"She was out at the Sorensen’s all day," her mother explained.

"Mr. Sorensen is out of the hospital," Judith reported, sitting down on the couch.

Norman looked at his daughter circumspectly. "Tell me," he said slowly, "How’s that old Farmall of theirs running?"

"Oh, it runs real good, Daddy," Judith told him.

"I thought so," he said. "Well, I’ve got only one thing to say."

"What’s that?" Judith replied, getting a little suspicious.

Norman reached behind him and pulled out a baseball cap with "Willow Lake Farm Center" on it. "The least you could do is wear one of our hats. We don’t want anybody getting the wrong impression. Next time, wear this," he said, handing her the hat.

"Oh, Daddy," Judith said, relieved. "How did you know?"

"What’s this?" Irene asked.

"I was driving the feed truck out to Arvada Center this afternoon when I passed a hay wagon," he explained. "Guess who was driving the tractor pulling it."

"Judith! You were driving a tractor?"

"Mrs. Sorensen was going to," Judith admitted shyly, knowing she was in for it now. "But she had to go pick up Mr. Sorensen."

"Judith Niven! You know you’re not supposed to be doing something like that! You could have hurt yourself or even killed yourself on that thing. I knew that if you went out there today, you’d wind up doing something you shouldn’t be doing . . . "

"Now just a minute," Norman said, but his wife went on as if she hadn’t heard him.

" . . . been seeing that Sorensen boy, you’ve been doing one thing after another that you shouldn’t be doing. You’re not strong enough to be doing those things. I think the only thing we can do to make you behave is to stop you from seeing him again. What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?"

Judith was in tears by now. "Every time I do something I can be proud of you . . . you . . . " she cried, unable to force out more.

"Just a damn minute," Norman broke in angrily. He got up, and sat beside Judith, putting his arm around her. Softly, he said to her, "Did you do a good job?"

"I think so," Judith said quietly through her tears. "Tom Sorensen paid me."

"He did?" Norman replied, a smile breaking out on his face. "How much?"

"Forty dollars."

Norman pulled his daughter even closer. "I know Tom," he said. "I know he wouldn’t have paid you that much if you hadn’t been worth it."

Judith’s tears let up. She looked at her father. Was he on her side after all?

Norman smiled at his daughter, and pulled her even closer. "Honey, you make me proud that you can do things we’d never dreamed you’d be able to do."

Yes he was! "Thank you, Daddy," she whispered.

"Norman . . . " Irene said ominously.

"If they ask you to do it again, don’t be afraid to say yes," he said. "And be sure to tell Tom Sorensen that I’m glad he asked you."

"Norman, she shouldn’t be doing things like that," Irene said. "I don’t think she should be allowed to see that Sorensen boy again."

Judith’s father turned to face his wife. "She was doing something today that thousands of young people her age were doing," he told her. "We’ve gone through a lot of years when that that was the best we could ever pray for. You should be happy for her, not angry at her." He turned back to his daughter and put the cap on her head proudly. "A day like this deserves something special to celebrate. What do you say that after dinner, we go into Geneva and get some ice cream?"

"F-fine, Daddy."

"Norman, we’ll speak of this later," Irene said, getting up and going into the kitchen.

Sullen, Irene continued to prepare dinner. How could Norman condone this impudence? She’d given Judith an inch, and she’d taken a mile!

Ever since the accident that had taken poor Phillip from them, she’d bent over backwards to take care of Judith. And now, her thanks was to have the girl go behind her back at every opportunity to do something she shouldn’t be doing!

Unlike Judith, Irene could remember the accident all too well. It had been late at night, and they’d been coming back from her sister’s house. Norman hadn’t been feeling well, so Irene was driving. They were going through an intersection, and a car crossing had hit their car in the rear. She and Norman hadn’t been hurt badly, and Judith had somehow been thrown out of the car, but Phillip had been burned to death. It turned out that the driver of the other car had been drunk, and no one listened when he swore the light was green.

Irene had relived those horrible seconds time and time again. By now, she wasn’t sure that she remembered the memory itself, or the memory of the memory, and she had never told anyone, but she was almost certain she could remember the flash of a red light before the impact.

