Chapter 10: Adjustment
July 1933
Carlisle
A loud crash echoed from the second floor, accompanied by a scream of frustration. I looked up from my book into the patient eyes of my wife. Esme smiled slightly as she rose, setting aside her sketches and brushing me lightly on the shoulder as she made her way up the stairs to the room of the newest member of our family.
These past few months had been a constant lesson and test in patience. Of course I remembered the first days of Edward and Esme's vampire life with perfect clarity, but their experience had been unique in so many ways that I felt I was constantly adjusting to the new normal.
For Edward it had been chaos in managing the voices in his head. He had awoken from the pain to crowds of voices and no way to sift through the noise. When he had started responding to my thoughts rather than my actions, both of us had to adjust to his unique gift. By listening to my thoughts, Edward had been able to immediately grasp the nature of what he was and the opportunities and restrictions of his new life. However, he also heard every concern that ran through my thoughts, every pain that I felt as he struggled with his thirst. In fact the thirst was doubled in him, between my awareness and his, making his first few months almost entirely consumed with finding control, over both his abilities and his thirst.
And then both of us were trying to adjust to each other. I had only a vague understanding of the strength of his gift, having experienced a similar capability, manifested differently, in my time in Italy. As he adjusted to this life, he came to find peace through seeking greater understanding of the world. He was calmest when we learned together or when I was recalling the memories over my centuries of experience. New knowledge sparked hope within him, even as he despaired that the opportunities new life brought was a poor exchange for the loss of something even greater. Though I tried to share my beliefs with him as much as possible, he truly believed that in separating ourselves from the rest of humanity we lost our souls. I could only have faith that time and experience may cure some of his hopelessness in that regard.
Esme had reacted entirely differently. After my time helping Edward, I knew better how to react to her raging thirst, and Edward's gift allowed us to be more prepared for the new addition than I had been alone. But Esme had been so gentle in her new life. As soon as she looked up at me, all the fear and confusion I had expected, as well as the anger I had steeled myself against, melted in the face of her feelings for me. We had been so connected so quickly that, in her attempt to live up to my life and experiences, she had tried harder, frustrated with every setback, more determined than ever to belong with me. For me it was even easier – I was given an immense gift in her presence. Though I had remembered her as a girl, her presence in my life as a woman, a woman who wanted me as a partner as much as I wanted her, was a gift greater than any I could have conceived of.
Now we had a new addition, created through my actions and desire to bring justice to a wronged woman, and the experience was entirely disconcerting. Though her thirst constantly weighed on her, Rosalie's dominant emotion was much more potent –
Rage.
Rosalie was enraged with this life. Every day brought a new edge to her overriding anger. She stormed at her own desire to feed and was especially horrified at her draw to human blood, even as we removed her from society to avoid the temptation, brought her hunting frequently and showed her how natural this craving was. She seethed about the color of her skin and shocking sparkle that emerged in the sunlight. She especially raved at the location we brought her to, out to the wilderness.
The last was a subject that filled me with guilt. To maintain our charade, I had returned to the hospital after my planned one week absence and begun to plant the story that Edward had again become ill, a resumption of his illness of a few years prior, and was convalescing for the remainder of the year. I let it be widely known that Esme was tending to her brother with our family in Maine. After speaking with the Chair of Medicine at the hospital, I agreed to serve out my term at the hospital until June and then would join my family.
Over my remaining 48 days in Rochester, I could not escape all the details of the search for Rosalie Hale. Rosalie's disappearance had broken her poor mother's heart. Lillian Hale had all but retreated from the world. I offered to make a house call on the unfortunate woman and found her much reduced, far from the towering society figure I recalled her being only a few years ago. I offered the sympathy I could and, avoiding the cornucopia of opiates already being prescribed by physicians, told her maid to see that she was taken out of the city to a quiet place to avoid the fervor of journalists stationed at her door.
