The Road Not Taken
Carlisle's POV
Many thanks to Stephenie Meyer for letting me play with her toys for a little while. I, of course, own nothing. They are all hers.
Author's Note: This story is my entry for Eowyn77's Presidents' Day Challenge on Sillybella's forum – "Write a story about a Cullen rubbing elbows with a famous historical figure". The hardest part for me was finding the right person. But once I remembered this man and did some research, I was stunned by how well his real life fit in with Carlisle's. So please keep in mind that I'm not making this stuff up. The facts of this person's life are historically accurate.
Saturday, April 23, 2006 – Cullen Residence, Forks, WA
Coronary arterial occlusion due to thrombosis is the cause of most cases of myocardial infarction accompanied by . . .
The sound of Edward's Volvo interrupted my reading. I heard the slams of the car doors as Bella and Edward got out and came in the house.
"Where is everybody?" Bella asked in a soft voice, breaking the quiet.
Good morning, Edward. I greeted my son, knowing he'd be listening to my thoughts. Alice and Rosalie went out hunting with your mother. Jasper wanted to show Emmett the new Sony surround sound system he's been reading about.
Edward repeated my words to Bella and added "Carlisle's upstairs in his study, catching up on some medical journals."
Bella laughed. "Well, that's backwards," she said.
I frowned, confused. Edward must have given her a similar look, because she explained. "Jasper and Emmett are shopping while Alice and Rosalie are hunting? I'll bet you haven't said that together very often!"
I smiled and heard Edward chuckle.
"Hi Carlisle," Bella said from the lower floor.
"Good morning, Bella," I called back down to her.
"Umm, Edward?" Bella asked tentatively. "There was something I was thinking of asking Carlisle. Do you think he'd mind if I interrupted him for a few minutes?"
"He won't mind." I could hear the hesitancy in Edward's voice. She probably wanted to talk about my promise to change her. Even without seeing my son, I was certain that his pose would be stiff and rigid – his tension revealed in his stillness.
Bella must have seen it too, because she was quick to add. "I just wanted his help with my history project. I was going to ask you, but then I thought Carlisle's perspective is even longer than yours."
Of course. That made sense. I certainly wouldn't mind the interruption. In fact, whenever she came to the house, she was constantly with Edward or Alice. I would enjoy the opportunity to speak with Bella myself and get to know her better. Especially now that she would soon join our family permanently.
"Carlisle says he'd be pleased to talk with you." Edward repeated, purposefully ignoring my last comment.
I heard them climb the stairs to the second floor together and stop at the landing. Suddenly Bella's heart skipped a beat and thundered on at double time. I chuckled as I realized Edward must be kissing her goodbye.
"I'll wait for you upstairs," Edward told Bella.
"What? You're not coming too?"
I could hear the smile in Edward's voice as he answered her. "No. I'm done my history paper. Besides Carlisle says he never gets to talk with you when you're not surrounded by the rest of the family."
"Of course, you're done your paper," she huffed. "Who'd you do it on?"
"Louis Armstrong."
"Oh. Well, yeah, I can see you picking him." She thought for a moment. "Ever meet him?"
"Yes actually. When we were living in New York, I worked briefly as a stagehand in one of the jazz clubs. It let me spend a lot of time listening to the live music without drawing a lot of attention to us. I met Louis Armstrong there."
"So then . . ."
"No, sorry! Louis Armstrong is taken! Get your own historical figure. I'll see you upstairs when you're done with Carlisle." With a quick laugh, he ran up the stairs to the third floor.
"Stupid cheating vampire." Bella fumed under her breath.
I smiled as I wondered what "cheating" Bella was referring to. Was it Edward's quick end to the conversation by "disappearing"? Or the fact that his paper was already done? Or his first hand knowledge of history? Probably all three, I laughed to myself.
Bella's footsteps sounded down the hallway as she slowly approached my study. Her heartbeat, which had begun to slow after Edward's kisses, started to speed up again. Good grief, I wasn't that scary, was I? I'd heard men walk to the gallows with less trepidation.
I heard Edward laugh upstairs. That's quite enough from the peanut gallery! I advised him before he could comment further.
To ease Bella's discomfort, I got up to meet her at the door. I offered her a warm smile. "Bella, what a nice surprise. Of course, I have time to talk." I gestured with my hand that she should come in and pointed out a chair across the desk from mine. "Please. Be comfortable."
She smiled shyly as she sat.
"So you have a history paper to write," I began as I sat down too. "What's the topic?"
"We have to write a biographical paper on a historical figure who positively impacted today's world, you know – a personal hero or someone with an important message."
"Have you anyone in particular in mind?"
"That's the thing. I did have someone in mind – actually several people – but when I did more research, it was . . . disappointing. And discouraging. It's made choosing who to write about very . . . difficult for me."
I frowned. "I don't follow you."
