Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.

Thank you to those that have given me follows and favorites. A special thank you to my reviewer. A response will be at the end of the chapter.

Also, I'm sorry I didn't mention this in the last chapter, but I'm planning on updating this story on Wednesdays.

The man's buggy passed several farms, some which were abandoned and some which were still operational. Finally, they turned onto a rather short driveway (only about seventy – five feet) with a two story white house at the end. A young girl (she looked to be about six or seven), ran up to the buggy. Obviously, she wasn't the girl who had been hurt. "Father!" the girl exclaimed. "Esme's leg is hurt real bad! Will you make her better?" The girl was obviously at the age where she believed a father could fix any problem. Carlisle sighed as he remembered a time when he believed his father could (and would) fix anything as well. Now he knew only his heavenly father could do so.

The girl's father sighed as he guided the horses to the barn, situated at the side of the house. It was a small barn for a farm, but it was big enough for both horses, anyway. "I brought a doctor, Linda," the man told the girl. He pointed to Carlisle. "He will fix Esme's leg."

Linda looked at Carlisle for a minute or two. Carlisle hoped he would measure up to her standards. Then she looked back at her father. "Okay, Father," she told him. Then she ran back into the house.

After stabling the horses, the man turned to Carlisle. "I'm sorry. I don't think I ever properly introduced myself. George Platt." He held out his hand.

Carlisle smiled. "Dr. Cullen," he replied, shaking his hand. "It's no problem. You are worried about your daughter." He picked up his medical bag.

Mr. Platt nodded. "Well, let's go in," he commented nervously as he pointed to the house.

Carlisle nodded, trying not to show his nervousness as well. God is in charge, he reminded himself. He wants me to do this. So he went up the pathway to the house and stepped inside. There was a small sitting room in the front where everyone seemed to be congregated. It consisted of a rocking chair, an easy chair, and a round rug on in the center of the floor. In the center of the room was a deep blue couch with a young woman lying on it with her leg propped up. There were three other children talking to her.

One of them seemed to be trying to make the injured girl laugh. "What's black and white and red all over?...A newspaper!"

The younger girl, Linda was her name? Was simply looking at her sister, her father, and Carlisle with a concerned look on her face.

The boy was trying to cuddle up to the girl on the couch, and the mother seemed to be telling him to "Leave Esme alone."

"This is the doctor," Margaret," Mr. Platt announced, Carlisle assumed to his wife.

The woman nodded. "Good," she replied, a little stiffly. Carlisle wondered why she didn't appear more concerned about her daughter.

Daughter. Somehow when Mr. Platt had told him his daughter's leg was broken, he expected to see a child. Someone more like Linda's age, or perhaps the other one, telling jokes. The young woman on the bed was much older than that. And she had the most beautiful shade of hair. He'd never seen such an unusual shade of brown hair. He wondered what it would feel like to touch. Enough, he told himself. You're not here to study her hair; you're here to fix her leg.

"Yes," he told the group of people in the room. "I'm the doctor. Before I begin, I will say a prayer that her leg will be healed as well, if that's okay." Actually he'd say it even if it wasn't okay. He'd just do it silently. Praying over his patients was a must for him. Especially considering this was the first broken leg he'd treated.

"Sure," said the young woman on the couch, speaking for the first time. Her voice was nice, too.

The woman, Mrs. Platt, looked at him strangely. "You can't heal her on your own, young man? I thought you were quite young for a doctor. Maybe we should get someone who trusts themselves to treat Esme's broken leg."

Carlisle shook his head at the woman. "Every doctor heals with the help of God, ma'am, whether they are willing to recognize it or not." Yes, even Dr. Parrino healed with God's help. "But by asking for God's help, I believe it will help your daughter even more. Please."

Mr. Platt shrugged. "I don't see the harm in a prayer, Margaret."

So Carlisle looked up to the heavens and asked out loud, "Dear heavenly Father, we know you can do all things. So we ask that this young woman's leg be healed, with my help. Amen."

"Amen," the Platts echoed, a little uncertainly.

