stood. They made a fuss over her. They removed their hats and introduced themselves one by one. They were old men. Wiry men with happy hearts and red faces.

“She’s lovely, boy,” said one man.

“She is just a sweetheart, ain’t she?” said another.

Before the men let Ruth and Pete go, they sang a few more songs and dedicated several raised glasses to the couple’s honor. Pete and Ruth swallowed a glass to their own honor. The men cheered when they did.

Then one man whooped, “We gonna have ourselves a wedding, boys!”

The man stumbled from the tavern into the main street and started parading down the road like he was leading a marching band. A few others followed him, singing, crooning.

Pete and Ruth climbed into the truck and followed the parade. Before they knew it, eight men had piled into the bed of their vehicle. A ninth rode on the roof of Pete’s truck, singing “There’s a Hole in my Bucket, Dear Liza.” And when the truck hit a bump in the road, the man fell from the truck roof and hit the ground and nearly broke his leg.

Pete slammed the brakes and said, “These men have lost their minds, Ruth.”

Ruth and Pete helped the old man into the bed of the truck. He kissed Ruth on the cheek, then kissed Pete on the forehead and said, “Happy birthday to you both. Happy birthday from the bottom of my heart.”

They followed the marching men down the streets toward the justice of the peace. The fields and oak trees passed them in the darkness. Ruth was beginning to feel a smile work its way onto her face. She was used to being serious. But tonight was different.

The parade ended in front of a small white house, lit purple by the moon. One of the men knocked on the door and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Benton! We gotta hitching for you!”

A light flickered in the upstairs window.

The men cheered.

A slender older man wearing a cotton nightgown appeared at the door. He came onto his porch, seeming unsurprised by all the commotion. He calmed them down and said in a formal tone, “Unless you have a license, this is a waste of my time.”

“Got one right here, Reverend,” said Pete.

“I ain’t a reverend, son. I’m an elected official. There’s a big difference.”