From the Rich to the Poor
1.
It was a cold, December morning when King Marcus fell in battle. Legend has it soft snow fell constantly until his whole body was buried before the sun shone out on the grim battle ground. Once the battle had ended, after countless lives had been lost, the snow melted away and loyalists to the crown found his body perfectly preserved, one lone stab wound to the heart being the only indication he wasn't resting peacefully.
His state funeral was grim occasion. After 3 formal days of mourning, every family donned themselves in their best, black clothes and lined the streets. The silence was deafening. I remember thinking how unnatural and uncomfortable it was for that many people to be silent. Even the young children had picked up on the sombre mood as kept their lips tightly pressed together. Some couldn't cope with the emotions and broke into tears, only to have their mothers quickly usher them away. Silence was the only constant.
His body was carried by a cart. He was wrapped in the Forks flag and 20 soldiers on horseback followed him. His widow was last in the procession, dressed completely in black with a matching veil over her deathly pale face. The memory of her walking this same street in a white gown only 3 months prior was not lost on anyone.
Papa elbowed my gently, a reminder to bow, as the body passed in front of us. I place a gentle hand on my sister's back. Alice was weeping silently, too young to understand the whole situation. For her, she was weeping for the fallen King. A fair and just King, whom died protecting the Kingdom of Forks – as God had put him on Earth to do. Sweet, innocent Alice has no idea of the coming. I wished, once again, our mother was still alive to help her understand.
King Marcus had took control of the crown after King Robert died of a long and painful disease. He helped his son learn how to rule before he passed away – this is why King Robert's legacy is so celebrated. An uprising occurred when King Marcus was crowned because many people claimed he wasn't a legitimate heir. There were tales of the Queen Regent, King Marcus' Mother, being a loose lady and unfaithful to her husband. Whilst there is no evidence to these claims, no one believed them more than those living in the Kingdom of La Push, our neighbouring Kingdom. This is how the battle, in which King Marcus lost his life, took place.
Whilst La Push lost the war, it's Forks that has suffered the most. Many Father's, Husbands and Brothers lost, our biggest loss clearly being our heirless King. With no children to take over and both brothers also lost in battle a power vacuum occurred, with all kinds of men crawling out of the woodwork claiming their right to the throne.
The grim decision that King Marcus' cousin, Aro, had the most legitimate claim to the throne crippled us all. He is a cold and careless man whom I have never, and will never, call my King. Within days of him being crowned he raised taxes up to 80%, if you were proven to be loyal to the crown this was dropped to 50%. My father and many other Fathers and Husbands refused to bend the knee to a phoney and false King. I stood by his decision and I would not change my mind should I have a noose around my neck or have my head on a block. I knew he wouldn't either.
The raise in taxes meant that the Kings Guard would turn up at the house on a weekly basis, and if we didn't have the money they would takes crops or other goods. This resulted in many families not having enough to feed themselves let alone sell any goods on market day.
My father, who was once known as the greatest potatoes farmer in all of Forks, had to stop selling his goods for fear that we would starve. He now grows only to feed our family. I stopped being able to make and sell corn bread because we just don't have the money to buy the ingredients.
"He's been again" my father called, pulling my out of my stupor as he steps throughout the front door.
"Pardon" I replied, as I continued to patch up the rip in young Alice's work dress.
"Edward Cullen" I dropped the work dress on the dirty ground as I rushed towards the entry hall. Father held two bags in either hand - one small, the other quite large. He handed me the larger one whilst he emptied the smaller bag into his palm. Three gold coins tumbled out and I knew my father would be hiding it under his bed, with the rest, before the tax guards arrived.
I opened the larger bag and pulled out a loaf of bread, a small knob of butter and decent size wedge of cheese. My mouth started watering just thinking about how well we'll be eating today, and if I'm lucky, tomorrow as well.
Papa let out a low whistle. "Wow, Isabella. That Edward Cullen sure is sweet on you"
"Papa" I gasped, colour flooding my cheeks. "I wish you would stop saying that. I have never met Edward Cullen. He does not have those interests in me" Heat flooded my entire being at having this talk with my Father. Yet again.
"Well, all I know is no one I've spoken to gets as much food as we do."
"I'm sure he's just honoured to do something for you, Father".
"Me?" he scoffs "an old potato farmer. Yes, I'm sure I'm the one he's trying to impress"
"You fought very bravely in the war, Father. We're all very proud of you." My eyes glance down to the leg that now doesn't work properly, a lump forming in my throat.
"Yes, well" Father rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable with any emotion being discussed; making me smile "I still think he brings them for you. Everyone knows how you love to cook."
