AN: These characters are SM's. Thanks to Coleen561 for betaing, and twitter gals Eeyorefan12 for help researching art schools and juji_loo for prereading.


CPOV

Two weeks had passed since I started my shift by giving notice, using the excuse of Edward's health. The change in the hospital was almost humorous. Dr. Jones accepted my resignation with obvious relief, which he attempted to hide under graciousness and concern. He made a big show of saying they were sorry to lose me, but that family must come first, as if we finally understood each other. And perhaps we did. Only then did it seem to actually sink in, and something akin to a mild panic took over Dr. Jones's temperament. He was losing me, and that was good in his mind, but he was also losing my skills. He quickly paired me with other doctors to make sure that they knew my techniques. Anything I'd tried to teach my colleagues these last few years over the resistance of the administration was now sought out. The paper I provided on the blood sedimentation was welcomed and put to practical use. I was suddenly a welcome, valued member of the staff.

In short, Esme had been right, right about all of it. And she was doing her best to be only a little bit smug about it.

Michael was paired with me most frequently. He was a truly gifted surgeon, and would benefit the most from the addition of my techniques to his own. And he was staying; he could train the others. It was nice, actually, being allowed to spend extra time with my favorite colleague just before leaving. Dr. Jones was all efficiency and professional courtesy. He offered to write letters of recommendation (declined) and enquire after positions among doctors he knew (also declined). He suggested a going away party (reluctantly accepted) and helped with some of my more tedious paperwork (gratefully accepted).

The infection that I'd feared becoming an epidemic was already showing signs of fading from the population. We now knew what we were looking for, and isolated new patients quickly. There still wasn't much we could do for those who got to the fevered stage, but by isolating those who came in with early symptoms, and giving them bed-rest and some medicines before fever expressed itself, we were cutting down the spread as well as the severity of the infection. There had been no new deaths for a week.

I scrubbed up and changed my clothes to run my errands before heading home. We'd discussed possible places to relocate, and I'd started to write some enquiries. Edward had suggested Portland, since I'd considered that before, but I wanted to be somewhere more cultured for his sake. Edward had been in remote areas far from the concert halls of a city for years, and spent the last year almost completely isolated as he watched Esme through her newborn year. He deserved someplace a bit more stimulating, and that meant heading east. I'd sent enquiries all over the eastern seaboard, but I was hoping to end up near New York City. I hadn't been there in over fifty years, and I was looking forward to seeing things I'd only read about in the papers: Carnegie Hall, the subway train, and the new Woolworth Building "skyscraper", tallest building in the world.

The world was ever in motion, ever changing. I could tell Edward and Esme about the changes from horses and wagons to coal powered steam trains to automobiles, but some things just had to be experienced to be understood. I'd spent the last half-century in the west and mid-west of the country; I was ready to see the cities of the east, where progress marched at a swifter beat.

It was conceivable that the first of the responses to my enquiries would arrive this week, and I approached the post office with anticipation. There were four letters, one of which was from Hartford, and though I wanted to open them there on the street, I'd promised Edward and Esme that we'd open them together. I put them into the inside pocket of my coat and walked west toward the shopping district of town, where one of the florists I frequented was located. Then I could head home to Esme and Edward.

They were excited by the move. Edward was anxious to escape the isolation of the last year; Esme was still worried that she would be seen and recognized in Ashland, and longed for more freedom of movement. They'd already decided that they would pose as brother and sister. It made sense. They both had red in their hair, Edward more than Esme of course, but they looked like… like family. I did not look related to either of them, and that begged the question of how I would be bound to them in the story we made up for the rest of the world. I almost felt like an outsider, but one stifled glare from Edward told me the answer was obvious. And it was. Completely. Yet I found it difficult to act on it.

Esme and I had continued to share affectionate touches. She often held my hand, and I hugged her and gave her a kiss on the top of the head when I came home. We shared a deep affection. But this passion, this madness I felt sometimes, how breathless I was when she was near, how part of my mind was thinking of her every second of every day. That I hadn't shared.

Because really, how do you court a woman you've lived with for nearly a year? Who has seen you at your worst; whom you've seen at hers? Every frame of reference I had seemed inappropriate. I already brought her flowers every few days, as I had since she awoke in my house. And frankly, as autumn had faded and winter began in earnest, my choices for flowers seemed weak and faded. Even the hothouse blooms seemed anemic, just when I wanted the bouquets to be lush and heady, like my emotions.

