Thank you to my PTB betas, Thir13enth and jennej, and my Twilighted Beta, Jakeward
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Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
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On the last day of his Uncle Michael's stay, Edward was the first person down to breakfast. Over the past few days, he and his cousins had continued the discussion they'd started Monday night after he told them about Bella. He'd told them of his resolution to not waste a single day, to not put things off until tomorrow, and they had all agreed, going so far as to make a plan between themselves. They knew their parents had all talked several times of Edward and his parents paying a visit to them in New York City, but the visit never happened. One family or the other was always too busy. There would always be next year.
No longer. There wasn't always a next year.
Given Edward's father's death, a visit sooner than next summer would not be possible, but they were determined to see that it happened this time, and last night after dinner, Mic broached the subject to his father. His father had readily agreed, and would propose it to Elizabeth sometime early in the new year, once she had had time to mourn, and insist upon their coming.
It will give Mother something to look forward to. We can go to the Great White Way and take in a show or two. We can go to Atlantic City and walk along the Boardwalk and bathe in the sea. It is a good plan. She will be herself again. This will not break her. Father would not want it, and I will not allow it.
"Good morning, Nellie, Catherine."
"Good morning, Mr. Masen, sir."
"No one else down yet?"
Nellie poured him a cup of coffee, "No, sir. You are the first. Everyone will be down shortly, I expect. Maggie went up to help the ladies dress."
Edward had wanted to be the first one down this morning as he was anxious to see the newspaper, but now that he had it in front of him, he too was nervous to open it. July 17th had come and gone, and Edward expected to see the news of the assassination of the Russian royal family on the front page any day now. Bella had told him it would be in the papers a couple days afterward and had actually given him the exact wording, but she had not given him the date on which it would appear.
"Is anything the matter, Mr. Masen?"
"What? Oh, no… no, nothing."
Just pick it up and open it. It is not going to bite you.
Edward reached out for the paper. He opened it quickly, and when this morning's headlines greeted him, he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply.
"EX-CZAR OF RUSSIA KILLED BY ORDER OF URAL SOVIET"
He set the paper down and covered his face with trembling hands. It happened, Bella. It happened. After a few moments, he picked the paper back up and read the article. "Wife and son sent to a place of safety." Exactly like you said.
Edward was sitting staring blindly at the paper when he heard his cousins coming down the stairs, and he rose to meet them.
He'd had some minor concerns about accommodating Mic during his stay, but he knew they would somehow manage it. The first time he saw Mic tackle the staircase was something he knew he would never forget. Either his father or brother would help him out of his chair and sit him on the stairs. From there he would lift himself up and hoist himself up the stairs using his hands, dragging his legs, one stair at a time. It was slow, but it was amazing, and the first time he saw it, he stood there with his mouth hanging open. He remembered his cousin's words: "Close your mouth, Eddie. You will catch flies. What, did you think you were going to carry me like some damsel in distress? Scrawny little thing like you? You'd drop me. This is nothing. Wait till you see me come down. I brought a sled."
Mic's mother had reprimanded him for making jokes at a time like this, but Mic's jokes were just what Edward needed. Mic's jokes were normal.
His uncle was waiting at the bottom of the steps with his son's wheelchair, and Tommy was following his brother down. Coming down the stairs was a bit trickier that going up, but Mic had mastered it.
"Top'o the mornin' to you, Eddie." Mic nodded his head at the paper in his hands. The corners of his mouth were raised in a smile in an attempt to appear normal, but his eyes were very serious, and Edward could hear the strain in his voice. "Anything interesting in the paper this morning?"
Edward tried to answer him, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, nodded his head, and tried again. "Yes. Yes, there is. The Russian Czar has been assassinated."
His uncle stepped forward after helping his son back into his wheelchair and exclaimed, "What! Let me see that."
Edward handed him the paper, and the three boys looked at each other before following him to the dining room, where they were taking breakfast during their stay, in silence. Not one of them uttered a word while he read the article. When his uncle had finished, he put the paper down on the table and said, "Shocking, simply shocking. Damned Bolsheviks. Upon my honor, I do not know what the world is coming to. What will become of the Czarina and the children, I wonder? Asylum somewhere, I suppose."
The four ate silently–Edward and his cousins knowing what his uncle did not, that the Czarina, the Duchesses, and the heir were all dead as well, not to mention five crewmen aboard the Carpathia–and when they were finished, Michael Masen set his fork down, wiped his mouth with his napkin, leaned back, and folded his arms across his chest, looking slowly from one to another. "All right, you three. Out with it. What have you done?"
Edward and his cousins looked back and forth between each other in confusion before Mic asked, "What do you mean? We have done nothing."
Michael Masen continued to look slowly between his sons and nephew. "The one and only time in my life I have ever seen the three of you silent for five minutes together was Wednesday during the service. Let's have it."
It was Edward who spoke up this time. "Honestly, Uncle Michael, we have not done anything."
Unfortunately, Laura chose that moment to hurry breathlessly into the room and, not realizing in time that her father was also there, anxiously said, "Well?" She startled and stopped up short when she saw her father. "Oh, Father, I did not see you. Good morning."