The years that had followed had been terrible. Weeks went by before they were sure Judith could be expected to live, and month after painful month went by as she lay in the hospital as the doctors tried to do what they could to repair the massive damage. Irene had felt sheer agony over what had happened to her daughter, and swore in her guilt that she would do what she had to do to make Judith’s life comfortable.

When Judith had first come home from the hospital, she’d been little more than a painful, pathetic lump who had to be cared for almost like a baby. Little by little, in those early years, Irene could see improvement. It was a couple years before the wheelchair could be done away with on a more-or-less-regular basis, and by then Irene had come to concede that her daughter would never be well again. With faint hopes, they kept up with the therapy and the continuing operations, but the last few years, the gains had been so small that sometimes Irene had wondered if they were worth the pain and the trouble they caused their helpless little girl, who probably was going to be a housebound invalid the rest of her life.

Irene had felt pain along with Judith as the little girl had her dreams of being normal, but Irene was mature enough to know that they would never come to pass. She had to admire her daughter’s spirit in trying things she couldn’t do, and had tried to protect her from the disappointments and failures of not being able to do all the things she wanted.

Now, Judith was acting as if she were almost normal, going out with boys, going to dances, riding horses, driving tractors, and Irene knew that she was just going to hurt herself, or get herself into trouble, and be injured or disappointed again. Irene wanted to protect her from that.

Irene was sure that one of these days, Judith was going to try something that she couldn’t do, and it would bite her back. She would be crushed by the reality that she couldn’t do the things other people do, Irene thought. On the other hand . . . maybe Judith was getting to the point where she’d have to learn that for herself.

Norman came out into the kitchen, ready for the battle he knew was coming. "Look," he said, "she’s a big girl. She’s over eighteen. I think we’d better give her a little room in her life."

"I don’t want to see her hurt herself or do something she shouldn’t be doing," Irene said. "But she’s getting so hard to handle, I can’t keep up with her anymore. I guess we really can’t stop her if she wants to see the Sorensen boy, but I don’t have to like it."

The Willow Lake and Arvada Center Methodist Churches shared a pastor. Since each was so small, over the past thirty years a succession of pastors had tried to convince the churches to combine, and even after thirty years, they were still trying, every time a new pastor came to the churches. The parishioners had come to expect it; the pastors kept pushing it, with little more hope of success than in the beginning.

One small gain had been made a few years before, when a pastor had suggested the youth groups of the churches combine. Since all the children went to the same school, and the groups were so small, there could be a wider range of programs, while of course saving a lot of effort.

The combination had been so successful that it had expanded into the creation of a combined young adults group, aimed at people just out of school through young marrieds. As luck had it, in recent years the high school group had become almost moribund for a nearly complete lack of Methodist high school students, and the young adult group had extended to include the few high schoolers, which nominally included Judy, a member of the Willow Lake congregation, and Ken, from the Arvada Center church. However, neither had felt they fit in very well, and neither had been active.

Now that they were out of high school, Ken and Judy were each more officially a member of the "Young Adults" group, and the talk of college, jobs, and babies seemed a little less foreign. Besides, it made for an acceptable date that Judy’s mother couldn’t complain about, so the two began to attend the biweekly meetings in addition to their regular trips to the YMCA.

The folding chairs in the Arvada Center church basement were as hard as they ever had been and seemed especially hard that evening, for Ken and Judy had been busy with combining oats all day. Tom had allowed Ken to run the combine, and Judy had shuttled the gravity boxes full of grain up to the barn, where Chet, still in his wheelchair and cast, tried to help out by running the elevator. They had gotten done late, and had barely had time to race up to the lake for a quick swim before coming back, changing clothes, and going to the potluck dinner.

In the past weeks, Ken and Judy had agreed to try and avoid getting Irene any more upset than necessary. Still, in the four weeks since the first cutting of hay, Judy had found herself driving the tractor on several other occasions, combining wheat, baling straw, and now, combining oats. While her father had come out on occasion to watch her work, her mother hadn’t been told about her continued tractor driving.

At least she, Ken, and Tom could handle the grain without hiring other help. More help had been needed to bale straw, but by then, Judy was beginning to find herself an accepted member of the team, and that thrilled her. Ken was especially pleased that Judy could help with the harvest; not only did it give him more chances to be with her, but it gave him a chance to see her glow with a feeling of accomplishment.