I offer a small smile, wishing to end this conversation. I excuse myself to the kitchen to prepare our breakfast, my new ingredients in hand.
Edward Cullen is a name that's on everyone's lips. Tales spread of how he bravely scales the castle walls and steals money and food back from the King and dishes it out among the poor. Some say he travels to other kingdom and brings food back with him. Others say he's richer than the King and it's actually his own goods his giving away. Either way, the price on Edward Cullen's head is a number I can't even comprehend.
The rise of the notorious Edward Cullen was more exciting than I ever dreamt it would be. People began waking up to small amounts of money and food on their doorsteps and as the weeks went by more and more people would wake up to these gifts. It comes that we expect it. Some say he found a more efficient way of taking more but I think he's been biding his time, working out who is loyal to the crown. The loyalists don't get a scrap, which may seem harsh, but word would surely get out to the kings guard and our homes would be searched and ruined whilst they looked for our coins. Whilst I'm sure the Kings Guard have heard all the rumours, they have no idea what truly goes on. People like my Father make sure to only speak of it outside the home to those they truly trust.
I'm not sure where the name Edward Cullen came from. Maybe someone saw him one day and recognised him. Maybe he told someone who he was. All I know is the King wants his head – he knows he's been stolen from, he just doesn't know that Edward Cullen steals not to help himself, but to help the people of Forks.
Edward's supporters have grown a tenfold, and many men are said to help in ways. I'm not sure if they help with the stealing or the delivering. But I know one man cannot scale to castle, steal that large amount and spread it out over the whole of Forks in one night.
I wonder briefly if my Father is a part of it and that is how we get such generous helpings. Maybe he's speaking of this Edward Cullen fantasy to keep me from finding a husband and leaving him to fend for himself and Alice. At almost 18 it won't be long before suitors start sniffing around. I dismiss the idea quickly. My Father would never do that to me and with his bum leg he'd never keep up with the group of rebels, although I imagine he wishes he was part of it.
Alice's soft gasp makes me look up from chopping potatoes. Her eyes are wide and she dashes off to claim her work dress off the floor. "Isabella." She cries "the floor is all dirty and now my dress is too, and the rip is still here" her little fingers wiggles about through the hole.
"I'm sorry, Alice. I didn't mean to drop it on the floor. I'll fix it later." I promise "Why don't you sweep the floor? That would be a big help"
At the age of seven Alice is always under my skirts, just wanting to be a part of whatever I am doing. It's my job to teach her a woman's place in the home, just as my Mother would have. She nods, darting off the collect the broom. As I gaze at her soft hazel eyes, her round face and her curly dark hair I can't help but notice how much she looks like Mother. My heart squeezes.
The day passes quickly with me preparing all the days meals, cooking the meals and then cleaning the house. Alice helps in small ways before I usher her off upstairs to play with the wooden figures Father had whittled her. Her most recent game is to pretend one of the figures is Edward Cullen and, after 'stealing' a castle (made out of three spare wooden blocks Father had) he married the figure she pretends is herself. It's adorable, if not a little worrying.
FTRTTP
The day is so average that I wasn't to expect the events that would occur that night. I woke to a sharp cry from downstairs. It was a male voice, unlike my Father's making the noise. I gasped as I jumped up, careful not to disturb Alice in the bed next to me. My heart began hammering, thinking there was an intruder in the house. My hands shook as I panicked. Do I confront? Do I hide? It was when I heard my Father's voice, muffled through the walls that my panic turned to confusions. I looked out the window. The sky was pitch, no signs of day breaking and I could tell from how deeply Alice was sleeping we had been in bed a while. Who would visit at such an hour?
There is no horse tied up outside. Whoever is here doesn't want anyone to know…anyone except my Father. My Father is a smart, wise man but that doesn't mean he always makes the right choices. He has been known to get caught up in the heat of the moment, always thinking he's doing right, and acting before thinking. If men are here from the upraising and he joins it'll be his head in a noose. An uncontrollable need to protect my Father kicks in and I dashing out of the bedroom, donned only in my white nightgown.
I creep down the stairs and following their voices, I deduct they are in the kitchen. Voices become clearer. One is definitely my Father. One voice is still letting out small cries – someone is hurt. What surprises me is that I can hear two other male voices. I already know I should turn around, go back to bed before Father finds me. He'd have my hide if he caught me listening.
But I can't go back upstairs and let me Father become a part of whatever situation these people are trying to get him involved in. With that thought in mind I step into the kitchen. I gasp as my eyes fix on Father Ben Churney stood by our stove. All eyes turn to me as I make the noise.