I already brought her books and art supplies. I bought her clothes — though that seemed to fall to Edward most of the time. I couldn't bring Esme into town to see a moving picture for fear that she'd be recognized. The next closest town that had a theater was Duluth, Minnesota, over 70 miles away. I couldn't take her to dinner. All I could do was take her for walks, and tell her about my history, and ask her about anything she wanted to share. I'd been enjoying watching the last of the autumn leaves fall as we talked.

I put my hands in my pockets and hunched against the wind, walking more briskly. It would snow soon. I'd have to start wearing a scarf to blend in. I watched other shoppers as I walked on the sidewalk, noting the couples and the easy way they touched and interacted. I didn't want to hold back anymore. And when we moved, I didn't want to have to introduce her as anything but my mate… my wife. It would be untenable to live together as siblings or cousins when I knew my longing could be read on my face. And we could not live together publically unless we were related. It might feel more natural to take things slowly, but now that I was sure, and now that we were moving, boldness seemed preferable. Hopefully she would be satisfied with a courtship of only a few months. I was unlikely to find a new position until February or March.

And I was sure I needed her, that I loved her, that I wanted to be with her always. What I wasn't sure of was Esme. She wanted to stay with me, yes. But that didn't mean she wanted marriage or sex, both of which had been disastrous for her in the past. Both of which I seemed absurdly obsessed with.

I wanted to do something, give her something that could show her the change in my feelings. Something that would mark this transition from sire and friend to… beaux, suitor. But anything I could think of seemed far too trivial, too similar to gifts I offered her all the time, or far too meaningful. I stopped in front of the local jeweler, looking at the rows of little rings on black velvet. That was what I wanted to buy her, but one did not go from sire/protector to husband in one fell swoop, surely.

Still, it couldn't hurt to look.

A little bell announced my arrival as I entered the warm shop. Glass cases formed a U, and scanning the contents, it was clear that the most expensive items were near the back of the store, at the base of the U. I leaned over the glass looking at the rings in front of me: platinum and gold, single stones and clusters. They were beautiful, I supposed, but there was a sameness to them, even as I moved my way down to the more expensive end of the case. The stones got larger, but they were all basically the same ring, with just slight differences. They seemed cold and lifeless, nothing like the light that flowed from Esme. Nothing that could capture or even complement her passion… her fire.

The bell rang again, and to my surprise Edward sauntered into the store.

"Carlisle," he said in greeting.

I tilted my head, wondering why he was here. "Edward," I replied. Why aren't you with Esme? Is she all right?

"Fine," he said softly, walking over and looking down into the glass case and then raising an eyebrow up at me. "She just needed a bit of time alone."

Why would she—

"May I help you gentlemen?"

I looked up to see a well-dressed mustached man looking over his spectacles at me.

"Ah, I'm not sure. Just looking, at the moment," I answered, trying to look friendly instead of annoyed by the interruption. After all, this poor man couldn't hear the sentence I'd been thinking toward Edward.

"Getting a jump on Christmas shopping, or…" he noticed the case we were in front of with its rows of rings, "looking for something a bit more significant?"

I sighed, hardly knowing what I was looking for. "Just getting ideas, at this point."

He smiled warmly, a bit of compassion in his gaze. "An important choice, either way, I'm sure. Feel free to look around, I'm happy to answer any questions for you. We make the settings ourselves so we can easily customize something if you like." He stepped away, offering me some privacy.

Edward drew closer. "Getting ideas, huh?" he asked with a smirk, looking down at the rings as he leaned against the glass.

"Maybe." Though nothing in here seems at all appropriate.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "What could be more appropriate for a proposal than an engagement ring?"

It's the rings themselves. They could be for anyone. Then it occurred to me that Edward probably had some sense of Esme's taste in jewelry. Surely he'd seen something in her thoughts that could steer me.

"Oh, no," he said laughing. "This has to be all you. I'm not getting involved."

I huffed and walked slowly down the case, noting that the rings got more elaborate, but still seemed the same… wrong. Maybe I just wasn't attuned to the fashions in women's jewelry. Platinum seemed like it would look better on her skin, making her look less pale by comparison, but maybe she would prefer gold. Most of these rings had diamonds, but there were also sapphires, rubies, emeralds… I had no idea what Esme might prefer.

