A/N: Me again! I am pitiful when it comes to this updating lark - my apologies... Hope you enjoy this one (I say enjoy... well, you'll see). I'm not sure if I'm cut out for all this drama, but I'll let you guys be the judges of that. I love to hear from you and get to know what you think of my little story! Drop by for a chat if you want to, I love reviews, they make me all warm inside!! Thank you so, so, so much to all my lovely reviewers who faithfully make my day with their wonderful praise and kind words. I'm over-joyed that you like this and thanks for the support!
Chapter 11
Five days after the news of his parents' deaths, Edward was still struggling to cope. The day after the letter arrived, he went into denial, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the truth. The letter, however, provided the awful evidence that he couldn't ignore. I tried to be there for him without smothering him or being over-bearing, but I couldn't empathise and instead did my best to provide for him and let him mourn in whichever way he saw fit.
But the outbursts of anger never ceased to shake me to the core; I could never get used to being shouted at by Edward, sweet-tempered man that he was. He would always apologise afterwards, most aggrieved to have lashed out at me, but his mood swings were beginning to give me whiplash.
I was watering the flowerbeds in the front garden when Mr. Yorkie strolled up our little path. I dropped the watering can and fear quickly consumed me as I caught sight of the envelope he clutched in his hand. He grinned at me, his smile overly-cheerful.
"Why, good morning, Mrs Masen," he greeted me.
"And to you, Mr Yorkie," I managed to stammer. "Is that…"
"Ah! Yes. Another letter from Chicago, you must be very popular!"
Mr Yorkie was the insufferable type of man who seemed to find his own pitiful jokes amusing.
I all but ripped the offending letter from his hand and ran by fingers over the stamp and postage marks. It was addressed to me this time, not Edward.
I felt a warm hand slip around my middle and was vaguely aware of the harsh dismissal of Mr Yorkie, but it was all I could do to try to fight back the acid that rose up from my stomach. 'Calm, Bella,' I told myself, 'it could be from Mother and Father to check on Edward or a silly note to remind you to wear your hat in town' - Mother always did like to remind me of such trivial things.
"Bella, sweet, why don't you come inside and sit down," Edward suggested, quietly.
I let him guide me into the house, too agitated to even protest. He sat me on my favourite armchair and then pulled up a little chair to sit before me.
"Bella?" he asked, "I think you should open your letter."
I nodded slowly, my shaking hand reaching for the seal. Edward handed me the letter knife, but, noting my trembling fingers, gently took the envelope from me and sliced it open himself, calmly passing it back to me.
With an unsteady breath I quickly pulled out the letter and unfolded it, furiously scanning its contents.
Your mother has been taken ill with the Spanish Influenza …
… slipping in and out of consciousness …
… fading and unlikely to pull through …
… wishes for you to remain with Edward and stay away from the city …
… wants you to know that she loves you …
… might not make it through the night …
The letter fluttered to the ground as my fingers lost all feeling. My mother.
Edward had his head bent over the letter, reading it with wide, fearful eyes. When he had finished he tenderly took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes. His face blurred as tears pooled.
"Bella, I'm so sorry," he choked. "I had hoped that you'd be spared my pain-"
"I must go to her," I interrupted him, abruptly rising from my chair.
I sprinted up the stairs and pulled out a carpet bag from beneath the bed. I feverishly scurried about the room, throwing random articles of clothing into it.
"Bella!"
Edward grabbed my wrists as I moved to hurl a jacket into the carpet bag.
"What?" I screeched. "My mother may be dying. She needs me!"
"No!" he roared, his eyes suddenly livid. "You can't go."
"Why not? I need to be there, with my mother."
I tried to wriggle out of his grasp but he only held on tighter, beginning to hurt me.
"I won't let you," he cried.
"Edward! Let me go!" I screeched, pulling as hard as I could.
But he wouldn't budge.
"You have to let me go!" I screamed, trying to kick and wrestle free of his grasp.
With dark eyes he pushed me onto the bed, amid the chaotic strewn clothing, pinning me down so that I couldn't even squirm.
"You can't leave me," he growled, tears welling in his eyes. "I've lost both of my parents. I won't let you go there and die too. I won't let you leave me. Please, Bella, I can't lose you, you're the only thing I have left."
"Edward," I whimpered, "she's my mother. I need to go to Chicago."
"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this," he muttered.
"Just let me go!" I cried, becoming erratic again.
"As your husband…" he drew a shaky breath, his eyes pleading with me, "I forbid you from going to Chicago. I forbid you from leaving me."
I gaped at him, searching his hollow eyes for a source of his selfishness. I couldn't believe my ears; never did I ever think that Edward would exert his authority over me in such a way.
"Let me up," I asked him, feeling nauseous all of a sudden.
He began to protest.
"I'm not leaving," I choked.
He took his weight off my body and helped me to sit up.