"Well, for example, you know the song 'Amazing Grace'?"
"Certainly. It was written by John Newton in the 1770's."
"Yes, that's him. When I was little my mom told me that John Newton wrote the song when he was overcome with remorse for his part in the slave trade. I thought he'd be perfect for this project – the message of equality of all people and respect for others."
I smiled sadly at her. I knew this story. "Your research revealed otherwise?"
"Yes it did. It turns out John Newton didn't agree with slavery when he was enslaved. It certainly didn't stop him from continuing to work as a free man in that trade for decades after he wrote that hymn. The hypocrite! So he's out, of course. Then I started looking for other candidates and found similar problems, though not as bad as John Newton." She started to count off on her fingers. "Albert Einstein – fidelity issues and he often cheated on his wife. Sigmund Freud – a misogynist who probably had half the disorders he found in others . . ."
"Bella, Bella," I interrupted. "If you're holding out for perfection, you will be disappointed. Don't confuse the message with the messenger."
She seemed puzzled by my last statement, so I elaborated.
"Amazing Grace is about courage and redemption in the face of adversity, about the wonder of God and of all creation, ourselves included. It is still a beautiful song with a wonderful message, Bella, despite the hideous choices of the man who wrote it. Don't make the mistake of confusing the message with the messenger. As for Einstein and Freud, they were great leaders in their times, but men nevertheless. They did great things and they made mistakes. They are people, Bella – people with all their flaws as well as their qualities, regardless of how much gilding time and legend gives them."
She sat silently for a few minutes, considering my words. Finally she spoke. "So what you're saying is not to judge too harshly – even the heroes?"
I just smiled at her. She knew this already; she just needed to be reminded.
"But now I'm back where I was when I started . . . with too broad a choice to choose from. Can't you suggest anyone, Carlisle? Did you ever meet anyone you thought was exceptional?" She grinned suddenly. "Did you ever work as a stagehand?"
I laughed. "No. I've only ever been a doctor for the past two and a half centuries."
She closed her eyes, shaking her head – no doubt trying to absorb that statement.
"Someone exceptional . . ." I pondered out loud. "Hmmm . . . Have you ever heard of Dr. Norman Bethune?" She shook her head. "No? Let me tell you about him."
Wednesday, October 18, 1916 - St. Mary of Angels Charity Clinic for the Poor, Detroit, MI
"Dr. Cullen?"
I looked up at the dark-haired man standing in the office doorway. "You must be Dr. Bethune?"
At his nod, I grinned and stood to shake his hand. "I'm glad you could join us. It's good to have some help. We've been short-staffed for a long while." I smiled ruefully as if I were tired from my long hours at the clinic. I wasn't, but waiting out the hours at my apartment while I pretended to "sleep" was difficult when I knew my skills were needed here.
"Let me show you around" I offered, ushering him from my office.
"I would like that. Thank you," he answered politely.
We talked as I showed him the clinic.
"What type of cases do you generally see?" he inquired.
I laughed a short hard laugh. "Everything. Pregnant women, babies, children, the elderly, veterans home from the war, broken bones, sprains, strains, malnutrition, all kinds of illness, though I've started to see more cases of tuberculosis lately. Everything they taught you in medical school will at some point show up here. The work is rewarding though the pay leaves a little to be desired." I jokingly referred to the fact that neither of us was paid for our work here - a fact we both seemed comfortable with.
Saturday, April 23, 2006 – Cullen Residence, Forks, WA
"Over the months that followed, I got to know Dr. Bethune – Norm – better and I realized I had found a kindred spirit. I was surprised at the similarities in our lives. We were both the sons of ministers. He was 26 and I was 23 physically, though I was claiming to be 31. Both of us were strangers in a new land – me from England and he from Canada.
"But it went far deeper than that. Norm and I shared many of the same values. He had an almost infinite love for the poor and a willingness to sacrifice his own wants for others. His devotion to his patients, his compassion, was absolute.
"I found myself forming a friendship with a human for the first time in almost 300 years.
"Then he started to get sick . . ."
Thursday, May 11, 1917 – St. Mary of Angels Charity Clinic for the Poor, Detroit, MI
I could hear Norm coming down the hall long before I saw him. It wasn't his heartbeat or footsteps that gave him away. It was the awful hacking cough.
"Oh, it's you, Norm. I wasn't sure if it was the doctor coming to relieve my shift or another patient," I half-joked as he rounded the corner into the room.
He smiled ruefully at me, not trusting himself to speak yet without triggering another coughing fit.
"Your cough is getting worse. I think you should cut back on your hours. Take some time to rest. Spend some time with your wife. I'm sure Frances would agree with me."
"Actually you sound just like her. She's always worrying. Are you sure she didn't put you up to this?"
"She didn't. But I'm sure she's hearing what I am too. You're not getting better. In fact, you're getting worse."
