The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25[dot]com

Prompt : Garage

Pen Name: jackqueenking

Pairing/Main Character(s): Edward, Bella, Jacob

Rating: K+

THE PAST IS A FARAWAY PLACE

Though the weather had been fair for the best part of a month it suddenly took a turn for the worse, and the valiant little boat lurched in the resultant rough seas. Hours pitched the vessel through swells reaching yards high, and greedy hungry waves licked a path full across the deck, down the hatchway. Their salty tongues plunged the distance into the hold and lapped at what they found there, a cargo of luggage and worldly goods belonging to the few passengers, whose objective had been to enjoy a holiday in a place distant from where they'd originated. Well, they now would, so that objective was not to be unmet. The bottom of the sea was nowhere near where any of them had come from.

But three dawns later the sea had weighed them up, tasted their fear and their mettle, their belongings and their all, and had found nothing to her liking. Oceania is fond of her trophies it's true, and has pulled many a vessel down to grace her floors as pretty ornaments for the denizens of the deep to gaze upon, but this broken craft would add nothing of interest to her collection, and the sharks hereabouts were well fed already. She kept the captain for his brass buttons, and the first mate for his jaunty pegleg, but the holiday-makers were deposited bedraggled and limp on hard sand, their craft tossed unceremoniously after them.

The first to wake was the chauffeur, staunch fellow, though the term chauffeur implies rather less work than the multi-skilled Mr Jacob was usually required to undertake.

Checking that all the party were alive and breathing, though supine, his immediate thought was to salvage anything that could be of use in their imminent struggle for survival. Very little could be recoverable from the wreck of the once splendid Twilight Dancer, but he waded thigh-deep into the swirls of now-gentle ripples, amongst the strewn planks, searching for practical items. Sturdy suitcases had been torn asunder by the ocean's curiosity, and Mr Jacob gathered a few armfuls of miscellanea which he piled upon the sand, returning again and again to the boat's dismantled carcass. Soon all that was left would be washed to sea, to perhaps turn up on some lonely shore elsewhere, or to be worn by turtles. A small box floating like Tantalusian grapes just beyond reach prompted him to dive out of his depth, but proved worth the danger when it yielded kitchen equipment. Knives! If you are stranded on a desert island and you have knives all is not lost, providing you can find a supply of fresh, clean water.

Water.

Mr Jacob trudged his way back up the beach, noticing that some of his co-travellers were stirring. The party consisted of his employer, a Dr Carlisle Cullen, Dr Cullen's son, Mr Edward Cullen, and Dr Cullen's two daughters, the Misses Rosalie and Alice Cullen. Mr Cullen's fiancee Miss Isabella Swan was also accompanying the family for this trip. Mr Jacob, chauffeur, had been brought to provide such assistance as the Cullens should require on their holiday, as had Miss Leah, the maid. Right now, the amount of assistance required was looking to be a great deal. It was looking far more than Mr Jacob's training and previous experience had prepared him for.

Still, timidity doesn't scale mountains, and trepidation cannot ford a river. Mr Jacob had already ascertained that no-one appeared to be suffering broken bones or extreme blood-loss, and he therefore left the medical reconnoitre to Dr Cullen, electing to take himself away alone in search of nature's most essential ingredient.

So much green abounded that he surmised there must be plenty of water present, he just needed to find a source of it. Figuring any outpourings would find their inevitable way to the sea he hugged the shoreline as he explored, and sure enough, soon enough, found the trickle of a stream, which when followed through undergrowth and overgrowth, led eventually to a pleasant pool. Darting birds bright as jewels criss-crossed the air around him, huge flowers dipped heavy heads nodding at their reflections, and the air was noticeably damper here in the shade amongst huge moss-trunked trees. Mr Jacob plunged his hands into the pool, cupping them and raising the welcome elixir to his mouth. Sweet it was, tranquil and slippery on the inside and outside of his throat.

Somewhere here there must be a spot they could make camp, set themselves up some sort of shelter, make an inventory of selves and chattels, and then take stock of their surroundings.

He made his way back down to the beach, an hour's traversal of the uneven terrain, and announced his findings. The Cullen clan sat looking bleak and lost, the gentlewomen crying.