Her father leaned forward with his elbows on the table and looked at his daughter. "Good morning, dearest. You seem very impatient to see your brothers and cousin this morning. Why might that be?"
Laura's eyes darted first to Edward, who gave a barely perceptible nod of his head. She paled visibly, and her eyes widened as she turned them to her brothers, before settling finally on her father.
Laura Masen had always prided herself on her ability to think quickly, but at this moment she could think of nothing other than the fact that Edward had been telling them the truth. With a badly shaking hand, she reached out for the nearest chair and eased herself into it slowly.
Just as her father was about to press them for whatever they might have gotten up to, Elizabeth and Louise entered the room. Having seen Laura's reaction, both women were very distressed, and her father was prevented from questioning them further. Laura tried to assure her mother and aunt she was well, but her voice was trembling. "No. Mother, Aunt Elizabeth, I am quite well, I assure you. Please, do not worry yourselves, I merely became light headed for a moment. I will just have something to eat, and I will be fine." Both women hesitantly accepted her assurances, but both–Elizabeth especially–watched her closely for the rest of the morning.
Under the scrutiny of the three adults, it was nearly lunch time before Edward and his cousins could find a few moments privacy. There was a large porch swing and a couple chairs on the back porch, and they met there. It was not nearly as private as they would have wished, but their parents were still hovering over them for their different reasons, and anything more private would have aroused the suspicion of Edward's uncle.
Once seated, Mic, Laura, and Tommy all questioned Edward at the same time.
"How long has this been going on?"
"How is this happening?"
"Who is this girl? What else has she told you?"
Edward looked anxiously around to see if they had been overheard and urged them to keep their voices down. "Her name is Bella Swan. She is sixteen-years-old, and lives in Phoenix, Arizona in the early 21st century. I received her first letter in June.
"I had written a letter to you, Mic, and put it in the hidden compartment in Grandfather's desk, like I always do before putting my letters in the mail. Later that night I wanted to add more to the letter, but when I looked for it, it was gone. It never occurred to me that it had actually vanished, of course. I assumed I had misplaced it.
"Somehow... she found it, and on a whim, wrote back to me. I found her letter the next day when I looked for my letter to you, and we have been writing to one another ever since. Neither of us has any idea how this is happening."
He stopped for a moment, unsure of exactly how much he wanted to share with his cousins. He knew how he felt, but he had never tried to put it in words, never tried to put a name to it, and he certainly had never thought he would ever try to explain it to anyone else. But something was urging him to share this with them, telling him it was the right thing to do, and when he saw their mesmerized faces, the words came to him. He felt his face heat up and looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. He spoke so softly, they had to lean forward to hear him. "Personally... I believe it must be some... some miracle... some wonderful miracle. I know we shall never meet, but… I feel… such a… connection… to her. I cannot describe it. She is… one of the most… important… people in the world to me."
Edward paused once again to collect his thoughts, and when he spoke his voice was stronger, confident, and he looked up to meet his cousins' eyes.
"I would not trade my friendship with her for anything in the world."
Filled with awe, Laura's eyes were brimmed with tears. "You love her."
It wasn't a question but a statement.
I love her? I... love... her? As Edward thought the words to himself their truth struck him speechless, and a piece of himself he had never noticed was missing slid perfectly into place and completed him absolutely. I love her. Dear Lord... I do... I love her.
Hearing his cousin's declaration was like being stripped of blinders he hadn't known he'd been wearing, and Edward could not believe he had not seen before what was so plainly obvious to him now. How could he have fallen in love and not realized it? Shouldn't it have been like it was for his friend, Joe, the first time he saw Violet? The wonder that had lit up his friend's eyes was unmistakable to anyone who saw it. How could he not have known?
Now that he thought about it, so many things made sense in light of his realization. The incredible disappointment he'd felt at the discovery that she was much too far from him for there to be any possibility they could ever meet, not even in his very old age...
And hadn't he questioned Dr. Cullen about soul mates and the purpose of a miracle that only shows him what he could never have?
Edward remembered his anxiety and despondency when he hadn't heard from her for days at a time. How could he not have realized the truth? How could he not have realized why seeing a new letter from her filled him with such joy, or why he drew so much strength and comfort from her words?
Next to his mother's, it had been Bella's forgiveness he'd most desperately wished for after the incident with his Uncle Richard. How could he not have recognized the significance of that?
I love her.
Edward was completely overcome, and he wondered if the truth was as plan on his face at that moment as it had been on Joe's that day at the Red Cross building. He made several attempts before he was able to speak the words.
"Yes, I believe I do."
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"Oh, honey, look! It's the dress I saw in the magazine. Oh, you have to try it on! Abby, don't you think it would look great on her?"
Rubbing the back of her neck, Bella looked at the dress much the same way a prisoner would look at the gallows.
"I don't know, Mom."
On the other hand, her mom was looking at the dress like she was a kid in a candy store.
"Just try it on, honey. It'll be fun."
Dress shopping was about as much fun to Bella as a root canal.
