Chapter 4: Recrudescing Crossroads


Expectedly, I ran into Nurse Halstead searching for me.

"Oh, good, are your rounds complete, Dr. Cullen?" she checked.

Nodding I struggled to give her my full attention as part of me was back with Miss Platt wanting to comfort her and stay by her side.

Just as my mind began to really delve deeply into my unprecedented desires, she informed me, "We have just had an emergency come in: a serious injury needing surgery. Are you available to take the case?"

"Of course, Nurse Halstead," I told her giving into the part of me that wanted to run away from these odd occurrences. Consequently, her request was appreciated, as it gave me a distraction from my thoughts and these aberrant sensations.

Hours later the poor man who had been nearly trampled to death by a horse should live to see another day. With the use of my vampiric capacities combined with decades of experience I had been able to find and close the wounds to his veins, realign his bones, and sew him completely up. He would probably have a limp for the rest of his life, but it was the best outcome considering the condition in which he had arrived. Although I had managed to place my complete focus on the task on hand while working on him, as soon as my outer garments meant for surgery were discarded and this man's blood and scent from my hands had been washed away, my thoughts wandered back to Miss Platt.

Being obliged a break, which most doctor's used to take a smoke, no one would come looking for me for about ten minutes. Giving into the part of me that wanted to be near her, I found myself entering Miss Platt's bed space to find her asleep with a book resting in her lap. Exhaling with what felt like a tremendous weight upon me, I stood for a few seconds examining her, attempting to figure out the mystery that was Miss Platt and why of all the humans over all the years I was behaving so uncharacteristically with her.

Even though more than a few seconds passed, I had reached no greater understanding. Rather than going round and round in circles with no end in sight, I carefully removed her book from her lap, placing a piece of paper that had been on the side table at the open page as a bookmark. Inserting the paper scrap, I noticed a note in what presumably was Miss Platt's handwriting.

Dear Dr. Cullen,

In case you change your mind and have the courage to ask my father when you arrive, I can be found at North Willow Lane five miles in the south-westerly direction.

Kindly,

Miss Esme Platt

Esme; it was like a whisper of unspoken things. Her file said Esme, but it was different seeing it written in her own hand. It was impossible to deny that this was not medically related. She had shared a part of herself voluntarily with me, and was politely inviting me into this intimate part of her life. The last time someone had been so generous personally, without unsuitable motives, might have been Aro or Demetri, or perhaps Garrett, but there had been some involuntary elements with Garrett on his part that bonded us simply due to my promise to keep quiet. Miss Platt was certainly the first female in my existence to have done so. The only motives I could presume on Miss Platt's part might have been that she was offering friendship or desiring a courtship. Either of those possibilities once again brought me to my crossroads. Unwilling to give even more of hospital time to those cogitates, effort was exerted to push these musings out of my mind, as I tucked the paper between the pages. As a distraction, I decided to check in on my other charges in case they had woken and with great effort put her note along with its implications into the smallest corner of my mind.

At the end of my shift, I could hear that Miss Platt was awake, but cowardly headed straight out, going back to my bench bothered that seeing her again might cause me to act in an irrational manner. It was unfathomable what poor behaviours might manifest in any poor attempts on my part to keep my disquiet at bay. Nonetheless, avoiding even the possibility of such action seemed wise. Reflecting over my interactions with Miss Platt was less than helpful. The elements of my crossroads were the same. Nothing had changed except the pull in my heart that asked me to consider the less rational choice.

Upon returning to my village before coming to America, I had found my marker in the village graveyard. It had made no mention of being a husband or father. That small bit of information had assured me that my lack of memories of a significant relationship or children was accurate. Gratefully abandoned children or a spouse had not been a cost of my burning. Since the start of my second life, especially after my time in Volterra, I had been appreciative for how much of my human memories had been retained, especially for their accuracy, as the tomb had confirmed. Yet somehow, sitting on my bench unable to leave Miss Platt mentally behind in the hospital, I wished that my there were even more human memories. My recent mental rummaging was almost like the behaviour I had witnessed in my fellow doctors when they had a book or journal or paper they needed and could not find it.

Rather than thankfulness there was irritation and frustration. Although it could have been amusing and pleasing to observe my inner workings appearing so human, it was a sensation that so unnerved and unbalanced my internal equilibrium that I nearly wanted it put it behind me by acting like life was akin to my pre-Miss Platt days. Each time my pusillanimity threatened to overtake me my recourse was to remind myself that being human was not always pleasant. If I truly wanted to keep a strong connection to humanity, then it was required to take the unpleasant with the same attitude as the pleasant. My brain attempted to sooth my discomfort by searching for questions and then answers, assuming that solving these questions would put things at ease. One such question was: why I had been enthralled with this young lady of my memory? In the memories there was a sense of longing and a small sense of loss, but neither reason nor explanation. In fairness the memory and the feelings associated with it were as equally strange as the fact that Miss Platt had triggered them at all. Even looking through the muddy haze of the human recollection as closely as I could brought little understanding as to why exactly Miss Platt had triggered it.

