The Tempestuous Career of Molly Murdock

He lifted her down, with the rangy strength that astonished those who came up against it for the first time. And he kissed her in a way that opened her heart.

“And now,” she said, “could we please end my career on just one small note of male dominance?”

“What? Oh, of course. Don’t go back for that two more weeks. Understand?”

“Yes, dear. Of course, dear. Anything you say, dear. I’ll wire Charlie Marks some sort of excuse.”

“Like what?”

“I think I’ll just tell him I’ve got married again.”

They laughed together, disturbing a sleeping bird in an apple tree. The bird made a sullen sound of complaint. The brook mumbled. Crickets sang. The stars turned. Molly walked joyously, hand in hand with her husband, back through the orchard toward the dark farmhouse, feeling as if she had at last been cured of a small but lasting madness, and feeling as breathless as any bride.