Bella slept quietly for two hours before she began to murmur and thrash weakly. I was in the kitchen adding ingredients to the broth to make a light soup for her, but when I heard her stirring I hurried to her room. Had her fever risen again?

Anxiously I rested my hand over her cheek. She was warm, but not dangerously so. Still, I suspected her fever had increased slightly, not an uncommon occurrence with an illness of this nature.

"Sshh," I tried to soothe, stroking her cheek.

But she continued to turn her head from side to side, and her hands moved beneath the blankets. "No… don't go… please, Papa." She began to sob tearlessly, her frail body shaking with the effort.

I could not permit this to continue. I pressed my hands over her cheeks, knowing she would sense the coolness at some level.

"Bella," I said, "it's all right. It's just a dream. Wake up, sweetheart."

"Papa," she muttered, another sob trembling through her.

I rubbed her cheeks vigorously, repeating her name a little more loudly. Finally her eyes opened, and she blinked up at me in confusion. I realized that it had grown dark outside; my own eyes functioned nearly as well in dimness as in full illumination, but her human eyes would see only the duskiness.

"It's Edward," I told her. "I'm right here, and you're all right. You were dreaming."

I turned away for a few moments to light the lamp, casting soft glow over the room. Before I could turn back, she clutched at my arm, holding on as tightly as her weakened grasp would permit.

"Edward," she whispered. "Edward…"

I shifted to face her, placing my hand over hers. "Yes, Bella."

"It was so real," she said very softly, her lower lip quivering. "He was gone… and I was… all alone."

"Sshh, my sweet girl, you're not alone now."

She looked up at me, pleading in her eyes, and without thinking I gathered her into my arms, holding her tenderly and stroking her hair. I felt her heart thumping and the soft warmth of her body against my chest.

Her breathing began to slow; she was calming now. However, I continued running my hand over her hair and kissed her brow softly.

"I'm warm, Edward," she finally said, her tone apologetic as if she were confessing a transgression.

"It's all right," I replied. "Your fever has crept up just a bit; it's nothing to worry about."

I began to ease back, but her little hands grasped at my arms. "Please," she whispered.

She wanted me to continue holding her. I pulled the blanket up to wrap it around her partially, not wanting to expose her to the full chill of my body. Then I scooted back so that I could lean against the headboard and place my legs upon the mattress. I adjusted Bella in my arms, her head on my shoulder.

"Would you like to tell me about your dream?" I questioned gently. "Sometimes talking about it helps."

She did not respond immediately, but after a few seconds she said, very softly, "It was about my father."

Her heart sped up a little, so I changed tacks, not wishing to upset her. "Would you tell me about him?" I asked.

"He was quiet and kind," she began. "He was the deputy for the township when I was little."

I made a small noise of encouragement, and she continued.

"People respected him, I think. He was fair and compassionate, even if he wasn't loud about it."

"Yes," I murmured.

"He loved my mother so much."

"And you, too."

She nodded. "He did. I wish I had come sooner…"

I felt she should tell me her own story, so I did not reveal that I knew something about her past. "How long have you been here?"

"I came at the end of May. An old friend, Angela from the store, wrote to me and informed me that my father was ill; she was very worried about him. I didn't know, he hadn't told me, and I hadn't seen him in several years."

"Where were you living?" I asked.

"In Albion; it's near Boise. My mother and I moved to Boise to live with her parents when I was four. My mother…" A small sigh escaped her. "She was never happy here. She's a dreamer, always imagining what could be and trying to find the illusive 'it,' whatever that might be. She felt like there was nothing more to discover here, and she was so unhappy. I remember her crying… And then her parents said she could come to Boise and stay with them, and my mother took me with her, saying it was just for a little while, just for a visit, but after a few months she decided to stay."

"Did you ever visit your father?"

"Yes. We would come every summer when I was younger, but my mother was miserable while we were here… The last time I came, before this May, I was sixteen. I traveled alone, and I spent two weeks with my father."

"That must have been lovely for both of you," I commented.

"It was. My father was the kind of person you can just sit with without speaking, but it's fine; you both feel comfortable."