"I’m still open to suggestions for an activity for August," Roger Griswold said. Griswold, who owned a farm a couple miles from the Sorensens, was more or less the group leader, and was also about the oldest member of the group. "As you know, we’d planned to go up to the church camp for a weekend in two weeks, but there was a scheduling goof-up, and now that’s out."

"How about a canoe trip?" Mary Towne suggested. "We went on one when I was in the youth group ten years or so ago, and it was a lot of fun," the short, stocky redhead continued.

"Sure," her friend, Marjorie Flack, added. "We could go to some place like the Spearfish River on Friday night, rent canoes, and get back late Sunday. We could have a campfire, and cookouts, and a lot of fun on the river."

"I was a chaperone on that trip you’re talking about," Griswold recalled. "I seem to remember that there was so much splashing I almost drowned."

"Fun, wasn’t it?" Mary retorted.

"Well, if it’s all right with everybody else, it’s all right with me," Griswold agreed.

Judy turned to Ken. "What do you think?" she whispered.

"I don’t know," he whispered back. "What do you think?"

"Do you think I could handle canoeing?"

"Don’t see why not," Ken said. "On a trip like that, it’ll be all back and arms, anyway."

"All right," she whispered. "Let’s go."

Absolutely not," Irene shrieked. "The canoe could turn over and you could drown!"

"Oh, I don’t know about that," Norman defended; Judith had the good sense to take such a radical idea as a church canoe trip to her father first. "She can swim better than I can. Besides, you’d have a life jacket, wouldn’t you, dear?"

"Oh, sure, Daddy," Judith agreed eagerly.

"Anything could happen on a trip like that. I won’t have it."

"It’s a church trip," Norman shrugged. "She’ll have people we know with her all the time. I think it would be good for her to get out with some of the people from church. Judith, I don’t see any reason why you can’t go."

Irene stormed from the room, shouting, "Norman, we’ll speak of this later."

Norman winked at his daughter. "Let me take care of this. Just have fun."

It was touch and go up until the last minute, not because of Judith’s mother, but because the second cutting of hay was ready at the same time corn silage was ready. Judy spent hours on the seat of the old Farmall, doing what she could to get the Sorensens caught up, but by noon Friday, they were still way behind. "Looks like we’ll have to back out," Ken told Judy over lunch.

"Naw," Chet said. He didn’t have to use the wheelchair as much now; he could get around on crutches some, and Ken had even seen him driving the hand-control modified Farmall that Judy was now so proficient on. "Why don’t you kids go ahead and go? You’ve worked hard – especially you, Judy – when you didn’t have to. You deserve a little time off."

The two didn’t need much convincing. "We’ll work right up to the last minute," Ken promised.

"There’s enough to be done," Chet conceded. "Lydia, this afternoon, why don’t you take Judy into town so she can get her things and the kids can leave right from here? I think I feel strong enough to drive HER tractor for a little while."

"Thanks, Mr. Sorensen," Judy said. "I appreciate that."

"I’ll call the Griswolds and have them pick the kids up here," Lydia agreed.

"Mom, let’s have that pie," Tom replied. "We’ve got a lot to get done before these two take off on us."

The Spearfish River was a good two hundred miles from Willow Lake, and getting there was a long trip in Roger Griswold’s twelve-passenger van, which was pulling a trailer full of gear. They stopped for hamburgers along the way, and afterward, Mary Towne tried to organize a hymn sing, but it hadn’t gone over very well. Her husband, Jim, was perfectly happy to get away from their three kids for the weekend, and he, Ron Flack, and Roger had gotten into a discussion of motorcycles, while the wives talked about their kids.

Danielle Lee and Greg Jones had been a year ahead of Ken and Judy in school, and were now engaged, but waiting for Greg to get out of college before getting married; the four unmarried kids clustered in the rear of the van and listened to Greg talk about life at Western State: "And this guy I had for State and Local Government has to be the dumbest character I’ve ever met. He gets up in front of this whole classroom of people, and he drones on for the full period in one dull voice, and you can see people dropping off to sleep all over the place."

"Is the work very much harder than high school?" Ken wanted to know.

"Not if you work at it," Greg advised. "Just keep up with it. Some of the classes fill you up with work pretty good, but you can handle it if you keep your mind at it. The thing is, when you’re in college, you’re surrounded with people who want to be there, not like in high school where people have to be there. It makes a difference."

