"I do." Then, recalling the last time I'd said those words, I cringed.

"Well," he said, "it seems there's some question as to the validity of our marriage."

"What's that mean?" Lillian asked, as Hazel Marie frowned, trying to understand.

"It means," I said, "that we may not be married at all." And between us, Sam and I laid out the whole pitiful situation for them.

"Oh, my goodness," Hazel Marie said, patting her chest. Then she frowned, thinking hard. "I guess we better not have a reception, don't you?"

"Don't none of it make no difference," Lillian pronounced, quick to come to our defense. "You done been livin' together, so you as married as you can get. That's what I think."

"It's not that simple, Lillian," I said. "We have to be sure that the marriage certificate is a legal document. It may not be worth the paper it's printed on. We can't just pretend to be married, so what we're going to do is separate for the time being. But not really separate. We'll be living together, but not together. Just until we find out one way or another. Sam will keep on living here, but upstairs in Coleman's room. That way, nobody but us will know the problem, yet we won't be breaking the law by cohabiting."

"By what?" Lillian asked.

"Sleeping together," Hazel Marie told her. Then to Sam, she said, "How do you feel about this?"

"Not too good, if you want to know the truth," he said. "But if that's what Julia wants, that's what we'll do. Frankly, I think we're as legal as we can be, but I'm willing to wait to be sure." He smiled and reached for my hand. "It'll be hard, though."

"Law, goodness," Lillian said, as the implications sunk in. "I never heard the like. Here, you married one day, an' the next day, you not. What yo' preacher gonna say?"

"That's just the thing, Lillian," I said, putting aside my sandwich. "We want to keep this under wraps. If we have to get married again, well, we'll face that when we have to. Right now, as far as the town is concerned, we're married, period. Though, Lord knows, it'll be hard to put a good face on it."

"I know what you can do," Hazel Marie said, sitting up with the dawning of a new idea. "You've been thinking of going on a real honeymoon, anyway. So why don't the two of you go off on a cruise or something while this is getting straightened out? And," she said, her face brightening with a new thought, "if you find out you're not married, you can have the ship's captain do it. That would be so romantic."

"Hazel Marie, I am not going to have another slipshod wedding. No, we'll stay right here, and do the best we can. Besides, we need to keep after this and get it resolved. I can't go off and have a good time without knowing who or what I am."

"Julia," Sam said, tightening his hold on my hand, "we've said our vows to each other, and that's not changed one bit. And, believe me, I'm going to move mountains and a few officials, and whatever else it takes, to put your mind at rest."

"Oh, that's so sweet," Hazel Marie said, but I just nodded. I'd believe it when I saw it.

"And just think," Hazel Marie went on. "You're going to have the beauty pageant to take your mind off of it. While Sam makes sure you're legal, you'll be so busy you won't have time to worry. The pageant couldn't've come at a better time, don't you think?"

I refrained from saying what I thought, because Hazel Marie always meant well. But if anybody thought a few young women strutting around half dressed would distract me from worrying about my legal status, they'd have to think again.

Chapter 11.

"You're really moving me out?" Sam asked, as I emptied drawers of his shirts and socks, readying them for removal from our bridal chamber. Sam was sitting across the room in a chair, watching me with some disbelief. Although by this time, he should've known that when I say I'm going to do something, I do it.

"I certainly am," I replied, opening a closet door. "And I know you wouldn't have it any other way. You'd lose every bit of respect you have for me, if I treated this matter lightly."

"I'd respect you, Julia. You know I would."

"Uh-huh. I've heard that before."

"From who? Who else has been courting you?"

"Nobody, and you know it. I heard it on those soap operas Lillian and Hazel Marie watch. As soon as one of those men, who're too handsome for their own good, tells an innocent young woman he'll respect her, you'd better watch out. It's as bad as some crook saying, Trust me.' Lillian warns them about it, too, although those actors go right on and get themselves in trouble."

Sam rubbed his fingers across his mouth. "I didn't know you watched soap operas."

"There's more than watching soap operas you don't know about me, and, obviously, you don't know how I feel about sleeping with a man who may not be my husband. If you did, you wouldn't be giving me a hard time about moving you upstairs."

"Well, my land, woman, you can't expect me to be happy about it. But what I'm holding on to is sneaking down here at night and crawling in with you."