"I understand." I truly did. Carlisle was like that, too. While we often spoke at length and for hours on end, sometimes we simply walked in the woods or sat exchanging few words. There was not always a need to speak.

"Then I moved to Albion to attend the Normal School—"

"You studied to become a teacher?" I interjected, fascinated by the thought of Bella pursuing higher education.

"I did. I was going to finish this December, but then I received the letter about my father…"

"Perhaps you can complete your studies in the future," I suggested.

"Maybe."

"Did you consider returning for the fall semester?" I inquired gently. I was curious to know why she had remained here after her father's death.

She sighed again. "No, not really."

"Why not, Bella?" I questioned softly.

"My mother…" She swallowed, and I heard her heart flutter. "She got married last month." She paused for a few moments, swallowing again. Her voice was very quiet now. "She had known him for a long time, but as soon as I wrote her about my father's passing…" She swallowed thickly. "She and Phil were married within the week."

"Oh, Bella." I kissed her forehead again. Her mother's behavior clearly pained her.

"I don't want to go back," she whispered.

"Do you… not like him?" I inquired hesitantly.

"No, Phil is a nice man. But seeing her with him, the way she acts, like a smitten schoolgirl… She was never like that with my father."

I understood now. "Do you plan to remain here indefinitely?"

"I don't know. I want to fix the place up, but there's still so much to do." Her voice was growing weaker; she was becoming quite sleepy.

"I'll help you any way that I can," I offered.

"Mmm… thank you, Edward." I felt her body relax completely against me and knew she had fallen asleep. I wondered how much of our conversation she would recall in the morning.

I lay with her in my arms for a long time. Eventually I heard Callie lowing and realized that she needed to be milked again. I eased myself away from Bella slowly. She whimpered softly, and I tucked the blankets around her more securely.

"Sleep, love," I murmured, pressing a light kiss over her cheek.

She sighed and stilled, and I reluctantly slipped away.

Bella grew more feverish during the night. I bathed her face with cool cloths again and changed the dressing on her leg. She roused briefly to take another dose of quinine but returned to slumber quickly. I worried that I had tired her by engaging her in conversation. I would be more cautious tomorrow.

She woke at first light. Her skin was cooler, and her eyes were clear. I sat at her bedside with a book in my hands, but I had read few words. I smiled at her when her gaze moved to my face.

"Good morning," I greeted softly.

"Good morning," she replied.

"How are you feeling?" I rested the back of my hand against her cheek.

"Better… quite a bit better," she replied, seeming to make a quick inventory of herself.

"Your fever has gone down," I told her. "I think we're past the worst of it."

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, and I helped her to sit up fully. "I'd like to get out of bed," she said.

"Do you feel strong enough?" I asked.

"I think so. It's just for a few minutes." Her cheeks grew pink.

I realized that she had human needs to attend to. "Let me help you up," I said, standing. "I should milk Callie, and then I'll prepare a bit of breakfast for you."

She nodded. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

I disliked the thought of leaving her, particularly knowing that she was still very weak. But she appeared rather determined, and when I got her to her feet she was relatively steady.

I left her, closing the door behind myself but waiting in the hall until I was certain she would not fall. I hurried to the barn to attend to the cow then returned to check on Bella again. She was sitting on the bed, her expression difficult to read.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

She looked up at me, her brow furrowing. "Yes…" She gazed at me with an intensity I had never seen from her before.

Her expression worried me. She did not appear to be in pain, but I felt that something was troubling her. "Are you certain?"

She looked away. "Yes, Edward."

Suddenly I realized that she must be concerned about the chamber pot in the corner. Without discussion, I walked to it and picked it up, carrying it from the room. Surely she had not planned to clean it herself, in her condition?

I returned a few minutes later with a cup of tea rich with milk and sugar. Bella had gotten underneath the covers again but remained sitting with her back against the headboard. I offered her a smile, but her expression remained serious. A small crease pulled her lovely brows together.

I handed her the cup. Her warm fingers brushed my hand as she took it, and she seemed to stiffen for a moment. Her heart was beating a little faster than normal. Had the movement hurt her?

