Posted by The next morning, Peleg was early to work as was Ira. Peleg spent ten minutes fiddling with a clockwork getting his nerve up to approach Ira. But Ira spoke first. “Something on your mind, Peleg?”
Peleg was startled but his trust in Ira told him to go ahead. “Well, there is Ira.”
“Best get it off your chest then.”
Peleg took the plunge. “Ira, Maggie and I are not married.”
“I know.”
Peleg was gob smacked. “You know?”
“I’ve known or, say, suspected right from that first day outside the front door. I could tell by how slick you picked that lock that you had some skills the application of which might have led the two of you to a quick departure from, by your accent, Manhattan. Later, upon consideration, it occurred to me that while you and Mag seemed like an old married couple, you might not be bound by the church.
“You can tell just by the way we talk?”
“Well, I got around, covered a lot of ground, had some adventures when I was younger. May hap, I explored some professional paths that are familiar to you and Maggie. But enough of that; let’s get back to getting Maggie and you married. I assume that’s what you want.” Peleg nodded in the affirmative. “After you’d been here for a while, you both started to look a lot less rattled and anxious. I reckon you both like the feeling of being settled and starting to belong. I know I did when I first arrived and opened the shop.”
“But how can we get married without the whole town concluding that if we are just now tying the knot we haven’t been married since we got here.” Peleg was agitated.
“Now, Peg, calm down,” said Ira, “I’ve thought a lot about this while I waited for you to bring it up. And I think I have a plan. Here’s the plot. Reverend Hemmings Hubert and I are old friends. Among other things, we argue over a cribbage board every other Thursday night. I doubt that even if he knew (and he won’t) that I had lied to him in the service of the “greater good” he would be anything but tickled to death. I’d tell him that many years ago, traveling down south, you met a preacher on your train. He said that he, too, was on the road and headed for a new parish in another state. You were comfortable chatting with him, and it came out that you and Maggie had agreed to marry but just hadn’t found the time, the place or the person. The preacher said he would be happy to do that, if you wished. You had to fill out some papers that he said was a license and there was a twenty-dollar fee. When the train pulled into your stop, you got off and he married you right there on the platform with the porter as witness. You were young, pleased as punch, spent that night celebrating, eating at an excellent restaurant and going to a show. After the show, walking back to your hotel, you happened by an open saloon door. Glancing inside you saw the minister. That alone stopped you in your tracks. He was sitting at a poker table where another player was yelling that the reverend was a cheat. You were amazed, and even more so, when the preacher stood up and went after his accuser. The two men engaged in a serious brawl until the bartenders and a couple of bystanders pulled the men apart. The newlyweds couldn’t help but notice that the preacher had a pistol tucked into his belt. You had other things on your minds and moved along. But a few days later, back on another train, you both questioned if that man had really been a minister and if he had really been legal to marry you. He surely wasn’t acting like a minister in the bar. But time passed, you went on with your lives and after a while you didn’t give it much thought. However, the old worry resurfaced when you came to Benedict where your neighbors got married with your other neighbors as witnesses and there was no question whether they were legally joined. The two of you would like to make sure you are legally married but are embarrassed to approach you.
Peleg had to admit; he was impressed. Ira’s tale fit the bill, particularly if, as Ira had said, the minister was a human being and not a fire and brim stickler. “When could we do this?” he wanted to know.
“Thursday is cribbage night. How about I bring it up then.”
“That would be great,” replied Peleg. “I’ll talk to Mag, but I think she’ll be pleased, relieved and game.” And Maggie was, in fact, mightily relieved that what had seemed like an intractable problem had been so easily solved and without the deceitful subterfuge of their last life. That Thursday over cards Ira spoke to the Rev. Humphrey who was amenable and set the following Sunday night (latish) as the date. And, so, Sardine Bardine and Wild Cat Margaret Ahearn were joined in Holy Matrimony with Ira standing up with them. And no one queried, at least aloud, the origin of the rings.