"What a situation!" Dr Cullen repeated bemusedly. Miss Leah had apparently gone to the treeline, brought back a few tall stout sticks and broad leaves, and utilizing thin strips of fabric torn from her petticoat to bind it all together had fashioned a type of bivouac for the sisters Cullen, and their guest Miss Swan. The ladies sat huddled in the shade while Miss Leah sat in the sun, staring about with an avid curiosity.

"Where on earth did you get to, fellow? I thought you'd abandoned us," Dr Cullen said irritably.

"I found fresh water, sir, and a place where we might make camp," Mr Jacob answered.

"Camp?" Dr Cullen snorted. "We'll have no need of a camp. Just get the boat seaworthy and we'll be on our way. By the way, where is the damned boat?"

Mr Jacob looked out over the now pacific bay, empty of mast or hull. Empty of all but blue, in fact, as far as the eye could see. "There is nothing left of it to repair, sir."

Dr Cullen frowned. "Well then, we'll flag down the next passing ship."

Mr Jacob drew a deep breath. "I'd been observing the captain's charts as we made our progress, sir, and given the direction of the wind that blew us, and the tidal pattern showing on the chart, and allowing for drift and currents, I suspect that we've arrived somewhere that is not on any major shipping lines. I think it best if we were to make ourselves as comfortable as possible while we wait."

Dr Cullen drew a deep breath in response. "Wait for what, and for how long?"

"I've no idea, sir," was the answer.

Dr Cullen, already pale of complexion, seemed to become paler. "You think we are lost? Well, hush, man, don't upset the ladies."

And over the weeks that followed, Mr Jacob singlehandedly constructed two sturdy little huts, chopping logs using an axe he had reclaimed from the wreck, and a knife to cut palm fronds. Mr Edward was quite unable to take part, as he couldn't stand the sunshine, and sunshine was in abundance in this warm, wild territory the sea had thrown them into. Mr Edward needed to spend most of his time occupying the bountiful shade afforded so generously by the splendid, many-armed trees. Miss Leah, meanwhile, sacrificed more of her underskirt, draping a large piece of the fabric around a twig frame she lashed together to make a rudimentary, though effective net. Daily she hitched her skirts up and wandered into the shallows that lapped like kittens, catching fish as she went. She gutted them and left them, fat and glistening, still silver, lying on round flat stones in the brilliance of the tropical light, instructing the Cullen sisters not to let birds take them, while she paced on her strong legs further up the hill to gather greens they'd never seen before, and speckled eggs. Miss Swan at first sat with the Cullen sisters guarding the fish, but after a matter of days wanted to help with the food gathering.

"How do you know what isn't poisonous?" she asked Miss Leah curiously, eyeing the things Miss Leah was digging up, lumpy, cylindrical items, earth-hued.

"I don't," Miss Leah, never a chatterbox, answered.

After each day's labor, Mr Jacob and Miss Leah seemed energized. After each day's rest, the Misses and Mr and Dr Cullen seemed exhausted. Their stalwart erstwhile employees and current caretakers would strike a fire amongst a cone they'd assemble of collected sticks, and they'd produce meals. No plates! No glassware! No candelabra! Worst of all, no napkins! Conditions were challenging for the Cullens, though Miss Swan appeared to be adapting slowly, having perhaps not come from stock quite as fine. Indeed, her bloodline became a topic of discussion between the sisters.

"Do you think someone in her ancestry might have - worked?"

"Perhaps on a - farm?"

And over the weeks that followed, nobody quite noticed when it was that the "Mr's" and "Miss's" disappeared, and the island's inhabitants referred to one another simply by single names. Some of them, that is. Jacob, Leah and Isabella called one another Jacob, Leah and Isabella.

Now Jacob had always been somewhat ruddy of feature, and his hands were the same color. However, all the women, with the possible exception of Miss Leah, who may or may not have been better acquainted with him previously than the rest of them had, found themselves surprised to see that when he rolled his sleeves up to wash his hands before he ate, his arms were also reddish-brown.

This became a topic of conversation between the sisters.