Renee gushed over another dress. "Oh, how about this one? Does this come in pink?"
"It looks just like the first one, Mom."
"Oh, no! Look, they're completely different. The first one has a much lower waist."
Standing next to her mother, Abby was holding the two dresses Renee had decided Bella absolutely had totry on. "I don't think there is such a thing as a bridesmaid's dress that doesn't come in at least three shades of pink, Ms. Swan."
Bella rolled her eyes. Great. Two against one. Gang up on me, why don't you? "I really don't know about strapless, Mom. I don't want to be tugging the thing up all night." She looked down at her chest and sighed. It's not like I've got much to hold it up.
Abby was quick to assure her. "When a dress is fitted properly, that's not a problem, Bella. I promise, our seamstresses are the best, you won't have to tug on it once. You'll be perfectly comfortable."
Oh, yeah? Bet me.
"Oh! Bella, honey, look! Look at this one! Look at the ruching! Oh, it's beautiful."
This went on for what Bella could've sworn was hours, and in the end she ended up heading into the dressing room with Abby and seven dresses–count'em, seven.
With her mother still looking at more.
Bella hated even having to change clothes for gym in front of the other girls in the locker room when no one was paying any attention to her, and the thought of changing in front of Abby was making her feel slightly sick.
Really, it's just a friggin' dress. I'm sure I can manage at least putting the thing on by myself. It's walking in it that's the problem.
The inside of the dressing room shocked her. It was huge, about the size of her room at home. There were three chairs in the room, which was another surprise. Who on earth wants an audience when they get dressed? But the thing that surprised her the most was a folding screen in the corner. There is actually a dressing room IN THE DRESSING ROOM!
Abby's back was to her as she hung the dresses on a rack on the side wall. When she turned to face her she said, "You don't seem to be that into this, Bella. Not much of a shopper?"
Bella admitted, "No, not really. I couldn't even tell you the last time I wore a dress."
Abby grinned at her, trying to be reassuring. "They don't bite, I promise. Why don't we try this one first? Your mom seemed to like it the best. You just go ahead behind the screen, and I'll hand it to you when you're ready. There are hangers and shelves to put your clothes on."
Grateful for the privacy, Bella went behind the screen and quickly undressed. Abby handed her the gown around the screen, and she stepped into it. She looked down at herself and let out a breath. This is so not me.
"Once you've got it on, come on out, and I'll zip you up. You can take a look at yourself in the mirrors in here before we go out to show your mom."
Bella stepped out, holding the gown up so she wouldn't trip, and turned around for Abby to zip her up. She looked at herself in the mirror with Abby standing behind her.
"Well? What do you think?"
The dress was floor length and strapless, and the sample was in bright, cherry red. Bella looked at herself critically in the mirror. "I don't think I'm a red dress kind of person."
Abby laughed and showed her the swatches the dress was available in. "These are the pinks it comes in."
Hmmm, Amaranth Pink, Cerise Pink, and Persian Rose. Why can't they make life simple and just say light pink, dark pink, and hot pink? "I don't think I'm a pink person either, honestly. The royal blue is nice."
Smiling, Abby agreed. "To tell the truth, I'm not much of a pink girl either. Give me purple or blue any day."
Bella rounded on her like she'd found a soul sister. "Me, too!"
Subtly, Abby turned her attention back to the dress. "Forget about the color. What do you think of the design of the dress?"
Now a little more relaxed, Bella studied herself in the dress a little less critically. "At least it's not as fitted as some of the others. I like the higher, empire waist better and how it hangs loose from there. But I really had hoped for something shorter. I'm really clumsy. I guarantee you I would trip in this a dozen times before we even get to the church."
"Shall we go show your mom?"
Bella was turned partway around, looking at the back of the dress in the mirror. "Yeah, let's go." Let's just get this over with so I can go home.
They walked out with Bella holding the front of the dress up and looking down at the ground, on the look out for anything she could possibly trip over.
Not that I need there to actually be something to trip over. I can manage it just fine on my own.
Carefully, she stepped up on the dais and looked at her mother, who was standing next to the dais looking at her with her hands clasped in front of her face and gushing. "Oh, baby. I knew that dress would be beautiful on you. Look at you. You look so sophisticated. Turn around, let me get a good look. Oh, it's beautiful, honey. I just love it."
Bella looked at herself in the mirror, unconvinced. She thought the dress looked a little too sophisticated. A lot too sophisticated, actually. Abby showed her mom the pinks it came in, and they talked for a minute or two while Bella continued to look at herself, frowning.
It is better than the other ones, at least. I do kind of like the ruching, and I like the empire waist, but I really don't like it overall.
"Shall we try the next one then, Bella?"
The next dress was in a very shiny mauve pink, and Bella positively hated it the moment she saw it. In the first dress the ruching was tighter, only across the bust, and vertical. In this one, the folds of fabric were horizontal and wider, and she thought they just looked sloppy. The dress was very fitted from the hips up, and the skirt hung very narrow and to the ground. She looked at herself in the mirror. I look like a stick figure. If I was ten years older and had curves... but I'm not, and I don't.