What could I do? I could not disobey him. That's when the tears started to flow with full force. They came thick and fast, strangling me as I cried and screamed all at once. Edward rubbed my back, but I smacked his hand away, not wanting to be anywhere near him. I could feel hysteria bubbling up from deep within me, my breathing picked up its pace and the tears didn't hold up.
My breakfast made a reappearance. I vomited all over the antique Persian rug.
-:-
July 3rd 1918. The day my darling, erratic, hair-brained, sometimes patronising, but always loving, mother passed away.
I couldn't bring myself to look at Edward; he had robbed me of a few stolen, precious moments that I could have shared with my mother before the end. My father had been alone as he waited for his beloved wife to slip away. Edward had denied me a final goodbye. I would never see her again.
I kept to my room. I kept the drapes tightly shut and the sunshine out. I kept replaying my last moments with my mother, trying to find some closure. None came. I didn't eat, I slept. I didn't acknowledge Edward when he came to bed for the night. I kept my back to him, I ignored him. He pleaded with me to speak to him, to eat something. But I didn't want to talk to him or forgive him and I wasn't hungry; I was sick to my very core.
After three days of anxiety, a beside-himself Edward summoned the local doctor. I tried to smile when the old doctor came to my bedside, but I was too tired. He was a nice old man, grey-haired and friendly, soft wrinkles lining his face and lovely warm hands. He was kind and he spoke in a sweet, calming voice that instantly soothed me. He checked my temperature and heartbeat, my breathing and asked routine questions, never condescending, always patient.
"Have you been experiencing any sickness, Mrs Masen?"
"A little," I conceded. "After some particularly… bad news and a … tantrum of sorts, I vomited."
"I see. And how is your stomach now, dear?"
"Slightly queasy, I'm not hungry. In fact, the thought of food makes me nauseous."
"And when was your last monthly course, Mrs Masen?"
My eyebrows shot up. That I had not thought about, not with so many other things on my mind.
"Five weeks ago," I said, cringing slightly.
"Is it unusual for you to be late?" he asked kindly.
"No, I am usually like clock-work."
"Well, nothing to worry about, I'll just need to run a few simple tests."
-:-
A little while later, Dr Gerandy gave me the diagnosis.
"It seems that you are expecting, Mrs Masen. Please accept my congratulations."
A baby.
Now.
My head spun. Me, a mother, it didn't seem proper. I had always relied on the thought of my mother coaching me through pregnancy, offering me her crazed concoctions as she had Ms Platt. But Mummy was gone. I was alone.
Dr Gerandy stepped out, but returned shortly, followed by a highly-concerned Edward who immediately knelt by me and took my hand in his. I wasn't in the mood or state-of-mind to resist.
"I'll let Mrs Masen give you my verdict, sir," the doctor addressed Edward. "I advise some further bed rest and a healthy diet, you need lots of protein, my dear," he said, eyeing me. "Plenty of fluids and after you have regained your strength I suggest a little gentle exercise. It has been a pleasure to meet you both and again, Mrs Masen, congratulations."
With polite nod he quietly let himself out, leaving Edward still at my side and clearly confused.
I smiled weakly at him, placing my other hand on top of our clasped ones, looking into his eyes for the first time since the 'incident'. They were still the green I loved so dearly, though fraught with fear and worry.
"Dr Gerandy believes he has detected the cause of my unpleasant moods and bouts of sickness," I told him softly.
"Is it… bad?" he croaked, his eyebrows knitting together with concern.
"I hope not," I mused.
"Gah, I'm so sorry for upsetting you, Bella. It's my fault… all my fault. And now you're ill. What will I do if you get sick, if you-"
I put my finger to his lips to silence him.
"I'm not sick - really at least. But I might be a bit irritable for the next few months."
"Is it consumption? Hell, I deserve this, I'm so-"
"Edward! Let me get this out!" I protested, laughing at his worrying.
He was quiet then. He began to stroke my hair and push it back from my forehead, softly caressing the skin there and running his fingers down my sallow cheeks.
"Dr Gerandy tells me that I am with child, Edward. That is why I have been so prickly of late, it's my hormones and the vomiting was simple morning sickness. I'm so sorry, Edward, I was unfair to you, acting like a selfish, petulant child, you've been through the same thing as me, only doubled and I behaved so badly."
"No," he said, his voice cracking, "it was my fault. I should not have kept you from going to see your mother before she died. I… I just couldn't bear the thought of losing you after losing my parents, too. I don't want to ever let you go, Bella, and I knew that your going to Chicago put your life at risk. That was a risk that I wasn't ready to take, nor will I ever be. I can't be left alone without you. But I'm sorry for being a bastard."
"Edward-"
"No, Bella. I acted in the worst possible way and now knowing that you were pregnant and how I pushed you down, I…"
"Shh," I cooed, "it is all in the past now. We still have each other. I'm here and I love you. You are not alone. You have me and now you have this baby and we both love you more than you could ever imagine."
He ducked his head so that it rested between my shoulder and chin, and I stroked his soft bronze hair that I loved so much.
"I don't deserve you, Bella."
I chuckled at that.
