Warning: This story takes place in a time when women had no control over anything including their own bodies. They could not own property, vote, or serve in office. Most importantly to this story, legally there was no such thing as marital rape. Being married implied consent. This story touches on this dubious consent. Although today it is, rightly, considered rape, in that time it was not. The law was not changed in Canada until just after the Charter of Rights and Freedoms (1982) was enacted, in 1983. Please do not read this story if it will in any way make you uncomfortable or trigger a reaction.

Warning: Aftermath and discussion of character death in this chapter.

Standard Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

beachcomberlc edited this for me, any mistakes included are a result of me playing with after she finished correcting it.

My disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. I do own a vivid memory of how cold the prairies can really get. The coldest temperature ever recorded in Winnipeg was −47.8 °C (−54 °F), on 24 December 1879 and the coldest since then was −45 °C (−49 °F) on 18 February 1966.* (wikipedia) I wasn't alive for either of those dates but I froze my ass off just the same.

Chapter 10

Edward crawled as quickly as he could back to where Isabella lay. He was pleased to find that she was still breathing. However, her skin was mottled and very cold to the touch. He would have to warm her or risk losing her, too. The toboggan had disappeared when Isabella fell through the ice so Edward used the second quilt as a stretcher to drag her back up the hill. When they had reached the top, he picked her up in his arms and walked as quickly as he could to the carriage house. It was a difficult journey and very slow going. Edward was thankful for the hard packed snow, but cursed the cold with every other step. The stairs proved the hardest part of the journey as Edward was almost exhausted by the time they came into sight.

He heaved a sigh of relief when he closed the kitchen door. The room was warmer than the out of doors, but not too warm as to send Isabella into shock. He knew from lessons he had been given by an Iroquois elder about the treatment of overly chilled people that warming Isabella too quickly could hurt her. He also remembered the advice he was given to remove all her clothing and to use his own heat to warm her, but he did not think that it would be a prudent idea. His sense of propriety would not let him lay unclothed with her.

He laid her in the middle of the kitchen and removed his coat and other outer clothing. He stoked the fire and put the kettle on to heat. He foraged for dry blankets and a change of garments for Isabella. He felt badly for rummaging through her personal items but knew that she would fare better in dry clothing. He also fetched a handful of small towels.

Isabella was still sleeping when he returned to the kitchen. Her colour had improved some, but she was still cold to the touch and parts of her hair were frozen. Her breathing was stronger now that they were indoors, her heart rate steady but weak. Taking great care to be detached, he removed her sodden clothes and slipped the clean, dry nightgown over her head. For all his detachment, he still noticed the shape of her. He resolved not to think on that, at the moment. The kettle was starting to steam, so he poured the warmed water into a bowl and tempered it with colder water from the bucket of fresh water by the sink. The water was tepid when he doused the cloth and wrung it out. He wiped the washcloth over her hands and feet, squeezing the limbs gently. None of her digits were black so he knew that she would be all right when she awoke—at least physically. He had no idea how she would react to the news that her husband had died.

He remoistened the flannel and wiped her face, neck and arms. He used a dry cloth to blot the wet from her hair. Her skin started to show signs of reanimation and health. He lifted her from the floor and carried her to her bedroom. After he tucked her into her bed he went to his own room to change his clothes. He did not know how long she would sleep, but the longer the better in his opinion. He all but ran to the Inn and asked Emmett to fetch the constabulary. He informed Emmett of the accident and asked that an officer come to the carriage house so that he could make a report.

Isabella had not stirred, for all he could tell, so he left her to rest. He heated the neglected stew and brewed a pot of tea. He was tempted to add a healthy shot of something to his tea, but he did not want to be intoxicated when the police arrived. He took a moment to think of what Jasper had done. What had possessed him to sacrifice his life for Isabella when, by his own admission, he did not even care for the girl? Perhaps he did care just a little; she had been his wife after all. How could he have said that he did not care for her?

Edward wondered what Isabella would think about Jasper's death. Would she be prostrate with grief and difficult to console? Or perhaps she would take the news with the same stoic strength she had shown for all the time he had known her. He did not know, but he also did not relish the thought of telling her. So much had been taken from her in her lifetime, now it was her husband who was stolen from her.

Edward dozed in the warm kitchen. He was exhausted from both the activity of the day and the enormity of the events that had happened. He had not fallen into deep sleep when he heard rustling nearby. He raised his head to see Isabella standing in the doorway in her nightgown and wrapper.

"Please forgive my state of dress. I did not know if anyone else was up and about." Isabella clutched the wrapper closer to her body and bowed her head in embarrassment.

"How are you feeling? Please, sit. Are you well?" Edward stood to usher her over to her chair.

"I am faring well, thank you for asking."

"What do you remember of today?"

"I remember flying down the hill. I remember the ice giving way under my feet and being very cold. Thank you for saving me from the water."

Edward placed a strong cup of tea at her side.

"Jasper jumped into the water to get you. He hoisted you out."

"I shall thank him as well when I see him."

"Isabella, Jasper did not survive. I couldn't pull him out."

Isabella was confused. She did not know what to think as tears came to her eyes unbidden.

Edward was just about to speak again when a knock on the door interrupted him. After a long discourse with two members of the local constabulary and being absolved of any wrongdoing, Edward found himself alone with Isabella again. She sat dazed and quiet. He was not sure if he should let her be or if he should speak to her. He sat beside her and waited for some sort of reaction from her. When the police were there she answered their questions as best she could but offered nothing more.

After what seemed to Edward to be hours, she drew a shuddering breath and spoke.