The next dresses weren't any better, and so far, the first dress was the one she disliked the least.
Her mother and Abby were looking at her up on the dais in the last of the dresses they had picked out. "I don't know. I can't decide. They're all so beautiful on you, honey."
"If I could make a suggestion, Ms. Swan. There's a dress I have in mind that I think would look great on Bella."
Bella mentally groaned. She'd thought this would be the last one, and she could go home and check to see if Edward had written yet. Her mother agreed eagerly, and the torture season continued.
Once back in the dressing room, Abby told Bella to wait a moment, and she'd be right back. Bella looked at herself in the mirror and tried to be impartial but failed. What are they thinking? I look terrible in this thing.
It was only a minute before Abby was back and saying, "I think this might be the winner, Bella. I've been thinking about it since you tried the first gown on."
Bella was trying to be patient, but she really did hate shopping. She turned around, and Abby unzipped her. Once behind the screen, Abby handed her the next–and God willing, the last–dress.
When Bella looked at the dress, she felt the first spark of interest she'd had all day. She held it up and took a closer look. This dress was almost like a younger, shorter version of the first one. The sample was in a beautiful cross between blue and purple. It had a subtle sweetheart neckline and an empire waste with tight, vertical ruching above it. The empire waist itself was a narrow ribbon with a small, flat bow in the center. There were two layers of fabric, which felt light as air. The top layer was very sheer and the same shade as the bottom layer. The dress hung loosely with the top layer an inch or two longer than the one beneath it and would probably come to just below her knees.
She really liked it.
"Bella? You OK back there, hon?"
Crap. How long have I been back here? "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
"How do you like it?"
Bella quickly slipped the dress on and stepped out for Abby to zip her up. She looked at herself in the mirror and could hardly believe her eyes.
I've got boobs!
The dress hung on her perfectly, and the combination of the sweetheart neckline, empire waste, and ruching made her look like she had curves. The dress was just comfortable. She continued to look at herself in the mirror, spinning around, and actually smiling at her reflection, not taking her eyes off the mirror. "I like it... a lot. I like it a lot."
"Let's go see your mom, then."
As she walked out of the dressing room with Abby, Bella looked at her mom, smiling nervously and tucking her hair behind her ears.
Please let her like this one.
But Bella was disappointed as she stepped up onto the dais. Her mom had raved about every one of the other dresses the minute she'd stepped out in them, but with this dress–the one Bella actually really liked–she didn't say a word. She didn't even get out of her seat to come and look at it closer; she just sat there quietly.
Bella looked at her mom in the mirror and felt her heart sinking at her lack of a reaction. Just as she was about to ask her what she thought, her mom finally spoke.
"We'll take it."
Bella spun around to her mother, nearly falling over, but before she could say anything her mother looked at her, smiling radiantly and with tears forming in in her eyes, and spoke again. "This is the only one to make you smile. This is the dress."
Bella looked down at the dress, and holding the skirt out a bit she spun around, feeling like a little girl dressed up as Cinderella, before looking back to her mother. "Really?"
Renee came up and stood beside her, both of them looking at Bella's reflection in the mirror. "Absolutely. It's perfect on you, honey. It's you. Even the color is perfect. That's your color."
"But you wanted pink."
Renee stepped back and took Bella's hand, guiding her to spin around again.
"It's a bride's prerogative to change her mind. Just look how it floats around you when you spin around."
Abby, who had stepped back a bit, came forward again. "That really is a gorgeous color on you, Bella. And Renee, you can still have some pink. I think pale pink for the bouquet would be lovely with that color. There's enough purple in the blue that they'd go beautifully. Don't you think?" She held a swatch of pale pink fabric up to the dress to demonstrate.
"Oh, yes. That's beautiful. This is definitely the dress."
Renee held her cell phone up and took a picture of her as Bella stood looking at herself in the mirror, turning and watching the dress spin.
Bella smiled at her reflection; for the first time in her life she felt really, honestly pretty.
After dress shopping, Bella suggested they pick up a few movies, wanting to keep her mom occupied and not dwelling on Phil's being gone for the next week. Now, three movies and a dinner of Mexican take out later, she was finally lying curled up on her bed with Edward's latest letter and feeling the rest of the world fade away, leaving just the two of them.
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July 21, 1918
My Dearest Bella,
I cannot tell you how relieved I was to receive your letter forgiving me my outburst with my Uncle Richard. My family has all assured me I was within my rights, but I confess that next to my mother's, it was your forgiveness I wished for the most. Uncle Richard, my Aunt Josephine, and cousin Timothy all left the house immediately, and we have not heard from them since nor do we care to.
I hope you will also forgive me for telling my cousins about you. I would never knowingly do anything to upset you, and if I offended you, I apologize. I can only say that when the thought occurred to me, it felt right.
I am sure you will find this funny. In my anger I tried to focus my thoughts on you to calm myself. At one point, I thought the worst of the disagreement was over, and while still thinking of you and your words of support, I let my guard down and let slip those very words. I told my uncle "to stick a sock in it," just as you told me to.