As I reviewed my behaviour with Miss Platt, one thing that seemed a likely possibility was that my momentary stunned reaction to Miss Platt was similar to what it had been with this unnamed woman from my village. What that might mean, exactly, was completely out of my grasp. After much contemplation the only absolutely firm conclusion I reached was that irrelevant of the similarities, in this case, Miss Platt was human and I was not. Where a relationship with the young woman of my village might have been feasible, that option was not even available in this case.

Once more Aro's and my arguments came to mind. If I were to have agreed with Aro, the solution would be simple. I would bite her, transforming her into a superior creature in comparison to what she once had been. Then, with her and I being of the same species the possibility of what might develop between us would be obtainable. From his beliefs she won either way. Given my contrary views both to this action and the hegemony beliefs surrounding it, the idea of forcing her to change her species and become a vampire for my own curiosity was repulsive.

Then there was the fact that she had so much of her human life ahead of her. Assuredly any interactions with me outside of my role as a doctor would derail her from those opportunities. A part of me wanted to reject this line of thinking and be more selfish, but it simply was not in my character. It was not very hard to acknowledge that connection with my past or not, I had enjoyed our interactions in a manner that was rare. The remembrance of my enjoyment of her company caused my thoughts to move along paths that had been largely ignored for over a century: perhaps Miss Platt was a temptation sent by the devil.

The idea that women were witches or worse enchantresses was something that over time I had come to reject entirely, as there had simply never been evidence ever even after a century. Certainly, a female vampire could enchant a human male. Thus, I had concluded that the human ideas of female mythical power designed to lure Godly men into hell were their attempt to explain the abilities of vampires. Despite my rejection of these ideas and a lack of evidence, as time moved on, they had still seemed to influence societal thought. Since the ending of female burnings, like my father had championed, women seemed to lose whatever place they had held in society and appeared more and more controlled and restrained in their choices.

The idea that the devil would put her in my path as a temptation like I was some Job seemed as equally preposterous. Not to mention, that even if there was any merit to that idea, it was a poor attempt, as logic, not to mention my moral code, had kept me righteous, as much was possible, all these years. They would not fail me. The proper course of action was to make her life as pleasant as I could while she was my patient, thank the Heavens for the gifts she had afforded me, and send her on her way. Yet, for the first time I felt empathetic to those men who had experienced fear regarding a woman of their desire and had blamed the woman for their fear.

What was needed on my part was to remain rational. She would be discharged; of this there was no doubt. My life was lonely, which had admittedly affected my overall mood, but I had possibly saved a man's life last night. That had to account for something. Although I could not deny the gifts she had given me, the obvious conclusion was that it would be better for things to go back to how they had been before meeting her. Whatever my reactions to her were, my trust needed to reside in the rational mind. It was what had kept me on the straight and narrow thus far. It sounded all very reasonable. Except, there was a part of me that cringed at having to go back to my disquieted life of recent decades. It had not been purgatory by any means, but it paled in comparison to the aliveness I had been experiencing these past few days.

Feeling torn in two, I spent a few hours even after the sun had risen behind the clouds at my bench praying. Eventually when even my praying did not seem to be aiding my turmoil, I walked to the library, but it did not hold the same appeal. Taking a few books perfunctory, I walked towards home. My only remaining aspect of my daily habits that had not yet been tried was hunting. Not knowing what else to do once back home, after placing the books mechanically on a table, I walked the miles it took to enter the forest. My awareness and thoughts were so distracted that I came to the edge of the woodlands without any notice of my surroundings. In fact it was only once I stood in the midst of the woods that my dazed-typed state dissipated. Cognisant of the need to focus on tracking I stilled myself completely, and took in a deep breath listening to all the wondrous sounds of God's amazing creation. Eventually the scent of a fox was mixed in with the breeze. Taking my time tracking it, there was no reason to rush, as attempting reading today would be a task in futility.

When my eyes finally caught sight of it, I watched it in admiration as it went along in its business of being a fox. Offering a silent word of thanks for God's provision, making sure to not scare the creature unnecessarily, I pounced and broke its neck in one motion and drank. Foxes were not large, but they were in abundance and a nuance to the local farmers. It was a pleasant thought that my hunting habits helped the locals in some way. Whether it actually did or not was never known to me. After finishing in draining him and burying him, I decided to go for one more.

