TWILIGHT ANNIVERSARY CHALLENGE

Entries accepted until 11/30/09

Voting begins 12/1/09

Title: Far Away

Author: PrincessFerdinand

Rating: K+

Word Count: 3,055

Summary: Esme is overjoyed with her pregnancy, but she knows that if she remains with Charles, her baby will always be in danger. The only way to keep him safe is to leave Charles and go somewhere far away.

This story is an entry for the Twilight Anniversary Challenge, hosted by edward-bella-harry-ginny, Justine Lark and Gleena. For complete challenge details, to read the rest of the challenge submissions, or if you are interested in entering, please visit the challenge community at:

www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/~twilightanniversarychallenge

It was my three-year wedding anniversary, I had no idea where my husband was, and I was pregnant.

A drunken Charles had come home a day ago, before departing again just a few hours later, leaving me decidedly worse for wear.

The absences, ever since he'd come home from the war, had been growing longer and longer, for which I thanked God. Unfortunately, his temper had grown increasingly shorter and shorter too, and - was it just me? - his hand harder and harder.

But none of that mattered now - not the fresh bruise decorating the side of my face, nor the marks that made my arms look like ghostly hands were still gripping them too tightly. What mattered now was the swelling below my stomach and the newfound knowledge that I was pregnant.

That I was going to have a child. Charles' child.

How would he react when I told him?

Maybe - and I hoped for this more than I'd hoped for anything else in my life - it would be similar to his elation when I agreed to marry him, three years and three months ago today. Maybe he would smile as widely as he had then. Though still I wondered if that emotion had been true, and not just a façade cultivated to hide his cruelty.

Had had seemed so happy when I'd said yes…

***

"Miss Esme, you look quite beautiful in that dress."

"Thank you, Mr. Evenson," I said absently, looking out the window at the snow falling softly toward the ground. I yearned to go outside, just for a moment, and taste a flake or two on my tongue - snow was one of the things I loved most about the winter. When I was younger, the first snow of the year meant sledding, but of course I hadn't done that for years now.

"Would you honor me with a dance?" he asked bluntly, catching me off-guard, though I probably should have been expecting it. I was one of the only unmarried eligible women in the room, most of the other girls too young for dancing.

"Of course, Mr. Evenson," I said politely, taking his offered arm and letting him lead me to the dance floor.

Two waltzes later, he pulled me out to the veranda. The snow was still falling, but my dress was made of velvet and I was already flushed from the dances, so the biting chill didn't bother me.

"I'm sorry for the cold, Miss Esme," Mr. Evenson said, "but it was the only place I could think of to get away, and I've something very important to ask you. It's a bit…personal, too much so for the dance floor."

"Yes, sir?"

"Miss Esme…will you marry me?"

And in his hand sat a small ring.

I stood, shocked. Marriage to Charles Evenson? He was twenty-nine years old - seven years older than me - and nearly a total stranger. I knew him only from the formal parties I'd dutifully attended. How could I marry someone I hardly knew? I had never even dreamed I would marry for anything but love.

But then again, here I was, twenty-two and no beau. I had never tried to find someone I could fall in love with, but the comments from my parents had been growing more and more pointed over the years, and less and less subtle. At my last birthday, the tension had been so stiff that we could barely talk to each other all day. Maybe I had ruined my own chances of a true marriage with love by waiting so long.

And besides, I told myself, if I married Mr. Evenson now, perhaps I could convince him to move West, and I could teach school. Surely a little company would be better than going alone. Father couldn't possibly complain if my husband wanted to go. And I would grow to love Charles, I was sure. Wasn't that what always happened in this sort of situation? That's what it seemed like in books, anyway.

I looked at Mr. Evenson for a long moment. He wasn't ugly. His face was broad and he had a long, slightly squashed nose, but his eyes were big and blue.

Yes was on my lips before I thought about the negatives marriage to Mr. Evenson might create, but when they hit me I choked back the word and all that came out was a strangled half-syllable. Mr. Evenson looked at me strangely.

He was a stranger to me! Surely, that cancelled any positive aspects out. He could be funny to the point of cruel, or dry and boring as dust. He could be bitingly sarcastic or just plain stupid. I didn't know, and all I would have to learn was an all-too-short engagement period.

And what if I didn't fall in love with him? I'd spend the rest of my life with a man I wouldn't love. That seemed the most unbearable thing to me. I would be giving up my chances for love because I was too impatient and had rushed into a marriage I wasn't ready for.

Mr. Evenson was looking at me, expectant, and I couldn't answer. I didn't know…I felt suddenly sick - was it the tightness of my dress? - and murmured "Excuse me," before rushing back into the house, away to the upstairs where the younger girls had already retired for the evening, waiting for their parents to come upstairs and take them home.