Gasping for breath, Bella laughed so hard that she had to bury her face in her pillow to muffle the noise so her mother wouldn't come and ask her what was so funny. He actually told his uncle to stick a sock in it! Oh my God, that is the funniest thing I have ever heard! I wish I could've been there and seen the look on his uncle's face! When she stopped laughing enough to sit back up, tears were streaming down her cheeks and she wiped her face with the back of her hand, still laughing, out of breath, and holding her stomach which was sore from laughing so hard.
"He must've looked like a cartoon character with smoke coming from his ears."
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Once my cousins and I were alone, Mic asked me what that meant, and I had to admit I did not know. I told him I heard the expression from a friend. He, along with his brother and sister, took great delight in teasing me, and in the end, as I said, telling them everything felt right.
Needless to say, they did not believe me.
I wrote my last note to you in front of them, and they watched me put it in the hidden compartment of our grandfather's desk. They were surprised when it vanished, exactly as I said it would, but they still believed it to be some trick I was playing, very inappropriately under the circumstances. Laura and Tommy examined the drawer closely and were annoyed to not see how I had done it. In the end, I must admit I broke a promise to you and told them what you had told me of the end of the war, the assassination of the Czar, and the sinking of the Carpathia. I do not believe they truly believed me until the assassination of the Czar was reported in this morning's paper. I am deeply sorry for not keeping my word to you. I have no justification to offer other than my honest belief that it was vital they believe me, and I hope and pray, my sweet Bella, that you will once again forgive me.
My Uncle Michael, Aunt Louise, and my cousins left late this afternoon to return to New York City. Our parents had often talked of our going to visit them there many times, but the visit never happened for one reason or another. My cousins and I are resolved that it will not be put off again, and last night, Mic suggested to his father that my mother and I visit them next summer. We have not yet approached my mother, of course, as it is much too soon for her to be able to consider any such thing. My uncle supported our plan and will issue the invitation sometime early next year. I hope to make the visit in August. It is my hope that a trip will give her something to look forward to, something to raise her spirits. I am greatly looking forward to it myself. I have not been to the seaside in many years, and I hope we will have the opportunity to go bathing, although it will be difficult. Mic is in a wheelchair. He contracted Polio two years ago and lost the use of his legs. It will not be possible to maneuver his chair on the beach, but I am confident that between my uncle, Tommy, and myself, we will be able to manage something. Tommy is only 13, but he is very tall and very strong for his age. To see him, you would assume he was nearer 16. Indeed, Mic himself is very strong in his upper body. I do not believe I have ever seen anything so amazing. Bella, I wish you could have seen him. He is able to maneuver the stairs on his own, with very little help–only getting out of and back into his chair. His refusal to let the loss of the use of his legs defeat him is truly inspirational.
I am very worried for my mother. She and my Aunt Louise are very close, and Mother seemed to have rallied on Monday with her arrival. I was greatly relieved, but by Tuesday she had withdrawn into silence again. She does not speak at all unless directly spoken to, and even then I cannot draw more than three or four words from her. She barely eats, and she has not touched her knitting or her books or magazines since my father's death. She spends most of her time upstairs in her room, only coming down when we have visitors, and when she does sit in the parlor, she stares at the chair where my father sat. She and my father used to enjoy listening to me play the piano for them, but now I am almost afraid to make any noise of any kind around her. She looks like she might shatter at the slightest sound. Neither of us has been to the hospital since my father's death. She is unable to bear leaving the house, and I am unwilling to leave her alone.
I am quickly coming to detest the color black, and I hope to never see it again. My father's attorney wishes for me to see him soon to draft my own will, and I am strongly tempted to put in it that I expressly forbid anyone to wear black for me. What is your favorite color? I will ask that they wear that instead. I hope it is pink. I would enjoy looking down upon my family and friends all attired in pink at my funeral.
I am glad to hear that the White Sox are still winning, but I have never heard of the Houston Astros. Astros is a very odd name for a team, I wonder why they would chose it. Does it have some significance? The Brooklyn Robins were once called the Dodgers. They have a habit of changing names every so often. Is it the same team, do you know?
Thank you for what you were able to tell me about my grandson and his family. I am not surprised you were unable to dissuade him from giving the desk to you. We Masen men can be very stubborn when we are determined. I am glad he appears happy. I wonder what persuaded him to move to Phoenix. Work perhaps? I admit I am glad my other grandson and my granddaughter still live in Chicago, and that he is moving back as well. I do not like it when family moves away. It happens too much nowadays. Mic and I were as close as brothers when they lived here in Chicago, and I miss him very much. It is a very odd feeling to know of my grandchildren at only seventeen. I cannot thank you enough. It is comforting to know my family will go on after I am gone, and that they will be happy. I feel as if I am always either thanking you or begging your forgiveness. You have given me so much, I wish there was something I could give to you.
