Thanks to everyone who has been reading my story! I am sorry for not uploading sooner, I have soo much homework that it gets hectic!I promise to upload at least once a week :) And remember, I am not either Stephenie Meyer nor Libba Bray, and I do not wish I was because then I would have to take that hideous grammar class in order to major in English ;) Please review if you like this story/chapter it is much appreciated, even if you tell me it sucks. Just tell me why so I can make it better next time!!

Luv and pice

Orchick


May 1906

Edward Mason's POV

Today is mother's day. Father says I am a man now. I am five years old, very close to six and now I must prove to father that I am no boy anymore. I have awakened before sunrise to fetch mother my own gift. Father has always gotten a gift for both of us but this year it shall be different. Because I am a man. Those words bring a tingle to my stomach and make me walk straighter; my gait flooded with pride.

As I walk through the streets of a dark Chicago, I notice I have taken a wrong turn and instead of ending at Mrs. Patricks beautiful fragrant garden, where I planned to pick flowers for my mother, now I have entered an alley that is filled with eerily cast shadows by the sun's tender rays. The smell is thick and foul, it smells of urine and something else I believe to be sewer. The stench is unbearable and I try to go back the way I came.

It is useless. I do not know where I am.

"Wot do we 'ave 'ere George?" I hear a voice sneer behind me. I slowly turn around.

"Well, well if it isn't the litt'l Mason boy! Aint I gright Joe?" This voice comes out in a slur and I realize the men are drunk.

"I am not a boy." I say meekly.

"Wot ah you den? A gurl?" one of the men chuckles as he says it.

"No, I am man." I almost whisper as I search for an escape route.

The men erupt in a mad laughter and one manages to say "who tol' u dat boy?" I believe he is George or maybe Joe, I am too frightened to notice.

"Father told me last night before I went to bed…" I whisper. I know I sound like a real child but it does not worry me anymore. Father always said I was cleverer than other's my age and I planned to prove it by escaping now.

"Sure, sure…" he dismisses me with a wave of his hand and then turns to the other man. "'ow much do ya fink we can get outta 'im hu?"

"I dunno, proly enuff for sum drink and a coople oh gurls…"

I stop listening and even as frightened as I am I see an empty street and make a run for it. I hear the men shouting behind me " eeh gotta way!...catch 'im!" but I dare not turn. I run until I can run no more. I reach what seems like a park or the forest, I trip several times over thick roots, until I find a suitable hiding place. I crawl next to a large bush and curl my body tightly. I feel watched but I have to choice but to stay still and pray they will do me no harm.I remember Mother and cry until I fall asleep.

***

I am awaked by gentle nudging on my shoulder. I open my half-asleep eyes and blink twice before focusing on a pair of bright green eyes that look like my mother's. "Mother?" I groggily ask.

"I believe not," a voice that sounds nothing like my mother's answers and then laughs sweetly.

I am immediately startled as I am brought back to reality and bolt upright. Scanning my surroundings, I notice I am in the middle of a thick forest and just ahead I see a small cottage bather in sunlight. It is a beautiful thing and it makes me think of the little house Snow White spent the night with the seven dwarfs. I sadly notice there are no flowers just large trees and grass. I then turn to see the source of the voice with the alluring English accent and notice a girl of about seventeen looking at me with a gaze that is both curious and worried. Her hair is the color of sunset with massive curls and her skin is freckled. I notice she is not what society would call a true beauty, but there is something in her eyes, a mystery, that keeps me from looking away. I know it is not proper to look at a lady for so long but I cannot help it.

"Have you seen them? Are they near?" I ask in a panicked whisper.

"No," she answers in a tight voice. "They are gone now." And with that she takes my hand and pulls me up with her. I turn my gaze away from her but can't help sending quick glances her way as she leads me to the dainty cottage.

"Oh my!" she later adds starling me. " I have forgotten my manners, I am Gemma Doyle, and who is this handsome gentleman I have the pleasure to be taking a stroll with?" She speaks so sweetly that it takes me a moment to realize she speaks to me. I then realize she has also called me a gentleman, and handsome. No lady has ever called me any of those before! My chest swells with pride and my posture improves quite a bit. Because I am a gentleman.

"My name is Edward Anthony Masen, and the pleasure of meeting such a charming lady is mine," I say and bow to her just as Father has taught me. He says all women are to be treated with respect, no matter her status. She does a wonderful curtsy and we keep on walking towards the cottage.

"Hmmm… Edward Mason's son?" she muses. "And pray tell, what is it that the son of a respectable man was doing at such and early hour dear?" she asks.