I whirled around. "Don't you dare, Sam Murdoch. We're going to do this right, or we're not going to do it all."

"Looks like we're not going to do it at all."

"I'm talking about being married, not . . . what you're talking about."

I kept myself busy so I wouldn't have to think about the awful mess we were in. I declare, to have to pretend to be married, after having acted like I was married, when all the time I probably wasn't married, was more than I could contemplate with any equanimity at all. Every time I was struck anew with what I'd gotten into, I couldn't help but wonder if somebody was trying to tell me something.

As I followed Sam up the stairs and down the hall to Coleman's old room, both of us carrying armloads of clothing, Willie stuck his head out of Hazel Marie's closet-to-be.

"Y'all movin'?"

"Not at all," I answered, as if it were any of his business. "Just switching rooms."

"Need some help?"

"No, sir, we don't. I don't want to take you away from your work." I tried to be pleasant, but I was seething at his eagerness to lay down his hammer and piddle with something else.

Sam and I distributed his clothes in his new room, which didn't take long as he hadn't quite moved everything from his house.

"Julia," Sam said, closing the door to the hall, "I'll tell you what's a fact. This wasn't the way I'd envisioned being married to you. Although"-and he stopped, almost overcome with laughter-"I always figured life with you would be one surprise after another. But being exiled to the far corner of the house is more than I expected."

"You may treat this as a laughable matter," I said, folding my arms across my chest, "but I assure you, it is not."

"I know that," he said, and sobered his face. "But what I want to know is how long do I have to put up with this?"

"Why, Sam, I told you. Until we know absolutely and positively that we are married."

"And what if we don't ever find out for sure? What if there's no such thing as a Fire and Water Baptized Holiness Church, Sanctified or not, registered as a legitimate church? I'll tell you what's a fact, I'm ready to remedy the problem right now. What we ought to do is either get a preacher to remarry us or go down to the magistrate's office and do it there. And I mean, today, right now. Then you'll have peace of mind and I'll have my rightful place beside you again."

"Is that all you can think about?" I threw up my hands in exasperation. "There's more to this than just bodily contact. There's the matter of living within the law, and of our Christian witness. Do you really want to flaunt our neither-nor situation in front of young people who're likely to follow in our footsteps?"

"Well, no, but it's more like us following in their footsteps. As you know, a good many of them seem to cohabitate without benefit of licenses and ceremonies."

"Yes, and they'll suffer for it, too. But that's neither here nor there." I brushed what other people did aside, and paced the room. "It's bad enough that Little Lloyd sees the way his mother carries on with Mr. Pickens whenever he takes it into his head to show up. Do we want to be another example of promiscuous behavior? No, we do not. At least, I don't."

"Far be it from me, too, Julia," Sam said, but the glint in his eyes belied the meaning of his words. "But, speaking of Little Lloyd, how do you intend to explain our new sleeping arrangements to him?"

"There's no need to explain anything," I said. "I'm hoping he won't notice."

As Sam's eyebrows shot up, but before he could answer, we heard a commotion emanating from the kitchen. The screen door slammed, Lillian dropped a pan, Hazel Marie shrieked, and Mr. Pickens announced his arrival with his usual upheaval of the household. As I opened the door to the hall, I could hear him telling Lillian he was starving to death and telling Hazel Marie he'd never seen her looking so pretty. He knew how to make a warm welcome for himself.

"Julia," Sam said, as I walked out into the hall, "are we going to hope that Pickens won't notice, either?"

I rounded on him, my hands on my hips. "I don't believe everybody is as interested in where other people sleep as you seem to be."

"Well, Good Lord, Julia. I'm only interested in where I sleep. I don't care about anybody else, and I'm here to tell you that I am not happy about this."

I stopped at the head of the back stairs, turned to him, waited for a flurry of hammering to stop, and said, "I'm not happy about it, either. I was just about to get used to being your wife and having a little domestic comfort, and"-I stopped and leaned my head against his chest-"I'm going to miss you, Sam."

He ran his hand over my hair, messing it up as usually happened when he did that, and said, "We'll get this straightened out real soon, don't you worry. Then I'm going to jump in your bed and make up for lost time." He lifted my head and frowned at me. "But what I want to know is, what do you mean by a little domestic comfort?"

"Oh, you," I said, pulling away from him, but smiling in spite of myself. "Let's go down and greet Mr. Pickens."

