One gray-haired woman in a gray dress seated across from her, obviously a friend, cuts her off. "No, things change and we learn," she says quietly and serenely. "This too will become normal," she says. "Just like everything else."

There is silence, and finally an older man breaks it. "Whether or not I agree with what [the national convention] did," he said, "the main thing I'm concerned about is our parish. If we can hold together, that's what I want."

There is a chorus of voices around the room: "That's what I want." "I want that too." Some people are teary as the murmurs of agreement go on.

Finally, Toby speaks. "A few weeks ago I thought I wasn't accepted here. I thought, 'Take this cup away from me.' But if I leave, where will I go? So I'm going to stay, and I hope people who feel completely differently will also stay."

And in closing the prayer circle, the same woman who had stood up shaking in anger held Toby's hand. "We're a close parish. We'll get through this somehow," she said.

Overall, Annie Holmes was proud of how tolerant her fellow church members were. "There are a lot of people who really feel that same-sex unions are immoral," she says, "but I think people are really trying not to criticize them. We all know Toby, Toby is very devout and we all like her. That makes a difference! You can rail against people in the abstract, but when you know them it's a little harder."

Twenty minutes later, Toby, Jean and Kalen have their family photo taken for the church directory. They are parked next to the woman who railed against Nazis and held Toby's hand, though they do not know it. "Hi," they say to her as they wrestle Kalen into the car. Before leaving, I stop the older woman. "What do I think about gay marriage?" she asks. "I don't agree with it, but we're a strong parish. We'll get through this somehow." Though I don't realize it at the time, she thinks I'm stalking her by asking this. Four days later, she has a minor heart attack -- and blames it on the stress of talking to a stranger about such a volatile subject. Such are the tensions that come with this issue in Auburn.

It is not overly dramatic to believe that, in moving to a small town in the American heartland, Toby and Jean Adams have committed a revolutionary act. Nor is it wrong to say that many Auburn residents -- their neighbors, or the members or St. Luke's church -- are revolutionaries too, in their own way. Despite the everyday tensions and uncertainties, they are living together in a way that few would have thought possible even a decade ago.

Not far from Auburn, in the little town of Cool, Calif., real estate agent Brent Stone says acceptance is growing. Although Cool is smaller than Auburn, Stone and his male partner of 13 years say they've had no problems being accepted in the three years they've lived there. They have two adopted children of mixed race -- one in first grade, the other in the fourth -- and "they are almost treated like celebrities here," says Stone. Whether or not he speaks with a tinge of hyperbole, as might be expected of a real estate agent, Stone actively encourages same-sex couples to move to the area -- and, apparently, they are.

And yet the awkwardness and tension are real, and in the current climate, Toby and Jean are not sure they're going to stay. Recently, says Toby, "I found myself having to have my first conversation with Kalen about how people might not be OK with her family, and that's a lot to lay on a 3-year-old. But I don't want Kalen to ever think something is wrong with her, and clearly the time is coming soon when someone will say something to her."

For every Doug Kyles in Auburn there is a Father Marcia, but for the majority of individuals, the fault lines run straight through the heart: While they like and accept Toby and Jean, they still think same-sex marriage is wrong. They are at a crossroads -- in one direction an amendment outlawing same-sex marriage, in the other, the legalization of it. They may oppose it in abstract principle, but when they meet Toby and Jean and Kalen, there's a native impulse to see that they're just nice people. The same ambivalence plays out in small towns and cities elsewhere in the American heartland.

According to Scott Keeter, author of "The Diminishing Divide: Religion's Changing Role in American Politics," an amendment banning same-sex marriage is unlikely to pass, given the lack of national support and the more immediate concerns in Congress over the Iraq war. Nonetheless, he says, "there will be plenty of people who try to make this a wedge issue in the 2004 presidential election. And among conservative white Protestants, Bush enjoys almost unanimous support, so he has a fine line to walk" if he wants to also gain the moderate votes he needs to win. In contrast, Howard Dean has promised that if elected president he will do for the nation what he did for Vermont as governor: legalize civil unions. With a recent Gallup Poll showing the nation split almost in half in favor of allowing gay unions at all, the issue has the potential to force a decision from heartland voters who are not yet ready for for either an amendment or legalization.

As more and more couples move into small towns, slowly, haltingly, they are gaining acceptance. Like other social movements, time helps. And 10 years from now, maybe Kalen won't have to explain her dad. "It's wonderful living in California with all the extra rights of domestic partnership. It's just as wonderful as sending black kids to their own school during segregation -- separate but equal, isn't it great they get to go to school at all?" says Toby, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Everybody knew that wasn't right and eventually they had to change it. And they're going to have to change this too."

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We want to make you a part of this series. What is the state of your union? Did you find the one and never look back, or has finding lasting love been a marathon of trial and error? Did you have a fairy-tale wedding only to watch things crumble once the reception was over, or have you glided along in marital bliss since Day One? We want to hear your stories of joy, romance, heartbreak and pain. After all, partnership, as we all know, is a complex concoction of all of those things. (Please remember: Any writing submitted becomes the property of Salon if we publish it. We reserve the right to edit submissions and cannot reply to every writer. Interested contributors should send their stories to marriage@salon.com.)

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