***

Though three years ago, that memory with its terrible irony was still quite clear. I had questioned Charles' character then - if only I had thought to look closer. Of course, even if I had then, I wouldn't have found anything; Charles was nothing but courteously pleasant to me in public all throughout our engagment.

But if I hadn't married Charles, maybe today I would be sitting alone in a house, wishing I had a husband and child to look after. I wouldn't have this small miracle growing inside me. If the three long years I had suffered were the price I had to pay to have a baby of my own, than I would pay it again in an instant.

But what would Charles say when I told him? Did he want children? He had to - why wouldn't he want a son and heir? We hadn't spoken of it - of course we hadn't spoken of it, we never spoke unless he was shouting at me or I was timidly asking him a question- but here we were, three years into our marriage, and no pregnancy - up until now. The year after the war ended, so many pregnancies had been announced that the town newspaper had stopped announcing the births. It seemed that every wife had had the joy of announcing to the town that she was expecting, and every man the joy of becoming a father. Every man and wife expect for us.

Maybe that was why Charles had seemed so much angrier lately - had he been frustrated because I hadn't become pregnant?

I had always believed that children were made out of love, even if I didn't know enough about medicine or the specifics of conceiving to know if doctors supported this opinion. But if that were true, it was no wonder we had never conceived. There had never been an ounce of love in our marriage, not since he came back drunk after the ceremony and I'd spent the first night of my married life huddled in half the bed while he snored loudly on the couch in the next room. He hadn't hurt me that night, but it was only a few days later that the blows had first started to fall.

***

When I was a little girl, I barely thought about marriage, preferring to eat apples and climb trees and dream about other things, but when I did, it was always grand, with a hundred guests and a massive organ and a man so handsome it made my heart throb with passionate desire - something I had only read about in the romances slipped to me by friends and hidden under my skirt from my parents.

There had only been one man who'd ever come close to such a reaction, but, as I stood looking down the aisle toward a future with Charles on the morning of my wedding, that man had never seemed more like a silly girl's daydream, just as my wedding had been.

Instead of a hundred guests, there were only ten - both my parents, Charles' parents, his already married brother and wife, their two children, and Charles' two younger brothers. Instead of an organ, a simple piano played as I walked down the aisle, and the tall handsome man from my daydreams was replaced by Charles' face - not utterly unpleasant, but not what I'd dreamed of.

The pianist was Charles' brother's wife, and her playing was very shaky at best, but, nonetheless, I tried to keep up with her unsteady tempo as I paced slowly down the aisle.

Charles turned to face me, and his face was impassive, not burning with love the way the man in my daydreams had been, and suddenly I felt the same awful sick feeling I had when Charles had first asked me to marry him. Foolishly, I had thought that because Charles asked for my hand, he must have felt something for me. But now, far too late to turn back, I wondered if actually it was because he was, like me, getting old and felt it was time to settle down with a wife and raise a family, and I was simply the first young, pretty woman he'd seen.

I reached Charles, and he smiled softly down at me, and immediately I felt silly, my qualms retreating back to the place from which they'd come. Charles saw me as more than just a nameless, faceless wife; he was just nervous, as I was. He barely knew me; I barely knew him. We would both have to work at it, but we would grow to love each other. That was what my parents had promised would happen.

And so we were married.

***

I could remember when I'd asked Charles to move out West, a few weeks after we'd been married. I don't know what possessed me to; by then, I'd realized this wouldn't be the happy marriage I'd envisioned. I didn't even know why I'd thought he would agreed, but I'd asked him anyway.

I'd deeply regretted it, of course.

After Charles had left to drink himself stupid, I'd laid upon the floor, dazed. And I had remembered Dr. Cullen.

I'd done my best to forget him, ever since that fateful day when I was sixteen. I couldn't explain why he stayed so fresh in my mind, so willing to come to the forefront in unusual clarity whenever I let my guard down.

That night, I'd tried to imagine how the conversation would have gone if I'd married Dr. Cullen, instead, and I'd asked him to move West. A ridiculous fancy, but one that comforted me. I told him how many people there would be in need of a doctor and teacher wherever we went, but then Dr. Cullen had brought up how many people needed him where we were. In the end, he'd firmly but kindly said that no, we must stay where we were, and then we'd eaten dinner together.

I'd fallen asleep on the kitchen floor, contented with this alternate reality; when I woke up, I came to my senses enough to crawl into the bed.

Ever since that night, I'd tried not to talk to Dr. Cullen in my head too often, terrified that if I spoke to him every time Charles hit me it would soon cease to comfort me.

This time, though, I felt a talk with my imaginary husband Dr. Cullen would be more than helpful. How else could I plan what I would say to Charles?