I do not know what to say, so I tell her the truth. "Today is Mother's Day Miss, and I wanted to pick some flowers and surprise Mother" I whisper, my voice filled with melancholy and disappointment. "Now all I have done is worry her to death." I finish.

"Oh dear, she really must be terribly worried" she tells me as we step inside the tiny house. As she writes something on a piece of paper I take time to look around. It is very tidy with a small fireplace and simple furniture. There is a picture of a couple in wedding dress. The lady looks very much like Miss Doyle, with curly hair and piercing eyes, I wonder if they are the same color also. The man is tall and slender, he has a twinkle in his eye and instead of looking at the camera, he is gazing lovingly at the woman next to him, as if she is the only thing worthy of his gaze. They remind me of Mother and Father and a knot forms on my throat. There is also a picture of a young lady and another of a young man. The young man looks much the man from the wedding picture, with a curl hanging over his eyes. The lady though looks terribly out of place, perhaps one of Miss Doyle's friends. I turn to the opposite wall, there are two photographs that are very different from the others. One is of a pudgy girl, singing in a theatre. But oh my, I have the need to cover my mouth should a loud gasp escape my lips; the other is a girl wearing trousers! This is beyond scandalous as I have never before seen a lady in such attire. To add to my astonishment, she is not wearing a corset and her blouse reveals a little beyond her slender neck. I blush and turn away. I notice Miss Doyle watching me quite intently, her eyes dancing, but does not say a word.

"I need to find Father I will be back soon, while you wait, go outside and pick some flowers for your mother from my garden. That ought to cheer her up. Go on, don't you fret," the dancing in her eyes is gone and she is sweet and placid once again.

I do as she says and sure enough there is a garden I had not noticed before. It is in full bloom and all the flowers are perfect and smell delicious. This is better than Mrs. Patrick's garden I figure. I hear Miss Doyle call my name and I run to her, a lush bouquet in hand. We take to walking home and we do not speak a word then. I have no idea how she know the way home but when we get there all I can see is the sight of Mother's worried expression as she runs and wraps her arms around me in a fierce embrace.

It takes a while for her to notice Miss Doyle who stares longingly at us. When mother has calmed down I introduce both ladies.

"Mother, this is Miss Gemma Doyle, she helped me find my way home." I say

"How do you do Mrs. Masen?" The sweet voice greets and she does another wonderful curtsy.

"I thank you Miss Doyle," Mother says with a nod, "for bringing my son back. Mr. Masen was very worried, but unfortunately his duty calls and had to leave. Would you care to come inside?"

"Thank you, you are most kind." Miss Doyle's reply is earnest I can see Mother likes this English girl. "I would love to stay but I have told my father I would not keep away long, please forgive me." She adds.

"That is quite fine my dear, you mustn't keep your father waiting, good day then, and I thank you once more." Mother responds. I feel she has been bewitched by Miss Doyle as I have and she is unhappy to see her leave.

"Good day to you too Mrs. Mason, have a pleasant day" and with that Miss Doyle nods her head and leaves. I watch as her figure disappears and her hair turns into a speck of fire on the horizon.

***

April 1915

Years have passed and I still remember Miss Gemma Doyle. Her face has blurred and all I remember are those piercing green eyes, I remember them greener than my own or Mother's…and that curly red hair…and the longing in her eyes as she observed Mother and I embracing. I believe I saw the faint glimmer of tears in those beautiful eyes, but I am not sure.

I have not seen Miss Doyle since that day she found me frightened and lost near her home. I remember how she knew the way to my home without a falter or further instruction. Mother believes she was a foreigner passing by since she had a strong English accent, and that she knew our home because Father is a well known lawyer. Every time I mention Miss Doyle mother gets that longing in her eyes and wonder if she believes Miss Doyle to be the little girl she never had. Both of us have been changed after this girl came into our lives, there is just something in her.

I remember how we met by what I think was pure chance, and also wonder if she was what I felt was watching me, and that garden that seemed to appear by sheer magic. The photograph of the lady in trousers and without a corset still brings a blush to my skin and I still wonder who she is. But I wonder most of all if Miss Gemma Doyle was an angel sent from the heavens to protect me and my heart soars to think I have been so lucky.

Just in case you are wondering why five year old Edward sounds so mature in the way he speaks, is because after doing extensive research on the era I found out that children actally spoke like adults even though the couldn't write like them. In some ways children were treated as adults although some kids like Edward who were well off financialy could enjoy some aspects of what we now call childhood.

Please review and special thanks to Aora Nehring, I hope not to dissapoint you querida!

Orchick