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“That’s not the professor’s problem. I should have said, ‘You never see him without a tall, good-looking German blond—or two—on his arm, and a book in the other hand.’”
“And what did this Jewish Casanova with an accent remember Army Regulations saying about us getting married in Germany?”
Jimmy told her again: The bottom lines were (a) she could not get into Occupied Germany unless she was a dependent, and (b) even if she did somehow get into Occupied Germany, they could not get permission to marry there.
When he had finished, she said without much conviction, “There has to be a way.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Are you open to a wild idea?”
“Try me.”
“When I was here before, I learned that Elkton, Maryland, up near the Pennsylvania border, is where people go when they’re eloping. Justices of the peace there will issue a marriage license, then marry you, and have you on your way in about an hour.”
“Huh,” Marjorie said.
“What I was thinking was that, since they’re going to send me—”
“Where did you say Elkton, Maryland, is?”
“On U.S. 1 up near the Pennsylvania border.”
“I came from Washington on U.S. 1,” Marjorie said. “I know how to find it.”
She reached to the dashboard, turned the ignition key, and then pressed the starter button.
[ FOUR ]
The Lord Baltimore Hotel
20 West Baltimore Street, Baltimore 21, Maryland
2325 25 October 1945
“Yes, sir? May I be of assistance?” the assistant manager of the hotel inquired of Second Lieutenant Cronley.
“We’d like a room, please. A nice room.”
“Have you a reservation, sir?”
“No. I don’t.”
“And your luggage, sir?”
“No luggage.”
The assistant manager adjusted his necktie knot, then said, “Sir, the Lord Baltimore might not be appropriate for you and the lady. May I suggest—”
“If you’re about to suggest we try some sleazy motel down the street,” Mrs. Marjorie Howell Cronley interrupted, “I would be forced to conclude you have an evil mind, sir.”
She pulled from her purse a certificate of marriage and held it up for the assistant manager’s edification.
He forced a big smile. “I was about to suggest, madam, one of our junior suites.”
“Do you have a senior suite? If so, we’ll take it,” she said.
“Well,” Jimmy asked not more than fifteen minutes later, as Marjorie laid her head on his chest, “now that our marriage has been truly consummated, what do we do now?”
“What do you mean ‘truly consummated’?”