Mr. Pickens was in rare form, warm and expansive, and noticeably pleased to be home. Such as it was, for he was not a permanent member of the household. He lived in a suburb of Asheville, maintaining a small ranch-type house that suited his unmarried state. J.D. Pickens was a private investigator, a designation he preferred over private detective, and which I was careful to call him. I'd made his acquaintance not long after Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd took up residence in my house, when she disappeared on me. I had engaged him to find her, which he subsequently did, although not without considerable help from yours truly. From the first time he laid eyes on Hazel Marie, he was smitten, although that hadn't kept him from laying eyes on any number of other women, as well.

I will have to say, however, that in spite of his roving eyes and his aversion to marriage, his heart seemed to belong to Hazel Marie. So, why he couldn't bring himself to make that attachment permanent, I couldn't understand. Oh, he had plenty of excuses, the major one being Little Lloyd's inheritance of half of my late husband's estate. He said he didn't want anybody thinking he'd married for the access he might have to those assets. Which was ludicrous to begin with, for Mr. Pickens had the least interest in wealth as anybody I knew. Just look at that souped-up and heavily dented vehicle he drove, for one thing.

Another excuse he gave for avoiding marriage was because he'd been married before, not once or twice, but three times, and none of them had taken. And I had to admit, that made him an exceptionally poor candidate for another stab at it. Hazel Marie, of course, was more than willing to take a chance, but then, the woman had never been married at all and, in spite of the fact that she was the mother of a son, she was fairly close to spinsterhood.

I got myself together as best I could as Sam and I descended the stairs into the kitchen. One thing about Mr. Pickens I could depend on, he was a tease beyond compare. I dreaded the moment when he found out our sleeping arrangements and the reason for them. I'd never hear the end of it.

He and Sam shook hands, and the first thing out of Mr. Pickens's mouth was: "So, Sam, how's married life treating you?"

"Just dandy, up till now," Sam said, laying himself open to a follow-up question that would open a can of worms.

Mr. Pickens's eyebrows went up at that, but, thank goodness, he didn't pursue the matter. Instead, he turned to me and said, "Well, now. I'd say married life agrees with you, Miss Julia. I've never seen you looking so, well, blushing and blooming."

Did I say that Mr. Pickens was a tease? I knew good and well that I was neither blushing nor blooming, particularly with the burden of possible fornication hanging over my head. But leave it to Mr. Pickens to make sly remarks that would bring a rosy color to any woman's face.

Hazel Marie spoke up right about then and brought it all out into the open. "J.D.," she said, "there've been some changes while you've been gone. Sam and Miss Julia may not be married at all, so it's best if you don't ask how they're doing."

I closed my eyes so nobody would see my utter dismay, for Hazel Marie could no more keep a secret than she could fly. Of course, I knew Mr. Pickens would find out sooner or later about our separation, but I would've preferred later rather than sooner. And would've much preferred telling him in private, rather than having it reannounced in the presence of all of us, except Little Lloyd who was expected home from school any minute.

Mr. Pickens turned a disbelieving, but somewhat amused, face to us. "Say what?"

"And, you haven't heard it all," Hazel Marie went on, holding on to Mr. Pickens's arm and gazing at him with adoring eyes. "I've moved up to Miss Julia's room so she and Sam can have mine because it's so much more private, except now, Sam has to sleep in Coleman's old room until they track down the Fire and Water Baptized Church, and all that hammering you hear is coming from Luther and Willie Pruitt, who're putting in closets for me."

"Run that by me again," Mr. Pickens said to Hazel Marie, but he was looking quizzically at Sam.

Sam said, "I believe we are married, but Julia wants to make sure. It's a temporary setback, that's all."

"Well, dang," Mr. Pickens said, scratching his head. "You mean to tell me that Miss Julia, our Miss Julia, who is so hell-bent to have everything proper and correct, has been engaged in some premarital-or is it nonmarital?-activity? Now I've heard everything."

Lillian started laughing, Sam had been on the verge of it all along, and Hazel Marie joined in. I broke a smile to appear congenial, but it nearly broke my spirit to have the tables turned on me like that.