Judy stayed pretty quiet. Her father wanted her to go to college, but her mother was against it, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she could handle the work. She’d done well enough in high school – she’d had a solid "B" average – and it was nothing to be ashamed of, but she’d found herself wondering if perhaps her teachers hadn’t been a little easy on grading her.

After a while, the discussion turned to the trip they were on. "I’ve never been canoeing," Danielle said. "I hope it’s not too hard."

"A trip like this won’t be hard, except for the water fights," Greg told her. "You been canoeing before, Ken?"

"Oh, yeah," he said. "I started back when I was in Boy Scouts. I even got the merit badge."

"Ever been on any big trips?"

"I was out for a week with the scouts once, but that wasn’t anything difficult," Ken admitted. "The only problem was that we had to eat our own cooking. Bob and I had planned to go on a big canoe trip this summer, but we had to put it off when my dad got hurt. Maybe next year."

"What’s that?" Judy said. "I never heard about that."

"Oh, sure," Ken said. "Bob and I were planning to go north, but we had to call it off."

Judy vaguely remembered something about a trip Ken and Bob had been planning for a celebration of being out of high school, but hadn’t heard anything come of it and basically forgot about it. "So that’s what it was all about," she remarked. "Where were you planning on going?"

"A long way from here," Ken said. "Way up in Lake Superior, there’s this big island, Isle Royale. It’s a national park, and is supposed to really be wilderness. You can hike around it, or there are some canoe routes you can take. Bob’s cousin was up there a couple years ago, and he’s got some really neat pictures of moose and stuff."

"Canoeing out in Lake Superior," Greg commented. "That doesn’t sound so good. I hear that water can get pretty rough."

"That’s the neat part," Ken said. "Bob’s cousin said you can make a big trip up there and never have to get out in the lake itself. You just stay on inland lakes and bays."

"That does sound pretty neat," Greg said. "I’ll have to remember that."

They were all happy to turn into the campground; it was getting dark, and it had been a long trip. Once out of the van, they turned to pitching camp. They used the van’s headlights and the light of a gasoline lantern to get the tents up somehow, and the chore took a lot of laughter. Ken had found a sleeping bag somewhere for Judy, and she unrolled it in a pup tent she shared with Danielle. Ken found room in the tent with Greg, and soon found himself discussing the dismal chances the Western football team faced that fall.

There was a lot of laughing and giggling before sleep came over the group. The adults were especially acting like the kids they’d been not too long before, and there were repeated threats concerning the splash wars planned for the next day.

Judy had been through a long day, and she really was tired. She slid herself into the sleeping bag, almost intoxicated with the smell of fresh pine needles.

Sleep soon overcame the excitement of the fact, she hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, that this was the first time she’d been camping. In a way, she’d gotten used to that thrill. Since she’d been going with Ken, a lot of the things she’d done had been the first time.

All right, Ken," You’re going to have to show me how to do this," Judy said the next morning as she sat in the canoe.

"Nothing much to it," Ken said. "We’re going to pretty much be drifting along, but you’ll have to help me keep it under control." He gave her a quick discussion of how to handle a canoe, and they launched out onto the river to try it out, the last of the group to leave the landing.

The trip turned out to be pretty much as expected. Judy had no trouble with the paddling; as Ken had said, it was all back and shoulder muscles involved, and she was able to balance herself comfortably in the tippy canoe. The morning was too cool for much horseplay, so they let the others get ahead of them, and just floated along the lazy river, watching the banks go by. After the first two or three bends, they were away from the noise of the busy highway that crossed the river, and the silence of the slowly moving water overwhelmed them.

They drifted along silently for a couple of hours, and once saw a quick glimpse of a deer before it took flight into the bushes. Judy could look over the side of the canoe and see fish swimming in the river. Once, a great blue heron took fright and flew squawking down the river in front of them. As they floated around the next bend, they saw the heron standing in the shallows, and Judy marveled at how big it was.

The morning grew warmer, and Ken ran the canoe up on a sand bar so Judy could take off her T-shirt and jeans; she’d worn her bikini underneath. Ken had become used to seeing her in a swimsuit, and marveled again at her rounded curves. He took off his shirt, and they slathered themselves with suntan oil before they went on. After a time, they floated around a bend and found the rest of the group’s canoes pulled up on a sandy shore. Ken and Judy aimed their canoe in alongside the rest of them, and Marjorie Flack got up from her resting place in the shade to help them pull the canoe up on the shore.