"Do you think he rolls his sleeves up when he's chopping down trees?"

"And the sun has marked him?"

One day Jacob arrived back at the encampment in the late afternoon completely naked to the waist, and the Cullen sisters clasped each other, blinking furiously, and quite unable to comment. Jacob appeared to have been marked by the sun all over. They couldn't resume their discussion for hours.

"Do you possess another shirt?" Mr Edward asked curtly - a rhetorical question, as the sea had eaten all their clothes, save for the garments they were wearing at the time she had climbed on board. The pysical labor undertaken by Jacob had worn his shirt through to threadbare, and the strained fibres had bid one another adieu and separated, never to meet again. Jacob remained shirtless, glistening, the magnificent russet of a bay horse, and as sleekly muscled. The sisters Cullen stopped averting their eyes, instead risking heart failure daily.

"I mean, it's discourteous not to look at someone when they speak directly to you, isn't it?"

"We weren't brought up to be discourteous."

Time passed. Days, weeks, and even months. The four effete, that is, delicate, members of the castaways learned to manage one or two simple acts while the more industrious others of their party were engaged in the ongoing business of finding food and improving living conditions. It was discovered Miss Rosalie Cullen, with sufficient instruction, could wield a handmade broom reasonably well. Miss Alice Cullen, observing demonstrations aplenty, mastered the act of carrying utensils to the stream to wash them after use. Mr Edward Cullen remained affected by the heat and lost the mastery he used to show back in their old life. Dr Cullen too seemed listless these days, and indecisive. Jacob and Leah were forced into ruling the new roost, and this little society became quite the opposite of what they had all been used to.

And when society turns on its head, traditions no longer apply, rules lose relevance and mores are outdated. The new evolves, forced into being and finding shapes for itself that flow along their own channels. Variables can't be predicted, and people change or become consolidated versions of themselves. It's impossible to know what may or may not transpire.

In this uncharted territory Isabella was an explorer, a pioneer, a wayfarer. Previously withdrawn and unadventurous, she was surprised to discover she was not the type to languish in dappled shade gazing out over the horizon as if to conjure deliverance. Isabella took to island life and self-sufficiency, not minding the cuts and scrapes from forging new paths.

Always she was considerate of Mr Edward Cullen, her fiance, and would sit with him every evening murmuring quietly, speaking with wonder of gleaming flowers and birds, of towering cliffs and ferns, of curling waves and clouds, while Edward with nostalgia spoke of home.

"I miss it so, Isabella, don't you?"

"Well, yes, Edward, but there is much to experience and enjoy here."

"But how shall we ever be married, Isabella, in this godless place? We could perish here - what of our souls?"

She had always thought him poetic and romantic, with his thinness and pallor, and she still did. At least, she tried to, though his melancholy was beginning to seem deliberate pessimism, his outlook determinedly bleak.

Meanwhile Jacob strode through her daylight with nothing thin or pale, pessimistic or bleak about him. He negotiated the terrain with ease, and the mastery which had deserted Mr Edward Cullen settled about Jacob's shoulders, though with more gravitas, as it had been earned by merit, not conferred by surname. Isabella couldn't help but feel admiration, a little thrill, a little surge, as Jacob managed them all smoothly and instinctively. He may not have been born a leader but leadership was manifest in him.

And Jacob watched Isabella turn from the nervous white mouse she had been on arrival, with inquisitiveness written on her luminous skin and hope in her huge eyes, but submission like manacles governing every aspect of her behaviour, to a slender Amazon, long hair streaming as she traversed the hills and rocks, laughter quick and ready and ideas tumbling. The reactive bride from worlds ago had ceased to exist and here amongst the scents and sounds of wildness was an unencumbered spirit.

Amongst the scents and sounds of wildness one day, Jacob and Isabella reached a mutual discovery.

They were standing in a clearing, green above and below, sticky warmth held in by the woven ceiling and the music of the insects with nowhere to go but to circulate - an emerald ballroom in a forest mansion.

Into the humid tranquility, Jacob remarked, "Well, this is not what any of us envisaged when we embarked all those weeks ago for a summer holiday."

