Thank you for the good vibes! The muse spoke.

I don't own the characters, but I do own a bag of cinnamon bark and a gorgeous heart-shaped gold bookmark from Mumbai. DH knows me so well.

Chapter 4:

The town bustled with life in the early morning hours. Although there was the crispness of fall in the air, the sun shone brightly on the horizon, promising plenty of activity. People began setting up stalls with their sundry products—fruits, vegetables, clothes, cooking vessels, and more. If you could make it, it could be found here and bartered for today. It was crowded, loud, and exciting, and Isabella loved every minute.

"Are you certain?" Isabella asked as her father plopped down onto the small stool he had brought from home. She tried her best to conceal her excitement, but she knew her father could tell.

Market day meant they brought whatever extra produce they had harvested as well as an assortment of carved wooden implements Charles had crafted. After she gathered the few items they needed from other vendors, Isabella would explore what rare treasures had been brought in by the few ships that visited the port. Often she came home with a little trinket she had bartered for, as well as several stories to tell.

When she was a middling child, Charles worried less about her going off on her own. There were always enough people milling about and he had no fear of her being abducted or accosted. But now that she was a blooming young woman, he grew concerned about her catching someone's eye or the possibility of someone catching hers. He heaved a great sigh as he realized she might very well find that special person to spend the rest of her days with and leave him, sooner, rather than later.

"Father?"

Charles shook away the thought and smiled thinly at his daughter who was fairly vibrating with excitement.

"You can go to the church and see if Father Carlisle has time for you today. Do not be a bother."

"When am I a bother?" she demanded, bowing up to her full height.

Charles laughed at his little fighter, earning a grin in return.

"Every chance you get, Isabella. Your curiosity is why I love you so."

She giggled and bent over to place a quick kiss on her father's cheek before running through the crowded street. Charles watched her flit in and out of sight until she rounded a corner.

"Lovely girl."

Charles looked over to see the Honorable, red-faced and overweight, Sheriff Michael Newton. Keeping his emotions entirely neutral, Charles gazed up at the man who at the moment was puffing as if he had run a sprint. Without a thought, Charles stood and offered his seat to the man who took it, ignoring the wood creaking in protest.

"She is."

"Marriageable?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Michael paused to catch his breath before waving a hand in the direction Isabella had dashed.

"Your daughter…Istanbul, is she of marriageable age yet?"

"Isabella?"

"You have more than one daughter?"

Charles paused, closed his eyes, and silently counted to three before responding. A champion among quick minds Michael Newton was not.

"I have one daughter, and she is named Isabella. I didn't think your sons were of marrying age yet."

The sheriff had three sons, one by each of his wives. Based off his memory, Charles ascertained the oldest could not be over ten years old by now.

Michael shook his head, the redness fading somewhat from his flushed face.

"Not for them. For me."

"For you? Do you not think your wife might have something to say about this?"

"Well, considering she fell off a horse this morning and broke her neck, I doubt she will have much to say about it at all. So, I am in the market for a new wife."

Charles looked down at the chap who reminded him more of a bullfrog than of a man. His wife was barely cold and certainly not even in the grave yet, and he was already hunting for a new one? It boggled Charles' mind.

"Didn't your last wife break her neck falling off a horse? And the one before that?"

Michael scowled up at Charles, his already beady eyes narrowing.

"'Tis not my fault if I marry clumsy twits that cannot maintain their seat in the saddle."

Charles stared at Michael for a few moments, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

"Of course not," he finally said, bowing his head slightly.

But that did not mean Charles was about to have his only daughter marry the man.

"So do I have your permission to court her?" Michael asked, pulling Charles out of his internal musings.

"Isabella has the right to speak to whomever she desires, but I would not be surprised if you find her less than receptive."

Michael blinked mutely; amazed that anyone would dare think to reject his advances. He gathered himself quickly.

"I'm sure she will be most receptive to what I have to offer."

Michael held out one hand expectantly so Charles could help heave him off the stool and to a standing position. After a few tries, and with the added assistance of the fishmonger next door, the sheriff was brought to his feet. He straightened his clothes before giving a perfunctory nod toward those around him and slowly waddled up the lane in the direction Isabella had gone.