Rosalie's father, however, was moved to action and spared no expense to try to find the girl. The tabloids catalogued every stage of his efforts. Nurse at the hospital repeated the gossip, so even at work I could not avoid hearing the impact of my actions. He hired multiple private detectives, talked with police stations around the country and had a second, costly telephone line wired into his home to be kept open for any tips. His offer of a reward for any information guaranteed his second line was always kept busy and he became known for calling the police headquarters at all times of the night to share tips. As the police slowly lost interest with no new leads, Robert Hale slowly gave up the search, retreating into his position at the bank and becoming devoid of any emotion, as judged by those around him. The last time I saw him, when I went to close our National Trust banking account, he looked more like an automaton than a man, processing numbers with a blank look in his eyes.
For the rest of my days, I would have to live with the pain I had caused the Hale family. I mourned that in order to offer her this new life, I had to take all that her life had been from her. Though I would have liked to do something, anything, to help them through this time, I knew that any interference from my part would be viewed with suspicion. My helplessness haunted me.
The only way I could think of to honor the memory of their daughter was to ensure that Robert and Lillian Hale's Rosalie was given the most support possible in the passage into her new life.
And even in that, I felt I was failing. I did not know how to help her find purpose, or, at the very least, help her touch the essential humanity that still lived within her.
Esme, as always, had been the rock of the family. Rosalie seemed more comfortable with Esme than Edward or me, controlling her anger when with Esme and listening to what Esme said. It was Esme that noticed the one thing seemed to comfort Rosalie – her recognition of her own beauty.
I knew that she was widely recognized as a stunning young woman, the most beautiful of society. My incredible wife had found a way to bring that beauty to her. Esme had found a full length mirror that allowed Rosalie to examine the perfection in her features from all angles. She had found decorations for the room Rosalie had in our remote cabin in order to surround her with beauty. Esme had written to catalogues and had beautiful clothing send to nearby towns for Rosalie while she was as yet unable to come into human contact. Then she had repeatedly mended clothing when it tore due to Rosalie misjudging her overwhelming physical strength.
It was this strength that brought on the most recent outburst. In trying to open her closet, Rosalie had destroyed the wardrobe, provoking her outrage. I heard Esme reassure Rosalie in quiet tones and offer to brush her hair to help calm her.
In helping Rosalie, I knew Esme also found peace. I had seen from the first moments of Esme's awareness in Rosalie's change that she had already accepted her as a new daughter. She did not want to rush their relationship, recognizing that Rosalie needed time to adjust and was likely mourning the loss of her own mother. Still, I knew that she hoped that one day, Rosalie would find space in her heart to see Esme in the way that Edward had come to recognize Esme, as a friend, if not a mother.
The fellowship being forged between the two could not be rushed. To allow them more privacy, I decided to seek out my first companion.
I ran out into the late morning sunshine, appreciating the feel of the sun, even as it set off my skin in a manner from which I instinctively shied away. In this remote part of Montana, we could hunt the migrating elk into Canada and not fear the interference of human population. Even the very few hunters that came out this far only did so in the autumn, when the herds again moved. This absence of population for miles ensured that we were undisturbed. The untamed mountains felt safe.
Edward's scent was still strong, in spite of the early morning rain that had swept through briefly. Of late, his presence seemed to be like a coil, springing in and out of the house as he viewed it necessary. I ran toward his location slowly in the hope that he could decide whether he wanted company before I joined him. As the potency of his sweet, almost floral scent intensified, I spotted him from the top of a mountain. Edward sat unmoving in a vast windswept meadow, upwind of an elk herd several miles off.
Do you mind if I join you? I queried, unsure whether he had heard my approach.
"No, I don't mind," his voice was steady, dispassionate.
I had to remove myself from the house when the talk turned to the particular scent of silk, I joked. I sat down near him, allowing him some space if he needed it.
He did not respond, eyes fixed on the horizon. I sat in silence with him, happy just to be with him. I had seen him so rarely recently.
In the first month of Rosalie's new life, Edward was a constant presence. He was on the alert for any sign that would potentially endanger Esme and me. He accompanied Rosalie on every hunt, a silent but watchful bystander that observed her movement and assessed her thoughts and reactions. I appreciated his insight, and knew I could trust him to ensure the safety of both Rosalie and Esme when I returned to work. I saw now that my absence had piled undue pressure on his shoulders.