Then Carlisle picked up his bag and finally approached the young woman on the couch. She was wearing a green checkered dress that looked a little short on her. Still, it helped him see her leg better, so that was a good thing. He examined her leg visually first, checking for bruises or awkward positions. There seemed to be a bruise on the side of her knee. "Can someone get me some ice?" he asked the others. "Her leg is bruised as well."

Mrs. Platt sighed but went to the ice box and chipped off a piece. She wrapped it in a cloth and handed it to Carlisle.

"Put this on your knee," he instructed the young woman on the couch as he handed her the ice. Then he began feeling her leg gently, starting with the ankle and working his way up. He would have preferred to do this with an X - Ray; it was the preferred method for looking for broken bones today. But since there was no X - Ray available here, he'd have to settle for feeling for breaks. You can do this, he told himself. God is with you. "You're going to have to tell me where it hurts, okay?" he told her softly, looking into her eyes for the first time. They were a lovely soft brown. And her hair wasn't just that odd shade of brown. It had red highlights as well. They made her hair even more beautiful than it was from a distance. Her leg, remember. Her leg.

She nodded, without saying anything.

About half way up her calf, she let out a soft yelp. It actually sounded more like a squeak. She was obviously trying to hide the pain, although she couldn't conceal it completely. "Don't try to hide the pain," he told her shaking his head. "I can't treat you unless I know where it's broken."

She nodded again.

"I think I'll get you some whiskey for the pain, Esme," said Mr. Platt in the background.

Carlisle looked up at everyone else, surprised. For some reason, he'd forgotten there were all there. But he shook his head as Mr. Platt rummaged around for whiskey in the kitchen. "No, I have some morphine in my bag. It will be better for her if she takes that." In medical school, they were warned to stay away from using alcohol as a pain reliever whenever possible. A lot of people abused it, after all.

He pulled out a package of powder and told them to mix it with a cup of water. Mrs. Platt did so quickly and handed it to her daughter. She drank it slowly.

As Carlisle began gathering the things he needed to set her leg, Mr. Platt sighed. "I'm sorry Esme, but I need to be heading back to the fields."

She nodded.

"I think I'll finish the laundry. Someone's got to take care of it, after all," Mrs. Platt commented, taking a bucket of water off the stove and carrying it outside.

They were alone. Well, minus the younger kids, who seemed quite interested in watching.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Esme had never been more embarrassed than when the young, handsome doctor walked into their house. Her leg was already killing her, despite Camille's attempt to distract her with jokes. Why did she have to be embarrassed as well? Where did this young doctor come from, anyway? All the doctors she'd seen in the past had been older; at least her father's age. Now she was in the presence of this man with the most perfect shade of blond hair, the most wonderful voice, and best of all, he was clean. All the young farmers her mother tried to interest in her all had dirt in their nails. This man's hands were immaculate. But…Esme was far from perfect. She was wearing a child's dress, for goodness sakes! Why didn't she listen to her mother and stop wearing girl's dresses?

Esme was so embarrassed, in fact, that she barely said a word since the doctor had arrived. Even when the doctor told her to tell him where her leg was hurting, she tried in vain keep quiet.

But after her parents' left the house, the doctor asked, "So how did you break your leg, anyway?" He had the most wonderful smile. A smile that would disappear as soon as he realized what an idiot Esme had been when she climbed the tree. Of course that tree wasn't meant to take her weight anymore! Or maybe his smile would stay because he'd be laughing at her. She didn't know which one was worse. So Esme shook her head, indicating she didn't want to talk about it.

But the doctor sighed. "I'm trying to help you by getting you to keep your mind off your pain until the medication takes effect. Besides, I should know how the injury occurred. It can effect treatment. Talk to me, please."

Esme sighed and looked at the couch. "I was climbing a tree," she mumbled. At least if she wasn't looking at him, she wouldn't have to see his smile disappear. "I used to climb that tree a lot, when I was my sisters' age. But…I guess I'm too big to climb trees now. The tree couldn't take my weight."

"I see," the doctor replied. "How high did you fall?"

Esme sighed. "About ten feet," she admitted to the couch.