"Lord help the one that is foolish enough to wed that one," the fishmonger muttered before returning to his wares.

Charles silently agreed as he watched the sheriff disappear in the crowd.

~SHTMW~

The Reverend Carlisle Cullen sat at his desk in the corner of a little wood and stone church near the edge of town, writing his latest homily that would be presented the following Sunday. He had no need to do so since he had a perfect vampire memory, but there was something comforting about the scratch of a quill on parchment. So out of habit more than anything else, he continued to write the words. You see, there were a few rather nosy parishioners that liked to know what the sermon was going to be about to determine whether or not they would be in attendance. This is why The kindly Reverend wrote them down and left them in a place where they could be easily found.

A soft click caught his attention, and he paused and listened for a moment before laying down his quill and closing the lid on the inkwell with a satisfying clink of metal on glass.

"I wondered when Alice would send you," he murmured. Turning in his seat he faced a figure clad in a dark, woolen robe, hood raised, much like those of a friar from a long gone age.

"No one sends me, Father."

Carlisle tsked at the vitriol in the term.

"At one time, you did not seem to mind calling me such, my son."

"And at one time…" Edward threw back the hood in frustration, growling as the memories that were once tightly packed away became unraveled. "At one time you tried to rule my every move."

"I tried to guide you…"

"To be exactly like you! But as you can see, I'm not. I never have been, nor will I ever be!"

Carlisle gazed at Edward, studying his face as if trying to be the mind reader in the room. A slow smile crept over his face as he saw the golden eyes that glared down at him.

"You took some lessons to heart," he finally said, standing as if to greet Edward with a hug.

The younger man took a step back, his hands raised defensively.

"That was my own choice," Edward insisted.

"Of course it was."

"It's so much easier to enjoy one's meal when it isn't pleading for its life, even when its vocal chords have been crushed."

"Of course," Carlisle did little to hide the amusement in his voice, earning a stronger glare from his company.

"I didn't come here to argue my dietary choices."

"Then why did you come? You said Alice didn't send you, but I would have visited you in your 'castle.'"

Carlisle leaned back to sit on the edge of his desk with a smile. The entire town was talking about the mysterious home so far away from the protection of the sheriff and his guards. Most townspeople found the woods to be a dark and dangerous place after all.

"Actually, I have to check in on you. Part of your reformation."

"Reformation," Edward spat out. "I did nothing wrong, and yet here I am. Banished to…"

"Father Carlisle?" A young woman's voice lilted through the sanctuary.

Carlisle turned toward the door and waved Isabella to enter.

"Father said I could visit if it would not be a bother, so I…" Isabella's voice trailed off when she realized they were not alone.

"This is an old friend of mine, Isabella," Carlisle said, raising an eyebrow when he realized the hood had been pulled up once again.

With his head bowed, only Edward's hands were visible, bestowing a rather ominous presence. Isabella was unsure whether to remain or run fast and far away.

"Oh! Well, if you have company, I don't want to intrude." She began to back away but stopped when Carlisle held up his hand.

"We have plenty of time for a visit." Carlisle smiled broadly as he motioned toward a nearby pew.

He had a particularly strong affection for Isabella; she was not like any of the other young women in town. While the others were off and about, attempting to find husbands, she showed no interest in such games. Isabella would much rather learn something new about the world around her than to worry about what color ribbon to wear in her hair. Of course, that was a moot point for her because she only had a blue one, but that was neither here nor there.

Casting a wary look at Edward as he silently walked toward the small pump organ in the far corner, Isabella made her way over to a pew and sat down.

"Is it alright for him to touch that?" she whispered, earning a secret smile from both men, although she could only see Carlisle's.

"Oh, yes," he assured her in the same whispering voice as he took a seat next to her. "He has a gift for music."

The two watched as Edward quickly assessed the stops and keys, making a few adjustments before he began operating the pedals. He cautiously touched a key to test the tonal quality before pausing, head lowered as if in prayer.

And then he played.