Isabella responded, "No, it certainly isn't. We couldn't have imagined this."

Jacob asked, "Are you hating the hardship here?"

Isabella queried, "Hardship?"

Jacob pointed out, "The lack of civility. The lack of amenities. The lack of comfort."

Isabella answered, "Truthfully? No. I like the simplicity. The peace. Life has lost its complications."

Jacob questioned, "Complications?"

Isabella said, "Yes. The busy-ness, the to and fro. The worry about manners and niceties and appearances and deportment. The constraints, the restrictions. The expectations and the requirements. It's a pleasure to be somewhere so serene. What really matters here is getting on with the necessities of life, unadorned."

Jacob answered, "I wouldn't have expected you to say that - a fine lady, used to ease. I must say, you've presented a different point of view. I thought you'd have preferred things as they were previously."

Isabella demurred, "No, actually. I prefer things as they are now. It's all so straightforward and honest."

In the spirit of honesty, Jacob seized the moment.

"Isabella, would it fair to say that under these new conditions, with the past so far away from us, that you and I have become friends? In a way that we couldn't have been before?"

Isabella of the forest mansion nodded in the affirmative.

"It's possible that we may never be rescued, you know," Jacob continued. "And as you've just remarked, things are different on this island. I know that you are engaged to be married to Mr Edward Cullen - but may I be so forward as to ask - is it a love match? Or one for convenience?"

Isabella blushed, and Jacob rushed on, "Because if you love him, I will do my best to be happy for you both. But a marriage for convenience is meaningless here. If the two of you are not in love, perhaps you could be released from your commitment."

"Why?"

Jacob reached for Isabella's hand, which trembled like the leaves above them, though dancing on a different wind.

"Because I would love you," he said softly."Honor and respect you, cherish and adore you."

He looked impassioned and aflame, and Isabella thought of Mr Edward Cullen, who always appeared aloof. Jacob's hand was warm as the island's beaming sun, and work-hardened. Edward's hand, if he ever touched her, was cool and soft. Guilty longing and shameful desire bloomed in a heart never yet stirred, and though the pleading look she bestowed upon Jacob showed hesitancy and confusion, he saw the Isabella she didn't know - the imago emerged from the chrysalis of a conservative upbringing - who could return his ardor. Quite unvisited now by the societal prohibitions which would have prevented this ever happening in the past, he kissed her.

His lips upon hers were gentle at first, but even in their very gentleness conveyed more feeling than the few restrained caresses she had received from her betrothed. Isabella responded with alacrity that surprised both of them, and upon feeling it, Jacob's kiss became searing. Isabella's hands rose to his shoulders seeking solidity as she felt her feet had left the ground and she had become somehow airborne or vaporized, or something.

Thinking she was pushing him away, he let her go immediately, staring in distress at the way her hand had flown to her mouth.

"Forgive me. I forgot myself. I would never, ever offend you. Please, I won't be brutish again. Don't be afraid of me."

But Isabella's hand wasn't over her lips in protection, or to ward him off. It was there to capture the sensations he had given her and keep them for good, to hold them there, never to escape.

"My declaration was impositional, as are my attentions. I see that. I am unwelcome. You have my unreserved apology, my unconditional attrition..."

Revealing impressive and unexpected articulacy for a chauffeur, Jacob appeared ready to continue expressing regret for an unlimited amount of time, but Isabella's voice stopped him.

"There is nothing unwelcome about you," she stated, stepping closer.

Never so brazen, usually craven, never so bold with the cold Mr Cullen, she'd never yearned. Never felt her breath quicken nor had her heart speed. Never felt need, never churned, never burned.

"Please, kiss me again," she invited, and breathlessly, Jacob did.

They made their way back to the encampment after dozens of kisses, or perhaps only several that lingered lengthily, loathe to leave, and there they found the able Leah showing the Misses Rosalie and Alice how to pluck a bird. Leah had Dr Cullen ordered into usefulness too, tending a fire, feeding little sticks to the voracious thing. Mr Edward was down at the shore, kneeling at a rockpool's edge, inspecting the tricky, clever baskets Leah had woven to catch lobster. He returned wielding one in triumph, as though he was a hunter, emerging victorious from the fray, having risked limb and life pitching himself against the savagery of an untamed beast, instead of having retrieved a crustacean from a trap.

