Fer

"This okay, dear?"

"How about the one with the inlays? It would go better with the other ring, I think." Paul hadn't noticed that one. They tried and it fit. Paul left the engagement ring with the promise that it would be couriered to him as soon as it had been resized. The wedding ring he took with him.

Somehow, buying the rings made their promises of a few nights ago more real and binding, as if the rings themselves tied their souls together.

"You didn't want to buy a ring for me?"

"You don't wear rings, and I don't need to brand you to know you're mine."

A few days later, Paul was called down to the main post office to pick up a parcel. The counter clerk had him sign for a very small parcel - it had to be the ring. He wanted to look at it, but wasn't going to expose an engagement ring to the general view. Besides, he wanted to save that for their date tonight.

"And could you sign here as well, sir?" the clerk asked. "It's for the insurance, you see."

Paul shrugged and signed the second paper. His mind was more on getting together with Fer again and letting him put the ring on her finger. Once on, it would never come off! But that couldn't be, he thought. It would raise too many questions, and women in dorms were especially prone to gossip. Guys had the same problem. Probably. She, and especially he, couldn't afford the gossip. He took the ring back to his apartment.

That night was very special, because they made love, then Paul repeated his question on bended knee and she repeated her answer, this time kissing him firmly. Paul produced the ring and slipped it on. The fit was perfect, now. Then they made love again, a long, slow, loving congress, sharing of bodies and souls.

***

It was close to two weeks later when the wheels came off the idyll.

Paul and Fer had spent an afternoon together at Paul's apartment and, as usual, had made love vigorously. Both of them looked worn out with passion when he delivered her to the street. He was going to drive her back to her residence, as usual, dropping her off a couple of blocks away.

Unfortunately, Paul had aggravated the chair of his department, pointing out the error in the business planning exercise he'd planned to give the senior class in forecasting. It hadn't been public, but it did challenge the received wisdom of a tenured full professor. The most difficult part, of course, was that Paul had been right. Challenging a full professor was unwise. Being right about it was unforgiveable.

So when Fer and Paul encountered the chair's wife shortly after an afternoon of blissful ecstasy, she automatically jumped to the correct conclusion and ran off to tell her husband.

"Paul, I've ruined you, haven't I?"

"Perhaps. We'll have to see. Maybe all that will save me is for you to marry me," Paul laughed. Faced with ruin he could still laugh. She loved him more for that.

The next day Paul came to tell Fer goodbye. Now that the word was out, and all over campus at that, Fer wore his ring proudly.

"I have a hearing tomorrow. I won't deny the charge. I'm guilty, after all. The chair's wife is an unimpeachable witness. It's now grown to the point that she encountered us making out madly on the street. By the time the hearing takes place, we will have been having sex in front of her. She will have so convinced herself that she can never be shaken. Besides, I could never deny you."

"Is there no way out? Can't I marry you to save your reputation?"

"That would likely do it, stupid as it seems in this day and age. Oh, but you can't. There's a five-day waiting period here, and no way we can get to somewhere there isn't any and get back for the hearing. I would if I could, though."

"You already told me that. Wait a minute. I remember doing something foolish when you got my ring. Cost me, too. Let me go upstairs and check. If I'm right, maybe we can get married."

"How are you planning to arrange that?"

"You're right, I can't. It's too fine a day to get married. Haven't you heard that the best sign of a long and happy marriage is a rainy wedding day?"

"You may end up marrying an unemployed and unemployable bum if we don't get married, sun or no sun."

"Let's hope I can find what I'm looking for. I'd love to make that old cow eat crow."

"Better go look, I guess."

Paul had no idea what Fer thought she might find to solve his problem. He'd been accused of something he was guilty of. Even if he hadn't been guilty the accusation would have stuck, considering who his accuser was. There was only one way out, and there wasn't the time to make that happen. Sure, they were engaged, with a ring, a beautiful ring, and the rest of it, but that still wouldn't get them married when they had to wait five days after the licence was issued before the ceremony. Engaged didn't count, of course. Not a marriage licence, either. Nothing but a valid marriage certificate would do.

Paul was sitting and moping in the lounge, desperately unhappy. Lisa came in and Paul, knowing she was Fer's best friend, explained the current state of affairs. Fer had already told her what had happened and why it was such a disaster for them both. Lisa, usually a fruitful source of ideas, couldn't come up with a reasonable way out.

"I suppose there isn't time enough to forge a marriage certificate, is there?" Paul asked.

"No, I don't have the right paper or samples of handwriting."

Just then Fer came hurtling back, dressed to the nines in the only dress she had, the only one Paul had ever seen her wear, apparently very happy and eager to get going.

"What's got you up again?" Paul asked.

"Found my paper. Paul, will you marry me?"

"You already said yes. Several times, as I remember. I thought it was a done deal."

"Now it's your turn."

"Yes, then. We certainly plan to get married one day. I'm looking forward to it."

"No, I mean right now this instant. I spoke to the university chaplain when I was upstairs, and he'd love to do the ceremony in the chapel. We have to get in before choir practice at three, though. Carl's in the car. I called him, too. Lisa, you coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Paul?"

"Well, sure, if we can. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes, certainly. It's our marriage licence. That was the second piece of paper you signed when you signed for the ring. I didn't expect this kind of problem, but I didn't want us to have to wait once we set a date."

"Give me time to put on a clean white T-shirt, then. Got to look good on my wedding day."

Fer had found her dress and a necklace and actually looked pretty decent, all in only five minutes. She declined Lisa's well-meant offer to paint on a wedding dress, complete with veil and train. They didn't have the time.

Paul was back in ten, dressed to the nines in his best suit, Carl suitably rigged in his wedding suit, and his wife in a bridesmaid gown from a friend's wedding, determined not to be left out.

The ceremony, small as the congregation was, was everything Fer had hoped for. The chaplain, wise in the ways of the young, counselled them briefly, and during the ceremony gave a short sermon on the virtues of love. There wasn't any promise to obey included. Paul was secretly pleased; he didn't want Fer breaking her vows on her wedding day. Fer kissed Paul fervently when the chaplain invited them to kiss after the pronunciation that they were now spouses. The four of them signed the register and the appropriate forms, a proper marriage certificate (in duplicate) was delivered to each of them, and they went off on their honeymoon.

The church choir, which had gathered for practice as the service came to a close, sang a beautiful plainchant of the "Nunc Dimittis" (the version from The Book of Common Prayer) as they moved back down the aisle and left the church. A perfect ending to a perfect service, Fer thought.

And now she was married! And to Paul, the light of her heart, the other part of her. Whatever problems might lie ahead, surely they could resolve them together.

"Have I saved you from ruin and social ostracism, dear."

"I do think you have, Fer. You do know I love you."

"And I love you."

Carl took Lisa back to the dorm in a taxi. She wasn't exactly nauseous, but she could feel her gorge rising. Of course Carl and his wife had the same disease and just thought they were cute.

The honeymoon trip was only as far as Paul's apartment. That was probably a good thing given how wild they were for each other.

Paul lifted Fer over the threshold of his apartment and proceeded to rip off his clothes - the suit jacket went in one direction, the tie in the other, his shirt in a third, his pants at his feet. Fer was faster, but then she had fewer bits to remove.

When they awoke after their love making, they could make out the sounds of rain falling. It was her sign.