"Isabella" Father yells "Get upstairs"
"Papa" I whisper "what's happening?"
"I'm sorry if we woke you, but you need to go back upstairs. NOW!"
Before I have chance to respond, my eyes lock on our small wooden table. More specifically, they land on the man lying on the table. He writhing about, obviously in pain, making the same small cries I'd heard upstairs. His clothes are all torn. His shirt is stained red and crumpled up on the floor. Across his stomach is a large bandage, which is also covered in blood.
My instincts kick in and I begin to walk over to him.
"Isabella. Don't" Papa goes to grab my arm but I slip out of his hold. The room goes silent. My heartbeat is so load in my ears I'm not sure I'd hear anyone speak if they did. When I get close, the injured man's eyes lock with mine…the most beautiful, jade, green eyes that are oddly familiar. Bronze hair spills from the top of his head onto the table. He has cloth between his teeth, biting down to help aid his pain.
After a few tense seconds, he lets out another small whimper before his hand reaches out. Reaching out for me. I don't even think. I don't hear my Father yelling my name again. My hand slides into his and he squeezes it tightly. It's comforting to me and the electric buzz that covers my body makes my breath come in short bursts. I hope I offer him the same comfort. His eyes never leave my face. His hand never leaves mine.
Our spell is only broken when his other hand reaches up, wobbling only slightly, to wipe my tears away. I hadn't realised I was crying. I wasn't entirely sure why I was crying either.
"What happened?" I crocked. My eyes are still locked on his. He reaches up to remove the cloth from between his teeth, wanting to speak to me, but I pull his hand away. He whines but he needs it too much.
"It's better if you don't know, Isabella" Papa speaks.
I bark out a humourless laugh, and spin to face him. My hand never leaves the man's. "I am already involved. It's too late. Tell me!"
"Don't SPEAK to me like that" Father shouts. My shoulders drop. I've never speak to Papa like this. He's done so much for us, he doesn't deserve my disobedience. My hand gets another comforting squeeze. "I'm sorry you got involved Isabella, but I can't let you know anymore. It's too dangerous and not something a woman should be getting herself involved with. I will tell you this much. Edward will be staying here until he's well"
"Edward" my eyes dart around the room, landing for the first time on Robert Banner, the local doctor, briefly before returning to the man I now know is Edward. "Edward Cullen?"
No one speaks. No one moves. No answers are given. But I know. I now know exactly who this man is.
"That's not something we're going to speak of" Father finally says.
"He'll be safe here?" I ask, my stomach dropping at the thought of someone finding this man that's done so much for the people of our Kingdom and hurting him. Or worse – killing him.
"He'll be staying in the basement. No one will find him there".
Ah, the basement. Not the nicest of places to be, Alice downright refuses to go down there for fear of rats and spiders but I can see how this will be the safest place. To find the door we have to lift up three floorboards. If you didn't know it was there, you'd never find it.
"I'll help care for him" I offer. I have no idea how to care for, what I suspect is, a stab wound but I'd do anything to help him.
"I'm not so sure-"
"Please, Papa. You'll be busy. Besides, I can learn to care for him. Please!"
"Fine" Father sighs. "It'd look too suspicious with Dr Banner coming and going everyday anyway. He'll teach you everything you need to know, I'm sure."
Dr Banner nods "and if you have any worries or questions you know where I'll be".
I agree, grateful and relieved they won't separate me and this man I've only just met. That scares me.
FTRTTP
It takes me a few minutes to create a makeshift bed in the basement. The men give me ten minutes to clean and make the place somewhat liveable whilst Dr Banner stitches up Edward's wound. Apparently it's no place for a lady. I refused to leave at first, but Edward removed the cloth and gasped out "please. I don't want you to see me like that".
I may not be able to see what is happening, but I can hear it. I'm surprised Alice hasn't woken at his cries of pain. I continue to scrub the dusty floors and work tops. The space is dark and dank but clean, slight light creeps into the room from the floorboards above me. I find some candles in a draw and make a mental note to bring him matches.
I'm just finishing up when the door opens. Father Churney stands atop of the steps.
"All ready, Isabella?" it's whilst looking at his sweat covered forehead that I realised the house is completely silent.
I nod, not daring to break the silence. Father Churney disappears before reappearing with Dr Banner, the two of them carrying Edward. Father hobbles down after them, unable to help carry because of his leg. When the men reach where I'm stood by the bed is when I see Edward's eyes are shut and his head it lulled back.
"Is he okay?"