The song you sent me was beautiful. I cannot help but feel it almost applies to us. "Far across the distance, and spaces between us, you have come to show you go on, near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on." Who has ever traveled across a farther distance than we have? There was a motion picture short made almost immediately following the sinking starring an actress who had actually been on board. I remember the movie only vaguely, and I do not remember the name or the actress. I do not believe she ever made another movie afterward. If I remember correctly, in the movie she is reunited with her parents, who had thought her to have been lost, and she recounts to them the night of the sinking. It was only a short, and I had completely forgotten it. I am surprised I remember it at all. I remember my mother thought it in very poor taste to exploit the disaster, but she relented as it was starring someone who had actually been on board. She felt as an actual survivor was recounting the event, it was acceptable. Please do not think I disapprove of your going to see the exhibits retrieved from the site. (Please do not think I do not believe you, but I still have difficulty comprehending that mankind will one day be able to do such a thing.) I see it as much the same as my mother saw the movie. The way you explained it, it seems as it is being done in a way that expresses what those on board endured that night, as if they are having a chance to tell their stories, as the actress in the film told hers. They are being remembered. What can we ask for more than to be remembered once we are gone? There is one thing about which I am confused, though. As you know of the sinking, why you would ask why we sailed on a different ship?
Did you find a dress for your mother's wedding? I am surprised you do not like shopping. I believe all the other girls I know would enjoy shopping for a new dress.
I have a request I would like to ask of you, but I am afraid you will think me too forward. My father had a pocket locket in which he kept a lock of my mother's hair. He carried it with him always. I wish more than anything that you could be here with me, or that I could be with you in your time, but as that can never be, what I would wish for next would be to have a lock of your hair. A small piece of you that I might hold in my hand and keep with me always.
Bella, for someone who says she does not have a way with words, reading your words is without fail the highest point of my day. Please do not ever doubt that. Your friendship is the most important one of my life, and I, too, feel that our friendship is, that you are, the best thing to have ever happened to me. I have never in my life looked forward to anything as I have looked forward to receiving your next letter these past weeks. Please write to me as soon as you are able. I am anxious to know what "stick a sock in it" means, also "ripped him a new one" and "I Googled it." You really do have the oddest expressions in your time, Bella. I remain,
Your friend,
Edward
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He wants a lock of my hair. Edward wants a lock of my hair. My Edward wants a lock of my hair. A lock of my hair... My Edward... wants... a lock... of... my... hair!
Bella sat on her bed shaking, her heart pounding. No matter how many times she read it, she couldn't believe what she was seeing. She sat immobile, paralyzed for approximately two minutes before springing up from her bed and racing from her bedroom to the small spare room to find her mother's craft supplies.
"... Silk flowers. Hot glue. Cross Stich. Knitting. Pastels. Where the hell is the ribbon? Scissors. Paper for scrap booking."
Scissors! Wait, I need scissors!
"Ow! God friggin…. Ow! Ow! Ow!"
Bella was madly digging through her mother's abandoned hobby supplies without watching what she was grabbing hold of, and she cut her finger on a craft knife that the cover had fallen off of. Assuming it was even put away with the cover on it in the first place. The cut didn't appear too deep, but it really was bleeding quite a bit, and she felt herself start to sway.
Ugh, you would think with how many times I've cut myself, I'd get over the sight of blood.
Holding her breath, she hurried to the bathroom on weak legs and wrapped a towel around her bleeding finger, holding it tightly. She sat down on the floor, leaned the side of her face against the coolness of the tub, closed her eyes, and breathed through her mouth slowly and deeply as she waited for the dizzy, sick feeling to pass.
"Bella? Are you OK, baby?"
She startled a little at the sound of her mother's voice. "Yeah. Just cut my finger."
Her mother opened the door and came into the bathroom. "Let me see."
Some mothers might have panicked at the sight of their daughter, pale and half lying on the bathroom floor, but after sixteen years Renee was used to her daughter accidentally hurting herself and her reaction to the sight of blood. She held Bella's hand up and gently eased the towel off to see the cut. "Hmm. I don't think you need stitches. There's an awful lot of blood on the towel though, but it seems to have stopped already." Laying Bella's hand down, she got the first aid kit out. As she was putting an antibacterial bandage on Bella's finger after carefully cleaning the cut, she asked how she had cut herself this time.
Bella's eyes were still closed, but they sprung open. Crap. Think. Think. Close to the truth. Stay close to the truth. "On a knife. I wanted… an apple. I was going to cut myself up an apple."
"Uh huh, but you cut yourself up instead? Really, honey. You've got to be more careful."
Bella closed her eyes again and sighed. I'm not the one who didn't put their craft knife away correctly.
"All good now?"
She sat up slowly in case the room started to spin, but she was getting better now, and her mom helped her up. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm sorry I woke you."
Her mom was putting the first aid kit away. "Oh, you didn't wake me, honey. I was on the phone with Phil. Great news, they won today."
"Oh. That's… that's great. Tell him I said congratulations."
"Are you sure you're OK, honey? You still look pretty white."
Bella forced a smile, but didn't tempt fate by nodding her head. She was still weak and a little dizzy, but the nausea was nearly gone. She took a deep breath. "I'm sure. I'm good. I just need sugar. I'll just take my apple to my room."
