Birth
Barely a week after that horrible party, Carlisle Cullen left town for good. He was moving away, as he had said, to help other people more in need of him.
I, personally, never saw the man again after that night. I worked hard to keep as much rage as possible directed towards him- just so that the self-pity and despair wouldn't take over.
I am ashamed to admit that it worked. In time, I learned to grow weary of his mention and pretend to have 'moved on to better things' every time that happened.
And so our town recovered from being under Dr. Cullen's spell, and did move on, too. I, meanwhile, set myself to fully establish myself in the role I had carved out for myself that night. Almost immediately, I had my father throw a coming-out party for me. I have to admit, I enjoyed it. I really was the star of the evening, and I loved it.
My parents were bewildered and confused at this sudden change in my behavior. I ordered a whole new set of clothes for myself from New York, some of which were in turn originally from Paris. My father tentatively supported me in all my social flurry- I had always been the quiet one in the family. And Mother just watched, growing more alarmed as each day passed, but I suppose she understood that I needed this phase of rebelling, or I'd live out my whole life as a sad recluse. However, I tried to indirectly comfort her by not doing anything too outrageous or indecent. I never smoked at home, though I rarely smoked anyway. I always wore a shrug or a shawl at home, so they wouldn't see my bare shoulders. I took every chance to let them know that my affection towards them hadn't changed. I bought them expensive gifts every time I went to the nearest city(although, technically, it was not my money).
And so the months passed. I often went to New York with my new set of friends- my parents never said no. There were rumours of war and general unrest, but this did not interest me in any way. I continued being a social butterfly, moving with socialites and heiresses, going to parties, dancing, drinking, having fun…
Then my life changed in a wholly different way.
I have mentioned before that my Mother was expecting another child. So, one cold, dark March morning in 1912, my mother's large bedroom was suddenly filled with flurried activity. I had opted to stay out of it, so I was sitting in the parlor with Dad(as I called him now), and waiting anxiously with him. Elizabeth was still asleep, and Eleanor was with Mother. All this was happening a month too soon, and my Mother seemed really ill this time. I, for one, was half-concerned about, and half-angry at Mother. We all knew how many times she had gone through something like this. How much more could her body take?
And all this for another Elizabeth in the house.
We had taken for granted that our newest sibling would definitely be a girl. I don't know how we could have been so sure, but everyone at home were expecting another miracle child like Elizabeth. For my youngest sister, however, this was not a happy thought. She reveled in her so-called uniqueness, and hated to have younger, and possibly better, competition.
And so we waited- Dad patiently, Eleanor curiously, me wearily, and Elizabeth sullenly. But our wait was long. Mother was in real trouble this time. Sometimes we could hear her moans all the way downstairs in the parlor. At those moments, Dad would look visibly pained, and double his restless pacing in front of the fire. And I prayed. Though I'm not very religious nor spiritual, Mother needed to be prayed for. So I prayed, putting my heart and soul into it.
At around sunrise, Eleanor entered the parlor, looking very exhausted and sweaty. "It's taking too long," she murmured expressionlessly. "The nurses are all worried. They sent me down- said I couldn't be of much use to them."
There was a long painful silence. Hesitantly, my voice thick with tears, I asked, "Shouldn't we take her to a hospital, Dad?"
My father didn't answer. I understood completely. Going to the hospital to facilitate childbirth meant that it was a last resource. And too often, there weren't survivors. It wasn't that the health care in our hospital was so degraded. It just meant women too close to death went there. Was my lovely, lovely Mother close to death, then?
A solitary tear streaked down my pale cheeks.
"Don't be a fool, Esme!"- Eleanor snapped, all the colour seeping away from her cheeks. "Mother is not that far gone-"
"It would be better to go sooner, than wait till she gets worse-"
"Girls." My father sighed, voice cracking. We stopped immediately, mortified. Father's voice never, never cracked.
"I shall consult the nurses," he said, his voice weary, but he left the room with a quick, agitated trot.
"If only Dr. Cullen were here," Eleanor murmured. "He'd have known what to do."
And unbidden, the tears started to gush down my cheeks. I had no strength to counter the familiar despair with my well-used armour of anger and loathing. The world suddenly seemed very bleak. My tired eyes wandered to the second-floor banister visible through the door. And without really thinking about it, I wondered how it would be to leap off the edge…
My father rushed into the room. "It is happening!"-he gasped. "Finally!"
With gasps of shock and relief, Eleanor and I rushed after him, up the stairs, into the corridor where he already stood waiting, rocking back and forth impatiently on the balls of his feet.
Ten, whole, agonizing minutes we waited. Ten, whole, agonizing minutes later, a sudden silence announced the new arrival. We waited with bated breath. I remembered my still-born sister. Not a pleasant sight…
A sharp piercing wail shattered the silence. Before I could even begin to comprehend, a nurse stepped outside my mother's room, holding an unbelievably small bundle of blankets.
"Congratulations, Mr. Platt," she said. "You have a son."
I watched as my dumbstruck father clutched the bundle tenderly. He stared into it in wonder. "What about my mother?"- I asked. So I got a new little brother. But I was more concerned about Mother.
The nurse pursed her lips. "She is faring badly."
My father looked up from his son's face. "Victoria…"- he mumbled.
He turned to me and Eleanor, standing there, watching silently. Then, surprising us all, he thrust my little brother into my arms. "Take him. Ellie, go help your mother. I will follow."
We were stunned. "Go!"- Dad said, even more loudly.
"But Father," Eleanor hesitated. "You… have to name him."
He looked at the infant in my arms. Staring into his eyes, my father said solemnly, "Welcome home. Edward."
Edward.
And that was the name of the second angel I was blessed to see in this lifetime.
Edward, my baby brother.
