Author's Notes: Aaaahhh!! I am so unbelievably sorry I've let this go so long without updating! I've just been really busy applying to colleges (I know, I know, what excuse is college, for Pete's sake, when put up against Twilight??), and plus I got pretty seriously ill shortly after I updated the last chapter. I would never have thought a cold could escalate to such proportions, but there you are. Anyway! This isn't too, too long of a chapter, but I wanted to get something up, and I also wanted to stop it where I did.

So, onto you, dear readers! A million thanks to TheUniverseBeyond, The REAL Alice Cullen, Deliriously Withdrawn, SockShopping, LovingMyDoctor, your vennela, Twilighter, azvamplover, meera (twice! Not including the signed-in review!), Twisted Willow, Fallen Roses 07, miss.dramatikkkk, Ame Warashi, Isabel Hale, Annie (to whom I'll respond in just a second), liteblue95 (also known as signed-in meera), DarlingKittystar, erised-i, XboredX16, Alia DeBel, Runs-with-vampires, dick and dunn, MissMei92, arisaswordheart, HobWizElf, and last, but definitely not least, NeverGoodbyeRoxas for reviewing::pants, slumps over in seat::

Also, a wet-hunter-green-shirted Carlisle to Twisted Willow, and a shirtless Edward for your vennela, just for extra-special, because she asked for it. Do I spoil my readers? You bet:-D

Annie: Thank you! Ooh, you've hit my soft spot. I just love it when I'm mentioned in the same sentence/paragraph as Stephenie!! Oh, I know! Edward won't be happy when he finds out about Charles! After he meets Esme, of course. :-) Exactly! I couldn't agree more! I would prefer Carlisle any day of the week to just about anybody, not just my abusive spouse! (If I had an abusive spouse, that is, which I don't, fortunately.) I do have an abusive cat, however. But I think I might prefer the Jersey Devil to her when she's mad, sometimes. :-D

So, I noticed that a lot of people were kind of upset with Esme's Mom for her reaction to finding out about the abuse going on in Esme's house. It's not really that great to think about, but we have to consider the time-frame. This takes place long before the feminist movement in America, before women could vote, before women could pretty much do any of the things we enjoy today (like becoming football stars, like we all do every day of the week). And the sad fact is, many women simply didn't believe that they could measure up to a man. That was the way they were raised and what they were taught to believe. Plus, Esme's mother was raised in a very conservative and femininely oppressed household. She was taught that it was her prime duty in life to be a good housewife and mother. So, when Esme's mother reacted the way she did, it wasn't because she's mean or doesn't love Esme. She has never seen Charles act inappropriately in any way, and she assumed that Esme had pushed him too far. She also didn't see the extent of the damage that Margaret saw. All she saw was that Esme had a bruise on one arm. Anyway, I just thought I'd mention that, to try and stay any ill feeling against Mrs. Platt. She really is a very good person, she just has a seriously warped system of beliefs. oO

Disclaimer: Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, Carlisle Cullen, Esme Evenson, and Charles Evenson all belong to Stephenie Meyer, who was in Pennsylvania doing a signing and I didn't even know about it! Theodore Bloom, Mr. and Mrs. Platt, Mr. and Mrs. Evenson, Frank and Margaret Bennington, Dr. and Mrs. Malcolm, Harry Malcolm, the old lady, the musician, and the porter all belong to me (you can have the porter, the old lady, or the musician though, if you really want them. They're not that important to me.) :-)

Chapter 14. Homecoming

Dear Mrs. Evenson,

It is my pleasure to inform you that your husband, Charles W. Evenson, has been released from service in the United States Armed Forces, as of the end of the Great War.

His ship to America is scheduled to set sail on April 3rd

I offer you my most heartfelt congratulations.

Sincerely,

Captain Theodore Bloom

I stared at the letter blindly, the same way that Charles had looked at his draft letter. The same dread that had marred Charles' face from the thought of going to war now marked mine from the thought of his coming back from it. Eyes wide and unseeing, I laid my head on the table. The letter fell from my limp hand and drifted to the floor.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other nervously, chewing on my lip. Partially, my restlessness was because I was chilly – it was windy on the train platform where I stood, waiting for my husband's train to arrive. But mostly, it was because I was terrified.