"It's too early, anyway," I muttered. I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye as I continued looking. Maybe this was like Edward's piano; something I would have to spend weeks shopping for before I found the right thing. Of course, then I'd known exactly what I was looking for. Now there were endless possibilities, none of which seemed right.

"Okay, I'll give you one hint," he said, moving me back toward the door, toward the less expensive rings. "Don't get her one like that," he whispered, pointing at a small gold ring. It was a small diamond, surrounded by a gold square, which was again inside a filigree square. It was as if someone had taken something beautiful and put it in a box, a cage, completely overwhelming it. Of all the rings I couldn't see myself buying for Esme in this store, this ring seemed to have particularly inappropriate symbolism. The last thing I wanted to do was put her in a box.

Other than the obvious, why shouldn't I get this one? I asked, hoping for some insight into her tastes.

"She's had one like that before," he whispered, and I laughed darkly.

Of course she has. He would buy her a golden cage.

He put his hand on my shoulder, and I immediately released the tension I hadn't realized had built. I met his eyes, and he nodded at the other rings, encouraging me to look.

We moved down the case silently, and while several were lovely, nothing captured Esme's spirit to me. Perhaps I was thinking about this wrong. Perhaps the traditional ring was symbol enough and I didn't need to find something that captured her spirit. But if we were going to marry, it could be for centuries, millennia: the fashion of the moment wouldn't do; I needed something that felt like her and my regard for her. Something that she would love through the all our time together.

No pressure.

"One step at a time, old man," Edward whispered.

I looked up sharply. It's too soon, isn't it?

"I didn't say that. But you're making something that should be fun and exciting into a chore. If these aren't the rings, you'll find the right one somewhere else."

"There are only three jewelers in this town."

"Yes, but there are hundreds in Chicago, and my father dragged me to at least a dozen of them, each at least four times as big as this. We'll find the ring, Carlisle. But in the mean time…" he nodded to the other side of the room.

Perhaps I should start smaller. I really just wanted something to show my intentions. I didn't need to propose yet, just start my courtship. I walked to the glass case on the other wall, where bracelets, necklaces and earrings were arranged in groupings. She couldn't wear earrings. She'd never been pierced, and even if she had, the change would have healed the holes.

There were beautiful cameos, intricate carvings.

"A bit old fashioned," Edward muttered.

"As am I," I answered.

He smirked as I moved down the case. Ornate watches. More cold, glittering gems. Pearls. I cocked my head as I studied them. They were almost the same shade as her skin: champagne and ivory, shimmering. Beautiful. There was a choker of pearls with a pendant of rubies. I didn't like the pendant; red did not belong on my Esme. But the pearls were beautiful, and I could imagine how they would look on her neck.

"Nice," Edward whispered, leaning his hands against the glass. His signet ring caught the light, and I had an idea.

"Mr…"

"Nelson," the shopkeep supplied, moving to the other side of the glass case "Is there something I can take out and show you?"

"That choker. The pearls are lovely, but the pendant doesn't suit her. You said that you did some custom work. Could you fashion something with this crest?" I asked, taking off my ring and handing it to him. "Something subtle, but with this design?"

He pushed his spectacles up and studied my ring. "Yes, I think there might be a few options. We could engrave this into a small locket and attach it to the choker. White gold might complement the color of the pearls better than gold or platinum. Or we could create a cameo. They aren't as popular as they once were, but my uncle is still a capable craftsman — those are his near the end of the case — and I'm sure we have some scraps of shell that would complement these pearls nicely. If you can wait a moment, I'll have a look."

"Please," I said.

He took the choker and disappeared for a moment into the back room. I looked at Edward again, grateful for his presence, but still confused about why he wasn't home.

"She's fine, Carlisle," he said with a quiet laugh. "She needed some time alone. She's not a newborn, and my constant presence isn't needed or wanted by either of us anymore. And you were late. And expecting letters."

Mr. Nelson returned before I could reply. The pendent had been removed from the choker, and he laid it back on a scrap of black velvet.

"I have four squares of shell available that we could make a custom cameo with," he said, laying out the pieces next to the pearls. They were each light on the top, ranging from a pure white to ivory, and darker underneath. "Cameos are made by carving into the light side of the shell, and exposing the darker background. So you need to like both colors," he added, flipping one over to show dark sienna brown. "The white ones are probably too blue-toned to match your pearls. Agate is often used in high-end cameos, but shells are common as well, cheaper, easier to carve in, and will have a bit of luster that will look better with the pearls I think. This one I could give you a deal on. The bottom color is very nearly the same as the top, and that's not what most people are looking for. A high contrast is preferred by most, and as a result I've had this piece in my stockroom for ages. But if you want the carving to be subtle — "

"— it would be perfect," I finished, picking up the shell that was ivory on one side, and a champagne on the other, just slightly darker than the pearls.