Upon returning home, there was just enough time to bathe thoroughly ridding myself of any evidence of hunting before heading off to the hospital. My last days were completed in an almost perfunctory fashion. To my surprise I yearned to visit with Miss Platt once more. Every morning, since her release, after arriving at my bench, I would reassess my decision. Nothing had changed. The equation was the same every time. At the end of my last shift the head surgeon asked to see me. Appreciation was extended and I mentioned that a reference might be requested in the future. Reassurances were given. Handing in everything that belonged to the hospital, I left for the last time.

Heading home, I boxed up everything. As was my custom, all but two bags were sent ahead by post. The postal service was useful, but unreliable, thus my need to keep enough clothes with me for at least the first week. As my custom, I planned on spending some time hunting preferring to arrive somewhere new as satiated as possible, since the environment encountered upon my arrival would be unknown. At some hospitals my appearance had been greeted with four days straight of shifts, other places only a few hours for the first few days were requested. My preference was to be prepared for more work than less. In the past each of these activities would have given me a sense of excitement and anticipation. Instead, I felt heavy and wooden. Additionally, through my work my mind kept bringing up the few moments Miss Platt and I had spent together, reliving the complex befuddling reactions that had been stirred within me. Thus, I ended up nearly constantly thinking of her while going about my tasks.

The day before needing to leave for good a walk seemed perspicacious. It was a fine cloudy day. The perfect day for a contemplative stroll. Lost in my thoughts I had not registered that my feet had been taking me in the direction of Mr. and Mrs. Platt's residence until coming across a Y in the road. Stunned I stopped in my wanderings. The left road looped round and would end up near my abode. Alternatively, veering right would take me closer to the address that Miss Platt had provided.

Could I be a man of science and have faith? Science, even in the psychology field, seemed to almost scorn faith. The scientist in me wanted to go left. It was the path that most closely matched my rational decisions. The young man in me who saw the good that his father's faith had done in our parish urged me to follow my heart, have a little faith, trust that God Almighty gave good gifts, and go right. The right path held a similar excitement that had resulted in my transformation. There was something risky and dangerous about it because it asked me to place my future into the unknown. My rational mind was against anything risky in that way. Last time it had not ended up so great for me, despite all the blessings God had given me in my second life.

It was once more one of those moments where my father's words accusing me of lacking faith resounded strongly within me. Nothing would change that I was a rational being. Truthfully, my decision had already been made; it was the most logical, as well as moral, one. Despite my father's attempts to form me into his image, he could not. Sad but confident in the knowledge that this was the best choice for both of us I set my mind to veer to the left.

At the last second, my feet turned and went right. Such a thing had never happened before. There was no distinction between the vampire mind and body. What the mind decided the body did. This simple deviant movement was extraordinarily strange. Despite it being contrary to my choice, I took it as a sign from the Almighty, and rejoiced in the hope that maybe there was a bit of faith within me. The remaining journey was spent praying fervently that wisdom of what to do next would come to me, and hoping that it was the right choice to not turn around to go back to my abode.

A sensation, not terribly unlike what I remembered feeling before finding that coven in the sewers, began to fill me. It was uncharted territory with me having no idea of what words to speak upon my arrival. To combat my nerves I began to contemplate every scenario that might be encountered and then created the most appropriate human responses. It did not take long for me to become aware of how little I was versed about human social interactions outside the hospital and fundraisers. For instance, I had practically no acquaintance with of how this era's gentlemen called upon young ladies. Apart from being completely out of my depth, honestly I was scared. Once this awareness hit me, I began chuckling at myself. For the first time since meeting the Volturi, I was apprehensive, not for what I might do, but for what might happen to me. Even though the feeling of fear was not pleasant, at least it could be said that there was no melancholy in me. The adventures Miss Platt had brought into my life seemed to have cured me of it.

My sentiments in comparison to reality seemed ironic. Certainly the Platts could not hurt me, and if I were akin to my fellow vampires, the most likely course of action, if they displeased me, would be to simply take their blood. I shuddered at how easily my kind took sentient life. Certainly my nerves had nothing to do with being concerned of physical harm, as they had in Volterra. Additionally, my years of practice gave me confidence that the Platts would never suspect my nature. In the worst case they would belief me to be an unclothed barbarian and send me on my way disgraced.

No, what had me anxious was much more basic: fear of rejection. Without a doubt, refutation was unpleasant. However, in this case, I reminded myself repeatedly, Mr. Platt sending me away would actually be the best outcome for many reasons, least of which was that him doing so would give me a clear answer to my prayers for direction and guidance in regards to Miss Platt. In the midst of my unease existed many other emotions, and the actualized experience of so much feeling coursing through me was exhilarating, despite most of these sentiments being disagreeable. It had been decades since I had felt so engaged in my world, if not greater than a century.