Isabella proffered the cluster of tubers and leaves she had gathered, and Rosalie and Alice set about preparing the meal, as they had started to do lately. Edward and Carlisle assisted where necessary, as they had started to do lately, and Jacob, Leah and Isabella meandered to a favorite spot close by, to reflect.

"I never want to go back to our previous existence," Leah remarked, echoing the thought that was newly uppermost in her companions' minds.

"You want to grow old here?" Jacob asked, wondering if Isabella would make a response.

"Of course I do. Here we work for ourselves, and now that a safe home has been built, the amount of work we need to do has decreased. Here we can swim and play - we have the sunlight and the breeze on our skins instead of being stuck inside a damp, dark house scrubbing banisters and polishing brass. There, I wake and want to scream. Here, I wake and want to sing," Leah answered.

"I know what you mean," was Isabella's comment.

"You? You led a life of leisure. You had servants. You were going to marry Edward Cullen and become Lady of the Manor. What could you find to prefer about a desert island, when you've known luxury and wealth?" Leah asked doubtfully.

Jacob leaned forward, wanting to hear this reply, hoping, hoping...

"Just look about you! We have a bounty of wealth all around us, and we can share in it equally," Isabella began. "I didn't like having servants, and being idle. And as to my marriage, nobody ever asked me if I wanted it. It was a business transaction, and it was suitable. My money, his name. I don't miss any of those aspects of society - class, snobbery, propriety. Here they're nothing. There, they're everything."

Her skin prickled and tingled as Jacob sighed beside her. If someone of his status had so much as glanced at her in their old incarnation, never mind the kissing, he would have been arrested. And if she had glanced at him, she would have branded with a defamatory name, and disgraced. Consigned to spinsterhood.

"Well, I feel like a stroll before dinner. Would you like to come with me, or shall I see you back at the camp?" Leah offered, getting to her feet.

"I think I'll stay and sit, thank you," Jacob said, Isabella agreeing, adding she'd been on her feet all day. All day except the moments she'd been suspended on a cloud, but Leah wouldn't know about that.

Jacob wanted to kiss more, as evidenced by the way he placed his mouth to Isabella's, but she drew back.

"No," she murmured, to his consternation and dismay, but she dispelled those sudden fears of his with her next words.

"Dear Jacob, I have realized slowly over the past months that I care greatly for you, and have realized only just now that my regard is returned. However, I must speak to Edward. I must break off the engagement. It's not wrong for me to feel this way towards you, but it is dishonorable to act on it while Edward believes that he and I are betrothed."

This was fair, Jacob had to admit to himself. Grudgingly.

They rose and walked together side-by-side, though not hand-in-hand, each acutely aware that the other was in touching distance. Isabella wanted to do the right thing by Edward, as far as was possible under the circumstances, and Jacob wanted whatever would make Isabella come to him, open-armed and heart free.

Aromas wafting over the sand informed them both that the bird cooked on a rotating spit over hot coals was ready to serve, as was the lobster which had been simmered in a pot of light broth flavored with herbs.

The group sat roughly in a circle in the sand, eating with their fingers.

"Delicious," someone said.

"Delectable," someone else affirmed.

"What's that out over the bay?" someone else asked. "A ship?"

In a flash the castaways had leapt to their feet and rushed to the sea's verge, to the warm, unpredictable mightiness which now tugged teasingly at their ankles, calves, knees, inviting them in.

"Send up a signal!" Dr Cullen roared.

There was kindling next to the cooking fire, but scarcely nutritious enough to turn small flames into soaring flares that could be seen offshore. Back up the hill sat a stack of logs Jacob had piled, which he was turning into planks as needed. He was the only one of the party strong enough to wield the axe, the only one strong enough to lift these huge offcuts of trees. The Cullen sisters had watched him as he worked with the timber, and had discussed it.

"He's very - "

"Yes. Very."