"Yeah" Dr Banner grunts as they set ends down on the bed. I instantly begin covering him with blankets being carful of his wound. "He fainted. The pain was very intense. He'll come around"
I sit beside him on the bed; my hand reaches out to brush his hair out of his face. It's such an automatic action I think nothing of it.
"Isabella" Father speaks up. I turn and see Dr Banner and Father Churney have left the room. "Please, don't get attached."
"I don't know what you mean" I blush, standing up and away from Edward.
"Don't fall for him" Father begs. "Whilst he's an amazing man, and I'd love for him to be a part of our family, he can't give you the life you deserve. He can't. He's on the run - constantly hiding. If he's not on the run - he's dead. Do you understand?"
"Father-"
"-no, Isabella. I don't want to hear it. Do. You. Understand?"
"yes" I whisper. My heart drops. I hate lying to my Father.
Papa leaves, taking time to climb up all the steps. Edward is still passed out. I decide to make myself useful and prepare him some food and water for when he wakes. I have no idea if he'll be hungry but I want to be prepared.
I cut him two slices of the bread we received this morning, and slice some cheese on top. I carry it down stairs along with some water and the matches.
In the dark, I place down the food and drink before lighting candles. The soft glow eliminates the room.
His eyes are watching me.
"oh" I gasp "ho-how are you feeling? I-I brought you food? Are you hungry?"
"Yes" he croaks out. He tried to clear his throat before I hand him the water. "Thank you" he says softly, after taking a long sip. I offer a small smile but say no more as I lower myself in the wooden chair I placed by his bed.
"I thought you were an angel" he whispers, his hand reaching for mine again. "In the kitchen. I thought I was-and it was okay because this angel was with me" he smiles softly.
I don't know what to say. I don't know what to think. My mind is a jumbled mess and I can't quite believe I'm in this situation.
I hand him the bread once he's finished his drink. "That's for you. I brought that for you to enjoy" He hands it back to me. "please".
"how…?"
"You don't remember me, do you?" he asks, his beautiful eyes so sad.
"What?" I gasp.
He chuckles softly, with no humour. "I thought not. We were…maybe 8 years old. We met outside the Church. I was visiting family and my Aunt Esme wouldn't hear of us missing Church come Sunday. You had this pretty blue bow in your hair. You told me your Mama made it for you".
My mouth goes dry as I try to remember, but I just can't. I can't remember this occurring. I can't remember the bronze haired boy. I remember the blue bow. I remember how distraught I was when I couldn't find it. Mama had made me more, in other colours, but my favourite blue one was nowhere to be found.
"I picked you a daisy" he prompts. My hand flies over my mouth to cover another gasp. I remember now. I remember that daisy. I still have that daisy. I rush out of the room and into my own. Seeing Alice asleep on the bed is like a cold bucket of reality covers me.
Do not get swept away, Isabella. This won't last. It can't last.
I locate the small box I've had hidden under my straw mattress for years. When opened the nostalgia floods me. The small tin box contains small mementoes I've collected throughout my life – a hair clasp my mother loved, the first wooden doll Papa whittled me (although I told him I lost it when he told me to give it to Alice), one piece of confetti I collected from the church floor when my Uncle William married and, lastly, one small, pressed daisy.
Plucking it out of the box, I swiftly push it back under the bed before leaving the room, flower in hand. Edward hasn't moved since I've been gone, not that I expected him to have. His soft, loving gaze almost cripples me. When close enough to him, I press the flower into his hand.
"You kept it!" he whispers, eyebrows lifting and lips curing into the most handsome grin I've ever seen.
"Your hair colour changed" I reply. The young boy who gave me that flower was of sandy hair colour. His eyes though? His eyes are the same, devastatingly beautiful eyes I faintly remember.
"yes" he chucked, his long fingers running through them "it got darker, I suppose. I have a confession though – I took the blue bow. I still have it"
"You – you did? I don't remember"
"Isabella, don't fret. You've had so much to deal with in your young life. So much loss. So much weight placed on the shoulders of a young girl. I understand. We'll…we'll make new memories. If you'd like"
"I do" I whisper, his lovely face aglow in the candle light. "but my Papa-"
"-he worries. I know" he gestures down to his wound "no Papa would want this for his daughter. But I promise you – I promise you Isabella," his hands grip both of mine tightly, and he sits up as much as possible, his face inches from mine. "This isn't forever. This can't be our forever. We'll be together. We'll be happy. We'll be safe. I'll come back for you. One day. I swear."
"You will?"
"yes…and I'll marry you".
A/N: much love. See ya next time