Chapter Seven: The Genius and The Apple

Columbus, Ohio, 1911

Carlisle

"Doctor Cullen? We have an emergency patient with a broken leg, could you tend to her?" The head nurse called me from the end of the hall.

I nodded and turned around to follow her into the waiting room.

"Patient details?" I asked the nurse.

"Esme Anne Platt, sixteen years of age, usually treated my Dr. Clements, Patricia will be your nurse."

I nodded, "Did she say how the break occurred?"

The nurse pursed her lips in strong disapproval, "Falling from a tree."

I couldn't help the amusement that coursed through my veins.

Esme Anne Platt was a woodland fairy. Her mother unhappily plucked leaves and branches from her caramel curls as her father watched on disapprovingly from afar.

"We're never going to be able to marry you off to a man with good prospects if you keep acting like the Esme," her mother's tone mirrored the nurse's face, but Esme merely sighed, "I'm sorry mother," her voice was soft and gentle.

"Here's the doctor," Mr. Platt's voice was gruff.

I smiled at the family when my presence was noted. Mrs. Platt froze when she saw me, a natural reaction amongst many, and Mr. Platt shuffled in annoyance.

Esme, however, gave me a small, shy smile.

"You must be Mr and Mrs. Platt, I'm Doctor Cullen, I have been filling in for Doctor Clements while he has taken his leave."

"He said he'd be back next month, yes?" The gruff Mr. Platt demanded.

"Yes," I nodded, "He'll be back next month. May I please examine your daughter's leg?"

Mr. Platt nodded and I made my way over to the small girl, who sat in one chair, with her leg propped up on another.

"Stop fawning over her," Mr. Platt commanded to his wife, who had returned to smoothing Esme's hair.

"I apologise," she murmured as she withdrew her hands and stood up, moving to stand by her husband, leaving her daughter alone.

"Good evening, Miss Platt."

She smiled bashfully again, "Good evening, Doctor Cullen."

"Are you in very much pain?" I asked softly, as I crouched down by her leg.

"I am, a little, yes. But I don't think it to be a very large break," she murmured softly.

"Let the doctor make his own mind up, Esme," her father grumbled.

I smiled at her; "It looks a little swollen, but nothing too bad. May I lift you up, to take you into one of the wards?"

"Yes," she breathed timidly.

As gently as I could I lifted her up, she weighed not much more than a feather. Her light brown eyes never left my face as we left the room.

Esme did not look much like either of her parents. Her features were not rough like those of her father's or frail like those of her mother's, instead she had large doe eyes, a button nose, and plump lips. Her cheeks were full and I saw the slight pull of dimples when she spoke, and all of it sat in a love-heart shaped face, surrounded by billows of light brown waves for hair.

I heard the young nurse follow behind me as I carried Esme to an empty room. I lay her down on the bed, and raised my eyes to her.

"May I feel for the break?"

She nodded her consent.

"You're parents are very worried about you," I murmured in passing.

She looked up to me stunned, and then surprised me by letting out a small laugh, her eyes danced with an amused light, "Oh, they're not worried about me, they're worried about what everyone else will think."

My emotions were a mix of frustration, sadness, and confusion. The latter must have played upon my face, for she elaborated in her quiet voice.

"Their sixteen year old daughter has just been caught climbing trees. It's the scandal of the century. Ouch," she whispered under her breath.

I gave her a tight smile, and then turned around for the needle.

"This may hurt a little, Esme." The nurse cooed in a tone I, myself, found rather patronising, "Perhaps you should keep talking to distract yourself?"

The young girl looked frightened at the thought of talking, more so than the needle, so I smiled in encouragement.

"Well, all right. I suppose in my defence of the whole debacle, the century really only has just begun."

I couldn't help the laughter that arose from my chest at her surprising comment.

The nurse wasn't impressed.

"Okay, honey, perhaps you should read something instead. What do sixteen year olds like to read these days? There are some books here, I'll put them on the table next to you." I ignored her petty jabs at Esme's age. The unnatural good looks were often an annoying part of being a vampire, I'd found.

"Oh, thank you, but I really shouldn't," Esme objected softly.

"Yes, you really should."

I almost groaned at her pushy tone.

"Nurse?" I murmured, she looked up, "Could you please hand me the other vial of anaesthetic from the station?"

She nodded and rushed away.

"I do apologise," I murmured once the woman was out of earshot.

"Oh, no," Esme whimpered, "I apologise for offending her. I truly didn't mean to."

I momentarily marvelled at her sweet heart.

"Oh, I know. It's not you, please, think nothing of it. Now, this is going to sting a little, all right?"

She nodded and took a deep breath, the nurse arrived back with the extra anaesthetic, "Thank you, I'll think I can handle it from here. Could you please go and see that Miss Platt's family is comfortable, and then place those last files upon my desk? Thank you."

