Title- A Blooming Edwardian Summer

Author- 4give4get

Rated- T

Pairing- Eventual BellaxEdward

Note- Not AU

Disclaimer- I don't own Twilight.

Serena- Thanks to all who read.

Too Early for Roses…

It felt odd. Being human again. It was exactly as he had remembered—but still odd. His body was so fragile now. How did humans stand it?

But then again, they never knew anything else.

After the shock of being human again wore off—come the shock of being back in his own time. 1918.

He climbed out of bed and opened the window. It looked down into a rose garden. His mother's rose garden. The one she spent all spring growing every year. The flowers were not there, but the bushes were. March is too early for roses.

Edward looked around his room again. It was just as he remembered it—wooden floor, white walls, bed in the corner, two windows on the far wall, a bookshelf and desk across from the bed and hanging from the ceiling was his model aeroplane he'd built when he was twelve.

He slowly approached his bookshelf. He had expected them all to be covered in dust. They were not.

Of course, they hadn't been sitting there for ninety years. The last time they had been used was likely the night before. This really was 1918. He brushed a book at eye-level with his thumb. Beckwick's Study of British Birds. Gulliver's Travels. Sterne. The Spectator.

All of his old books were in place—everything was in place. As if he'd never left.

"Edward!" a woman's voice shouted from below, "You'd best be awake!"

Footsteps could be heard on the stairs, and eventually someone was rapping on the door.

"You've never been late before!"

It was the voice of Elizabeth Masen. A voice he hadn't heard in ninety long years. Edward flew to the door and wrenched it open. And there she was. In a peach colored silk skirt to her ankles, white blouse and her hair pinned up in perfection.

"Grown another inch in the night, I see," she smiled, but then frowned, "What on earth are you wearing?"

Edward looked down at himself to see just what he was wearing. Jeans and a t-shirt. How would he explain this?

"Just… pajamas," he spoke quickly, "I'll get changed and be right down."

When she left, he closed the door in relief. What day was it? Glancing at his calendar on the wall he saw it was a Friday. It was a school day.

'Great,' he thought, wrenching open his dresser, 'A few hours to settle in would have been welcomed.'

Before long, he was outfitted in knee-length pants tucked in his brown knee-socks, suspenders and a white button shirt with a tie. Brown cap and leather shoes and he was dressed.

As Edward walked downstairs, he noted every detail of the house. It was exactly the same. Every exact picture hanging on the wall was down to a tee.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Mallon—the family cook who would later die in 1927, he checked—had eggs and bacon ready for him, along with a smile.

"There you are, young sir, you'd best eat quickly." She commented, clanking the pots as she washed them.

The food tasted just as Mrs. Mallon always cooked it.

He left out the back door and got is bicycle out from behind the garden shed. It was not rusty as though it had been lying back there for practically a century. He pedaled down the road with eager quickness, trying to remember what route he would always take to the high school.

He would be a senior, right? What was his schedule? How could he have possibly remembered after so many years?

But at the same time, Edward was thrilled to be back. Back where he should be. As he thought this, a voice whispered in his ear—

"First period-English, second period-geometry, lunch break, third period-history, fourth period-physical education, fifth period-sciences."

It was Persephone's voice. He whirled his head around, but she was not there of course. He smiled, that help was welcomed.

School was as he remembered it as well. Peter waved to him as he approached and talked to him as they walked all the way to their first class. That's right—Peter was his best friend.

"Masen, watch where you're walking!" a girls voice rang out. He looked down and saw that he had walked straight into a girl.

She wore a black blouse and a navy blue skirt that reached halfway down her calves because that was the length for skirts back then. Her blonde hair was bobbed at chin-length and held back from her eyes with a bobby pin. Her eyes were a refreshing blue.

Daisy Dussle.

Even at seventeen years old she hadn't grown out of her skinniness, but since she was now working a job, she could afford to better keep herself. Most girls rejected her from their groups of friends since she was the poorest girl in school.

Daisy was also the first to bob her hair, the first to wear skirts so shockingly short, the first to wear her legs bare, and a lot of other things.

Filled to the brim with joy of seeing his friend, Edward instantly hugged her. When he left go, she was looking at him like he'd gone crazy.

"Edward… why are you hugging me?"

"Uhhh, no reason."

When he'd checked on Daisy as a vampire, he'd learned she'd died in 1972. That was fairly long for a human. But now, seeing her alive and young made him the best he'd felt in a long time.

School passed—it was tedious, as always. At lunch Daisy, Peter, and Edward bought sodas at the store a block from the school and he truly was enjoying himself. For the first time in ninety years—he was home.

.x.X.x.

Isabella was nervous. Mr. Kinner had called her from where she was scouring the dishes and said he needed to "speak with her."

This could only be bad.

Had she done something? Or perhaps it was something she didn't do! Either way she felt her knees shaking as she followed him.

"Would you like something to drink, dear?" he offered her, "Have a seat!"

She timidly sat in one of the chairs in the sitting room. She'd dusted and swept this room countless times—but never sat in it.

"No thank you, sir," she said.

"Oh, have something," Mr. Kinner insisted, "Have you ever had wine, Isabella?"

"No, sir, I haven't," she accepted the glass of deep red liquid he poured her.

Bringing the rim of the glass to her lips, she took a small sip. Sour. Not bad, just sour. The alcohol stung her throat going down, but left a warm feeling in her chest. She drank some more.

"It would seem," he began, "That this boarding house is failing."

Isabella looked up, startled.

"Failing badly, Isabella. Are you hearing what I'm saying?" Mr. Kinner continued.

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Which is why I'm afraid I have to close it down," he said, hastily, "Meaning you and your sisters are going to have to find a new place to live. And that you will have to find a new situation."

His words rang in her ears. She tightened her grip on the wine glass. Oh, how great! It wasn't desirable, but finding a new job couldn't be so hard, would it?

"I'm so sorry, Isabella," he really did sound sincerely sorry, "I'll help you as much as I can. I'll write you the best references you've ever seen!"

And he turned around to face his desk and ruffled some papers and found a pen and sat down to do just that.

'Well,' Isabella's mind began turning, 'I just need a plan. Let's see—I can get a room in a hotel with my savings, and find newspapers. Yes! I'll just advertisements in newspapers and see if I can't find a job there.'

With another sip, she finished off her wine and accepted Mr. Kinner's references. With the papers in hand, she climbed the stairs to their attic room, with nothing to do but sit and wait for when Stella and Silvana came back from school and tell them what had happened.

'Things won't be bad,' Isabella told herself, 'Not any worse than they are now—just different. That's all.'

End Chapter

Serena- Thanks for reading! Sorry if this one's short.