He smiled. "I was thinking the same thing. We will need to set it in a metal, and I still think white gold would be best. Perhaps we can frame the cameo out in some small pearls or yellow diamonds. Is this meant to be for special occasions, or something that could be worn regularly? It looks like a familial crest."

"It is, so we probably should keep it fairly simple. I'd like her to be able to wear it often." Always, really.

"If you come by tomorrow, I'll draw out several designs for you to choose from, and we can discuss price. Could you leave your ring with me overnight, so I can sketch the design?"

"Of course. How long do you think it will take to make?" I asked, watching as he slipped my ring into a velvet pouch for safe-keeping.

He tilted his head, eyes unfocussed for a moment as he tallied the steps involved. "Perhaps a week after you've approved the design. The carving is not really that intricate, three days tops, and once it's complete I'll grind the shell into an oval and make the setting. We can rush it if you're in a hurry."

We discussed a few other details, and Edward and I took our leave. Grey clouds were moving in, and the temperature was dropping notably.

"So, where to now?"

"Georgia's Flowers," I answered.

"Ah yes, the azaleas were looking a bit peaked when I left. Mind if I stop in the book store while you do that?"

"Of course not, though we should hurry back so the blooms don't freeze on the way home. Do you want to ride with me?"

He nodded. "I'll see you at your car in fifteen minutes."

A half-hour later we were parking the car in front of the house, just as the first snow of the season drifted down through the gathering darkness. The house was lit, the chimneys were smoking, and it looked so welcoming my steps almost faltered. It struck me how far I'd come. Only a few short years ago, only a cold dark empty house would have awaited me at the end of each day.

I protected the hothouse roses with my coat as Edward and I dashed for the door. Esme met us, opening the door wide, and I stopped in my tracks. She wore a mesh dress the color of her hair, so fine and sheer that every curve was outlined, every feature of her figure shown to its benefit. Edward ran by me, brushing the snow off when he reached the porch.

"Take your shoes off, Edward. I'd prefer if you didn't track the mud in."

"Yes, Esme. You coming, old man?"

I shook myself and walked up the steps, mimicking Edward's motions as I cleaned myself of snow and toed off my shoes. As I entered, Esme was so near and so happy to see me, it was all I could do to not kiss her cheek in welcome.

"These are for you," I said a bit more breathlessly than I would like as I pulled the roses from the protection of my coat.

"Oh, Carlisle, they're beautiful." And her eyes lit up as if she weren't expecting them. As if I didn't do this every few days. As if she were surprised I hadn't stopped yet, and it made me want to never stop. "Where did you find roses this time of year?"

"Oh, I have my sources," I said, and I winked — winked playfully. What had gotten into me? She laughed and squeezed my arm as she took them, her hand almost taking mine for a moment before she disappeared into the kitchen.

"Thank you for lighting the fires, Esme," I called after her. "It was a nice welcome."

"My piano thanks you, too," Edward added.

"Your piano can thank me later," Esme said, entering the library with the roses arranged in a vase. "Chopin would be lovely." She set the vase on a small table by the window, and the vibrant color of the bouquet contrasted with the grey and white of the snow falling outside. "But first, did you get any letters, Carlisle?" She sat next to me on the sofa and Edward threw himself into one of the armchairs and looked at me expectantly.

"I did," I said, holding them up. "Shall we each take one, or shall I open them and read them aloud?"

"Which are you most excited about?" Esme asked.

"This one," I answered, holding up the Hartford letter.

"Then let's each open one of the others, and save that for last."

I handed out the letters and there was the sound of paper tearing followed by silence.

"Boston would have you, but it's a teaching hospital, and they warn that you'd be expected to teach a lecture class as well as mentor residents," Edward summarized.

"That's not a problem in and of itself," I said, eyes still on my own letter, "but it might take me away from you two more than I'd like. Portland, Maine has already filled their full-time position, but have stand-by positions available." I turned to Esme.

