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Sorry if there's some errors; I didn't want to delay an update just to proofread. Enjoy this new chapter.
-Scarlet
Chapter 9: The Request and the Behest
March 19th 1814, noon
Hoquiam, Oregon Country
"Come now, Martha – you jest."
"No, dear, not in the slightest! I've only just been to Doctor Whittier last evening!"
My denial was fruitless. "Martha... are you really, truly with child?"
Her brown curls bounced when she vigorously nodded. "Yes, yes! A thousand times yes!"
I pulled her into a hug to hide the moisture in my eyes. "Really, Martha? Really?"
That winter of 1813 had melted away with the snow, and the early spring of 1814 was upon us. Storm clouds mourned over Hoquiam nearly every day, and the grass became greener by the hour. I now worked at the General Store full time (with full pay of $5 a week), and I now apprenticed young Eleanor Wilson (the young girl I'd first seen in the doctor's office) in the art of sewing.
The days blurred together and the nights faded away until it was the week before Mister Stockton's forty-third birthday. The gift I had been planning was a free day of work, but as the twenty-fourth of March drew closer, I began to have second thoughts. I had been mulling over new ideas over breakfast when Martha sprang the news on me.
"I don't believe it!" I finally exclaimed, collapsing back into my chair. "What did the Doctor say?"
Martha sat down across from me with a dreamy expression on her face, holding her chin in her hand. "Shamus and I have wanted a child for many years now… Doctor Whittier said that we may have finally done it!" She blushed, and her smile was contagious.
"Oh, Martha..." I reached across the table and put my hands on top of hers. "I'm so glad for you."
"Thank you, Cornelia," she laughed, looking more relived now that I'd calmed down. "I couldn't be happier."
Just then, the door opened to reveal Mister Wells. He took off his hat and coat, and was hanging them on the stand when I scurried over.
"Mister Wells! Didn't you hear the news? You're going to be an uncle!" I said excitably, clasping my hands to my chest in delight.
He smiled down at my excitement, and then glanced over at Martha. "I heard last evening. It is excellent news." His smile wasn't as enthusiastic as his forced tone.
Something was dreadfully wrong. "Mister Wells, what's amiss?" I asked, concerned. My brow furrowed as I studied his hidden expression.
He looked at me for a moment before saying, "Not a thing, Miss Cornelia. All is well."
Mister Wells' distress continued to elude me all afternoon. Carlisle and I had plans to meet that evening, when he was finished with his work at the clinic. Being a Saturday, I had nothing to spend my time doing. I lounged in the dining room with Martha, discussing if the baby would be male or female, and what respective names it would bear.
Soon, there was a break in the torrential downpour of rain, so I excused myself for a walk. The air outside was warm, unseasonably warm, and humid. The loose soil of the road sunk under my feet. I was walking back from the church when I was accosted by the good Misses Whittier, who had just exited the General Store.
"Oh, Cornelia! You heard about Martha, didn't you? Of course you did, yes, of course. Isn't it splendid? Sweet Martha will make a wonderful mother, I suspect." If there was one thing Misses Whittier excelled in, it was gossiping. I often wished that Doctor Whittier didn't converse with his wife about his patients so frequently.
After Misses Whittier bid me a good day, I spotted something in the window of Mister Stockton's shop that I hadn't noticed before. The poster was written in his crude script, with the bold side of a quill: "March 21st Spring Festival; Begins at sundown; All are welcome; Hosted by Stockton's General Store."
"Mister Stockton!" I called, closing the door behind myself. The shop appeared empty, but I sensed him shuffling around in the supply closet behind the counter. "Mister Stockton?"
"Cornelia – good. Please help me with this," he said, his voice muffled by the half-closed door.
I opened it fully and pocked my head inside. He was trying to be a hero and lift a sack of potatoes from the top shelf. I pushed the small step-ladder closer to the shelf and stood on it to help him lower the sack. "Mister Stockton, I'm here about –"
He grunted as he carried the potatoes out of the closet, and set them on a clear space on the counter. "Yes, Cornelia, your order still isn't in yet; you'll have to come back next week... like I said yesterday."
"No, sir, I'm not worried about that." I blushed, remembering I'd ordered a new dress from our supplier outlet back in the East. "I was wondering about the sign in the door… the one about –" I stopped when he let out a jolly laugh.
"Marvelous, isn't it? I put it up after you left on Friday; I wanted to surprise you. A way to celebrate the new crop season, and to gain reputation for the shop!" He laughed deviously as he cut the cloth sack open with the blunt end of a package knife.
I smiled uneasily. "I-It's on Monday, isn't it?"
Mister Stockton shot me a suspicious glance as I ducked back under the counter. He could always spot my moods. "That is the first day of spring, little lady."
"Er, that's right…" I smoothed the front of my dress. "And... two days away..."
"Don't worry, Cornelia," he said in understanding. "I know it's a little short-notice, but I'm sure that someone good and kind will escort you." He winked, and smiled when I stomped my heel on the wooden floor.
"I beg your pardon, Mister Stockton! That isn't at all what I was worried about! I was... I was just..."
"I know, I know. Now leave before I give you that Monday off, young lady." His eyes were playfully severe.
He made me smile, and I seemed to forget my sudden nerves for a moment. "If you insist, Mister Stockton."
I was half-way to the door when a thought occurred to me.
Over my shoulder, "You aren't going with anyone, Mister Stockton?" I asked with fake-innocence. Though Mister Stockton had no family in Hoquiam, he was on first-name-basis with many young, single women there. Any lady who could catch the eye of the sincere, successful shop-owner was a lucky bride.