And really, it was upon Jacob's shoulders that the future lay. It always had been. They'd been there months, and they'd evolved a topsy-turvy system, implemented and enabled by Jacob, that fed and housed them all. If they were rescued they'd go home, and would the old order be re-instated? Every single one of them felt the thudding of their own beating hearts as they were suspended in time, and Jacob felt the weight of responsibility. He'd ensured their survival thus far, his practicality and positive attitude had led their little band from shipwreck to idyll. What to do? Was there any doubt?

There was Isabella, his beloved, gazing at him. Mind rushing, Jacob saw himself and Isabella joined in love and passion, saw the two of them happy and smiling, saw her heavy with child and agonizing in the throes of childbirth, saw his progeny, his family, his dark-eyed laughing children dappled with sunlight and shadows.

In utter and indefinite isolation.

Oh, Isabella - can I do that to you? To us? To our children? I cannot. You are all that matters to me, and I could not do anything that might possibly cause you distress or make you suffer.

With his titan's strength, Jacob hefted log after log down to the shore, building the biggest fire the island had ever hosted. The trees shivered, fearing their dismemberment and sacrifice, as well they might. The light evening wind, in contrast, performed undulating dances of delight. Her movements could be traced in the wafting of smoke as she swayed and weaved seductively. And the flames? Perhaps they sought the sky, with a fire's homing instinct seeking the source of all flames, the sun. Perhaps they wished to defy gravity, it being beneath them, as it is beneath all of us. Perhaps they enjoyed their own grandeur.

On the beach an inferno blazed, a beacon, an announcement. Privately, Isabella thought, "It's so beautiful. You wouldn't think of it as a distress call. More of a celebration."

Alerted and drawn, a rowboat arrived, sailors, seamen, crew.

"What - ho?" they exclaimed at the tidy huts, the furniture, the cooking apparatus.

And since it was nearly nightfall, the leaving didn't happen straightaway. Carlisle, Edward, Rosalie, Alice, Isabella, Jacob and Leah were transported to the ship, which laid anchor in the wide bay.

Come morning, early, early, Isabella was on deck, eyes affixed to the golden shore and deepness of dark trees beyond.

"Did I do the right thing?" a pained voice asked, the voice of Jacob, beside her at the bow.

Isabella wasn't sure how to answer. Already, she'd seen that the sailors looked at her differently to how they looked at Rosalie and Alice. Isabella's dress was torn into disarray. She hadn't felt her modesty compromised on the island, but only a matter of yards offshore was keenly aware that her ankles could be seen. Leah's ankles were on show too, but Leah didn't care in the slightest. Isabella, on the other hand, felt slightly ashamed, as though she hadn't taken enough care. She should have been more respectful.

During the long voyage back to the past, Isabella agonized over her future. Things were uncertain now - she had no idea what might happen. There were no opportunities to be alone with Jacob to talk to him and she had no confidante. Jacob had fallen silent under questioning from the captain, but Dr Cullen had recovered some of the eloquence he'd accrued in giving medical lectures and suchlike, continents away and oceans ago, and had furnished colorful accounts. Some of them approached accuracy. Leah scowled at the sailors, disinclined to speak, Isabella felt unqualified and intimidated.

Their old home, not as left behind as they'd thought, raced up borne on winds of trepidation for some of them, and perhaps tides of relief for others. After all, for months spent castaway under palm trees and on golden sands, were they not the same people who had embarked on a pleasure cruise more than half a year back?

At the quayside when they docked, a small throng had gathered, muttering loud enough to be easily heard.

"Oh my goodness. Shipwrecked without a comb! Look at their hair!"

"How on earth do you suppose they survived?"

"Their clothes are torn."

Edward stepped in front of Isabella, as though to shield her. "My dear, don't listen to the speculators and gossips. You must come home with us, with my family, until you are quite rested and recovered from our terrible ordeal, and then, my dear, perhaps we might commence the planning of our upcoming nuptials?"

It wasn't terrible, Edward, Isabella thought miserably. On the island I was happy in a way I've never been happy before.

She glanced towards Jacob and saw that he was stoically remaining silent, fixedly looking away.