"I believe you have that the wrong way around."
I shuffled across the bed to make room for him and tugged so that he collapsed onto the mattress. I threw the covers over the two of us and moulded myself to him, holding on tightly to make up for too many days of lost cuddling. As I drifted off into slumber, I felt a warm hand slide down my waist to rest on my still flat stomach. I smiled, forgetting, for a time, the pain of losing my mother and focused on my good fortune.
-:-
It took a further three weeks to disinfect the city and fight off the raging epidemic. When the all-clear came, Edward and I packed up our belongings and shut up the cabin that had been the sight of so much happiness and so much anguish. The train journey seemed slower that the outbound. Perhaps it was because I wasn't bouncing in my seat with excitement to go on my honeymoon, perhaps it was because I knew that there were three less people to meet us at the station.
As it turned out, despite a letter of warning for our arrival back, my father didn't make it to greet us. We resorted to hailing a cab, both wallowing in our grief once we acknowledged that there was no one left to look after us anymore.
The cab driver nodded to us as we slid into the backseats. He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace - perhaps he'd lost someone too. The once heaving streets were now sparsely dressed, only a few folk meandered down the alleyways and the full, devastating effect of the influenza finally hit me with full force. So many had died. Children kicked the waste on the pavements alone and afraid. The market was pitiful - only a handful of stalls still stood - there was no one left to run most of the booths. It was the end of July and the temperature was soaring, yet the park was almost deserted. So few had survived.
-:-
Edward finally made the journey he had been dreading: he went to the hospital. They were holding his parents' belongings and it was time for him to retrieve them. I had expected a sombre Edward to return home to me, perhaps even a tearful one, but instead he was oddly cheerful. He explained to me that Dr Cullen had been a great comfort to him and had assured him that his parents had both died peacefully and that they had slipped away quietly and painlessly.
We had moved into the house we had always intended to. It was a small townhouse near to where Edward had grown up. It was not too large, nor was it too grand, it was perfect for us. We moved a lot of his parents' furniture to our home - it was so beautiful and too precious to be sold. The articles of less sentimental value were auctioned. I had suggested that we move into Edward's old house, but he couldn't even contemplate that, he told me that he couldn't bear to be constantly surrounded by their memory. We set up house and home, trying to be content with what we had and not with what we didn't.
My first task, once I returned to Chicago, was to visit my father. My old home was just as I had remembered it, but the inside lacked a certain warmth and cheer that I knew only Mother could provide. My doting father was gaunt, his eyes red-rimmed and his cheeks pale and sinking. He did not hug me as I entered the house, nor did he show any signs of relief for my return or any affection in general. We sat in the living room at opposite ends of the sofa.
"How are you holding up?" I asked meekly.
He wheezed as he coughed.
"How am I holding up, you ask?" he laughed, sarcasm ripping through his voice. "Dear God, Bella, are you that dim-witted?"
I flinched, he may have been grieving, but this was not the father I loved so well.
"I'm sorry, Father," I muttered, "that was insensitive."
He turned on me.
"Why didn't you come?" he demanded, his voice scratchy and hoarse.
"You told me not to," I stammered.
He laughed manically.
"When do you ever do as I say?"
I could feel the tears mounting, but I pushed them back as I shook with fear.
"I was going to come, but Edward-"
"Ah yes, Edward. How is your perfect new married life with dear Edward?" he jeered.
"Daddy, why are you saying these things?" I gaped.
"I was alone! You had your Edward, but I was here alone as I watched my wife die before my eyes. I watched as the life was sucked out of her! She left me alone and I wanted to die too, but that damned flu didn't get me, I'm bloody immune," I flinched as he cursed, having never heard him use profanities in all my life.
"You left me here alone," he finished.
"I'm sorry, Father, I couldn't come, Edward wouldn't let me. I would have missed her anyway, she died that night. And my baby-"
"What?" he rasped.
"Edward and I are expecting," I whispered. I took courage from his silence. "You're going to be a grandfather-"
"Get out," he ordered, not taking his eyes off his hands in his lap.
"What? Daddy, no-"
"I said. Get. Out."
Swallowing hard I rose from my perch, I looked at my hunched father, a shadow of the man that he once was, hoping against hope that he might take back his biting words.
When he said no more, I tore out of the house, making sure I was far down the street before I let my tears fall. I wiped them away furiously with my sleeve but they kept coming. Never had I thought that my sweet father would be so cruel. I laughed bitterly at my pathetic self; I was surprised I had any tears left to cry.
A/N: Like it? Hate it? Want to kill me? I know, I hate myself, too. But we all love a little bit of depressing stuff to read once in a while. And hey, they've still got each other right?? As for Charlie, yeah he's huge arse but he's grieving, I feel for him. However, that attitude is uncalled for.... Please review and make me smile! :)
Ooh! And a huge thank you to Decoherence who pointed out my little whoopsie in the last chapter (Cullen... Masen... my brain gets addled at times!)
Love, as always,
.up xx