What was going to happen to me when I saw the train appear over the horizon? Would I freeze in place, struck dumb? Would I play the part of a good wife happy to see her husband after a year's separation and throw myself into his arms and kiss every part of his face I could reach? Would I scream and run away? Or would I, perhaps, turn into a gruesome spectre, my fear at last taking tangible form?

My parents and parents-in-law were also at the train station, though they were in considerably higher spirits. Mrs. Evenson wrung her hands and bounced on the balls of her feet, an anticipatory smile stretched across her face. Mr. Evenson occasionally stretched up onto his toes, gazing down the tracks for a glimmer of light or a puff of steam. My father stood next to my mother, hands in his pockets, chewing on the end of his pipe thoughtfully. My mother clung to my father's arm, shivering and impatiently brushing her hair from her face.

Mentally, I was in turmoil. How had an entire year passed so quickly? Charles had left the morning after that terrible night, and there had been no news from him. No letters, no leave of absence, nothing. Nothing except the news in the papers. The vicious battles, the mounting death toll, the victories, the losses. All this, and not one scrap of news about Charles' whereabouts or welfare. Mrs. Evenson had become quite frantic when Christmas came and Charles didn't even send a card home.

I didn't know what to make of myself. I was making out exceedingly well on my own. My parents, the Evensons, and even Frank and Margaret had helped me financially. I had rearranged our house, which I enjoyed doing immensely; the bruises healed quickly, and I was physically doing very well; and in my spare time I helped Uncle Franklin around the house, doing chores and small deeds for him that he hadn't the knack for.

With Charles gone, I found myself happier than I would have thought possible, after marrying him. And, after fourteen months of unbroken silence from overseas, the thought, like a mirage, had begun to shimmer in the peripherals of my mind that I was a widow. However, even during the height of Charles' brutality towards me, I wouldn't have been able to bring myself to hope that he would never see America again. To be happy if he should die on some distant battlefield in Europe, and I would never even have to see his grave. But that was not to be.

As I leaned into a heavy wind, trying not to be blown over, I berated myself, as though it was my fault that the months had passed so rapidly. I felt as though I shouldn't have allowed myself to fall so easily into a routine that did not revolve around Charles, a routine that did not even include him.

I clenched my jaw tightly, to suppress the bitter taste of disappointment as it flooded my mouth. I had so liked living without being hurt….

Once, my mother caught my eye, and I suppose that she must have seen something there that I intended to hide better than I was doing. Of course, I hadn't really had much practice hiding my intimidation from my family in a year – I had had no call to.

My mother separated herself from father and came to stand next to me.

"Isn't it wonderful, Esme?" she asked, tenderly stroking my frozen cheek. "Finally, after all of these months of waiting for news, Charles is finally coming home."

I nodded absently.

Mother let her hand wander down my shoulder to my back, where she rubbed soothing circles.

"Of course, things will be a little strange for the both of you for a while. But you mustn't let that discourage you."

I didn't speak. I couldn't. I had just looked down the tracks and seen a dark cloud. It was coming closer, and now I could see a single, blinding headlight.

After a few moments of my stony silence, my mother murmured, "Just be the wonderful wife you have been all of these months, Esme. Everything will be fine."

She leaned towards me and kissed my hair and, for a moment, I nearly believed her.

"Look!" cried Mrs. Evenson.

Everyone simultaneously looked in the direction of her extended finger, which was pointing towards the oncoming train.

"Here he comes!" said Mr. Evenson enthusiastically, pulling off his hat and waving it at the train, as though there were a multitude of train stations in the vicinity, and he wanted to make sure it got the right one.

For as suddenly as the train had come into sight, it seemed to take hours for it to chug to a stop in front of us. Perhaps some higher power was giving me a few moments to say goodbye to my solitude, before throwing me back into my real life.