The nurse grumbled softly, but left without any objection.

I turned back to look at Esme, "So," I murmured as I readied the needle, "What's your favourite colour?"

"Blue," she breathed.

I grinned, "Mine too. Any particular reasons?"

I heard her sharp intake of breath as the needle punctured her skin, "The sky is blue, and the sky does not have definitive limits and I like the feeling of infinite possibilities so I like the colour blue." She spoke softly and quietly.

I grinned, "I am impressed. Your reasons for liking blue are much better than mine."

"Hmm?"

"Blue is nice." I spoke quietly.

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips, "Blue is nice."

I withdrew the needle once the vial was empty and smiled down at the young girl.

"All done, you're very brave."

She laughed at me disbelievingly so, then apologised for her behaviour.

I shook my head, "Please, don't apologise. It's nice to speak to someone so refreshingly honest." I grinned, "I'll be back once I've gathered the plaster to set your leg. You were right, it's not a big break."

She nodded and thanked me quietly as I left.

I came back to see her sitting upright, nose half-buried in an old and tattered copy of The Strand Magazine, which one of the older doctors had brought over from London nearly two decades before.

"I see you changed your mind about reading then?"

She looked up in surprise, obviously not having noticed my entrance, and grinned timidly before shutting the book and placing it back down on the table.

"Only while you were away," she murmured.

"Please," I insisted, "Don't let me stop you."

She looked down shyly and blushed, then let out a laugh, "I'm not actually allowed to read."

Her confession surprised me, "Why ever not?"

I had reached the trolley at the foot of her bed, by then, and placed my tools upon it. I looked to her with a confused expression upon my face.

She eyed me carefully, as if wondering if she could trust me with the truth or not, "My mother disapproves greatly of what I like to read, so much so, we're not to have any books on the farm at all."

I raised my eyebrows then grinned and spoke teasingly, "You must have terrible taste in stories then, Miss Platt."

She gave me a toothy grin, "Oh but that's the problem, I really don't. Mother doesn't approve of anything that's not Jane Austen, or Charlotte Bronte, but I much prefer Arthur Conan Doyle, and Emily Bronte. Oh, I do think I almost damaged her heart when I spoke of Heathcliff and Cathy not being quite as terrible as she seemed to think and Emily Bronte being the best writer of the three sisters for her unparalleled imagination, and then she nearly burned every book in the house when I told her I planned to read Edgar Allen Poe, she'd much rather me read Emerson. The matter didn't improve when she found the children's books under my bed.
"She said there was no point in dreaming of Oz, no point in dreaming of Wonderland, and no point in dreaming of Neverland either, because I'm far too old for that. I'm too old to dream, she thinks. I disagree."

I grinned despite myself, "I do too. Were you enjoying the story in that issue?" I asked nodding to the book by her bedside.

"Oh, yes," she nodded eagerly, "Very much so. I have never read it before. It's called 'The Adventure of the Speckled Band,' do you know it?"

I nodded, "I do. Now, I'm just going to touch your leg, tell me if you can feel it."

She nodded, so I stepped around her bed and bent down to feel the break. She winced, "Still tender?" I asked.

"A little," she murmured.

"But less than before?"

She nodded definitively.

I smiled, "A little bit longer then." I took a deep breath, "Yes, I am familiar with 'The Adventure of the Speckled Band,' it is one of my favourites so far."

"Is it very old?" She asked.

"I think it was published in 1892. So it's a little older than you."

She nodded thoughtfully, "I didn't quite finish it, do you remember how it ends?"

I nodded.

"Pray tell, does it have anything to do with the ventilation?"

A large smile spread across my face, it was equal parts surprised and delighted, "What makes you say that?"

She was thoughtful for a moment, "Entry could not have been made through the window nor the door, and so the only other possibility is the ventilator. An adult human could not fit through there, so possibly it could have been a child… or of course an animal. You know what they say," she looked me directly in the eye, "Truth is not bound by any rules, so often it is stranger than what is written in black ink."

I nodded, "It was a snake."

Her eyes widened, "A snake? Oh really? That's why it was speckled! That makes so much sense now. He's ever so brilliant is he not?"

"Conan Doyle, or Mr. Holmes?"

"Are they not one and the same?"

I grinned, "Indeed, I suppose they are."

The young Esme looked out the window wistfully, I marvelled at how beautiful she was, even then.

"I would so greatly like to meet, Mr. Conan Doyle one day, but I am rather afraid I would be disappointed, for the irrational side of me would want him to be Sherlock Holmes despite me knowing that he is fictional, and make-believe."