Choosing to trust that the Good Lord would keep me on the righteous side of the law and give me the words needed gave me the strength to keep moving forward. The simple act of following my heart in this small way enhanced my faith, which caused me to smile. Perhaps taking some risk was worth the new opportunities for growth that it contained. While walking and praying my fear turned into trepidation. Apprehension had been a near constant companion of mine when living in Volterra, as I was neither of their coven, of the guard, agreeable to their ways, nor knowledgeable about etiquette protocols upon my arrival.

Easily, Aro could have ended me upon that first introduction to court. Instead, over time, we became friends and grew to appreciate each other's opinions, not to mention that he had been unnecessarily kind and hospitable during my time there. If Volterra had been manageable, I would muddle through an encounter with three humans. At least this was what I told myself over and over. My memories and the confidence boost they gave me were welcomed. It was a few hours past midday when North Willow Lane made itself known. Turning onto the lane, a house stood out that had the slightest tinge of Miss Platt's scent in the air.

Moving into the driveway, there was a dirt path leading to their home. Paying attention to the scenery would have been wise, but I heeded it little. Instead my mind was consumed with what lay ahead. Consequently, the details of the house received scant awareness. Upon reflection I could say that there was a garden and a porch, which required three steps to climb. What did hold my attention was that on the porch were wooden chairs and in one chair with a book in her hand was Miss Platt.

For much longer than was suitable my eyes would not leave her person unsure of what to do next. She carried on as if she had not noticed my approach. Most likely, my nearing had been too quiet, given my lack of paying great attention to myself in that way, even though it was second nature at the hospital and when walking in town. The other possibility was that she had been too engrossed in the page to hear me. Minutes continued to pass while I attempted to reason out what to do. Eventually I decided to resolve my deliberations by clearing my throat.

She ventured her eyes up. A genuine look of surprise and then pleasure grew on her face. "Oh! Dr. Cullen, I am ever so glad that you were able to call on me," she exclaimed smiling ear to ear while her eyes twinkled.

Never could I recall receiving such a warm welcome. It unsettled me. Finally, I collected myself enough to asked cordially, intending to hide the emotional turmoil that had accompanied me here. "Is your father in, Miss Platt?"

Her smiled faded a little. "No, but my mother is in the house. Knock loudly and she is bound to hear you." She was nearly frowning by this point. "Probably on her way, already," she grumbled too softly to be heard by human ears.

Giving Miss Platt one more glance, I turned towards the door. Mrs. Platt was already on the way, but propriety dictated that I knock nonetheless.

When Mrs. Platt opened the door she smiled warmly, but there was cunningness in the look of her eyes that was disconcerting.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Platt. If it begs your pardon, I came to call upon Miss Platt." My tone and manner of speech reminded me more of my English upbringing than the American accent I had tried hard to acquire over the years.

She looked at me as if judging my worth. After a few moments she asked, "You that doctor that treated our Esme in the city?"

"Yes ma'am," I replied.

"Well, then." She took a breath inward. "Would this be a social call?"

Thinking about the question and all that it implied, especially as I was no longer a doctor in the area I replied, "Yes ma'am."

She nodded as if my words merely confirmed her suspicions. "In that case, you may join Esme on the porch. May I get you some coffee or cider?"

"No thank you ma'am," I told her politely adding, "Thank you anyway" just in case.

She huffed, "All right," then stared at Miss Platt until Miss Platt looked directly into her mother's gaze. "Not long, Esme. I will be needing you in the kitchen soon." Then she moved back into the house leaving the door open.

Taking the other chair that was on the porch, I moved it closer to Miss Platt, but made sure to keep it at a respectable distance. The gap between us was almost tripled than it had been at the hospital.

"How have you been, Miss Platt?" I inquired nervously suddenly tongue-tied.

She took in a breath and paused as if contemplating a response. Perhaps she was nervous as well, despite her being the one to extend the invitation. "Healing well," she told me with sweet tenderness and admiration. "And you?" she asked cordially her tone reserved lacking the forwardness she had displayed at the hospital.

Hesitating I was uncertain as how to interpret what she had spoken or how to answer. The answer depended on my intentions, which were a mystery to myself.

After a few seconds pause I blurted out, "I leave tomorrow" unwilling to have the silence linger any longer and knowing that courage was needed.

It was not the polite reply expected in mixed company, but it was what mattered. Our time was limited and I wanted to come to a resolution.

"I see," she exclaimed looking forlorn.

Was it possible that she had grown inappropriately attached to me? Other female patients and colleagues had in the past, but this seemed different in an intangible way. Quickly I reviewed all of our interactions to ensure that I had never behaved in a manner, which might have suggested advances. There seemed to be none. Certainly her resemblance to the woman of my village, her quick wit, honesty, and struggles regarding her dreams verses her obligations to her parents had created a sense within me of being connected to her that was foreign. Nonetheless, our conversations, although not strictly professional, I evaluated as being nothing more than friendly.