After running with them to our new home, a property I had purchased at the turn of the century, I had left them reluctantly, with Edward and Esme's assurances that they would guarantee Rosalie's safety, as they implicitly trusted me to safeguard the life we had left behind.
When I rejoined them in Montana, Edward was quick to make himself scarce. He stayed near the house and returned frequently, both to reassure Esme that he was not leaving and to reassure me – and himself – that there was no danger. Still, he kept away. I wondered to myself whether he still suffered the pain he had suffered during her transformation, in his memory. Or if he was straining under the constancy of Rosalie's anger. Or perhaps Esme and I were too preoccupied with Rosalie and did not give him the support he needed.
"It isn't any of those things," he said, frustration coloring his voice. He shifted uncomfortably, searching for words. "It's mostly that she's… very annoying," he said through gritted teeth.
A relieved smile came to my lips, which I tried to quickly suppress.
Annoying? I asked silently.
He growled softly and sprang to his feet, a clear sign of agitation.
Throwing his hands in the air he paced the space. "I understand the changes she is going through," he started. "I remember them only too well myself. So naturally I know that it's confusing and distressing."
He paused, looking out again, a motionless pale figure standing out starkly against the verdant green of the field.
"But all she does is think of herself!" he exploded, wringing his hair. "How does this dress suit her figure? Do we fully appreciate her beauty? Does the color of that hat set off her hair? And on and on!"
I sat patiently, knowing he had bottled up this frustration for too long without my ear.
"I am prepared for thirst and frustration," he continued, waving them off. "Even her anger, but all she does is think about how each of us, and all of humanity for that matter, should shape their lives around her – her type of house, clothes, even the lavatory! All fall below her estimations and, even if she doesn't express it aloud, all she does is complain!"
"Edward," I replied calmly after he had paused in his rant, "Perhaps this is the only way she is able to process the changes. Perhaps she needs to think about these issues to hold on to a sense of normalcy." I paused, hesitating to bring up a point that may strike him as unfair. The thought nevertheless arose. And I have never known you to judge someone only by the content of their thoughts.
"Yes, yes," he said irritated. "I want to be patient with her and understanding, but she knows that I have no choice but to listen and so seems to irritate me by mulling on her unhappiness intentionally!"
I pondered this latest observation. It was true that Rosalie was unpleasantly surprised when she realized that Edward was reacting to her thoughts about a month into her new life. Esme has related the particulars of that conversation. Rosalie had screamed at him, saying that it was an extreme invasion of privacy. She had even refused to be around Edward for a week until Esme was able to calm her and talk to her about Edward's inability to control his gift and his strong belief in good intent.
"And so she tries to make my life unpleasant," Edward muttered, continuing the thread of my thoughts. "All because she still resents – "
He cut off suddenly, glancing quickly at me before looking away and continuing his pacing.
Resents what, Edward? I asked, confused as to the turn of the conversation. He shook off the question.
When he didn't continue I picked up the thread. "Edward, please remember how new she is to this life," I appealed. "She is only months old and still adjusting. I'm sure that once she has had time – "
"But what if she doesn't?" He interrupted me, looking at me seriously. "What if she persists in making life intolerable? It is not just me; she directs her anger toward you as well."
I sighed, "I knew that there was a possibility that she would not appreciate the choice I made," I said wearily, feeling the weight of my culpability. "In those days of her change I thought long about how she may react, but I vowed to help her." I paused, thinking about the implications of my words. "And even if she chooses to leave, I will do all in my power to help her." I nodded slowly to myself, recognizing that no matter her choice, I would support her.
"She won't leave," he murmured scornfully. "Even with all her anger, she is too scared of the wider world to look beyond. Everything, in our lives and the world beyond, even other cities, terrify her. She has been so protected."
"That may be," I responded evenly, considering that it could be her fear that was driving her anger. "But allow her the time to make that decision and come to learn herself and what she might want."
"But Carlisle," he said suddenly, dropping to the ground in front of me. "What if she can't? We were all frozen in the stage we were in, though physical ailments were cured for all of us, Rosalie included. But what if the same is not true for our – "he caught himself before continuing more slowly, "- for her… mental damage?"