"How does your leg feel?" I asked.

She blinked at me, requiring a few seconds to respond. "Oh, it's fine—about the same."

Her cheeks were pale, so I did not believe she was feverish again. However, I rested the back of my hand against her forehead to check. She pulled back a little.

"I'm all right," she said with a small frown. She lifted the cup to her lips, her hand slightly unsteady. Her gaze never left my face.

There was something familiar in that gaze, something I had seen before and felt I should recognize. But it seemed like so long ago…

"Could you give me a little time?" she asked softly.

I was not sure what she meant. "Pardon me?"

"I'd like a little time to myself," she clarified. Her eyes flicked to the table, where I had left The Pilgrim's Progress. "I think I'd like to read."

"Oh. I would be glad to read to you," I began, thinking how enjoyable such a pursuit would be. I imagined the charming expressions that would cross her face as she listened to my words…

"No, thank you," she said a bit stiffly.

"Are you certain? It would be my pleasure—"

"Really?" she interjected.

"Yes, Bella, of course. Whatever I can do to make you feel more comfortable—"

"Why?"

Again, her question caught me off guard. "Why?" I repeated.

"Why would you want to? Why do any of this?" She gestured toward her leg.

"You were injured and ill," I began. "You needed help, and I wanted to help you."

She set the cup on the table and reached for the book. I accepted this as her cue that I should leave, so I took a step back and bowed my head slightly.

"I won't be far. Just call me if there is anything you need."

She nodded and opened the book. Her hands still quavered a little, and her heartbeat had not slowed significantly. As I backed toward the door, she looked up once more, and now I recognized her expression. It was wariness.

"Excuse me," I murmured, hurrying toward the kitchen.

I did not know what to do. My mind reeled. I remembered a patient I had treated shortly after I began my professional career. I was not as practiced with humanity as Carlisle was, and something in my manner had aroused a vague suspicion in the elderly man. While his body was frail, his thoughts remained sharp and his eyes clear. He had looked at me just as Bella had, dubiousness clear upon his face.

Carlisle had warned me to be vigilant of such reactions. They could snowball into questions and inquiries that neither he nor I could afford if we wished to maintain our positions at the hospital. The repercussions could extend beyond our professional lives, too, and that was a risk neither of us wished to take.

I had told him about the old gentleman's reaction immediately, and he had accompanied me back to the patient's room, where one of us had remained nearby for the next seven hours so that we could hear anything he might say to a nurse or another physician. He did not voice his suspicions, however, and that night he passed away. The crisis had been averted, but I was still shaken by it.

My reaction now, however, was much stronger. Bella was not yet well enough to be left alone; her wound required continued care, too. Possibly I could take her into Madras and find someone to look after her, but I wanted her to be under medical supervision until she was stronger. And, if the truth were told, I could not bear the thought of her in someone else's hands. No one would take care of her as solicitously as I would.

But what choice did I have? If she voiced her suspicions as humans were wont to do, questions would arise, and others would become aware of those subtle differences their minds had not fully processed the first time they met me…

"Edward." Bella's soft voice summoned me from my ruminations.

I had been standing in the kitchen doorway, unaware of my surroundings, but I turned and hastened back to her room. For one instant, my instincts urged me to pause before entering, but I could not resist her gentle call, so I stepped inside.

"Yes?" I asked, my voice sounding slightly strained.

"You heard me," she said with a small, unfathomable smile.

"I was just in the hallway," I tried to explain. "Do you need something?"

"Would you still be willing to read to me?" she asked.

I studied her countenance. A hint of wariness remained, but she appeared more relaxed. Her heart had slowed, and a faint brush of color tinged her cheeks. I was utterly perplexed by her, but I could not deny her anything.

I sat down in the chair beside her bed, and she handed me the book. I noticed it was closed.

"Where did you stop?" I asked.

"I didn't even begin. Please start where you left off."

I opened the book and read a page, glancing up at her periodically. In point of fact, I did not need the words before me; I had read the book twice and could recite it from memory. But I refrained, knowing such a feat would not help in my quest to alleviate Bella's doubts about my nature.