We sat in silence as I tried to contemplate what might come of this conversation.

It was Miss Platt whom broke our silence. "Might we stay in correspondence, then?"

The question took me by surprise, which certainly showed on my features. Her suggestion was peculiar. My human memories regarding correspondence were for business purposes only, very similarly to how I presently used the postal service. Exchanging letters of a personal nature, unless Aro were to be counted, was an unfamiliar activity. Certainly a friendly letter every half century or so was not what she meant. My correspondence with Aro was in appreciation of his hospitality and the generosity of knowledge that he had shared, as well as my awareness that my success as a doctor would delight and puzzle him. They often had the air of a subject reporting to a kind. Therefore, it was reasonable to conclude that my reasoning of why I corresponded with Aro, or him with me, would have no correlation with her motivation for her request. Consequently, I was at a loss.

Knowing no other way to quench my confusion, I asked her outright, "Miss Platt, if you would pardon my confusion and bluntness, but whatever for?"

Then she looked as confused as I felt.

Realizing my faux pas and not wanting to have her ask questions where lying might be required, I instead told her earnestly, "I apologize." After a brief pause while her features appeared less inquisitive I continued, "I suppose it is my fault, really. I have never needed to explain my occupational habits to anyone," all the while stealing a sideways glance at her.

She seemed to be genuinely curious while patiently waiting for me to continue, which was far better than confused. Curious could be steered in safer territory. Confused, especially for a mind like Miss Platt's who like Sherlock Holmes, could lead to her wanting to solve a puzzle that could cost her everything.

It seemed that the best way forward at this point was to expand upon what I had shared in our previous exchange in order to create for her a coherent narrative.

"Well, you see, I am a fill-in doctor of sorts. Hospitals and clinics post temporary positions. They can be as short as a few months, but I prefer the ones that are a year or so. A hospital might need an extra pair of hands, but are not yet ready to make a permanent position available. Even if the contract is for, say, three years, after a year they might decide they no longer need me and terminate my employment," I explained keeping an eye on her to see if she understood and the indicators of confusion continued to decrease.

She nodded for me to continue.

"I do it because I like to travel and try new places. I do not have a permanent address and do not have anyone I have ever corresponded with in the manner you suggested previously. My only experience with using the postal service is for employment purposes."

Her eyes looked sad, but carried this compassionate empathy that baffled me.

Did she feel bad for me for the life I had chosen? There were no clear answers.

"I see," she whispered nearly to herself.

Fortunately both her words and her body language indicated that she was no longer confused.

Though all the parts of her behaviours thus far baffled me, what became immediately clear was that I did not like seeing her sad. Although changing my species was impossible and did not want to change my lifestyle, perhaps there was something that could be done for Miss Platt. Inspiration came to my mind and I felt a burden lift as if receiving an answer to prayer. It was ironic that it was Miss Platt herself and her question that had been the catalyst. Perhaps this was why God had chosen to bring Miss Platt into my life in a way that created such a mysterious yearning within me. Yes, this was the answer, I decided, but first the matter at hand.

"That is not to say that we could not correspond, Miss Platt, with your father's permission, of course," I told her cordially attempting to assuage any hurt my blunt response might have caused her. "I did not intend to dismiss the merit of your suggestion, but simply to point out possible obstacles."

A small smile started to spread across her face.

Relieved that any small hurt she might have experienced had passed, I carried on expressing my idea. "You see, Miss Platt, I found your wish to receive an education moving. I came here today with the intention of speaking with your father about being your benefactor, but would not want to do so without your explicit permission."

Her small request had resolved my concerns regarding the second option I had considered and had created the third way my heart had yearned to find. It was such a simple solution, yet one that had not even crossed my mind prior. It allowed me to give her the opportunity to move beyond her familial obligations without actively being in her life.

Her mouth dropped open and she sat with a dumbfounded look on her face for much longer than I was comfortable. She seemed to have a strange combination of disappointment, restrained joy, and doubt.

Sitting patiently, I worked at remembering to fidget despite my nervousness and, therefore, my internal desire to be still.

Eventually she seemed to come out of her trace speaking in disbelief, "I apologise, Dr. Cullen, but I believe I misheard you."

Smiling but worked to contain my mirth, it dawned on me that never in my long years had I managed to bewilder someone so thoroughly. It was delightful. Perhaps, I had done something similar to Aro when we had first met. Our kind's nature allowed us to hide our reactions supremely well, so there was no way to be certain, but maybe this was what had intrigued Aro regarding me. He had stated in each and every of his responding letters his enthusiasm for my correspondence.