Edward's statement stunned me into silence. As a doctor I had examined her skin and bones for any evidence of trauma but in my determination to ensure she was not suffering from bodily harm, I realized I had ignored her mind, a component that when impacted could cause even more damage.
I had naturally kept abreast of the ideas coming out of Europe – La Societe de Psychologie Physiologique and American Psychological Association had elevated some fascinating ideas at the end of the 19th century, focused on challenges that could exist only in the mind without evidence of bodily harm. Following The Great War, I had seen so many that came back from the front with shell shock, a condition that left me helpless in the face of horrors relived in the minds of otherwise unharmed men. Fascinated, I had read the cases published by the foremost thinkers - by James Mark Baldwin, James Rowland Angell, Sigmund Freud, and Carl Jung.
All my reading, however, had not prepared me for how the violence and trauma experienced in her human life may have affected Rosalie. I questioned now whether the torment that had begun her immortal life could have forever impaired her, making her unable to accept who and what we were.
No, I chided myself, that was unfair. After all, she was still an infant to this life, and young in the world as a whole. Her experience had been formed by the world created by her parents and the betrayal of her fiancé. I had to trust that time, and the constant support of Esme and myself, could attempt to heal some of these wounds. Of course, Edward's support would also be helpful, but I could not force him into this role.
Edward followed all my thoughts without reaction, until the last note.
"I will be there, Carlisle" he responded. "Though I may not always understand her anger, the least I can do for you and Esme is to help Rosalie with the transition, making it as smooth as possible."
"I appreciate that, Edward," I responded, releasing more tension than I had realized I was holding.
His mouth twisted wryly, "If my 'gift,' as you call it, cannot allow for privacy, at least I can be of use in some way. Even if it is excruciating."
I hurried to explain, not wanting him to feel used, "You misunderstand me, son." I appealed, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. "You are such a pillar of strength, having seen and overcome the worst of humanity. I can think of no one but you, a man with such a strong character and deep feeling, who could show her with such clarity the potential and opportunity in this life."
Edward gazed back at me, emotion deep in his eyes before nodding. I clasped him on the shoulder.
"And now we should return to them both," I said, injecting a sense of duty into my voice. "Lest we find that no more cabin exists where it once stood." I cringed from the recollection of splintering wood from this morning.
He gave a short laugh.
"Well at least Esme would get to finally create her new house," he chuckled, "as we never did get around to giving her the present for her graduation."
Hmm, I thought to him. There may be something to that – though the land in Kentucky will still exist when the time is right.
"Yes…" he said pensively as we fell into a run side-by-side. I wondered what he was thinking but didn't want to push him to share. In the quiet I simply enjoyed having him by my side and the run through the stunning landscape.
As we ran I wondered where we would go next. We could stay in this house for a while but the isolation was challenging, for Esme as well as Rosalie. Perhaps we should visit our northern friends, and allow Rosalie to see other women of our kind and the path they had chosen.
I felt Edward react slightly and raised an eyebrow but he did not respond.
We drew near to the house and I could hear that Esme and Rosalie had continued their quiet discussion upstairs.
At least the house is still standing, I thought, sending a small smile toward Edward.
He didn't acknowledge my thought, however, brow furrowed as he listened to the conversation through the thoughts of Rosalie and Esme. Whatever he was hearing seemed to make him suspicious.
Remember Edward, I called him in my mind, concerned about his sudden reaction. Patience.
He gave a short nod but his face remained serious and focused.
"We're back," I called out unnecessarily, knowing they would hear our footsteps and the movement of the door clasp. I figured I would give them the option to join us.
To my surprise, Esme appeared immediately, smiling tentatively, with Rosalie following right behind. The latter seemed to be filled with determination, holder her body stiffly with her face set. I chanced a look at Edward and saw his slight frown deepen.
I started toward Esme but she held me back with a glance. "Rosalie has something she would like to ask, Carlisle," Esme prompted softly, looking to Rosalie encouragingly.