I smiled slightly, "Indeed, I find myself thinking the same things about many people I would like to meet. May I feel your leg again?"

She nodded, "Of course."

I probed her leg, but she shook her head, "I can't feel a thing."

We grinned at each other for a moment, and I ever so briefly lost myself in her hazelnut eyes.

I quickly shook myself out of the daze, and straightened before reaching for the plaster.

"So I gather you like Mr. Holmes, then?"

"Oh, yes. Very much, indeed. I'm captivated by his intelligence."

"And you don't mind his… eccentricities?" I asked carefully.

She laughed, "Not at all. Of course, I do agree, he is a little strange, but I don't think he can help it. I believe he was born that way. You see, we can't control what we are, but we can decide who we want to be, and we can dedicate our entire lives to becoming that person. Our decisions define us more than the circumstances were are given."

Of course, she never realised exactly what those words meant to me, and I could never give her the chance to, so I grinned, "That is quite revolutionary, Miss Platt."

She laughed, the sound was so carefree and young, "Doctor Cullen, I climb trees. I don't doubt for one second that all along you have known that I don't much like to comply with the standards set by today's society."

I grinned in confirmation of her words, "How ever is someone so young filled with so much wisdom?" I wondered aloud.

I heard her give a quiet snicker, "I used to read a lot."

We shared another grin.

"So what do you want, Miss Platt? I can't imagine a soul like yours would be content with housework and things of the like."

Her reply laugh was quiet, "Quiet right, Doctor. I always thought I'd like to move out West… to the wilds."

I raised an eyebrow, not at all surprised, "To the wilds?"

She sighed, "I know. It's no place for a lady. But, oh, the grand adventures. I could do something respectable, it's not as though I'd be waist deep in mud, or high up in trees all of the time."

"Only some of it?" I laughed, as I reached for her leg and began to plaster it. Going as slowly as I could, to prolong our conversation.

She grinned, "Yes, only some of it. The rest of the time, oh, I don't know. I could be a teacher? I could teach children to read and write, and learn proper lessons from books. I've always been good at mathematics, although my mother doesn't like me mentioning that, it's not a very feminine subject, but it's natural to me. I could teach children sums, and give them a good start in life, give them hope and teach them how to dream wildly and vividly."

"And how to fall out of trees," I murmured.

"Oh hush you!" She laughed, "It was an accident."

Our laughter rang together in such a beautiful way.

"Despite your mother's best efforts, Esme, I daresay she has not accomplished in reducing the size of your wild and vivid dreams, nor removing literature from your life for that matter."

She grinned proudly, but her eyes bore into mine with extreme tenderness, "One never really loses their love of literature, Doctor Cullen. I'll hide it, but she'll never take it away from me."

I nodded, "Will promise me something, Esme?"

She smiled and cocked her head to the side, "Yes?"

"If you choose to continue on with your rebellious endeavours, which I don't doubt you will, perhaps you should trade tree climbing for book smuggling? I think it a healthier alternative."

She grinned widely, "I'll get my hands on Edgar Allan Poe someday…"

"Carlisle." I returned her wide smile, and somehow hers grew wider.

"Carlisle."

As I fixed the plaster on her delicate skin we talked more. I told her of my family, my education, my hobbies, and she talked passionately about her thoughts on everything. In the short time I knew her, I came to know her better than any other person I had ever met, and she was utterly beautiful for it. She told me she never envied any character in any book, because she had infinite possibilities in her life. Her life, she said, could be everything she wanted, or more than she had ever dreamed.

Once I had finished treating her leg, I was filled with such a potent sadness at the thought of never seeing the beautiful being again.

"Thank you, Carlisle," she murmured, "For fixing my leg and listening to my daft little ramblings."

I smiled at her thoughtfully, "I wouldn't say our conversation was any kind of daft ramblings. Nor would I ever say anything about you is daft, Esme. So I must thank you. You have taught me many things in our short time together."

Her eyes lit up, as my favourite wide grin spread across her face, "Sometimes people fall into our lives for a reason."

I nodded grinning, "Indeed they do."

"So I guess that makes you Newton, and I'm the apple that fell from the tree."

Irrationally I placed my hand on the side of her face, she smiled demurely.

"The very best apple that there ever will be."

A.N. This was so much fun to write! I wanted to create a young Esme who could absolutely captivate Carlisle. I have read a lot of interviews with SM, how she states that Esme is just as smart as Carlisle, and out of all of the Cullens, they have the most intellectual type relationship. I really aimed to create a young Esme here who was already insultingly wise for someone her age, in the time that she lived.

Having written this now, new sense is given to the interactions between Carlisle and Esme in the previous chapters, so please feel free to re-read them and notice new things.

I hope you're all enjoying my take on the story so far!

Reviews are always appreciated!