After Forty-Five Years Apart, a Pastor Married His High School Sweetheart
The blue ink gleamed wet on the white paper under the fluorescent lights.
Outside the window, the courthouse tower bell began to chime five as Mrs.
Gable slid the stamped document across the glass and straight into my hand.
Wade had two legal folders spread over the public counter before the clerk had finished unlocking the glass front door of the county probate office.
“The property tax filings line up with the 1979 registry,” Wade said, tapping a printed spreadsheet.
“Look at section four.”
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