"Use that special apple slicer/corer thing I got at that cooking show. I got it for you."
Bella walked slowly to the kitchen and got an apple out of the bowl on the counter and found "The-Special-So-Bella-Won't-Cut-Herself-Apple-Corer-Slicer-Thing" in the drawer next to "The-Special-So-Bella-Won't-Cut-Herself-Bagel-Holder-Thing".
It's like the safety scissors in Kindergarten all over again.
At their desk, Bella sat eating her apple and rereading Edward's letter.
I still can't believe he told his uncle to stick a sock in it. How am I going to explain what "rip him a new one" means? I doubt any of the girls his mother would approve of would ever say something like that.
I don't understand why he seems so surprised I wondered why they didn't sail on the Titanic after all. That seems like a normal thing to wonder about.
I'm glad he seems to think the White Sox kept winning from then till now. I didn't have the heart to tell him the World Series they won four years ago in 2005 was their first since the one they won last year in 1917 or about the scandal they'll be involved in next year. I wonder if I should explain where the Astros got their name? If he has "difficulty comprehending" we can go to the Titanic on the bottom of the ocean, he'll never believe me about astronauts.
I'm really glad he thinks it was his grandson who lived here and was just moving back. No way was I going to tell him his son had just died so soon after his father died. His son... I was in his son's home.
Bella closed her eyes and smiled in amazement at the small connection between them. No, she'd never meet Edward himself, but she had met his grandson and had stood in his son's home. She'd met someone who had met him. Someone who had actually touched him, who had known him and probably sat in his lap, someone who had put his arms around him and hugged him.
He wants a lock of my hair.
Popping the last piece of apple in her mouth, Bella took the plate to the kitchen, rinsed it off, and put it in the drainer.
I'm worried about his mother, though. I'll have to see what I can find out about helping someone who's grieving. He's grieving too, of course, but for his mother it's different. Especially back then. He mentioned the color black, do they still do that whole dress in black for a year in mourning thing?
Back in the spare room, Bella found some ribbon behind the cross stitch pattern books she saw earlier, got the scissors, and put the stupid cover back on the stupid craft knife.
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..ooOoo.. ..ooOoo.. ..ooOoo.. ..ooOoo..
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"Edward…."
"Who are you?"
"Edward…."
It was dark. He looked all around but couldn't see a thing. He didn't know where he was. His heart was pounding, but it was out of excitement. He wasn't frightened. He didn't know where he was, and he knew he wasn't alone, but he knew he was safe.
"Edward…."
"Who are you?"
"You know who I am, Edward."
He did. He did know who she was. He'd never heard her voice before, but he knew he'd have recognized the sound of it anywhere. It was like bells. Bells, and birds chirping, and rain falling… and music. Her voice was like the most beautiful music he'd ever heard. The most beautiful music he could ever hear.
"Bella? Are you… are you here?"
Laughter. Light, joyous laughter. If he'd thought the sound of her voice was amazing, the sound of her laughter was even better.
"Yes, Edward. I'm here. I'm here, my love. I'm here."
Edward ran toward the sound of her voice, looking around frantically in every direction, but he couldn't find her; he still could not see a thing. His heart was hammering in his chest so hard he could hear it. "My love," she'd called him, "My love."
"Bella? I love you. Please, love, I cannot find you. Bella, please, where are you?"
He felt an arm wrap around him from behind and felt as much as heard her voice whisper in his ear.
"Stop running, my love. You don't need to run. I'm right here."
Her hand slid up his chest and came to rest over his pounding heart.
"I've always been right here. With you."
Edward felt himself harden as he felt her lips brushing against his ear, her tongue running down to his neck, her lips leaving a trail of wet, hot kisses back up to his ear before nibbling on it gently and pulling it into her mouth.
"Bella… I love you."
"I love you, too, Edward. I love you, too."
Her hand was tracing circles on his suddenly bare chest, and when she ran her nails over his nipple his head dropped back, and he moaned. "Please…. Bella, please… let me..."
She whispered, "Yes," and he turned around, pulling her into his arms and pressing his lips to hers. He ran his hand up into her hair. He couldn't see her face, but he did see long strands of dark chestnut hair sliding through his fingers. He held her close with his other arm and grew harder when he felt her skin against his own. Her arms were around him, holding him as tightly as he was holding her. Her hands were running up and down his back, up into his hair.
He could feel her, he could hear her, but she suddenly felt… less solid, and she sounded… farther away.
"Edward…."
"Bella… I love you."
"And I love you."
She sounded farther away still. He could still feel her warmth, but it was more like a warm breeze against his skin than a warm person in his arms. "Please… don't leave me…."
"Where would I go? I am yours Edward, as you are mine. I'm still right here. With you."
Edward felt the slightest touch against his chest, over his heart.
"I have always been with you, and I always will be. "
Edward could feel his night clothes against his skin again. "Bella, where are you? Where did you go? Why can I not find you?"
"You will. When it's time, you will. Wait for me, my love. I promise, you will find me."
"Bella, don't leave me!"