"Please, Edward, a little time. I couldn't possibly think about that now, but certainly we must speak on the matter," she breathed, and Edward brought his cold, cold forefinger to her cheek.

"Of course, my love. A little time," he promised soothingly. "But now that we're back in civilisation, there's no need for tarry."

A carriage was summoned, and it was discovered that they couldn't all fit inside it. A second was called. It so happened that Dr Cullen, Mr Cullen, Miss Cullen and Miss Cullen and Miss Swan were the perfect amount of people to fit into the first. Jacob and Leah rode along afterwards.

And was that the start of the return that Leah, for one, hadn't wanted to make? 'The return to what?' you might ask. Well, the status quo, of course. What is a status quo? It's the way things are. What happens if there are more ways than one? Perhaps such a thing can't be. Perhaps there is only ever one. There is only ever the present, and the past is a faraway place, no matter how recently one has left it.

Isabella was no sooner ensconced in the Cullen family's stately home than Leah and Jacob were whisked away. On that afternoon Isabella sat in a comfortable chair, draped in silken robes borrowed from the Cullen sisters, down pillows at her back and a sizzling pot of tea with a plate of ginger biscuits on the occasional table in front of her, gazing through the bay window. The lake lay spread before her, trout or some such in it, and waterfowl about the sides nestling in reeds. Clouds blanketed the sky. There was some intermittent lowing of cattle, but no lusty insect buzzing, or ceaseless birdcalls. No sea whispers.

She started at a knock on the door, which opened to admit Leah.

"Oh, I am so pleased to see you!" Isabella cried, leaping to her feet to hug her friend, but Leah was clutching piles of linen, with no arms to spare.

"I am here to make your bed, Miss," she announced dully.

"Gracious! We've only been back a matter of hours! Shouldn't you be resting? Well, let me help," Isabella offered.

"No, Miss, leave it to me," Leah insisted.

Isabella stood uncomfortably by while Leah worked, but Leah had been very firm about not allowing assistance, and the task was completed briskly and efficiently.

"Do you need anything, Miss?" Leah enquired once the bed was immaculate, and fit for a Lady.

"No, I'm fine, thank you. But Leah, please call me Isabella. Surely we're friends?"

"I wouldn't know about that, Miss. And I don't think calling you anything other than 'Miss' would be proper."

"Well, that's just dreadful. I don't want it to be that way. We're equals, Leah. Equals and friends."

"No, Miss," Leah answered. "I'm staff. I was very lucky to retain my job, Dr Cullen has been very kind. I'm not about to go jeopardizing my livelihood by holding on to funny ideas that are all very well when you're living in a fantasy. This is the real world, and we'd best forget about that other one. If I don't knuckle down and get back on with the cleaning and the waiting and the serving, I'll be penniless and homeless. That's not a joyful prospect. And the same goes for Mr Jacob."

At the mention of Jacob's name Isabella's heart threatened to over-beat, her cheeks to overheat.

"Jacob? Where is he?" she said, imploringly.

"Why, he's in the garage, of course, Miss," Leah replied, as if there was nowhere else Jacob could possibly be.

"I must see him," Isabella whispered, and she was already halfway through the door when she felt Leah's hand on her arm.

"Isabella, I saw how it was for the two of you. But it can't be like that ever again. Jacob can't afford to lose his job either. He can't afford anything, and you would ruin him. Do you understand me?"

"Yes. No. Yes," Isabella said, and flew down the stairs.

Jacob was indeed in the garage, in mechanic's garb with black grease on his hands, and the black spread about where he had wiped sweat from his brow and his jaw. Isabella bit her lip to stop from crying out - smudged and smeared with sweat-dampened hair clinging to his brow he had never looked so - so - appealing. Oh, she was a wanton. She could have thrown herself at him.

But something grave and distant in his expression stopped her.

"Miss Isabella - you shouldn't be here," he said in a low voice.

"Of course I should!" she said. "Why would you say so? And why are you calling me Miss? It's me, Jacob, me. You and I love each other."

"No. We don't," he responded.

"We do," she answered, bewildered. "You - you kissed me. I kissed you back. Nothing has changed. I wish you would kiss me now. I ache for you."

