April 1934 Ballarat

Christopher came by the farm most nights, waiting till her parents had gone to bed, knowing Jean would still be up, working and waiting.

Last night she'd kissed her mother on the cheek and assured her she didn't mind doing the mending. She liked being up late and watching the stars come out. She was getting enough sleep, it was all fine. Her mother lingered in the doorway, appraising her nearly grown daughter. "I know you wanted more, Jeanie."

"No, no. You're right. This is good work. There's so much to do here," Jean said, lifting her eyes to her mother who smiled broadly. Her mother looked relieved, Jean thought, and she briefly wondered why. She should be concerned, instead. But she wasn't, so Jean had some freedom, well, she had a particular kind of freedom.

Christopher came calling during daylight hours too. And he was right, Jean's mother loved him. Though Jean wasn't sure if her mother liked seeing them together because she liked Christopher, or because she liked seeing Jean settled. Perhaps it brought her peace knowing she'd been right, that holding onto Jean tightly had produced her happiness. That thought irked her, but not enough to do anything about it.

Jean was having her adventure.

Every time Christopher kissed her, and he did almost every night, parts of her came alive she'd never felt before. No wonder girls carried on like they did. She'd always felt like they were just being willful and wrong-headed. Now she knew they were seeking horizons Jean had only imagined.

It felt like a new path opened up for her right where she stood. Life was happening all around her, right here in Ballarat. She'd been silly to want to leave, just like her mother had said. It would have been foolish.

"Good night, Mother," Jean said, hoping her mother wouldn't linger for more conversation and hoping Christopher wouldn't show up too soon. This freedom had its limits. But her mother retreated up the stairs, looking satisfied, and Jean sighed in relief.

And then, not two stitches later, the soft knock on the door.

Jean ran to it and yanked it open. She put her fingers to her lips.

"That again?" Christopher said in hushed tones.

"She's only barely just gone upstairs."

Christopher nodded. "I have a surprise for you tonight," he whispered. "Meet me in your barn." He glanced toward the stairwell. "When the coast is clear," he said with a wink.

She ushered him away and eased the door shut. As much as her mother liked Christopher she absolutely would not approve of her meeting him after dark without a chaperone. So, she waited, listening for signs that all was still upstairs. And she wondered. What sort of surprise did Christopher have planned? He seemed so excited, almost nervous. Could he? No. It was far too early for him to propose. They'd been seeing each other like this for just weeks, but really, they'd known each other their whole lives. Maybe it wasn't. He hadn't asked her anyone's permission, but maybe he wanted to ask her first, privately. He liked their time alone. What other kind of surprise would it be?

The floorboards squeaked and groaned predictably as her mother moved from her wash stand to her bed. She hated wishing her mother would hurry but equally hated the thought of Christopher waiting in the barn getting restless. She was lucky to have him and she knew it. How long would he wait for her?

Jean felt the familiar guilt at deceiving her parents, but really, she did so much for them, and she'd agreed to stay here. She just wanted this one thing for herself, was it so bad? Just this time with Christopher when no one was watching, when she could feel free.

The floorboards quieted. Her mother would be in bed with a book. She'd be asleep in minutes, too tired from the day's work to read for long. Again, Jean felt a pang of guilt, and again, she pushed it aside. Just go. Take a leap, Jean. Christopher will catch you.

She opened the front door so softly. She didn't dare grab a jacket even though the heat of summer had faded into an early autumn chill. She didn't mind the cold. Sometimes when we're the least comfortable we're the most alive, she'd found. So she slipped out into the night with just her thin white dress and the yellow sweater she'd had around her shoulders.

It was quite dark, her path lit only by the light of the stars, the soft glow of the waning moon, and her memory. A thin wisp of a cloud floated across the sliver of moon, cutting it in half, and she shivered, even though it didn't make the air any colder. She knew the path to the barn by heart, and had taken many times after dark, but this night she chose her steps carefully. Tonight felt different, like something was coming, and it made her jump at every sound.

Would she say yes? If that was the surprise. She stood still in the dark and took a breath. She closed her eyes. She imagined Christopher down on one knee and all that would come next. She imagined being sure of him, of being wanted. What would it feel like to know someone wanted you every single day? That someone saw you, doing the mending or the dishes, and actually cared how you felt or wanted to know what you were thinking? Surely that's what marriage was. It wasn't exactly what her parents marriage was, but her father was so much older and frail and her mother worked so hard. It's what marriage would be like with Christopher, wouldn't it? Even if it wasn't exactly how things were now?

Something rustled in the rose bush nearby and she jumped. A bunny hopped across her path and she nearly shrieked. She clapped a hand across her mouth to stop herself. Jean, get a hold of yourself. She took a second to catch her breath and calm herself. An owl hooted in the distance. She squinted in the direction of the old willow tree where she'd first kissed Christopher, but couldn't see anything except its half-naked branches silhouetted by moonlight. She shivered again.

"It's nothing," she said out loud. "Stop being such a silly girl."

She exhaled and straightened her shoulders with a little shake of her head and kept walking. She could see the building now, looming large and black ahead of her. The doors were still closed, she'd sort of hoped they'd be open and she'd see a light that she could just run toward, but of course, her mother might see something from her window. It made sense that they were closed.

She kept on and soon reached the heavy door. She knocked on it, "Christopher?" she called.

Why was she knocking? Obviously, he was in there. She just wanted to hear his voice before she pulled the door open, but the waiting was making her heart beat even faster. She grabbed the big handle and tugged, wondering what she'd see. Candles maybe? A picnic blanket?

The door yielded and she called his name again as she carefully stepped inside.

A hand grabbed her waist and pulled her off her feet. She screamed as she was lifted through the darkness and pulled into someone.

"Jean, shhh! You're the one who wants us to be quiet!"

It was Christopher. She exhaled.

"You scared me," she said.

He laughed. "I was just so happy to see you! You kept me waiting long enough."

"I needed Mother to go to bed," Jean said, still breathing hard from the adrenaline running through her body, but a grin spread across her face at the sight of him.

"You're not mad, are you?" He asked. He had no candles here, but she could see his rakish smile by the light of the moon.

"No, no I'm not mad," Jean said. It was her own fault she was so nervous. "So, what's the big surprise?" she asked.

"I'm so glad you asked," he said. He slid his hands down to her hips, pulled her closer still in the shadows of her family barn, and kissed her.