A/N – I thought it was about time I gave Esme, the only one of the Cullen women that I haven't written about, a chance to tell her story. She's one of the really underrated characters in the Twilight universe- too often reduced to just 'the mom' there's a lot more to her than that. After all, imagine taking on the saviour-like perfection of Carlisle Cullen and the family he created!

Admittedly there's not a lot in canon to go on in regards to Esme, so I've taken a pretty free hand with characterisation. So far I love her though, and I hope you all do too! I'm taking what's in the Guide as the basis for this story, which I think is going to run from Esme first meeting Carlisle when she was sixteen to possibly Emmett joining the family in 1935 (I think? No promises.)

I'm not as far ahead writing this as I usually like to be when I start posting stories so chapters will go up a bit less frequently than they did with Hothouse Flowers, but I'll try. Mostly I really hope you like it!

Sonnets from the Portuguese 7: The Face

BY ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

The face of all the world is changed, I think,

Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul

Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole

Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink

Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,

Was caught up into love, and taught the whole

Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole

God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,

And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.

The names of country, heaven, are changed away

For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;

And this ... this lute and song ... loved yesterday,

(The singing angels know) are only dear,

Because thy name moves right in what they say.

Chapter 1 – Climbing Trees (1911).

"Esme! Esme Anne Platt!"

My mother's irritated voice jolted me from my reading. I'd been so engrossed in my book that I was almost disoriented as I looked up and blinked, letting the real world take the place of the fantasy I had been dwelling in for the past hour. It was only then that the unmistakeable smell of scorching bread registered with me, and with a groan of dismay I left my book on the porch swing and hurried around to the kitchen door.

"Just look at this!" Mother raged at me as she withdrew the smoking pans of bread from the oven and pushed past me to set them down on the porch. "Honestly Esme! The bread is ruined!"

"I'm sorry?" I offered feebly, but my mother was far too angry to be mollified by my apology.

"What were you doing? You're sixteen years old, I should be able to leave you at home for the afternoon and trust you to remember to take the bread out of the oven!" Mother had her hands on her hips and was glaring at me.

I bit my lip and scuffed my feet awkwardly. Really, I had no defence. Mother had gone to her monthly women's meeting and had left me with strict instructions about taking the bread out when it was done and putting the meat and vegetables in to roast…something else I'd failed to do, I realised dismally.

"You've not done the meat either, have you?" Mother snapped, and I shook my head.

"I'm sorry. I was reading and…"

"That's not an excuse!" Mother stamped into the kitchen and pulled the beef out of the roasting pan. "Peel the potatoes now then, and slice them thinly. Your father will be back soon and we've no time left for roasting. I'll have to cut this and fry it."

Feeling guilty I gathered the potatoes and began peeling them. Unfortunately in my haste I slipped with the knife, and couldn't stop my exclamation of pain as the blade sliced into my thumb. Seeing the blood, Mother snatched up a dish towel and quickly wrapped my hand in it. I braced myself for another telling off, but this time Mother just shook her head and sighed.

"Oh Esme…what are we going to do with you?"

"I am sorry about the dinner, Mother," I said eagerly. "I truly meant to do it, I just got caught up in my book and didn't realise how much time had passed."

"I know." Mother opened the dishtowel and peered at my wound, then wrapped it tightly back. "Sit down and keep this on for a minute. It's not as bad as it looked, but it's still bleeding." She turned back to the meat, slicing expertly, and then took over the half peeled pile of potatoes. "I know you didn't neglect your chores on purpose Esme, but you must start being more responsible! You're not a little girl anymore, and you simply have to get your head out of the clouds!"

I sighed. Mother wasn't saying anything I hadn't heard a thousand times before. Stop daydreaming, Esme! Pay attention, Esme! Stop wasting your time with all that drawing and reading and do something useful, Esme! And I wasn't wilfully disobedient, but it was so hard!

Reality was my family's mid-sized farm here in Ohio and the expectations that I was going to be well behaved and demure and learn how to run a household and manage a family. And there was nothing wrong with that…but there was a whole big wide world beyond the gate, and I longed to be able to explore it. I loved my family and I'd had a wonderful childhood growing up here on the farm, but I wanted my life to be bigger than just this. There were so many places I wanted to go and wonderful things I wanted to see, and so many adventures that I dreamed of having. I couldn't help but wish my parents understood my desires, rather than always trying to hold me back and mould me into the perfect daughter.