"I'll be fine, Carlisle. It'll clear up. You'll see. I'll be right as rain soon enough."
Saturday, April 23, 2006 – Cullen Residence, Forks, WA
"But it didn't get better. It got worse and it wasn't long before we knew for certain he had developed tuberculosis. TB was pretty much a death sentence in those days, Bella. There were no antibiotics and no treatments that had any measure of success. Patients were moved to sanatoriums, where they basically recovered on their own or died. We both knew he was dying."
Monday, June 4, 1917 – Bethune Residence, Detroit, MI
Norm decided to return to Ontario to enter a sanatorium there. I visited him again in his home before he and his wife left Detroit. I sat in a chair by Norm's bed, as he was too weak to rise from it for long.
When his latest coughing fit subsided, he wiped the blood from his lips with a handkerchief.
"I'm sending Frances back to her family in Scotland," he stated abruptly. "I've filed for divorce."
"What?" I was stunned. "Why would you do that to her?"
I searched his face for the answers. His eyes held a depth of hopelessness and emotional agony.
"Please understand, my friend. I need your support. I can't let her go through this, Carlisle. I don't want her to watch me slip into the grave, day-by-day, while she waits beside me. It would kill her one little piece at a time. I can't do that to her. I want her to move on and live a happy life . . ."
Saturday, April 23, 2006 – Cullen Residence, Forks, WA
Bella's eyes widened with shock.
"Yes. It sounds familiar doesn't it?" I waited as she collected her scattered thoughts.
"Is that where Edward . . .?" she breathed.
"Did he get the idea from Norm? I don't believe so, no. Edward came to his own conclusions through his own reasoning and logic." I continued hesitantly. I hadn't meant to broach this topic with her. "You know he only left to keep you safe, because he loves you."
Some of the tension drained from her posture. "Yes, I know. He only meant to protect me, to keep me safe . . ."
"I owe you an apology too, Bella."
"You? What do you mean?" she asked puzzled.
"Norm's decision may not have influenced Edward's, but it did influence mine. I supported Edward's choice when I might otherwise have fought against it. Please believe, Bella, that I also only wanted what was best for you. If I had any idea of what his leaving would do to you . . . I hope you can forgive me."
My guilt ate at me every time I saw the pain in Bella's eyes. She had forgiven Edward, but could she forgive me for standing by Edward as he made the worst mistake of his life and for arguing against the rest of our family in support of his disastrous choice? I stared deeply into her eyes willing her to understand.
She blushed deeply and dropped her eyes. "You did what you thought was right. You supported your son when he needed you. There's nothing to forgive."
My Lord, she was such an amazing girl . . .
"So what happened to the Bethunes?" she asked to break the awkward silence.
"Norman moved to a sanatorium in Ontario. Frances returned to Scotland. His condition continued to worsen. It appeared he was dying and I agonized over my own decisions – should I change Norm Bethune? How selfish was I to want a friend to relieve my own loneliness? Was it morally right to damn him to this life forever? Was it right to let him die?
"As I debated, Fate stepped in and took the choice from me. Norm received word of a clinic in New York State that was performing drastic and experimental treatments for TB involving lung compression. He found a will to live. He fought for a place at the clinic and underwent the treatment. It was successful.
"Norman recovered fully. He returned to medical practice and recommitted himself to his vision of helping others. He fought for universal healthcare for the poor. He eventually worked in Spain during the Spanish Civil War. He developed the first mobile army surgical unit – the forerunner of what would later be called MASH units.
"I followed his career from a distance – third hand. He served in Spain and then later in China as well, always advocating the rights of all people to adequate healthcare despite their economic or social positions. He was a great man and I am proud to have known him."
"What happened to his wife?" Bella asked.
"Frances did go on to lead a happy life. She remarried and had four children. I understand she and Norm remained close friends and corresponded often."
Bella sat quietly, pondering my words.
"As for myself, it was in that frame of mind that I moved to Chicago and obtained a position at one of the hospitals there. Soldiers returning home from the war brought with them a new enemy – the Spanish Influenza. And I believe you know the rest of that story already."
Author's Note: Dr. Norman Bethune was a real person and I have kept to the facts of his life. He really did send his wife away to live a happier life when he thought he was dying of tuberculosis. There's a statue of Dr. Bethune in Montreal where I grew up. If you want to learn more about Norman Bethune, there are a number of websites with information. The fanfiction site seems to resist allowing me to post a link and I'm nervous about losing my membership here! LOL So let me say that if you google "Norman Bethune" the second site listed is the best source of info in keeping with this story. Please note there's a typo on that site– Bethune was born in 1890 not 1830!
The title of this story is from Robert Frost's famous poem by the same title.
This is my second try at writing from Carlisle's perspective. He's one of my favorite characters. I hope I did him justice and I hope the story turned out to be interesting. Please let me know.