Whoa, an update! Bet you didn't expect that, didya? Thanks to everyone who showed some interest: LadyChandlerNorrington, WatchThisShit, and Pfachgirl. It's great to see you on the other side of the story, too.

Since Cornelia didn't encounter Carlisle in the fourth chapter ("Hoquiam"), I skipped ahead to the next. Enjoy.

-Scarlet


Chapter 2: A Chat with my Uncle

Rumors spread like a disease – this one was no different. It would be tactless of anyone, but her incompetence surprised me nonetheless. She had shown such valor the week before... I couldn't imagine that it was of her doing.

Several mornings before, Peter had congratulated me on receiving guardianship of my niece. I'd attempted to hide my shock to no avail, and had inquired after it awkwardly. He had laughed and told me that Cornelia – my niece – was staying at The Featherbed, Caleb Wells' inn. What was I to do? I assured him that I'd taken note, and would be receiving her presently.

The morning of Saturday was like any other, and arrived at the clinic within an hour of leaving my home. Peter greeted me, and set me to work on helping him write letters to the surrounding towns once more. An epidemic had began in the north, and was slowly making its way to every Indian village and white settlement on the coast.

As I began receiving patients at the appointed time, my thoughts drifted to the past week.

In standard, I didn't venture far to hunt; I owned enough land to sustain wildlife for many miles. I avoided the Hoquiam area, except for my work at the clinic. So, as I set out for my routine evening hunt the past Wednesday, I didn't expect to cross the particular scent that was carelessly left in my "territory," as it were. Apparently, my "niece" had been rude enough not to call upon my home as she passed through.

I took further time to study the scent – something I hadn't done that first night. It was distinctly feminine, with its subtle sweet perfume and its floral undertones. The only thing I could equate it to was perhaps an orange orchard, fresh in spring bloom. It wasn't human, that much of which I was certain. Beyond that point, all my personal speculations seemed outlandish.

The hours of my day tarried as the rain waxed and wanned, and I purposely busied myself more than normal. When Eleanor Wilson came in with a skinned knee, I insisted that I take the charge. Mister Wilson had been an acquaintance of mine for quite a time. All seemed well until an unexpected presence entered the establishment.

I heard her voice, strong and steady, from the receiving room. "Yes. I need to speak with Doctor Whittier."

The secretary's reply was not as elegant. "Is it about a medical problem?"

"I need to deliver a message," the girl replied.

"Papa?" small Eleanor whimpered, looking up at Mister Wilson. "Is he almost done, Papa?"

"Nearly done, Eleanor," I consoled, halfway done with the small row of stitches. "You'll be on your way soon."

I heard the sliding door of the room noisily open, and her sweet scent permeated the air strongly. My hands paused in their work, and I felt my mind becoming unfocused. I didn't turn, though I felt her eyes on my back. Why is she here? Why now? I forced myself to continue, though aligning the thread was more difficult than before.

"Can I help you, Miss?" Peter's rushed voice greeted.

Her voice held authority as she spoke, which was disrespectful in the situation. "Doctor Whittier, I presume?"

Peter offered a hasty introduction. I knew he was busy with the investigation, but I was shocked at his manners, or lack of. She delivered the medical report from the Quileute tribe, and he quickly dismissed himself. I heard her swift steps toward the door. Now is the chance to set this right. "Oh, Cornelia!" I called over my shoulder. Her motions ceased. "Don't leave just yet. I'd like to speak with you."

I pulled the last stitch through Eleanor's knee, and felt immediate regret as I reached for the scissors. I had no idea how to handle the conversation that was about to take place.

"Who is she?" Mister Wilson asked lowly, glancing up at the girl.

"My niece," I answered automatically, accustomed to the falsehood. I smiled to the small child that sat before me, who had tears brimming in her large eyes. "All finished, Miss Eleanor."

"Ah, yes. Misses Whittier did mention that to my wife. She arrived in town from Boston, no?"

I nearly frowned at the amount of gossip that had traveled so quickly. "Yes." My thoughts drifted once again, and I stood to retrieve some bandage. I heard myself utter some instructions for Mister Wilson and Eleanor, and they were presently on their way. Facing a curtained window, I wrapped the spare bandage slowly, biding for time. I couldn't force a plan into my mind... I couldn't think clearly.