Sir? I asked him inside my head; even though he was my "husband", I'd never learned Dr. Cullen's first name, and Charles preferred I call him 'sir' anyway, so it was a habit.

Yes, Esme dear? he asked courteously. He'd just come home from his work. I took his coat for him.

I have some…important news, I said.

How about you let me sit down first? he asked cheerfully.

All right, sir. I've made us some tea.

Lovely. Would you bring it to the study? I went into the kitchen and took the tray I'd prepared, and then met Dr. Cullen in his study. I poured him some tea and he took a deep sip before turning to me again.

Your news, dear?

One thing about my conversations with him I craved was when Dr. Cullen called me 'dear' or 'honey'; the closest Charles ever came to an endearment was 'wife', and my parents rarely called me anything but Esme.

Well, you see, sir, I've just realized that I'm…expecting.

I watched with relish as his face turned from perplexed curiosity to shock to elation.

Esme, you're…pregnant?

I nodded.

But that's wonderful! How far are you along? His curiosity seemed rather doctor-like, but I could see that deep happiness burned beneath his words.

But that was when things went horribly wrong.

Dr. Cullen's face morphed into Charles' quicker than I would have thought possible; his voice went deeper and his eyes narrowed. I hope it's not too late to get rid of it, he said softly, and I recognized it with terror as the voice he used before exploding into a temper.

Wh-what do you mean, sir? I asked. Just like a nightmare, I found myself unable to move or even pinch myself to bring me back to the present.

I know places where it can be done, Esme, he shouted, temper growing, and believe me, that's where you'll be going.

Sir, no! I cried. Please, let me keep my child! What if it's a son? An heir, a way to carry on your name? I said desperately, grasping at strings.

I. Don't. Want. A. Child. he said, glaring at me as a vein bulged in his neck. And you'll get rid of it if I have to do it myself.

And as suddenly as my daydream had turned into a nightmare, it was gone and I was back alone, the side of my face throbbing and my head spinning.

What if this was Charles' reaction? What would I do?

I tried to tell myself that of course it wouldn't be - why would he be so adverse to children. Unfortunately, the image and the accompanying words now stayed in mind - and you'll get rid of it, if I have to do it myself. I had no doubt that, if that were his opinion, my baby's days were numbered.

I had to protect my child.

And that was when another thought struck me. I'd just sworn to keep my baby safe, but, even if Charles did allow me to continue with my pregnancy, there was no way I could keep him safe from my husband.

How would I know how he would bring up a child? Would he control the child's every action with fists? I wouldn't be able to stop him if he thought regular beatings was the way to keep my child in line.

But even if Charles adored the child, first I had to make it through the next seven months without him hurting it. One night where he came home drunk, one hard fist in my stomach, and my baby would be gone. I knew this tragic fact from another of the books my friends had lent me.

I couldn't let that happen.

I had to leave.

It was the only option, I realized desperately.

I had to leave Charles before he could hurt me, and consequently, my child, anymore.

I had never contemplated it before. Where would I go? How would I pay for it? How would I even start a new life for myself? But now that I had no choice, my mind began solidifying the details for me.

I would move West. I would teach school. I would be Mrs. Evenson, widowed by the war like so many others. How could I explain my pregnancy? He came home injured from the war, with a leg amputated; after his return, after we'd conceived, it had become infected and he'd died. There. That was plausible.

I knew I was running out of time. Charles had been gone for a day already - who knew when he'd return? I had to act, and act now.

Quickly, I hurried to the room we shared and packed a carpetbag with the minimum essentials - two dresses - both black, as I would be in mourning - a brush, a little food, a Bible, and my hat and veil, which I would wear to cover my face until it healed.

Where did Charles keep his money? I knew he kept much of it in the bureau. A quick search revealed nearly sixty dollars; plenty for a train ticket to somewhere far away.

Even the vague 'far away' turned into a place the more I thought about - Milwaukee. I had a relative there - she was well off, and sent my parents expensive gifts every Christmas. How was she related to me? I couldn't remember now, but it didn't matter. She wouldn't turn out her own flesh and blood. It didn't even matter that I had no idea where she lived. I would find her, and I would stay with her as long as she would have me, and then I would move farther West.

I had to.

And within half an hour I was out on the street, headed toward the train station, to a better life with my child. To a place where Charles would never find me.

Well, I hope that wasn't too awfully out of character for Esme. Stephenie does say that it doesn't take Esme too long to fall in love with Carlisle, "the man she never really forgot", so I think it's plausible.

And I'm sorry for not updating either Nightmare or Suicide. I'm working on it, I really am. Don't forget to vote in the Challenge! (voting is on the Twilight Anniversary Challenge page, starting 12/1, if you didn't read any of that stuff up at the top.)