Free All That Is by James Salter

said.
    The “sir” seemed a little courtly but he felt it was appropriate. Amussen was still occupied with stirring.
    “Vivian’s a nice girl,” Amussen finally said. “She was raised in the country. I don’t know how she’d take to city life. She’s not one of those people.”
    He then looked up.
    “How do you plan on providing for her?” he said.
    “Well, as you know, I have a good job. I like my work, I have a career. I earn enough to support us at this point, and whatever I have is hers. I’ll make sure she’s comfortable.”
    “She’s not a city girl,” Amussen said again. “You know, from the time she was just a little thing, she’s had her own horse.”
    “We haven’t talked about that. I suppose we could always make room for a horse,” Bowman said lightly.
    Amussen seemed not to hear him.
    “We love one another,” Bowman said. “I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy.”
    Amussen nodded slightly.
    “I promise you that. We’re hoping for your permission, then. Your blessing, sir.”
    There was a pause.
    “I don’t think I can give you that,” Amussen said. “Not and be honest with you.”
    “I see.”
    “I don’t think it would work. I think it would be a mistake.”
    “I see.”
    “But I won’t stand in Vivian’s way,” her father said.
    Bowman left feeling disappointed but defiant. It would be a kind of morganatic marriage then, politely tolerated. He was not sure what attitude to take about it, but when he told Vivian what her father had said, she was not disturbed.
    “That’s just Daddy,” she said.
    The minister was a tall man in his seventies with silvery hair who couldn’t hear very well, having fallen from a horse. Age had taken the edge from his voice, which was silken but thin. At the prenuptial meeting he said he would ask them three questions, the ones he always asked couples. He wanted to know if they were in love. Next, did they want to be married in the church? And lastly, would the marriage last?
    “We can definitely answer yes to the first two,” Bowman replied.
    “Ah,” the minister said, “yes.” He was absentminded and had forgotten the order of the questions. “I don’t suppose it’s so important to be in love,” he admitted.
    He hadn’t shaved, Bowman noticed, there was a white stubble on his face, but he was more presentable at the wedding. Vivian’s family was there, her mother, sister, brother-in-law, and some others Bowman had never met and also friends. There were fewer on the groom’s side, but his Harvard roommate, Malcolm, and his wife, Anthea, were there, and Eddins with a white carnation in his buttonhole. It was a bright, cool morning, then afternoon, passing in an excitement that made it hard to remember. He was with his mother beforehand and could see her during the ceremony. He watched with a sense of victory as Amussen brought Vivian down the aisle. He put any misgivings aside, it was like a scene from a play. During the vows he saw only his bride, her face clear and shining, and in back of her Louise smiling, too, as he heard himself say, With this ring, I thee wed. I thee wed.
    Eddins proved to be very popular or anyhow well-remembered at the reception, which was held at Vivian’s house—her father had wanted it tobe at the Red Fox, the old inn in Middleburg, but had been persuaded otherwise.
    The bar was on a table covered with a white tablecloth and tended by two bartenders, reserved but polite, burnished somehow by inequality. In a bow tie and with the round face of good fellowship, Bowman’s new brother-in-law, Bryan, came up to him.
    “Welcome to the family,” he said.
    He had small, even teeth that made him seem friendly and worked in the government.
    “Very nice wedding,” he said. “We didn’t have one. The pater offered us three thousand dollars—actually he offered it to Beverly—if we’d just go off and get married. He was probably hoping I’d run away with the money. He as much as told me