"May I have a few days, then?"

"A few days? What do you mean?"

"A few days before I have to leave. I assume that you will need my help with the funeral and the gathering afterward. Once that is over, I shall gather my things and leave."

"Why would you leave, Isabella? This is your home."

"I am presuming that as a representative of Jasper's family, you would ask me to leave so that you can settle his property. I just ask for a few days to make arrangements or possibly find employment." She stood and made to leave the room. She had many things to do now that Jasper had perished. The carriage house must be cleaned thoroughly for sale along with the Inn. His funeral clothes needed to be laundered. There were funeral foods to be prepared. Edward wouldn't need to keep the Inn as he had a career of his own. She did not know if another member of Jasper's family would take ownership. Her head ached with lists of things she had to do before she was forced out onto her own.

"Isabella. You do not have to leave here. No one is asking you to go." Edward's voice stopped her before she reached the doorway.

"You wish me to stay? As your housekeeper or maid? Do you plan to stay here then?"

"No, Isabella, you are still the lady of the house. You are Jasper's wife."

"Was Jasper's wife, and not much of a wife at that. I could not do what he asked of me. I could not give him the one thing he needed. He only married me to provide him with a child and to save face with the desk clerk who knew that I was to arrive. I was a failure and a burden, as I have been all my life. It is my fault that he died, just as it was my fault that he lived in misery for the past two years. He never should have taken me from the river. I should go before I harm you as well."

With that, she left the room.

Edward remained where he was, in shock. How could she take everything unto herself? Did she honestly believe the vitriol she spoke of herself? Moreover, he would curse Jasper in his grave if he led her to believe such tripe. If Jasper had ever uttered a word such as that to her, Edward would spit on his coffin as well. He had promised to take care of her, to give her what Jasper couldn't. And he would. But he hadn't realised just how daunting that task would be.

Edward left her alone for the rest of the night. He went back over to the Inn to speak with Emmett and the rest of the staff. He asked Emmett to take on any tasks that Jasper would have undertaken and consider himself the Inn's manager for the interim. He helped to console the maids and assured them that their jobs were secure. He knew nothing of running an Inn, but felt confident in Emmett and his wife Rosalie. The efficient management of the Inn was crucial, as it would provide Isabella with enough income to secure her future. It would be a cold day in hell before Edward saw Isabella working for a living. He had a general idea as to Jasper's will and the arrangements he had made for her.

He also knew that as Jasper's closest relative, he would be in charge of handling the details surrounding Jasper's death. He spent a few hours in Jasper's office writing letters to the family. He told them of Isabella and their marriage. He spoke glowingly about her and her way of caring for Jasper. He wanted no question to be asked of her and the nature of the relationship between her and Jasper. As with every family, there is always one member who would seek to strive for discord and he would have none of that for Isabella.

Edward had his dinner with Emmett and Rosalie. Together, they discussed the events of the next few days. The Inn had only a few guests, all of them trappers and voyageurs who had stayed at the Inn in the past. They were an understanding and accommodating group who asked to be involved in the funeral and would not be demanding while the staff was in mourning. The guests and the staff all gathered together and raised a glass to toast the life of Jasper Cullen.

By the time Edward returned to the carriage house it was late in the evening, and he was a little tipsy from the toasting. He was very glad to find that Jasper had a stellar reputation as a kind employer and great Innkeeper. Whatever his failings were as a husband, his staff had loved him and that spoke to Edward as to the type of man Jasper was. He struggled to open the door, trying very hard to be quiet and not disturb Isabella. He shed his coat and wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. He felt badly for abandoning her for the evening when he noticed the plate she had left for him at his place. He wanted to kick himself for neglecting to leave her a note to tell her where he was. He felt himself an idiot for leaving her alone after the horrific day they had experienced. He covered the plate and left it in the pantry. He gathered his senses and sobered slightly with a large glass of water. He had just started down the hall to bed when he heard Isabella cry out.

Without thinking, Edward ran into her room to find her thrashing about in her bed. She was deep in the throws of a nightmare, crying and whimpering like a wounded animal. Her hair was a tangle about her head and in her troubles she had dislodged her coverings. He knelt at her bedside but did not touch her. He wanted to soothe her but not wake her. He spoke to her softly with words of caring and reassurances that she was safe. Her struggles lessened and the crying stopped. She still whimpered softly as he dared reach out one hand and gently swipe the hair from her face. He stood and carefully covered her with her blankets before kneeling beside her again. He watched her face as she settled into a more composed sleep.

Edward wanted so much to crawl into bed with her, just to hold her tight and keep her safe. However, he knew that was one of the more asinine ideas he had ever had. If she were to wake and find him there, well, he shuddered at the thought. He wished to kiss away every one of her tears and let propriety be damned. He wanted to hold her head to his chest and let her be comforted by his heartbeat. He wanted more than he was allowed to want from his cousin's fresh widow. Slowly, he backed away from her and he stood to look at her once again.

"Sleep well, Isabella. I wish I could tell you just how much I do care and will care for you if you would permit it. I wish I could tell you that everything will be all right and you needn't worry any more. I wish I could tell you so many different things. But alas, I cannot, for now. Just rest well, Isabella."

He turned and left the room.

Just after the door closed and the latch caught, Isabella sat bolt upright in her bed. Her eyes flew open.

AN: Isabella needs some serious reconditioning. I hope our boy is up to the task.

beachcomberlc, my friend, I can picture her sitting in her verdant garden, ipad one hand, thesaurus in the other saying what the hell is that word, can you use that word that way or is it just some weird Canadian thing?