"Where have you been?" she asked. "We’re all ready to eat lunch."

The lunch was light – sandwiches and chips and pop – and soon they were on their way again, Ken and Judy in the middle of the group.

Mary Towne was the one who started the splashing, and she started in on her husband. Greg and Danielle got caught in the crossfire, and for the next half hour, the water was flying. Ken showed Judy how to use the flat of her canoe blade to spray water thirty feet or more, and after that, Judy and Ken were right in the thick of things, laughing and screaming.

In the midst of one broadside confrontation, Mary got too carried away trying to work over Marjorie and Ron’s canoe; she leaned far out over the side, eagerly splashing with her paddle blade. It was too far; over the canoe went.

Mary came up from her dunking yelling, "Oh, well, it was time for a swim, anyway." Grabbing Marjorie and Ron’s canoe, she promptly dumped it, too.

Marjorie and Ron had been carrying the cooler with all the pop in it. Fortunately, they had thought to tie down the lid, so it went floating down the river. Ken and Judy maneuvered their canoe to pick it up, but as Judy reached for the cooler, she made the same mistake Mary had made; she reached out too far for it, and in an instant, she and Ken were swimming.

Roger and Kathy Griswold had avoided the worst of the splashing, but were still half soaked by the afternoon’s horseplay. From upstream, Roger was alarmed to see Ken and Judy’s canoe go over; Judy hadn’t been wearing a life jacket, but had just been sitting on a floatable cushion. He was relieved to see her swimming along, herding the cooler up to shore, but eased his canoe up alongside her, anyway. "Need any help?" he asked.

"Come on, join the party," Judy said, reaching up and dumping Roger and Kathy’s canoe.

It took a while to get everything sorted out after that. Paddles, canoes, boat cushions, cooler, and sundry other odds and ends had to be gathered up from their free float, but once that was done, the party assembled on a sandbar a little ways downstream. Mary was really too heavy-set to wear a bikini, but now she didn’t mind much who saw. She peeled off her soaking wet shirt and jeans she had worn all day to keep the sun off, and passed out drinks from the rescued cooler before plopping down in the sand. The sand was too soft for Judy’s crutches, so Ken helped her up onto the shore, where she joined the rest of the party, sitting on the sandy shore, sipping cokes and laughing.

"Judith, you were the last person I figured would do that to me," Roger said mock-sarcastically. "Some thanks I get. In good Christian charity I come over to rescue you, and you send me swimming."

"You looked too dry to me," Judy told him.

"I was really concerned," he said. "How was I to know you could swim?"

Judy laughed. "Roger, for the last five years, I’ve swum a minimum of a mile a week, winter and summer. Usually, it’s more like two miles a week."

"She swims so well she scares me," Ken added.

"Well, I didn’t know," Roger said. "I guess I just never expected it of you."

Mary stood up. "I’ve got to get some of this sand off me before we get going again. Anybody else for a swim?"

"I’ve had enough," Danielle said.

"No, you haven’t," her fiancé said, picking her up.

"Put me down!" she yelled. Greg ignored her. Throwing her over his shoulder, he dashed off into the water.

Soon only Ken and Judy were left on the shore. "Want to join them?" Ken asked.

"I’d like to," Judy asked, "But I can’t get my crutches through this sand."

"That never stopped you at Willow Lake."

Judy frowned. "I always could leave my crutches on the dock and lift myself in and out of the water there," she said.

"Can’t do that here," Ken agreed, getting to his feet.

"Ken!" she shouted an instant later. "Put me down!" Ken ignored her, and soon they were in the middle of the laughing, splashing crowd.

It was a wet, sunburned and bedraggled-looking bunch of Methodists who pulled into the campsite laughing and singing a couple of hours later. Two or three of the people got a fire started, while the rest got into dry clothes. Marjorie had been in charge of the food, and she had figured everybody would eat well – but she hadn’t imagined how much food could be consumed in so short a time. Still, when the crowd was finished eating, no one suggested hopping into the van and going into Spearfish Lake for a pizza, so she figured she had worked it out about right.

After supper, while everyone else was groaning at the meal they’d eaten, Mary strung up a net and suggested that they play some volleyball.

"Where does she get her energy?" Ken wondered.