I sat quietly while Mother rapidly peeled the potatoes and then tossed the potatoes and meat into the frypan. Taking up the first aid kit she kept in the pantry she came over and bandaged the wound on my thumb, which had now slowed to a mere trickle of bleeding. "I need you to run over to Melanie's and ask if she can spare some bread," she instructed me. "At least enough for your father to have with dinner. I'll put on some loaves for tomorrow after dinner."

"I'll help you," I promised. I knew baking more bread would take hours, and Mother had been up since dawn. "I'll pay attention this time."

Mother smiled and kissed my forehead. "I'll believe that when I see it," she said tartly, but I knew she wasn't really cross with me. "Now hurry over to Melanie's."

I hurried out of the kitchen and jumped off the porch, heading through the orchard and over the east field to the tiny weatherboard home that our hired man, Amos, and his wife Melanie lived in. Amos was still out in the fields somewhere, but Melanie was in the kitchen, the rich smell of stew hanging over everything as she prepared dinner.

"Esme!" she exclaimed when she saw me in the doorway. "What are you doing here so close to dinner time? Don't tell me you've finished Phantom already!"

"Almost," I admitted. The Phantom of the Opera, the book that I had been so engrossed in that afternoon, had been borrowed from Melanie. Her sister lived in Columbus and sent her a package of newly published books every few months and Melanie was more than happy to share. "Actually, it's partly because of that book that I'm here!"

"What have you done?" Melanie asked me, continuing to briskly prepare the dinner for Amos and herself.

"I got caught up reading and I forgot to take the bread out of the oven," I confessed sheepishly. "It's burned black and quite inedible, so Mother sent me over to ask…"

"If I can spare some? Certainly." Melanie whisked to the pantry and came back with the end of a loaf of bread. "I haven't much left, I was going to do my baking tomorrow…"

"That doesn't matter," I said hastily. "Just a few slices for Father really…thank you," I added in heartfelt tones as Melanie gave me a napkin covered plate. "You've saved my life."

Melanie laughed. "No need to be that dramatic Esme." She smiled at me affectionately. "Although I'm sure your mother was very angry- you must stop getting caught up in the books like this! Reading is a pleasure, but you have to attend to your chores too."

"I know," I said, backing out of Melanie's kitchen with a wave. "You're quite right of course, and I do try, but the story was so fascinating and…"

"Go!" Melanie scolded. "You'll be in more trouble if you're not back with that bread sharpish! Come over on Tuesday and help me with the wash and you can talk to me all you like of Christine and her Phantom!"

With a laugh I turned on my heel and fled back to my house. My father was back home, washing his hands in the kitchen sink, and I passed the bread across to Mother and then went and gave him a hug.

"Hello Father!"

"Hello Esme." Father kissed my forehead and then sat down at the table, waiting to be served. I hurried over to carry the plates.

For a little while there was little conversation as we all ate, but then my father slowed down and began telling us about his day. I only half paid attention until he said, "I spoke with your school teacher when I was in town today, Esme."

I glanced up sharply, feeling the butterflies in my stomach. I knew what the conversation had likely been about…but how had Father reacted?

"He was talking about some of the students sitting for the entrance exam to the state university," Father said slowly. "He thinks you're bright, and thought you might want to be one of them."

I took a deep breath and looked at him steadily. "I would like to."

Father frowned but said nothing.

"Esme!" Mother sounded surprised. "You'd really want to go and live away just to continue your schooling? I know you've always been a clever girl, but we've never thought about college!"

"I've been thinking on it since Mr Sanderson first broached the subject at school," I said quietly. "I would like to go and learn to be a teacher…it's a respectable job and it can be a good opportunity for a girl to earn her own money and take care of herself."

"But that's not necessary for you!" Mother protested. "You'll live here at home with me and your father until you get married, and then you'll have your husband to take care of you. Of course some girls need to work, but you're not one of them." She shook her head in bewilderment. "Why would you want to be worried about earning your own living?"

"But if I don't get married…" I tried.

"Of course you'll get married!" Mother exclaimed. "You mustn't worry about that! You're very pretty, and you're a clever, sweet girl. You're also our only child and there are no other heirs for the farm, so you'll be quite a catch when you're old enough. Indeed Esme, I really don't think you need be concerned about finding a husband." My mother sat back in her seat with a satisfied smile. Obviously, she thought the whole situation was over and done with.