For a twenty-fourth of a second I resented that lifestyle caused others mirth, but then it was gone replaced with appreciation. If God had made me in such a way that my way of being in the world gave others pleasure, it was a gift. Certainly Aro's life must be weighted with boredom and at least some of the quiet discontent that I had been experiencing, given his age. If my oddities could liven it a little, what harm did that do? Not to mention that Miss Platt's response to me had brought me a feeling that I had not experienced in so long that its very presence was surprising and delightful.

Mrs. Platt's movements indicated that she had overheard my offer and Miss Platt responded, as was to be predicted. She was merely being a diligent mother and ensuring that nothing untoward happened between a non-family member male and her daughter, since that was her expected role for this era.

After many minutes had passed, Miss Platt seemed to settle into herself a bit. "Dr. Cullen, I must have mistakenly heard you," she insisted again.

Perhaps, my offer or delivery had given her too much of a fright. Patients had behaved in such a manner, not commonly, but enough that it was familiar. It was like the human mind sometimes refused to take in information due to shock or disbelief.

Modulating my voice to the one I used on my patients to penetrate this resistance, I told her, "Miss Platt, I am entirely serious in my intention of requesting your father's permission to be your benefactor so that you might become a teacher, assuming you are agreeable."

Her eyes glazed over and she seemed to be in some kind of odd drunken haze.

Never before had this approach caused that reaction on someone. It was entirely puzzling and a bit concerning. I couldn't help but wonder what had caused it. Over and over again, without even meaning to, Miss Platt kept adding to my life.

Nevertheless, after a few moments, she shook her head and then nodded.

Eyeing her quizzically, I questioned, "Is that a yes, Miss Platt?"

"Yes," she squeaked in two octaves higher than she normally spoke.

Giddy with delight, I tried to recall the last time such an emotion had been prominent. It proved to be a pointless exercise, as there simply was not one. Perhaps some good other than hoarding for a bad day could come of my accumulated wealth.

My anxiety and fears relieved, I could not help but tease her a little. Moving my head slightly, to the side so that my right ear was slightly closer to my right shoulder, I asked in a serious tone, "Yes to what, Miss Platt?"

She took in a deep breath in a seeming determination to keep herself composed. "Yes, Dr. Cullen, I would be honoured for you to speak to my father about this matter." Despite her words, the sides of her mouth were sloped downwards as if something were displeasing her.

"I am glad to hear that, Miss Platt," I told her sincerely hoping that she had spoken her truth.

In what otherwise might have seemed to be perfect timing, Mrs. Platt came out to the porch.

She looked at Miss Platt sternly. "Esme, you are wanted in the kitchen. We be needing to start dinner."

Miss Platt looked down at her cast, over to me, and then her eyes rested at her mother's face. "Yes, Mother. Would you give me a hand?"

"Yes, of course," she responded automatically. Then she seemed to take a minute, weighing something. When she spoke her words surprised me, "I am sure Dr. Cullen understands your need for assistance." She looked at me and then back to Miss Platt. "Perhaps he would lend his hand?" she enquired with a tone that my acceptance or decline would determine her opinion of me.

Miss Platt looked at me expectantly.

What was I to do? Outside of dancing had there been an occasion for such prolonged contact with a human before. In those occasions gloves, particularly for the women, were expected. In this occasion, since the day was warm by human standards, there had been no reasonable explanation for me to wear gloves, and Miss Platt was certainly not wearing any. Yet, refusing the mistress of the house, not counting the fact that she was Miss Platt's mother, seemed like a poor choice in the circumstances.

Taking my cue from Miss Platt and unwilling to do anything that might risk Mr. or Mrs. Platt having reason to declined my intended offer, I answered cordially standing from my chair, "Of course, Mrs. Platt."

Mrs. Platt nodded in a way that indicated that my answer had met her approval, and unceremoniously went back into the house.

Going over to Miss Platt, I offered my arm hoping that the combination of my union jack, shirt, and jacket would hide my temperature.

She expertly held onto my arm and used it to leverage herself onto her good foot. Then, she took a hop forward and I a small step.

"I am sorry about this, Dr. Cullen," Miss Platt whispered. "My mother can be quite insistent when she sets her mind to something."

"It is not a problem, Miss Platt," I replied in equal hushed tones. "I recall a certain doctor's orders regarding staying off the foot and giving it time to heal. It would be in poor taste to go against your doctor's orders," I teased.

She laughed lightly. It was a supremely exquisite sound. It was as if angels had burst into merriment. "Yes, I suppose it would be," she replied when she had calmed herself once more.

Together we navigated the front door and back into the kitchen. The tingling sensation that had been present when touching her during the operation grew the longer she made use of my arm, as if my forearm had become warmer of its own accord. In the kitchen she quickly placed herself into a chair.