"Rochester would be pleased to interview you in person. They have two openings and would like to see which is the better fit. They also write that they can offer you the name of a realtor and someone who can help answer questions about the city that your family might have." She smiled at me, both proud and shy.

"That's probably my second choice, then, but let's see if my first looks promising." I tore the Hartford letter open, and the happiness must have been visible on my face, because they both leaned closer in anticipation. "Yes. They have need of a surgeon, and were impressed by a letter Michael wrote about my skills. Oh that's good." I looked up at them. "The only issue is that they need someone soon. They'd like me to start on the first, which means moving before Christmas."

"Not a problem, if that's the job you want," Edward said.

"It's a fine placement for me, but it's really the location that I'm excited about. It's near enough to New York City that we could visit, see concerts and plays." Both their eyes flashed with interest. "And there's the Hartford School of Music, Edward. You could audition for their program — I'm sure you'd get in. And there's an art school for women," I added, looking at Esme, "the School of the Art Society of Hartford, which has courses in drawing and painting. They frequently have guest artists teach their master classes. I think we could all be very happy there."

Esme grew very still. "You think I should take art classes? Do you… do you think my control would be good enough to be around so many humans in an enclosed space?" she asked quietly.

I reached over and took her hand. "Perhaps not at first, but if we are going to be there for a decade or so, then I think you'd be able to take advantage of it." She looked worried. "Esme, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, and you don't have to enter society right away, if you're worried about control. But I want you to have choices available to you that will interest you. I want you to be happy. I want to find a place where we can all be happy for a very long time. I think Hartford might be that place. But if either of you is more interested in one of the other cities I applied to—"

"—Carlisle, I think you made your case," Edward said, smiling. Esme's expression was harder to read, but she nodded, her lips curving up just a bit. "So," he continued, clapping his hands together, "I propose you call them tomorrow to accept. We should celebrate Christmas early, and then visit Chicago on the way to Connecticut." There was a gleam in his eyes that made me laugh.

"So you can do some Christmas shopping for yourself at the music stores?" I asked.

"No," he replied, full of mock indignation. "So we can show Esme the farmhouse. And perhaps I'll take her to Scott's Music, just for old time's sake." He looked at me intently, tilting his head slightly.

And you could show me some jewelry stores your father used to frequent?

He cocked an eyebrow and smiled.

"I'd love to see Chicago," Esme said. "I've only been through the train station when I came here from Columbus, and I was trying to hide then."

I squeezed her hand, imagining her pregnant and scared and running away. "You won't have to hide this time. Maybe we can even go night skating."

"Well, I'm going to play," Edward said, standing. "If my piano is going to spend weeks on a train traveling as cargo, I need to spend some extra time with it first. You asked for Chopin, Esme?"

"Hmm," she agreed. "Something calm."

Edward retreated, and Esme and I stood, but I clasped her hand again before she could pull away.

"Esme, is this okay with you? You were quiet when I mentioned the art school."

She looked down at our entwined fingers as Chopin's Waltz Op.69 No.2 wafted into the room. "I'm a bit scared, I guess," she said quietly, looking up at me. "Everything is changing, though the important things won't. I'll still have you and Edward with me."

"That you will," I agreed, smiling.

"And Hartford sounds wonderful. I can't believe you found me an art school… I didn't even consider such a thing."

I rubbed my thumb along her fingers. "Do you remember the first time we met? What we talked about?"

"I remember parts of it, mostly impressions of you — your eyes, how sad you seemed. I only remember some of our conversation," she said regretfully.

"That's more than I would expect you to remember of something that happened ten years before your change," I whispered, lifting my hand to brush a stray hair from her brow. "You told me that you didn't think that people from Ohio got to be artists."

She laughed ruefully. "Even then, I knew."

"And I told you that anyone with your eye for the beauty of the world could be an artist. And I still believe it. You are an artist already; what you've shared of your work shows it. But art, I imagine, is a bit like surgery… you can only learn so much from a book. You have to live it, breathe it, be in a community where it is happening all around. I want you to have that, if you want it. You can be anything, Esme. You have all the time in the world to learn anything you like. It doesn't have to be art; that was just what came to mind first. There are universities nearby. You could study literature or writing…anything you want—"

Abruptly her arms were around my neck, her body pressed against mine, her scent—spice and old world roses and lavender—drowning me in intoxicating warmth. After a startled frozen moment, my arms wrapped around her, and I buried my face in her hair, completely unable to resist taking a deep breath. It was maddening. Exhilarating and soothing, thrilling and calming. At once like nothing I'd felt before and so familiar it felt like home. How was this possible?

