Are we married yet? For Wisconsin couples, the road to equality has been paved with fear, hope, uncertainty, and joy.

• Author: Kearney, Matthew

When she hears the news, Mary drops her unfinished crossword puzzle, grabs Kate, and hurries downtown. "I want it right now," she says forcefully. The couple, sixty-five and sixty-six, have been together since 1979. Now the opportunity has finally arisen for them to get married. They do not wait for family or friends. A judge they never met before performs a short ceremony on the sidewalk in front of the local municipal building.

The date is June 6, 2014. Less than three hours earlier, a federal judge struck down Wisconsin's constitutional ban on gay marriage. Elated, but unsure how long this new freedom would last, dozens of gay couples converge on the Dane County Clerk's office. They say their vows with briefcases, purses, and backpacks slung over shoulders or dropped at their feet. Many wear shorts and sandals. They have bystanders serve as witnesses, only remembering to ask their names after the papers are signed.

These newlyweds, and many more, are about to embark on a dizzying journey during which the legality of their unions will change from day to day and even from place to place. In Wisconsin, as in states throughout the nation, the start-and-stop lurch toward marriage equality involves a patchwork of rules, a clash between federal and state authorities in which local officials get squeezed and respond in varying ways, and a whirlwind for the couples living through this tipping point in the history of marriage.

Wisconsin, like many other states, enshrined its animus toward same-sex marriage in its constitution. In 2006, by act of the legislature and popular vote, it passed an amendment declaring marriage to be between one man and one woman. In February 2014, the ACLU sued, arguing that the ban violated the U.S. Constitution. Federal Judge Barbara Crabb agreed and struck down the amendment on a Friday afternoon, sending couples including Mary and Kate scrambling.

"Quite simply, this case is about liberty and equality," Crabb wrote. "The denial of marriage rights to same-sex couples necessarily is a denial of equal citizenship." In an unusual move, Crabb did not specify how to implement her ruling. In legal terms, it was a declaratory judgment without an order or injunction.

That left Wisconsin's seventy-two county clerks, who issue marriage licenses, facing a decision. Since the ban was ruled unconstitutional and there was no stay, should they issue licenses to gay couples immediately? Or, since there was no order and the case is technically still in progress, should they wait?

Scott McDonell, the clerk of Dane County, where Mary and Kate live, promptly announced he would issue licenses and keep his office open late that night.

I arrive just before 5 p.m. to find a small group lined up outside his door in silence. Standing next to Renee and Shari, who are about to become the first gay couple to marry in Wisconsin, I remark how calm everyone seems. Renee shows me her hand; it's steady.

Minutes later, a jowly staffer gives clipped instructions for filling out the marriage license form: "Shari sign line 13, and Renee sign line 14." Looking on, McDonell waits to hand them plastic roses. "It's always nice to have some fake flowers around," he quips. The couple stands, license in hand, and a few onlookers applaud. They kiss, then pose for pictures...