By December, I was pretty far along. I was way past trying to get my blue jeans closed, and pretty much down to just wearing that striped A line knit tent dress. I could just barely button my coat. I put on a head scarf and rubber boots and that’s how I set out that afternoon. This would be my 2nd long walk out to the clinic on the edge of town. My 1st blood test had expired because George was too busy to go over to the court house with me. It was cloudy and cold that day as I walked along the hard road and people were looking at me as they drove by. When I got there, I went up to the front desk and said, “I need a blood test to get married.” She directed me to the lounge where I sat and waited before. “Linda St. John,” a nurse called out after awhile. I went in a small room and the same doctor came in. He drew blood from my arm and sort of looked at me. “Weren’t you the girl in here last week?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied. He filled out the form. “Here,” he said laughing as he handed it to me. “Maybe he’ll marry you this time.”