"Yes," her voice rang out, a clear peal devoid of the anger I had become so used to. "I have a request to make." She raised her chin and fixed her eyes on me, almost daring me to refuse.
"Of course, Rosalie," I responded calmly. "Perhaps we can talk at the table?" I offered her to go first, feeling that a discussion like this, with the whole family – I suppressed the pleasure I felt at the idea of us as an intact, happy family – should have a more formal feel.
She dipped her head once, leading the way and seating herself on the side. I noted that she didn't take the end of the table, deferring that place for me. Interesting.
As we sat I noticed that Edward seemed outright opposed to whatever Rosalie had yet to say. I wondered what he was hearing that had raised such resistance. Rosalie laid her hands on the table and looked straight into my eyes.
"I would like to return," she said, her voice said steadily before catching on two more words, "to Rochester." She glanced quickly at Esme, who nodded encouragingly, before Rosalie again fastened her eyes on me.
"I am…" she started, emotion underlying her tone. "It is… hard for me… to be so suddenly in another life," she appealed. "I…I want…I need -" she corrected fervently, "to see that my past life is closed, that my life could not have continued as it would have if I hadn't been…changed."
I thought about Rosalie's words, wondering if this was the fear and anger Edward had referenced. I began to ponder the implications of moving back to Rochester and the potential danger involved.
"Carlisle, you can't be considering this," Edward broke in to my contemplation, urgency in his voice. I turned to him, seeing out of the corner of my eye that Rosalie was now glaring at him.
"And why not, Edward?" I responded, inviting him to share his thoughts but cautioning him as well. "Rosalie has requested for us to return to Rochester and I want us to discuss that request – Unless," I turned to her, "you were intending to return alone and did not want us to accompany you, in which case I would ask that you -"
"No," she interrupted quietly, shock reading across her face with an undertone of fear in her voice. "No I intended that we go together."
I saw Esme beam in happiness as I nodded back at her. I admitted to myself that her answer, her full acceptance of our presence in her life, pleased me greatly.
I turned back to my son. Edward, please try to understand, I urged in my thoughts. Rosalie is still trying to process her new life, as we all did, I reminded him gently. She had a violent event that led up to her change, yes, but she also believed her life to be on a path that she understood and went toward willingly. Now not only did she experience betrayal from her fiancé, she now even lacks the basics of being a human that composed her life.
I willed him to understand my want to make this right for her. Can you imagine a more stark contrast between being a young woman, about to marry in a fairytale wedding, as the talk of all society and suddenly cast down, isolated, and unable to see the light? I recalled his despair after his change, his inability to see the positive or hope for a life beyond the turmoil.
"I will try," he responded reluctantly. "I want Rosalie to be happy but – "he paused, his expression shifting from frustration to calculating. "I think we should not rush back to Rochester."
"Why?" Rosalie snarled, her hands curling into fists. Esme put a hand on her arm to calm her.
"Well," Edward continued, shifting into an almost professorial tone that I recognized from our academic discussions over the years. "For one, the news stories had only just begun to die down when Carlisle left, and there may still be those eager to capitalize on the reward money, seeking us out in the city."
"Additionally," he continued over the beginnings of Rosalie's protestations. "Carlisle has resigned his position upon the story that he was taking care of me, potentially raising unpleasant questions should someone see us."
"I hardly think –" Rosalie burst in, anger coloring her tone.
"And finally," Edward continued, as if she hadn't spoken. I shot him a warning glance, seeing Rosalie bare her teeth and begin to lean slightly over the table. "We have not yet tested Rosalie's control in a city." Rosalie deflated, suddenly looking slightly nervous. "If she chooses to stay with us, she must be sure she can handle her thirst around more tempting scents."
Esme looked at Rosalie sympathetically, and I was reminded of the struggles she had experienced as a new vampire.
"Perhaps," Edward continued more kindly, "we should instead try visiting some nearby towns, places where we can easily get away should the temptation prove too strong. This way we will not raise unnecessary suspicions."
"That seems reasonable," Esme weighed in, directing her soft advice at Rosalie. Rosalie seemed to process that idea.