Jacob cleared his throat. "Miss Isabella, I am afraid that I acted with gross impropriety. I would understand if you wanted me dismissed from the service of this household. Please be assured that such conduct will never, ever be repeated, and that I remain your humble and loyal servant."

"J - Jacob?"

"You must excuse me, I have much to do. Nothing has been touched in the garage for months, there is dust everywhere, and my duties are unattended to if I stand here idly. Thank you for the courtesy of your visit, Miss Isabella. I wish you and Mr Cullen every happiness for your lives together."

Isabella clasped her hands together in anguish. "I don't understand," she cried.

"Do you not? Anybody on this estate could explain it to you, indeed, anyone on the street or anyone in the country. Please remember your station, Miss, and allow me to remember mine. We have a conclusion, and a resolution, and no further clarification of our situation is required. Let us not speak of this matter again."

Jacob turned away, picking up a wrench or a spanner, or some such article of hardware as somebody might employ if they were about to conduct an investigation into the workings of a car motor. Clearly to him, this conversation was over.

Distraught to the point of devastation, Isabella stumbled along the sweet briar and eglantine rose path back to the house, finding herself in the parlor before the fireplace. Flames leapt in the grate, for it was cold. She was colder than she could ever remember being. And thus it was that she was found by her fiance.

"Isabella, dearest, I've spoken to Father," Edward began. "You look rather faint - please sit down. I have news that will revive you."

Isabella did as he suggested, since she had nothing else to do other than run about the neighborhood tearing her hair and beating her breast. Or take, dead-hearted, to her bed.

"Since Mr Jacob proved so able and effective and resourceful during our sojourn on that island, I have prevailed upon Father to release him from his employment in this house," Edward said, smiling.

Isabella's heart regained a little spark - she looked up, astonished. If Jacob were no longer a servant... then she and he, he and she - was there somehow a possibility, a hope, a chance... that they could find a way to make a life together?

"Father has agreed, Isabella! I asked that Mr Jacob's contract be transferred from the household of Dr Cullen, to the household of Mr Cullen! Once you and I are wed, and living in our own home, Mr Jacob will come with us as butler and driver! Isn't that marvellous?"

Isabella fainted clear away, her senses leaving her, her mind gone blank, her heart unrevivable.

She didn't wake again for months, or that's how it seemed.

The wedding went ahead, as she hadn't the spirit to oppose it. She sleep-walked through the day and the night, and many days and nights thereafter.

Jacob had declined the offer to accompany the newlyweds to their new home, instead choosing to remain in the employ of Dr Cullen, where Miss Leah remained also.

The Misses Cullen found themselves elegant and appropriate suitors, and married.

Isabella forbade herself ever to think about the island because to do so was unbearable, and she resigned herself to getting on with the life which, after all, was the life she thought she'd have. Whenever she and her husband visited his father, she - well. She never ventured any further than the sitting room.

Then one day Dr Cullen announced he had purchased a second automobile. "Would you care to accompany me to the garage to see it, Isabella?" he invited.

"No, thank you," was the swift reply.

The two Dr and Mr Cullen went nonetheless, to admire the vehicle.

"That chauffeur of yours seems to have matters well under control, doesn't he?" Edward remarked once they had returned, and were sipping cognac.

"Oh, indeed, he's very good at his job," Dr Cullen replied. "Most efficient."

"What does he think about the new car?"

"I wouldn't have a clue what Jacob thinks about cars, or anything else for that matter. He hasn't uttered a word in years."

Edward shrugged. "To each his own, I suppose. How about a game of cards, Father?"

"Splendid idea."

The two of them barely noticed when Isabella stood, slowly, and proceeded to the door.

"Excuse me a moment," she murmured, slipping out.

In the garage, she found Jacob, chamois in hand, polishing an already gleaming panel on the side of the car.

"Jacob?"

At the sound of his name, he turned to face her. Years stood between them. Society stood between them. Everything stood between them.

"Isa - Miss Isabella?"

She took a step forward...

And there we'll leave it.

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This was inspired by something someone else wrote. If you recognize it... you'll know how it ends.