"Come on," Mary shouted. "I came up here to have fun, and I want all I can get."

"Oh, all right," Ken grumbled, getting up with two or three others. He was a little surprised to see Judy joining the game alongside him. He didn’t say anything, but made a mental note to keep his feet away from her crutch tips.

Judy made a valiant try to play with the others. If the ball came right at her, she could handle it, but if a move to the side was required, the ball got past her. She fell down two or three times, but got back up and joined in the game. "Guess I’d better not push my luck too far," she said after picking herself up the fourth time. "I guess my mother would be right for once if she said I can’t play volleyball."

As the sun was setting, Roger threw some more logs onto the fire, and the party gathered round, telling stories and laughing. Mary tried to get a hymn sing going again, this time with more success, and they sang and joked until the twilight was almost gone. Ken saw Judy get up and work her way down toward the river on her crutches, and got up to follow.

The canoes had been pulled up on the river bank; Ken could see Judy sit down on one, and stare out at the river. He walked quietly up behind her, and could hear a little sob. "What’s the matter, Judy?" he said quietly.

Judy started; she thought she had been alone. "It’s been so much fun, Ken," she said. "I’m sorry the summer is almost over."

"Why are you sorry?" he asked as he sat on the ground next to her.

"I never thought I could have as much fun as I’ve had this summer," she said softly. "You’ve taken me places and we’ve done things I never thought I would do."

"So why does that make you sorry?"

"Because it’s ending, Ken," she sniffed. "In another month, you’ll be going off to college, and I’ll be at home, arguing with my mother about whether I can make it out to the mailbox and back."

"It doesn’t have to end, Judy," he told her. "You know your dad would like you to go to college."

"I’ve thought about it a lot," she replied softly. "I’d love to go, but maybe my mother is right. I think I could handle the class work, but I’m not sure about the problems of living by myself. Ken, I just don’t know."

"That doesn’t matter," Ken said. "I’ve been thinking about not moving over to Wrightsville. I’ve been kicking it around for a long time, and since Dad still isn’t well enough to work the farm yet, I’ve got to spend what time I can at home. It’s kind of a long drive, but I guess I can drive back and forth each day. There’s no reason you couldn’t ride along with me."

"You mean it?" She brightened for a moment, then said, "But, that’s only two years. That’s not enough."

"Two years is two years," Ken said. "That’s a long time. No telling what will happen by then."

Judy sniffled again. "Ken, you’re too kind to me," she said. "I’ve often wondered what you see in someone like me."

Ken reached up, slid her off the canoe and down onto the ground next to him. He took her in his arms and said, "I see a girl I’m learning to like an awful lot, whose only real handicap is thinking she’s handicapped."

"But you’re so kind about it," she said. "You never make an issue about it. If something comes up I can’t handle, you just work out some way around it. Like the Farmall, or this afternoon on the sandbar."

"Hey, look," he said. "I may just be a hick farm boy, and not too smart about these things, but are you complaining?"

"You’re no hick," she smiled. "But I just can’t help but wonder why you’ve been so interested in me."

Ken stared at the river. Going out with Judy had started out as a nice thing to do turned to fun. He’d been amazed at what he’d found under the surface of the shy, pathetic girl he’d known for years. "I’ve heard you wondering once or twice about how you’d like to be a normal person," he said slowly. "I guess I’ve come to realize that you really are one. You’ve been proving to me all summer that you don’t have to be a housebound cripple."

She turned to look him in the eyes. "Hey, Hick," she said, "I’ve been learning that I’m not as bad off as my mother thinks, but even I don’t believe I’m normal. You’ve seen my legs."

Ken pulled her close. "So they don’t look so good. So what?"

"They don’t work very good, either," she said, pulling away a little.

"So you don’t get around so good. I give in, your legs are crippled. You think your legs are that important? What you do with what you have left is important, and that’s the part I like about you."

"Do you really mean that?" she said.

He pulled her back up close to him. "Crip, you’re a very special girl. It’s taken me a while to learn that, but I’m glad you’re my special girl."

She put her face close to his. "Hick, I’m glad you’re my special guy."

The kiss was something special. Their lips entwined long into the lingering darkness, and even after they pulled apart, they sat holding each other close, watching the river flow by in the moonlight, neither wanting to say anything that might break the spell.