Peter left some pitiful excuse before leaving, and rushed out the door in great hurry. I busied myself with penning Eleanor's visit on the records, and what supplies I'd used to treat her.

"Of course, Doctor Whittier," I heard myself say. "Farewell."

I felt an unease slip into the room as Peter left. The girl stood motionlessly by the door, as my quill scratched across the page. I finished my report, signed my name at the bottom, and noted the time on the watchface beside the record sheet.

I turned my head to her, and the sight was so comedic that I nearly laughed. Her shoulders were rigid, her fists balled white at her sides. Her expression was intense, as though she was looking into the face of the devil. Her nose was turned toward the ceiling arrogantly, which gave her a heightened maturity above her years. Or perhaps not... though she can't be over twenty. My mind raged on with uncertainty.

I stepped forward cautiously, and with each step, the lines on her forehead deepened. I stopped with a sensible space between us, and her head tipped back to meet my eyes. I realized that my expression was not quite collected, and I attempted to put a sort of affability there. I paused before speaking, not knowing what to say. I couldn't ignore the growing problem that her outlandish claim produced.

"I've heard a rumor that my niece is in town." I'd meant to keep the irritation from my voice, but it came out like a demand nonetheless.

Her throat constricted, and her voice wavered as she spoke, "W-Well... I-I've heard that as well."

I suppressed a smile. Her poise was defensive and haughty, yet her voice deceived her inner fear. But fear from what? She must know what I am. She must. "I'm sure you're aware of the inconspicuousness I wish to keep in Hoquiam."

She nodded. It wasn't quite the reaction that I'd wished for.

"And you're familiar with the reason for that desire, are you not?"

She nodded once more. "I am," she said briskly.

I sighed in impatience; another vague answer. If she truly knew, then why would she act so carelessly? Why would she bear to be in the same room? Her intents confused me. "Then how, Miss Cornelia, do you suggest we proceed from our current situation?"

Her nose suck in the air again. "Is the situation so unacceptable the way it currently is?" she demanded unpleasantly.

Can she not see? "Miss Cornelia, you forget that I have a 'family member' in town that the residents expect me to support," I explained.

Her eyes narrowed, as though regarding an incompetent. "Perhaps she will fare well on her own, sir," the girl said assumingly.

"It would be irresponsible of her care provider to abandon her in such a manner."

"Perhaps she no longer requires a care provider."

I would have been insulted had I been her true relative. She obviously views herself in an exaggerated light. "A seventeen-year-old girl who has just traveled from Boston?"

Her jaw set in irritation. "Eighteen," she declared proudly.

"Nonetheless – why is she here?"

She stared for a moment, startled by the question. I felt that she was as indeterminate as I was. Then, "That's not of your concern," she snapped.

I stepped closer, wanting to shock some sanity into her. She doesn't have her wits completely about her. "I beg to differ."

She flinched as though I rose a hand to strike her. For a moment, she seemed to substantiate her small valor. "Doctor Cullen, what do you suggest?" she asked rhetorically.

Though the question had been asked in assumption, it still upset me. It possessed the very reason I'd been so conflicted over the past days. What do I do with this girl? As I was fast discovering, she was not indeed a child. She was a woman, independent and righteous, who disliked things she couldn't control... or perhaps, control in general. That being, why would she come up with such a preposterous lie?

"A more important question," she interrupted my epiphany, her tone saturated with offense, "would be your purpose here. Why are you a doctor? Why do you walk among them? And why are your eyes that absurd color?"

With little success, I tried to conceal my shock. Yes, she knew what I was. Yet, she was confused by my mannerisms. It was rather simple to see, but I refused to stain her soul with the evilness that consumed my own. I refused to affiliate the ignorant girl with anything to do with my kind. Her eyes, more vivid in the candlelight of the clinic, held innocence beneath her frustration. They stared up at me, and it was then that I noticed the flecks of amber in her irises. I must have overlooked it in the dark that night...

"Perhaps this is not the best place for those answers."

"No," she said indignantly, turning to leave. "Perhaps not."

She hastily stole from the house.


What do you think so far? Review and tell me.

-Scarlet