"And further," Edward said, pushing the point. "Returning to live in Rochester could raise gossip while in a nearby city…say…Cleveland, our faces would likely not be familiar and we could avoid any form of exposure."
Rosalie's head snapped back up. "That's a reasonable point," I replied, turning back to Rosalie's stormy expression.
"I want to go to Rochester," she growled at Edward's slightly smug face.
"I understand, Rosalie," I assured her. "I really do. But Edward's comments are reasonable. We cannot allow ourselves to be revealed in any way. This way," I implored, "we will be able to hear the latest news stories and choose the time of least risk to go into Rochester. When we all can be there to support you."
A flash of annoyance crossed her face before she stilled it. I looked back at Edward and saw in his closed off expression that he had caught something in her thoughts. I also saw that he was not going to share.
My gaze redirected back to Rosalie, who seemed to be evaluating her situation and feeling the mood in the room.
"Fine," she forced her voice to be calm. "Cleveland." She took a breath and straightened her shoulders again. "When can we leave?"
Edward's eyes narrowed, with a low growl in his voice.
"I propose that first we ensure that we have fed sufficiently," I said quickly to diffuse the sudden tension. "We can plan to make our way slowly at increasingly larger towns, perhaps visiting Minneapolis and Des Moines on the drive."
Edward and Rosalie exclaimed at the same time, "Drive?!"
I smiled, "Well naturally if we are going to cities and are to interact with humans, we cannot arrive without a mode of transportation." I chuckled softly. "I figured the train would be challenging given the enclosed spaces." Edward shuddered.
"Why couldn't we run?" Rosalie demanded.
I looked back at her seriously, "There is too much of a risk without knowing the weather or places to stop during the day" I replied mildly, cognizant of my role in educating her on new life. "We could not risk getting caught in the sun outside of cities without an automobile as a retreat."
Her eyes narrowed, but she accepted my comments.
"Unfortunately," I chuckled, turning back to Edward. "The only automobile we have here is possibly an original Model T Ford." Edward groaned in response, dispelling the tense mood. He detested the slow speeds of the earliest horseless carriages.
"I'm not sure if it is even able to function," I replied, amused.
"Would you mind if I took a look?" Rosalie's soft question surprised and delighted me.
"Are you interested in motorcars?" Esme preempted me, excitement bubbling in her voice at the potential of Rosalie having a hobby.
She ducked her head shyly. "I am used to them, and to Model T's in particular" she explained softly. "Our chauffeur always allowed me to hide in the garage when my mother berated me. Model T's were my father's favorite…" she trailed off, confused at her emotions.
Esme took her hand, sympathy deep in her eyes.
"Certainly you are welcome to look at the vehicle," I responded, breaking the silence. "I must admit that I know little of the workings of the engines but welcome you to make of it what you will. If something goes wrong, we can look to buy a new one."
She collected herself, smiling very slightly. I, who had never seen her smile before, was taken aback at the difference even a small smile made. Her whole face seemed to glow.
"I'll show you," Edward volunteered and I looked at him sharply. Be gentle, Edward. He glanced at me in response, an acknowledgement of my comment. Esme smiled at Rosalie, encouraging her, and Rosalie followed Edward from the house.
Immediately Esme was at my side. "Do you think there will ever be peace between them?" She sighed, arm snaking around my waist.
I pulled her to me. "They may yet find a common ground," I said, looking into her golden eyes. "Give them time."
She looked back at me, anxiety pulling at her features. "Do you think that Edward –" she said quietly.
"Edward will learn to adjust," I reassured her. "He has gone through so much change recently we must have faith that he will find his path forward."
"I can't lose him again," she buried her face in my chest.
"My dearest," I pulled her chin up so she was again looking at me. "Edward is driven by purpose. He cannot survive without it. Perhaps by protecting us, and helping Rosalie, he will find his constant in life. We must simply be steadfast and support him in all he does."
Esme nodded, the tension easing from her eyes. We could only do our best, I reminded myself, hoping, as I did every day, that my best could be enough. Hoping that peace could again come to our family.
In the distance a crash sounded, followed by a high feminine growl. Or maybe not.
So much more of Rosalie's unique voice to come!