After ensuring she was settled, I looked at Mrs. Platt no longer knowing what to do with myself.

Mrs. Platt must have sensed my uncertainty. She looked at me squarely. "Are you American, Dr. Cullen?"

It was not an unusual question. Despite the passing of time, I had kept a slight English lilt, so that humans might excuse my oddities as simply foreign.

Giving my usual answer, I told her, "I was born in England, ma'am, but I have lived in America for many years now."

Thankfully she was not the nosy type that then began asking at what age and such questions that usually forced me to lie in some way, as I was loathed to do that.

"Well, in that case, I will forgive your ignorance that the kitchen is a woman's domain and although your aid to our Esme just now is appreciated, it would be better if you waited for Mr. Platt on the porch or, if you would rather, the parlour."

Weighing my options I asked, "How much longer would you expect Mr. Platt to be, ma'am?"

She looked at me calculatingly. "A few hours at least."

Gazing out the window, the clouds looked like they would hold for a while.

"With your permission, might I take a stroll and return then?" I enquired.

Perhaps my deferring to her opinion appeased her, because the furrows on of her forehead seemed to smooth out. It seemed improper to sit within earshot and be able to unavoidably hear every word that passed between mother and daughter.

"Yes, Dr. Cullen, that would be acceptable. Please make your way back before dusk. There is much harm that could be bestowed upon an educated man as yourself in this part of the country after sunset," she warned.

Despite her good intentions, it took much effort to keep my face neutral. "Thank you, Mrs. Platt. I will see you then," I managed to tell her in an appropriately grateful and cordial tone.

She stepped away from the counter and towards the front door with the gait of someone who expected to be obeyed.

Unwilling to fall into her bad graces, I followed.

Over the years my ability to keep the demon contained had increased. It was a generous gift from my heavenly Father, and one that took me into the in-between space of not human, but also dissimilar to my own kind.

As the strength within me to resist had intensified, so had my loneliness and thus my desire to have a companion. Hence my thoughts of someone accompanying me through time and space, while also dwelling in this in-between alongside me, had increased. Despite how I had been testing myself with blood, each time the thought had come up it had been dismissed. There was a part of me that wanted a companion, yet morally I could not condemn someone to my life, not to mention that the thought of causing someone the pain of transformation intentionally shook me to my core. Despite my moral conviction, in my darkest moments, corners of my brain would be working on the possibility. And the trials pushed me to better myself, which was a good thing. Nevertheless, without doubt it was better to find contentment and be grateful for the gifts God had already bestowed upon me. Rather than dwell on what did not exist, I internally thanked the Almighty for the gift of new experiences, of Miss Platt's yes, of the unexpected turn of events, and set my mind to the moment. It was more than enough, more than my mind had created as a possibility.

"Good day, Dr. Cullen," Mrs. Platt told me as she opened the front door.

"Good day, Mrs. Platt," I replied stepping through the door, and then tipped my hat appropriately.

Walking towards what looked like an orchard, I contemplated if feeding would be advisable. After evaluating myself, I determined that my control over my demon was fine. What was really needed, apart from prayer, was the ability to appraise what I had just gotten myself into. Purposefully strolling around the trees enjoying their shape and smell, I allowed my thoughts to turn round and round. Then without notice my body came to a halt. Miss Platt's scent was nearby and it occurred to me that perhaps this grove contained the tree from which she had fallen. Taking into account all that Demetri had taught me about tracking, I allowed my desire to hunt to become prominent and my body automatically began to move in the direction of the scent until the tree containing the strongest saturation of Miss Platt was found.

Checking again that no human was within range of my senses, I once more followed the lingering places where her scent was still embedded, this time into the tree, potentially having my own body travel along the same route that she had climbed. After finding the spot where her scent was the heaviest, where she had probably sat, based on the scent concentration, I pushed that part of my nature in the background once more and evaluated how she might have fallen. It was a delightful exercise in using my senses in a way that was rarely presented to me since my lessons with Demetri. Not to mention that the challenge was enjoyable. There was so much that Miss Platt had given me that there was doubt if I could ever properly repay her, even if her father agreed to my proposal.

Pondering to recall a time when I had been as successful in following a scent, particularly when it was not another vampire's, none could be found. Since the chance that my ability in this regard had changed was minuscule, it was doubtful that my success was down to me. The only other option was that it had something to do with Miss Platt. What that could be was another item to add to my list of mysteries and new experiences. Leaning towards a spot where her oils were particularly immersed with the tree, I inhaled deeply. Categorizing every particle of her scent, there seemed to be neither anything usual about it nor did it seem remarkable in any way. Her scent told me that she was a healthy young female human with all of her indicators in standard limits.