Edward awoke with a jolt, reaching out for someone who wasn't there, calling out for someone who couldn't be there. He was out of breath, his heart was racing, and he was hard. He was a typical 17-year-old boy, and although that was hardly the first time he'd dreamed of a girl's skin against his own and far from the first time he'd woken up in such a state as a result, it was the first night he'd dreamed of Bella. He sat in his bed remembering his dream; he sighed, shifted in bed slightly, and grimaced. His body definitely remembered the dream. He felt like he should be embarrassed, like he should feel that dreaming of her like... like that was betraying her trust in him. But he did not. He loved her, and this was all he would ever have of her.
As he lay back down and slid his hand beneath his pajama bottoms, the part of the dream he remembered most vividly–OK, the second most vivid–was the way her long chestnut hair felt sliding through his fingers. Wrapping his fingers around himself, Edward imagined it was Bella's hand stroking him. With that image in mind it did not take long until Edward could feel himself nearing his climax, and his eyes closed and his mouth fell open as he inhaled sharply. Turning his head to the side, he buried his face in his pillow to muffle the sound of the scream that wanted to break free a moment later as he came more powerfully than ever before.
Lying still and catching his breath afterward, Edward felt both sated and saddened as his body cooled and his heart rate returned to normal. He wondered, not for the first time, the purpose of being granted such a miracle, of being shown a girl whom he could love but could never have.
As he wiped his hand on one of the old handkerchiefs he kept in the table beside his bed for just such occasions–this was not the first time they'd been needed–the sight of Bella's long, dark hair sliding through his fingers from his dream replayed through his mind, and he could feel his body beginning to respond again when a sudden thought occurred to him.
But I do not even know what color…
Before he could complete the thought Edward's eyes snapped to their desk, and he jumped out of bed. In seconds he was sitting at their desk in wonder and holding a lock of long chestnut hair tied with a purplish blue ribbon in one hand and a short note in the other.
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Dearest Edward,
Sorry, I don't like pink. My favorite colors are blue and purple. What are yours?
I did get a dress for the wedding. It's almost the exact same color as this ribbon.
As you can see, I don't think you were being too forward, but then girls are a bit more forward in 2009 than they were in 1918. Is it appropriate for a girl to ask a boy for a lock of his hair, or is that considered improper?
Yours always,
Bella
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"She has long brown hair."
For a long time, Edward sat at their desk holding the lock of her hair she'd sent him, feeling it against his fingers. He wrapped it around his fingers and raised his hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the strands.
Strawberries. She smells like strawberries.
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..ooOoo.. ..ooOoo.. ..ooOoo.. ..ooOoo..
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So, a little bit of a lemon drop there at the end... What did you think of Edward's revelation? Drop me a note and let me now.
Historical notes –
"EX-CZAR OF RUSSIA KILLED BY ORDER OF URAL SOVIET" Was one of ten front page articles in the New York Times on July 21, 1918. It did say the execution was the 16th, when it was really the 17th just after midnight, and that the former Empress and heir were taken to a place of safety. No reference was made to the Duchesses.
The Dodgers were established in 1883 in Brooklyn and were known by many nicknames before settling on The Dodgers in 1932. They were originally known as the Brooklyn Atlantics, and then also the Bridegrooms, Grooms, Superbas, Robins, and Trolley Dodgers. In 1916 and 1920, known as the Robins, they won the league pennant but lost the World Series both times. Trolley Dodgers was a Manhattanite slur for residents of Brooklyn from the late 19th Century until the mid 20th based on their number of trolley lines in Brooklyn. The Dodgers nickname first arose in 1891 when their field was bordered on two sides by trolley tracks, but it didn't become their official name until 1911 when they were called the Trolley Dodgers, which was shortened to Dodgers in 1913. The name was changed again in 1914 to the Robins in honor of new manager Wilbert Robinson. They would be known as the Robins for the rest of Edward's human life, not reverting back to the Dodgers until 1932 when Wilbert Robinson retired. - Per Wikipedia and
Saved From the Titanic was a silent film short shot in the United States in less than two weeks and released on May 14, 1912 – a whole 29 days after the sinking. Its running time was 10 minutes. The film stared Dorothy Gibson, an actual Titanic survivor, who co-wrote the script. To add to the authenticity, she reportedly wore the same clothes she had on at the time of the sinking–she'd been playing bridge at the time. She, her mother, and two others–men–from the bridge game boarded lifeboat no. 7, which was the first to be launched. There was some criticism over commercializing the tragedy, but it drew large audiences and good reviews. Gibson was still traumatized by the sinking and was said to have burst into tears during filming. In the movie, her character's parents and fiance are shown waiting for news of her after hearing of the tragedy. She arrives home, and narrates the events of the sinking in the form of a flash back. The actress later stated her decision to participate was to "pay tribute to those who gave their lives on that awful night." It is possible that studio producer Jules Brulatour, who she was having an affair with, persuaded her it was a huge opportunity for her career; however, it was the last movie she ever made. Saved From the Titanic is considered a lost film as all known copies were destroyed in a fire less than two years after it was released. All that remain are a few production stills. – per Wikipedia.