"Okay," he replied.

He didn't sound that upset with her or seem to think she was silly for climbing a tree when she was much too old to do so. So Esme continued, "All I've been hearing from my mother is how to be a 'proper young lady.' I'm supposed to help her with the chores, and wear certain clothes, and meet all kinds of eligible young farmers. I just…it feels like she's suffocating me sometimes, you know? I want to see more of the world. When I climbed trees when I was younger, it made me feel free. I just…wanted to feel that again." Esme never realized how much she needed to share her thoughts with someone else. She felt better, now that she explained it to another person.

"I understand," the doctor told her, surprising her.

How could he understand? He was a doctor! He lived in the city. He was able to see and go to places Esme only dreamed about. "I think you've seen more of the world than I have," she told him out loud.

"Yeah, I guess," he replied. "But I mean about parents, trying to force you to do what they want you to do. My father is a minister you see." Well, that explained the doctor's preoccupation with God and prayer. "And he wanted me to be a minister, too, even though I was more interested in medicine. The more he insisted I become a minister, the more I became interested in becoming a doctor."

At that Esme finally turned around and faced the doctor. "Really?"

The doctor nodded. "Really."

"Thank you, doctor," Esme said to him sincerely. She'd apparently picked a good person to talk to. Not only did he not make fun of her, he actually understood her point – of – view, because he'd experienced a little of it himself.

The doctor smiled at her, looking into her eyes. His were beautiful color of blue. "It's Carlisle," he told her.

"What?" Esme asked not really understanding.

"My name," he explained. "It's Carlisle Cullen. I'd like you to call me by my first name."

"Oh," Esme replied, happily. "Then you should call me Esme."

"Thank you," he replied, sounding relieved.

Then suddenly she began giggling. "Carleel," she repeated over and over. "That sounds funny. "Or maybe Esmooch. That would be funny, too."

For some reason, Carlisle shook his head at her. "I think the morphine has taken effect. I'll start setting your leg now."

As he worked on her leg, Esme continued to think of funny combinations of their names.

"Why are you acting so weird, Esme?" Linda asked at one point. "You're never this silly."

"I think she's just trying to distract herself from the pain," Camille replied. She sounded pleased.

But Esme wasn't really in pain at all. And everything just felt sillier and sillier as the doctor continued to work on her leg.

Then, all at once, she didn't feel silly. She felt sick. And she vomited all over Carlisle before she could even ask her siblings to get her a bucket. Esme buried her face in her hands, humiliated.

"Don't worry, Esme," the doctor told her. "It's a side effect of the morphine. I knew it might happen."

But Esme kept her face in her hands. She was just starting to be comfortable around the doctor. (Although some of that may have been the morphine as well.) But now…he was covered in her bodily fluids! How could she ever move on from this?"

"I'll go get some of father's clothes," Camille offered. "They probably won't look as nice, but at least they'll be clean. He won't mind, under the circumstances."

The doctor nodded. "Thank you."

Camille returned in a few seconds, and the doctor changed in the next room. When he came back, he looked like a strange mix of her father and the young, handsome doctor she'd gotten to know. It was…unsettling, to say the least. Not to mention it was a constant reminder of her mistake. But he finished setting her leg, anyway. After her leg was set, the doctor explained that Esme was to stay off it for six weeks. Then someone would return to make sure she had recovered properly.

At this point, Esme couldn't wait for him to leave. She couldn't bare this humiliation anymore. But first, the doctor had to receive a payment from her father. So Camille went out to retrieve her father, and her father handed the doctor a check. "Don't worry about the clothes," her father added. "You can come back for them later." Great, so Esme would have to deal with the humiliation of having his clothes around to remind her of her mistake. Was there a worse punishment than this?

Ellie: Thank you for your review. Glad you like the beginning of the story, and that you appreciated the author's note as well. I like to do that for parts of a story that it seems obvious would be confusing.

I'd really love it if I got more reviews as well, particularly considering I don't have a beta. Let me know what works and what doesn't on this story, please.

And if any of you are interested in betaing this story, please give me a PM. Thank you.