When I paused to draw a breath at the top of the next page, she stopped me.

"Edward."

I looked up at her. "Yes, Bella?"

She gazed at me pointedly. "Would you tell me something?"

If my heart were able to beat, it would have thrashed violently. I feared her question and its implications. What would I say? How could I respond? I nodded woodenly, steeling myself for the dreaded words.

"Where were you born?" she asked.

I blinked in surprise. This was not what I had anticipated. "Chicago," I replied. "On the North Shore, actually, in a town called Wilmette."

"Do your parents still live there?"

Pleased and relieved that I could be relatively honest with her, I replied, "No. They are both deceased."

Her brow furrowed. "Oh! I'm so sorry. May I ask... how long has it been?"

"Several years. I was still in school when it happened. They both became ill during a widespread outbreak of pneumonia."

"Edward, I didn't know…" I could hear sincere sorrow in her tone.

"It's all right," I said, closing the book softly. "Please don't feel badly. You had no way of knowing. It was kind of you to ask about them."

I detected a hint of saltiness and saw that her eyes were bright with tears. "Did you… were you on your own after that?" she asked.

"No. A friend—a physician with whom I had studied—took me in. I lived with him until I moved out here. I consider him a second father."

"What's his name?"

"Carlisle."

"He must be a very compassionate person," she commented.

"He is—I believe he is the most compassionate individual I have ever met."

"He passed that on to you," she said softly.

A single tear crept down her cheek. Without thinking, I reached for my handkerchief and gently dabbed it away.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I didn't mean to make you sad. I would never wish to see you unhappy." Undoubtedly the mention of my parents' deaths reminded her painfully of her father.

She shook her head.

"I was insensitive," I attempted in apology. "I should have realized what I was saying—"

"No, Edward, it's not that…" She sniffed and pressed her hand beneath her nose. "I just… I suppose I'm a little overwhelmed right now."

"Of course you are," I said gently. "You've been ill, and you're still tired and weak." Then, keeping my voice as even as possible, I added, "I'm so sorry if I've upset you in any way." I hoped she would accept the subtext of my simple words as the absolute truth.

Her eyes widened slightly, and her heart fluttered. "I—no, you haven't…" she stammered. Then, her voice steadier, she said, "You've been nothing but kind."

"You bring out the best in me," I replied sincerely.

She smiled, but I could tell that she remained curious. "When did you finish medical school?" she asked. "Were you in practice long?"

"I graduated a little over a year ago. I practiced for ten months before I… became ill."

"And you are still recovering," she said kindly. "It must have been a very serious affliction."

"I'm past the worst of it," I responded.

My eyes moved to her slender hand resting over the covers—the same hand I had taken in her doorway—the hand that had been insensate to me, revealing nothing of her pain. And in the ensuing days, from the terrible morning when I had found her lying in the barn to the times I cleaned and dressed her wound or felt her brow for fever, I had sensed nothing. My mind was peacefully mute, my body blissfully numb. It was a wonder to me. Touching Bella was a revelation in absolute serenity.

"I believe I am close to a full recovery," I added.

"But you don't feel you can practice anymore," she reminded me gently.

"Not now… perhaps someday," I replied slowly, considering the question. "I feel better than I have in a very long time."

"You're a wonderful doctor," she said. "I know…," her voice dropped to a whisper, "that you saved me."

I remained concerned about her silence that day when I had brought the blanket, but this did not seem the appropriate time to question her about it.

"No, Bella," I correctly mildly, "it is you who saved me."

She shook her head in minor confusion.

"I didn't believe that I could practice again," I explained. "I had no intention of trying. But when I realized that you needed help, I didn't even think about my reservations. It all came back to me, as naturally as ever. You showed me that I can still use the skills I've learned—that I'm strong enough now."

Neither of us spoke for several moments. Finally I remembered that I had promised her breakfast. I stood, telling her that I would bring her something to eat soon. She thanked me, and I returned to the kitchen, much less anxious than I had been less than an hour before.

To be continued...