"Thank you," she whispered, pulling away before my body could react in ways that would embarrass either of us. I let her go, my arms falling to my sides, feeling her absence. She was smiling up at me, her eyes bright and shining.

I raised my hand up to cup her cheek, rubbing my thumb along the rise of her cheekbone, wishing I could memorize every curve of her face with my fingers as well as my eyes.

"You never need to thank me for giving you space to be your own person, Esme."

Her smile broadened. "I know. That's what makes it so wonderful."

And then she raised herself onto her toes and kissed my cheek before running upstairs. I stood, stunned, wondering whether I'd dreamed it. I could hear Edward chuckling as he played.

The next several days became a flurry of activity and planning: phone calls upon phone calls to the hospital in Hartford, the realtor, the moving company. I made trips into Ashland to buy boxes, twine, and waxed paper to protect the most precious books and artwork from getting wet in transport. In the process, I surreptitiously visited every jeweler in Ashland, and several in neighboring towns, to no avail. Every ring looked like every other: larger, smaller, stones of blue, green, red, or white, but ultimately the same. And they weren't worthy of her. I picked up the cameo of the Cullen crest and the pearl choker. It was beautiful, and I hoped would help her feel she was one of us. But it wasn't the piece of jewelry I longed to give her.

And after several conversations with the hospital, the realtor, and Edward, one thing became clear. In order to ship the Steinway safely in December, I needed to have a heated home to send it to. It couldn't be stored in a frozen warehouse in January while we went house hunting without risking harm. And there wouldn't be time to complete a purchase on a house unless we either all left much earlier than we planned and skipped Chicago, or I made a trip while the others prepared for the move.

And so I found myself, in the first week of December, packing a suitcase so I could board a train alone. It felt wrong.

"You'll be back in week," Edward reassured. "And Esme and I will have the house packed, and we'll celebrate Christmas and then head for Chicago."

"I don't like choosing the house alone. We should all choose it. What if you can hear the neighbors?"

"Carlisle, you know what Esme and I like. You know my range. You'll be fine. I promise not to complain if the music room isn't as big in the next house," he said with a grin.

It can't be too much smaller if your piano and your library of sheet music are to fit in it.

"True. Well, I'm sure you'll find something that can accommodate us all." His face grew serious. "I know it's not ideal, but it's the only way to get everything moved in time for you to start."

He was right. I knew he was. I just didn't like it.

"Carlisle, I've got your extra gloves and travel hat," Esme said, walking in. "And your medical journals are all packed in your briefcase."

"Thank you, Esme." I placed the gloves on top of the other clothes in the suitcase and closed it, fastening the buckles. "Actually, Esme, would you take a walk with me before I go?"

She looked startled, but eager. "Of course."

We stepped into the woods, I dressed to blend in with the humans on this snowy morning, with a coat and scarf (but no gloves, not yet), she in one of her gossamer dresses — my new favorite — pale ivory that made her skin glow, embroidered with ribbon flowers. It was a summer dress that had no place amongst the snow and ice-bedecked branches of the trees: sleeveless and sheer, floating around her form in the light breeze. It made her look ethereal and out of place, like a goddess in some Greek myth, or one of the Faerie come to walk the mortal forests. Too lovely for this world… a will-o-wisp that would shimmer and fade to nothing if you got too close. But then she turned to me, her eyes warm and her smile familiar, and she was just Esme: solid and beautiful and very real. I smiled and took her hand as we climbed the ridge.

When we reached the top, a small clearing gave a filtered view of the surrounding landscape, I stopped, and she turned to me.

"I wanted to give you one of your Christmas presents a bit early, if that's okay. When Edward was nearly finished with his newborn year, I still didn't know if he would want to stay with me, or if he'd go out on his own." She squeezed my hand as I cleared my throat, surprised at the emotion the memory still evoked. "I'm very glad that I don't have to entertain the same possibility with you. But before he decided, I gave him a signet ring with the Cullen Crest on it, so he would always know that he wasn't alone, and that he could always visit…that we were bound together, to whatever degree he decided to allow."

"Like this one," she said, rubbing her fingers over the design on my signet ring.

"Yes," I whispered. I reached into my pocket and drew out the small rectangular box. "Your newborn year is almost over as well, Esme. And the future holds many changes, but some things will remain constant." I opened the little box and her breath hitched as she saw the pearls and cameo within.