Eventually, allowing the power of Miss Platt's scent to remain a mystery, I moved off the tree limb and landed on the earth below. Following her scent once more, I moved to the spot where her scent was still mixed within the earth and looked upwards trying to imagine Miss Platt on the branch, where her scent was almost fused into the tree, reading and what had happened. The other human's scent in the tree was barely present and indicated a male. Then there was some chance that there was a third scent on the ground near where she had fallen. Gauging the distance and a possible path of her fall, it seemed as if she had leaned too far forward and lost her balance. Gratefully, the male scent in the tree was a good foot from her, so I felt confident to conclude that nothing untoward had happened. After that distasteful possibility had been dismissed, a solid hypothesis was produced. Admittedly, my mentally conjuring was a delightful image.

My curiosity about her scent being present in the trees satisfied, I meandered contemplating how best to approach Mr. Platt. After some thought, my conclusion was that the tenor of my conversation with Mr. Platt depended on his views of women receiving an education. Consideration was needed regarding the offer I was willing to make in compensation for whatever losses he might feel, justified or not, for the removal of his daughter from their family home. There was no way to measure what kind of man Mr. Platt was inclined to be, other than to say he cared enough about Miss Platt to seek out and pay for medical attention.

Miss Platt had already voiced her parents' desire for her to find an eligible bachelor that would be in the position to take over the farm. Perhaps they would seek a second or third son of a local family for this purpose, as had been the custom for many generations? If that were the case, could such an individual also be willing to help out Mr. Platt while his daughter was away studying? Even though I was quite ignorant of the jobs a young eligible women of this era might add to a human household, Miss Platt's familial obligations were attempted to be added to the equation building in my head.

By the time the sun was close enough to the horizon that Mr. Platt might be home, I considered myself ready to negotiate. Nearing their home, it seemed, from the conversation in the home as that they were discussing the merits of having me stay for dinner. It had not even entered my consciousness that they might offer such a thing. Considering all the ways to be able to politely decline made me acutely aware of how completely out of my depth coming to Miss Platt's home had placed me. Had it been fear that had fuelled my intent to not approach her father? The possibility of cowardliness was unsettling, but as this was not the time to seek deeper answers within myself, it became something to evaluate later.

This time I ensured that my feet made noise on my approach. The sunset would be in little more than thirty minutes. Consequently, there was enough of the evening remaining for me to speak with Mr. Platt and then be on my way. Reaching the top of the porch, I knocked on the door.

Heavy footsteps journeyed towards me. The door opened and there stood Mr. Platt. He looked dirtier in comparison to the last time we had met, which was to be expected.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Cullen," he greeted me. His voice was stern and forceful making his message clear that he was the master of the manor.

It seemed like a good enough start.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Platt. Might I have a word?" I asked ensuring my voice was slightly complaisant yet confident. It was not much different to how I spoke to my bosses at the hospital.

He looked at me appraisingly. "I just got back home and am still in need of a wash," he informed me in an almost challenging fashion.

Presumably this was a test. Quickly reviewing the little overheard about dinner, my response to his declaration might be my way around that. It appeared that they would eat after he was cleaned.

"Mr. Platt, if I may be so bold," I started, while watching his eyes narrow and him become slightly more defensive in his posture. "I am set to leave for my new position tomorrow very early and I still need to make my way home in order to arrange the last items before my departure," I continued. "If you would be so kind as to find the time now, I would be entirely grateful."

By the end of my request his body had relaxed slightly causing me to wonder if he was more comfortable negotiating in his present attire. He moved his hand in the direction of the chairs on the porch.

Nodding in agreement, I walked over to where he had indicated ensuring to appear human. Sitting in the chair that had previously contained Miss Platt, I became surrounded by her scent on all sides. It reminded me of my childhood in England, making me in equal parts nostalgic and comforted. It was a feeling not unlike coming home. The images that her scent had conjured had so immersed me that I had not responded to the question Mr. Platt had asked. Thus, I ended up needing to review what my ears had had heard, but had not registered.

"My intentions sir?" I spluttered in shock.

How had I not considered this to be his opening question? He was obviously a direct man. As much as his approach was admirable, I was much more accustomed to the roundabout manner that the upper middle class doctors communicated.

"Yes, Dr. Cullen, what are your intentions?" he repeated slowly looking at me as if I were well below his station.

This question was entirely unexpected, because my belief was that I had already conveyed without ambiguity that courting Miss Platt was not my purpose. Apart from the major reasons against courting her, her statement regarding her future daughter whom held her hope had not left me.


A/N: So officially we have left cannon, well at least in my head. Because in my imagination cannon is when Carlisle goes back home and never speaks to the Platts. Was that a rational choice or a fear-based choice justified by his logic? Is taking this direction courageous, irrational, or an act of listening to his heart's desires?

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I look forward to hearing your thoughts about Carlisle's offer.