I heard his smile through his words. "The host cannot escort a guest to the dance, now can he?"
"'Festival,'" I corrected, smiling. "Good day, Mister Stockton."
"G'day, Miss."
I spent the rest of the day worrying about the coming festivities. I had only one formal dress, which was pale pink with white ruffles. A forced buy; Millicent's ranting about the sheer material complimenting my complexion was frenzying. Martha was surprised about the news of the festival (as I'm sure most of Hoquiam would be went they walked by the General Store), and began complaining about forcing Shamus into a nice suit.
I sat and watched the rain against the windowpanes until it was dinnertime. "I should go, Martha. I promised to meet my uncle at half past five."
"Oh. But, don't you want dinner first?" she asked, looking up from the pot of soup she was stirring.
"No. Thank you, though. I'll see you tonight, Martha." I waved as I closed the door, stepping out into the misty evening air. I wonder why Carlisle told me not to have supper… he must be planning something.
The walk to the doctor's office was wet and dirty. Mud splattered on the toes of my shoes, and my face was damp with the heavy moisture hanging in the air. The lack of wind could've been a good or bad sign; the rain may stay for a while longer, or the clouds have drained themselves already. I began to feel self-conscious about my appearance as I stepped into the warm atmosphere of the clinic. Left over from today's stress about Monday, no doubt.
"Is there anything else, Doctor Whittier?"
"No, Carlisle. Be sure to post that before morning and everything should be taken care of."
"Yes, sir. Have a good evening."
"Until the morning, Carlisle."
Carlisle smiled when he found me waiting for him by the door. "Is it half past already?" he asked lightly.
I drew the pocket watch from my skirts and glanced down at the clock face. "Quarter 'til, dear uncle. You are overdue for our engagement." I smiled teasingly.
"My profoundest apologies, Miss Cornelia," he said, bowing formally. "Would you excuse my unpunctuality?" He offered a hand, smiling.
I sniffed and brushed his hand aside. "Depending upon how long you intend to keep me in such suspense as to the nature of this meeting. I am very hungry."
His smile wavered, and he quickly glanced down at my feet. "Do you intend to wear those?"
I looked at my feet, this time truly insulted. "Are they unfit?"
His expression grew humorous once again as he took my elbow and guided to toward the door. "To an extreme, my dear. You must change them into something more suitable."
Carlisle waited in the dining room in The Featherbed as I dashed upstairs to change. I suspected that his implication had been for something more weathered, or durable. My thoughts wandered to supposed scenarios in which my thin-soled strap shoes would be inappropriate. So much so that I didn't hear one bit of the conversation taking place on the first level.
I descended to stairs in my ankle-length boots, with a heavier shawl around my shoulders. I was just in time to see Carlisle shake Mister Wells' hand, and glance suspiciously at me.
"Is there trouble?" I asked cautiously, walking over to them.
Mister Wells laughed nervously. "O-Of course not. Enjoy your night, Doctor Cullen. Cornelia." He nodded to me and walked away.
I took Carlisle's offered arm and followed him out the door. "What did Mister Wells want with you?" I asked quietly, once the door closed behind us.
The sky was darker than need be, due to the thick cloud cover. "Caleb requested something." A slight crease formed between his eyebrows as I looked up at him.
"As a friend, or as a patient?" I never prodded for his patent's worries like Misses Whittier did, but when it came to Mister Wells...
"As... a suitor for my niece." He looked down at me, and he smiled slowly when realization dawned on my face.
"Mister Wells...?"
"Would like to escort you to the festival on the twenty-first," he finished, watching my expression.
My footsteps slowed. "Well... what did you say, Carlisle?" I demanded.
He chuckled softly at my alarm. "I said that you would be delighted if he asked you personally," he said gently. "I would like to leave the final decision to you, though I strongly advise that you accept."
I was affronted. "You strongly advise me? As a doctor, or as an uncle?"
"As a friend," he emphasized. "Caleb is a fine man."
"Yes, yes, a fine man to be sure. But...!"
"He is fond of you, Cornelia. Please tell me you've noticed all these months." His tone was borderline taunting.
All these months? "I-I… Of course I…"
"My only behest is that you consider it, Cornelia. As a friend, I ask you."
"Carlisle," I stopped him, and I noticed we were almost to the stables. "He is human," I hissed.
Carlisle was surprised. "Why, of course. The problem is...?"
I sighed. Whenever such complications arose between species, Carlisle ignored them. He thinks of our races too closely together. "Easy for you to accept, perhaps."
"Yes, perhaps," he said indignantly.
After Carlisle saddled his two chestnut stallions, he helped me onto my usual one and we set off out of town.
*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*
"Will you tell me now?" I asked, leading my horse into the closest stall. Carlisle had paid Mister Stockton a reasonable sum to construct a small stable on his property that January.
He closed the door and lowered the block to shut it up for the night. "Have you not guessed already?"
I shook my head at both his question and the dew that had settled on my hair. "A hike to the mountain country?"
Carlisle gestured for me to follow him towards the house. "Close, but wrong again." He smirked. "You did mention that you were hungry."
We spent the rest of the evening and much of the night hunting in the forest around the house. And for some reason, thoughts of the spring festival never passed through my mind...
Sorry this chapter is shorter, but I'm diligently working on the next: "The First Day of Spring."
Did you recognize what important month and day it was from New Moon? Just a Twilight trivia tidbit for you guys...
Will Cornelia get close to the lonely Caleb Wells? Will Carlisle stand idly by? What will Cornelia wear to the spring dance? All this and more in Chapter 10. (Wow, I sound like such a dork... review to help me feel better!)
-Scarlet