"But…" My voice trailed off. It wasn't exactly that I didn't want to get married. I hadn't thought a lot about it, but when I'd considered it I'd always thought that I might quite like to be married and have a child one day…but not now. Not before I'd had a chance to do something all for myself! "I love going to school," I said softly, looking over at my father. "I know I could do well."

"It's a long way from home," Father said.

I gripped my hands together. "Melanie's sister lives quite near the college and she's sure I'd be able to board with her," I said quickly. "She's a widow and takes in students to bring in a little bit of money. She has children, and I could help pay my way by babysitting too. I'd work so hard, and I'd make you proud of me. I'd be a good teacher."

"It's not that I think you wouldn't work hard and do well," my father said to me gently. "But you're a girl Esme, and you're going to grow up and get married. That's what you need to be thinking about, not about going to college and filling your head with lessons."

Tears prickled at my eyes. "Some of the other girls are going to study and sit the exam. Please, won't you just think about it?"

"There's no need to think about it," Father said kindly. "It's not what we want for you Esme. You're a girl and you don't need an education to make your own living. You need to work on being ladylike and learning what you need to know to run a house, and maybe a farm and family one day."

He didn't say any of this maliciously. He just didn't know how much I wanted to go to college, how long I'd been cherishing the dream of becoming a teacher and having some autonomy, and how crushing his casual dismissal of my desires was.

I stared down at my plate, struggling not to cry as Mother said, "Your father is quite right Esme. Higher education isn't what girls need and you mustn't think about it anymore. I know you're in a hurry to grow up now, but it won't be long before you're an adult and all these ideas about teaching and college will be forgotten. You'll be far too busy with other things!"

"May I be excused?" I mumbled.

My father nodded and I took my plate and scraped the leftovers into the chicken's bucket before placing it by the sink. Then, forgetting all about helping Mother with the bread, I took my favourite book and ran to the orchard, feeling the tears spill down my cheeks. I had been so excited at the idea of going to college! I had expected a little resistance from my parents, because it wasn't close to home and it was probably quite expensive, but I had been so hopeful that I'd be able to talk them round. The immediate denial had crushed me.

In the orchard I held the hem of my dress in my mouth to keep the long skirt out of the way, and swung up onto the first branch of my favourite tree. It was awkward juggling the heavy book and keeping my balance as I scrambled through the branches, and I cursed the long dress as it caught on a sharp twig and I had to stop and untangle myself before it tore. This had been so much easier when I was child and could just tuck my skirts into my knickers to climb! But I safely reached my favourite spot, a strong branch with a dip that was just the right size for me to settle into, and a thinner branch behind it that conveniently allowed me to lean back against it while I held the large book on my lap.

I didn't begin reading immediately. The tears were still blurring my vision and I rubbed at my eyes irritably, thinking that running away to hide in trees and cry wasn't really going persuade my parents that I was grown up enough to take care of myself in the city. Maybe I could talk to them again tomorrow, or even ask Mr Sanderson to discuss it with them again? I was sure Melanie would talk to them if I asked her, and that might reassure them about where I wanted to live. Her sister had been taking in boarders since her husband died three years ago, and they were all respectable girls from good families who never gave a speck of trouble. Maybe some of this might reach my parents and they would at least consider the idea!

With a sigh I leaned back against the branch and opened my book, feeling myself relax as I looked at the familiar pictures. This book was my most precious possession, even though it was actually written in a foreign language and I couldn't read a word of it. But it was filled with intricately beautiful drawings of buildings and cathedrals, pictures that fired my imagination and made me long to go and see those places for myself. I had copied many of the pictures into my own sketchbook too. My early efforts had been nothing short of embarrassing, but through practise I learned many of the rules of scale and dimension and perspective. I sometimes tried to design something similar of my own, although I had no idea if what I drew would be structurally able to be built.

I leafed through the pages, looking at all my favourites. I thought it was funny the way I could always find something new in the pictures, or be struck afresh with an idea for how something could be altered. I was mentally designing a new stained glass window for a particular church when I shifted my weight and then heard a loud crack and felt myself falling as the branch at my back gave way without warning.