"Oh, Carlisle, it's beautiful." She touched it gingerly, caressing the raised pattern of the Cullen crest on the cameo. "May I?"

"Please, allow me." I removed the choker from the box and unfastened the clasp, then reached both hands around her neck, brushing that intimate skin at the nape as I refastened it, watching as the cameo settled on the hollow of her throat. My hands lingered, savoring her soft hair.

Esme looked up at me, studying me almost shyly. "How does it look?"

My gaze scanned her neck, her lips, and finally met her eyes. "It looks perfect. Perfect on you." I looked again at her throat, bearing my marks. First the faint crescent that made her, or remade her, which I could graze my mouth against right now, if I dared, and know it would welcome my teeth perfectly. And then the much more civilized mark of my family crest lying in the concave curve at the base of her throat, where it gave way to bosom and heart. My thoughts were turning ridiculously possessive as I leaned down to see my marks on her more clearly, the perfume of her scent nearly overwhelming me as my gaze flickered to the full curve of her lower lip, which was growing closer as my thoughts dissolved into yes and mine and—

A horn blared in the still morning air, and I froze as Esme started.

"Oh, you're going to miss your train," she laughed breathlessly.

"I suppose I should go then," I whispered, not moving at all.

"I'll miss you," she whispered, her breath ghosting against my face.

I closed my eyes, feeling my chest swell with strength even as my knees felt weak. "And I, you," I answered, bringing my hand forward to cup her cheek and lowering my brow to hers. "And I, you."

After several moments of breathing each other's air, she whispered, "Hurry home, Carlisle. Any house will do."

I kissed her forehead and ran back down the hill, before I was tempted to call off the entire trip.

You did that on purpose.

Edward looked at me from the driver's seat as I climbed into the car. "I don't know what you're talking about. I try very hard not to listen when you two are together. Or alone, actually."

That startled me. "Can you do that?"

He grimaced as he pulled onto the road. "Not particularly well, but I'm highly motivated, as of late."

I laughed and shook my head. Sorry. He never had let me apologize for that bath, despite my efforts. His hand shot up.

"It's not possible to speak too little about that bath, Carlisle," he muttered, but there was no heat and a fair amount of humor in his voice. "Just find a decent house and hurry back. She's going to be pining. It'll be awful."

I couldn't help but feel pleased at that, and he snorted.

"At least I won't have to listen to your pining," he laughed as he pulled up to the station. "Do you want me to park and go in with you?"

"I'll be fine." I got out of the car and collected my bags, leaning back down to say goodbye before closing the door. "Take care of each other. I'll be back as soon as I can. I'll miss you, too, you know."

His eyes softened. "I know, old man. But we've done this before. You and I each know that the other will return after a trip. Esme's still learning that. But I'll keep her busy; there's certainly plenty to do to prepare for the move. Call when you get there so we don't fret." And it should have been teasing, but it wasn't. He was going to miss me, too.

"I will."

I turned and made my way to the platform, boarded my train alone and waited. The miles rushed past my window, and a case full of periodicals sat unread, and I just waited for the panic to set in. For that sense being alone, for the wave of isolation to sweep over me, threatening to drag me under, as it always had. I waited for the feeling that the company I'd enjoyed the last few years had been a dream, and now my waking, solitary self was once again prevalent. I waited. And the feeling never came.

Instead, I felt a pressure in my chest. As if the normally thick and easy connection between myself and Edward and Esme were still intact, but being stretched taut as the miles went on. I felt myself pulled back to them, and though I couldn't act on it yet, it grounded me. It was as if the pressure in my chest proved they were real, and mine, and that I belonged with them. I chuckled as I looked out the window. Suddenly the trip seemed less like exile and more like the optimistic move it was. A trip to find our new home.


AN: Long distance phone calls had started in the 1880s, and automatic switching was patented in 1890, though I suspect that operators were still used for calls in remote locations like Ashland. Hartford was much more forward thinking. The first coin telephone was installed in Hartford Connecticut in 1900. So it's quite reasonable for Carlisle to be making so many calls.

I'm adding links to my profile that have information on some of the historic places referenced in this chapter, as well as a picture of the Wrong Ring. The Chopin waltz has been added to the playlist, which is accessible from my profile (Thanks Nixhaw!). I sincerely hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you for reading; I'd love to hear your thoughts.