Isabella had never heard anything quite as magical, quite as wondrous as the sounds that filled the small sanctuary. She sat, wide eyed and open mouthed as Edward's performance transformed the little church into one of the largest cathedrals in the world—or at least in her mind. Although he was partially blocked from view, she could tell he never stopped moving, his hands flew over the keys, pulling and pressing the stops, his legs continuously operating the pedals. Isabella chanced a glance at Carlisle to see if he was enjoying the music as much as she, revealing her eyes brimming with tears.

"I told you," he whispered with a reassuring smile and a comforting pat on the hand.

"I've never heard anything so beautiful!"

She turned back toward the performance, her body vibrating with rapt anticipation of what she would hear next.

As the last notes of the piece faded in the air, Isabella sat in stunned silence. Her heart was pounding out of her chest. She rapidly wiped away the tear that streaked down one cheek as she leapt to her feet to congratulate Edward on his magnificent performance.

"That was absolutely…" she began.

"Oh, thank God that caterwaul is over with," a loud voice from the back of the sanctuary shouted.

Isabella spun around to see the self-righteous sheriff strutting down the center aisle of the church, his boots clicking on the stone floor.

"Honestly don't know how we aren't all deaf after that display," Michael continued. He stopped at the edge of the pew where Carlisle and Isabella stood. His eyes raked over her figure appraisingly and his face took on a self-satisfied smirk.

Isabella opened and closed her mouth a few times, gawping like a codfish, as her face grew redder and redder. She clenched her fists at her sides, her short nails digging into her palms.

A loud crashing noise brought everyone's attention toward the front of the church where the ornately carved baptismal font lay on its side next to where Edward stood, fury rolling off of him in waves. Carlisle rapidly moved toward him and grabbed his arm, securing him in place.

Don't.

"You don't hear what he's thinking," Edward murmured, too low for anyone other than Carlisle to hear. Michael's mind was filled with images of Isabella pleasuring him in various and sundry ways.

"What?" Michael demanded haughtily. "Surely, I am not the only one with sensible taste in music."

"That was the most amazing thing I have ever heard!" Isabella exclaimed, her voice getting louder and higher as she spoke. "How can you even…"

"Enough," Michael said in a bored voice, waving off her concerns. "I did not come here to waste my time arguing. I came here to ask when you wanted to be wed."

Isabella stared at him in shock, unable to answer or even process the question correctly.

"Wed?" she finally whispered.

"Your father gave his permission. We have the church," Michael waved one chubby hand around the room. "We have the priest. We are here."

"I'm not marrying you," Isabella announced, her voice firm. "I cannot believe my father would agree to such."

"And what other option do you have? You're not getting any younger, Istanbul."

Edward took a threatening step toward Michael as Isabella frantically shook her head. The fact Michael used the wrong name had been completely lost in her confusion. Carlisle pressed one hand to Edward's chest to hold him back.

Let it play out. Let her handle this. Isabella is stronger than what you might be accustomed.

Edward did not feel the need to let him know he had already become acquainted with how stubborn Isabella could be.

"I have absolutely no desire to marry you."

"What does desire have to do with it? I have three children that need a mother."

"You're married."

"Not as of dawn this morning. Twit fell off a horse and broke her neck."

Isabella stared at him, horrified that his wife had just passed, and he wished to replace her so soon.

"You have no prospects, and I can provide you with everything you need," Michael continued, oblivious to her mortification.

"And what do you know about what I need? Do you know anything about me at all?"

"I can learn that after the marriage."

"Oh, I do not think so."

"As my wife you will not need to think."

Isabella stared at him in horrified silence before taking a deep breath, calming herself. She relaxed and let her heart rate lower.

"Sheriff Newton," she said in a low, sweet voice. "I appreciate the offer, and I am certain you will find the perfect woman, but I am not her, nor will I ever be, so I will respectfully decline."

And with that, she spun on her heel and made a hasty exit.

~STTBW~

Run, Bella, run!

Again, thank you to the wonderful SunflowerFran for her assistance in making my words prettier.

And thank you for reading.

Reviews (or even just a pm asking for one) get teasers, so let me know what you think!

DeJean