The steam engine finally shuddered to a halt. The way the steam puffed out and the pistons fired reminded me of a lathered horse panting for breath. A door opened and the porter jumped down, carrying a stool with him. I watched as he dropped it in place for the offloading passengers.

Very few people disembarked at this stop. An elderly woman gingerly climbed down the step, helped by the porter, who then told her which train to wait for to transfer to Columbus. A younger woman, perhaps a year or two younger than myself, climbed down and headed straight for a bench, clutching a flute case protectively in her hands, her bag strung on her arm. Harry Malcolm, bypassing the step completely, jumped down and ran to his parents, ebulliently embracing his mother and wringing his father's hand.

Charles was the last one off the train. He looked scarcely different from when he had left. His hair was shorter, cut very close to his head, and he walked with a slight limp that may have been due to the hindrance of the large bag he had slung over his shoulder, but there was something else… something I couldn't put my finger on.

He strode up to us, and his mother threw herself at him.

"Oh, Charles, Charles!" she cried, burying her face in his chest.

Charles jumped slightly, as if surprised at the sudden physical contact, and then let his bag fall so that he could hug his mother properly. He patted her on the hair awkwardly, looking at her head like he had never seen it before.

"Mother, don't," Charles said plaintively.

Mrs. Evenson pulled away, her hand over her nose and mouth, sniffling loudly.

"I'm sorry, dear," she said thickly, searching her pockets for a handkerchief. "It's just that, I haven't seen... my darling boy... in over a year!" She broke down completely, which triggered my mother's tears. Mother rushed over to Mrs. Evenson, and soon they were clutching each other, sobbing into each other's shoulders with relief.

Mr. Evenson chuckled and shook his head. "Women," he said to Charles, striding up to shake his hand.

Charles looked strangely alien from the scene that was taking place around him. I sensed that he was aware of this too, from the way he kept looking around and taking in his surroundings. When his eyes finally met mine, I finally understood what that strange glint was that I couldn't identify before.

Charles had a slightly wild look to his eyes, now. A look that said that he had seen too much death, too much carnage, too much blood.

"Esme." He said my name quietly, but everyone heard it. Our entire greeting party was suddenly tense. Both of our mothers had stemmed the flow of their tears at his voice, and Mr. Evenson dropped Charles' hand. They were all looking back and forth between the two of us, waiting to see what would happen.

Charles stepped toward me, and then suddenly there was something else in his eye. I knew, without his having to tell me, that he had killed. That he was now professionally trained how to commit murder. And I knew that the year apart had changed nothing. He still wanted to kill Carlisle. Or did he want to kill me? He was more than capable, should he so decide. He knew how.

He was in front of me before I could unfreeze myself enough to step back. I found myself unable to look away from his eyes, like a deer staring down the barrel of a rifle.

"Esme," he repeated. He reached for my face, and placed his hands on either side of my jaw. He closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. He ducked his head, and his lips brushed against my ear.

"You are still mine," he whispered, so quietly that he and I were the only ones who would be able to hear his voice.

His lips were already on mine by the time it became too much for me. My legs collapsed underneath me, and I slumped against his chest in a dead faint.

Author's Note: And now for a shameless plug: Kaitipoola over at the Twilight Archives suggested that I write Chapter Four of this story from Carlisle's perspective. Well... I did! It's called "Something to Bite On," and since it's a one-shot, I figured that I would thank my reviewers here! So thanks to Annie, SockShopping, vjd, liteblue95, amo lamias, waitsiriusly411, Ame Warashi, Dragonflame-05, arisaswordheart, Fallen Roses 07 (who was kind enough to beta the story for me!)and Ostenattatious30w94u34 for reviewing!

Annie: ::giggles:: You did it again! You mentioned SM along with me::sings, and then gasps:: MORE than Edward? Is that possible? Hmm. I guess so. Just ask Esme. You got your wish! I updated!

Ostenattatious30w94u34: Thank you for reviewing! Unfortunately, it's a one-shot, but you're more than welcome on this side of the fence haha!