"You may continue to believe that I want things done as they should be, Mr. Pickens," I said, turning from them and walking over to the counter where the coffeepot was. "And that is the reason for this interlude of celibacy, which I highly recommend to you. It builds character, doesn't it, Sam?" I reached for cups and saucers and placed them on the counter. "Now, who wants coffee?" I asked to indicate that the subject was closed as far as I was concerned, although I'd noticed that Sam had not answered, much less agreed with, the question addressed to him.

Of course, the subject was not closed as far as Mr. Pickens was concerned, and as we sat around the kitchen table, he insisted on knowing all the ins and outs of our current situation. I let Sam tell him how we'd come to such a pass, as I pretended to have little interest in the sad tale. Still, I had to endure the retelling, while not only Mr. Pickens but Lillian and Hazel Marie, as well, displayed an uncomely avidity in hearing it again.

"Hazel Marie," I said, ignoring Mr. Pickens's merriment, and in an attempt to distract him, "tell us how the beauty pageant is going. How far along are you?"

"Well, I'll tell you, I had a real hard time deciding if I should ask Tonya Allen to be a judge or ask her to be your assistant. She'd be so good at either one, but I finally decided that she should be a judge, because I remembered somebody else. This is somebody who's had a lot of experience with beauty pageants, and will be a lot of help to you. You know her, Miss Julia. Etta Mae Wiggins is going to be your right-hand man." She laughed. "Woman, I mean."

I could've slid under the table. Etta Mae Wiggins? That little twit of a home health care supposedly professional, who'd been all over Sam when he'd been laid up with a broken leg? And now, here she was, coming back into our lives just when Sam could well be footloose and fancy-free again.

At that point, I was firmly convinced. Somebody was trying to tell me something.

Chapter 12.

The next day dragged on until I thought it would never end. I kept trying to come to terms with the sudden uncertainty in my life, as well as with the prospect of having Etta Mae Wiggins underfoot for the duration of the pageant. I tried to appear interested that afternoon, as Hazel Marie ruminated over her plans for the pageant.

"I'm having everybody come over tonight," she said, tapping her pen against the pad on her lap. "Etta Mae said we could meet at her place, but you know she lives in a single-wide trailer, so there wouldn't be enough room. It was nice of her to offer, though."

"I suppose so," I said, reflecting that it was easy enough to appear generous when you know your offer won't be accepted. "But, I tell you, Hazel Marie, a trailer park would not be suitable even if she had a double-wide. We own that place, you know, and I wouldn't want to be assailed with a list of demands from the tenants."

"I'd forgotten about that. Well, don't worry, we'll be meeting here, if it's all right with you."

I nodded, resigned to not only putting up with Miss Wiggins's presence, but also, since she'd be a guest in my home, gritting my teeth and being polite to her.

"Now, here's the plan," Hazel Marie went on. "We can't use the auditorium until school is out, so we'll have to meet here for the next week or so. I know you have a lot on your mind right now, but I would like you to at least meet the contestants. And, really, all we'll need to do is see what we have to work with." She sighed. "From what Coleman's told me, none of the girls have had much experience with pageants."

"That might be a good thing, Hazel Marie," I said. "They won't know whether we're doing it right or not."

"I guess," she said, distractedly. "But now, I have to figure out how to get a runway built and installed, on top of everything else. And how to uninstall it when we're through."

"Why don't you ask Mr. Pruitt?"

"I'd love to. I just didn't know if you'd want them to stop what they're doing to work on another job."

"The Lord's sake, Hazel Marie, there's no need for them to stop. I meant that they could build a runway after hours or on the weekends. I don't see where that could possibly be a problem. A lot of people work extra jobs."

"Are you feeling all right, Miss Julia?" Hazel Marie turned a concerned face to me. "You sound a little edgy today."

"I'm feeling a little edgy," I said. "And who wouldn't, what with my current situation, and having that Wiggins woman to deal with on top of that. To say nothing of all the hammering and nailing going on upstairs, and worrying about a bunch of giggling young women who don't know how to conduct themselves in a genteel manner, and I've already said I didn't see how I could be involved with a pageant." I stopped, hoping I hadn't gone too far. "I'm sorry, Hazel Marie. I think I'm having an emotional crisis, and I don't even believe in such a thing. But I get a raging headache whenever I think of all I have to put up with."

She gave my face a good going-over with a minute-long stare. "What do you have against Etta Mae?" she asked, ignoring most of what I'd said and going right to the heart of my problem.