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‘Here where?’ I giggle, reaching up to release the blindfold.
‘No, no, no,’ Sketch says, gathering my hands into his and gently forcing them back down to my lap. ‘Not yet. Just a little farther.’
I hear Sketch’s door open and then close, and I hold my breath as I sit alone in the car in complete darkness. I breathe out roughly as I hear my door open and feel the fresh air blow against my face.
‘Mind your step,’ Sketch says, taking my hand and guiding me out of the car. ‘It’s mucky here. Just be careful.’
I’m not sure where to stand, and my knees tremble a little.
‘I have you,’ Sketch says. ‘C’mon. It’s not far. I won’t let go.’
I feel long grass brush against my ankles, tickling me. I hear birds chirp overhead, and I smell freshly cut grass.
‘I know where we are,’ I say.
‘You do?’
‘The orchard,’ I say, smugly triumphant. ‘Am I right?’
‘Yes.’ Sketch laughs. ‘But you can’t take your blindfold off yet.’
‘But I guessed.’
‘Yes, you did. Well done.’ I can hear the excitement in Sketch’s voice; it’s contagious and giddiness fizzes through my veins. ‘But you only guessed where we are,’ Sketch continues. ‘You haven’t guessedwhywe are here.’
‘Why are we here?’
‘C’mon,’ Sketch says, tightening his grip on my hand. ‘Let’s run.’
‘I can’t see,’ I protest as if Sketch has forgotten I’m still blindfolded. ‘I’ll fall.’ I tug on his hand, pulling back.
‘I’ll never let you fall.’
I nod. Sketch and I run. It’s odd to feel my legs move so quickly without my eyes to guide them. I don’t fall. I stumble a couple of times when my foot tangles in some long grass or I lose my footing on the uneven, mucky ground, but every time I feel Sketch’s grip on my hand a little tighter, steadying me. By the time we come to a stop, we’re both out of breath.
‘Now, Annie,’ Sketch pants, letting go of my hand. ‘You can take the blindfold off now.’
My fingers shake with nervous anticipation as I reach up and wrap my fingers around the silk tie covering my eyes. I take a deep breath and tug the tie over my head. I squint as my eyes take a moment to adjust to the brightness of a beautiful morning. I find Sketch standing in front of me more handsome than I’ve ever seen him before. He’s slicked back his ebony hair from his face. His big turquoise eyes burn into mine with such intensity it’s a struggle to hold myself back instead of running and jumping into his arms.
Small wrought-iron lanterns hang from the branches of various trees. Some hang low, some hang high, and they all sway in the gentle summer wind. A single, cream candle sits inside the centre of every lantern, burning with fierce determination despite the muted breeze. I count the first twenty or so but quickly give up; there are just too many. The amber flames flicker beautifully like the lights of hundreds of captured stars.
‘Your mother came to the farm last night,’ Sketch says, taking my hand ‘She walked, miles in the dark, and almost broke my front door down with her determined knocking.’
I shake my head. ‘That windy road is dangerous by day. Never mind in the pitch black of night,’ I say.
‘Annie, listen. Set your worries aside for a moment, please, and just listen,’ Sketch asks.
I nod.
‘Your mother stood on my doorstep, shaking with cold and exhaustion, and told me that if I let you slip away, I’d be making the biggest mistake of my life. She told me she loved you more than life itself, and that if I didn’t make you my wife, she’d never forgive me.’
‘I’ve never doubted that my mother loves me,’ I say. ‘That’s exactly why I can’t leave her alone. Please try to understand, Sketch. I love you with all my heart, but I am all my mother has. I can’t be selfish.’
Sketch takes a deep breath. ‘She told me about when you were a little girl. About the early years as a family. She told me about how you were happy and healthy before your father had his accident and started drinking. And then she told me about the first time he hit you. And how sorry she was that she didn’t take you and run away right then.’
‘I’ve thought about running away many times over the years,’ I confess. ‘But I could never bring myself to abandon Ma. And I knew she would never come with me. I tried to tell myself that Ma must have her reasons for staying, but I could never quite understand what they were.’
‘She had nowhere to go, Annie,’ Sketch continues. ‘Where could a woman and a little girl run to, especially with no money? Some do-gooder would have picked her up before she got to the next town and brought her home.’
