The couple was attended by Miss Vera McGinty, sister of the bride.

The bride was attractively dressed in a three-piece tailored brown and grey suit, with matching brown accessories. She wore a shoulder corsage of Firmament lilacs.

Miss McGinty wore a grey suit with grey accessories. Her shoulder corsage of roses and sweet peas.

Mrs. Dalton has been employed by the Ohio Bell Telephone Corp. for the past few years.

It was official, and now everyone in Wooster would know. There hadn’t been quite as many details about Edward, but Wooster wasn’t his town. Forest Chapel Methodist was being renovated, and neither Vivian nor Edward wanted to wait for it to be finished, so they’d made do with the parsonage at the Church of Christ. As far as the wedding attire, Wallis Simpson hadn’t worn a white gown with a lace veil, either, so Vivian wasn’t too bent out of shape about it. Mrs. Simpson wore a designer silk crepe gown in “periwinkle blue,” the magazines said. Periwinkle was just a shade off the Firmament lilacs the colorist matched to Vivian’s eyes when he touched up the wedding photograph.

Vivian had thought it was both important and significant that her wedding to Edward was just two days after Wallis Simpson married her Edward. Vivian had made note to use the word “significant” more often, after church one Sunday, months earlier. “The J. Ellis Reed family has made a significant donation,” the reverend had said. She also thought it was important and significant that the fancy and glamorous Mrs. Wallis Simpson was marrying an Edward, and she, the not-quite-as-fancy-or-glamorous Vivian McGinty, was also marrying an Edward. Names had importance and significance. More than most people bothered to notice.

“Listen to this,” she’d said to Violet while she read aloud from her magazine. “Edward Albert Christian George Andrew Patrick David, Duke of Windsor. Garsh, that’s a lot of names!”

Vivian didn’t need a lot of names. She just needed her own. Her new one. She was Mrs. Vivian Dalton (pleased to meet you). She loved how fancy that sounded and couldn’t wait to introduce herself to new people.

Although she’d later try to get him to admit that he’d picked that bumpy Henrietta Street for their first car ride on purpose, her husband, Mr. Edward Dalton, tried to deny any indecent motivation. But he denied it with a smirk. And anyone with an automobile, carriage, bicycle, or wagon back then knew what to expect on Henrietta Street, with its jumbled, uneven bricks. “And, boy, did I get what I was expecting!” Edward would hoot, then waggle his eyebrows, and give Vivian a pinch on the rear that would send her scuttling into the next room, flushing in embarrassment, her scowl threatened by hints of a smile.

The Daltons would eventually make it part of their anniversary celebration. A ceremonial drive down Henrietta Street. Sometimes Vivian would wear a flimsy blouse without her brassiere, singing “Pennies from Heaven” out loud, and wiggling around like a whore, because she was married then and it didn’t matter. (So there, Mama!) And sometimes Edward would sing nursery rhymes like he liked to do to make Vivian laugh. She loved to laugh. His voice would joggle and wobble as the Model A bumped over the stones.