ENTRY #2
The White Scarf

October 5th, 1918

Carlisle washed his hands a final time before exiting the bedroom.

"Well?" Edward pressed.

"I'm sorry, Edward. I wish I had better news."

"No. It has to be something else. Carlisle, please?"

Carlisle reached into his pocket and retrieved the white scarf. "I'll be by to bring you food and supplies. But until she's well, you need to remain in this apartment. You cannot leave for any reason. If you need something, tell me and I will bring it to you. I will visit every morning on my way to the hospital."

"For how long?"

"Until the illness has run its course. You need to stay out of the bedroom as much as possible. Use a mask when you do go in and wash your hands. Make sure you clean anything that Isabella touches or uses. Her survival will depend on you keeping healthy."

"I understand," Edward whispered.

"I will be by in the morning. Please try and stay hopeful. Isabella is young and strong."

"I'll try, Uncle."

Carlisle exited the apartment, tying the white scarf around the doorknob as a signal to the Masen's neighbors that there was an infected person within. Once he exited the apartment building, Carlisle drove to his home, wishing he would have better news to give his wife. Esme had always cared for Edward, her sister's only child. It had been a year since Edward Sr. and Elizabeth had been killed in an automobile accident and he hated that tonight he would need to tell her there was a chance of losing Edward and his young bride.

Once he pulled into his drive, Carlisle spent a few moments steeling himself for the news he would need to deliver. Finally stepping out of his car, Carlisle made his way up the front steps of his house and removed his mask. Esme kept a small bin on the porch to allow them to dispose of the necessary items before entering the house.

When they'd used enough of their mask supply, Esme would boil them to sterilize them before they were reused.

"How was your day, Dear? You're home a little later than normal," Esme called from the kitchen.

As a precaution, Carlisle washed his hands in the bathroom before going to Esme. "Edward came to see me at the hospital this afternoon."

Esme stopped her meal preparations. "Carlisle, please tell me that Edward is well?"

"He is, but Isabella has the Spanish Influenza. They are quarantined in their apartment."

"You're leaving them both in there to die?"

"She has mild symptoms compared to others in the hospital. Bringing her in would only be more dangerous. I've told Edward I will stop by every morning to check on their conditions and bring them whatever they need."

"I have some soup that I canned. You can bring that to them. And I'll bake some bread. They'll need more than that, but this will be a start."

"I'm sure Edward and Isabella will appreciate it."

October 11th, 1918

Every day for nearly a week, Carlisle would come by in the morning with a small box of food stuffs from Esme and make his way into Isabella's room. Edward resented his uncle for the closeness to his wife, because Isabella would only allow Edward into the room to bring her some soup and to help her to the bathroom. It was difficult for him, sitting outside the bedroom door, listening to her labored breaths.

There were moments Edward wished to fall ill, just so he could be with his beloved wife again, but he knew he needed to stay strong. She needed him to care for her.

Carlisle would tell Edward that while she was worsening, she still didn't have the congestion of the lungs that often led to pneumonia and death, so there was still hope.

Hope that Edward would cling to every night as he fitfully fell asleep.

October 16th, 1918

A wheezing cough echoed through the apartment. Isabella wouldn't eat much, and her fever was climbing higher. Edward worried that come morning, Carlisle would arrive to find his patient had succumbed to this wretched disease.

"Edward," Isabella gasped.

Edward grabbed one of his masks and donned it, entering the bedroom to find his beloved wife in the throes of another coughing fit. She held a handkerchief to her mouth, hoping to shield him from this illness.

"How is it fair that I'm somehow immune to this, while you must suffer?"

"I do not know, but I worry for what comes next."

Edward looked at his wife and smiled. "Don't worry, I will stay with you until you wake."

October 17th, 1918

Carlisle knocked on the door to Edward's apartment, but there was no answer. It wasn't unusual for him to sleep through the first knock, so Carlisle knocked again. When there was still no response, Carlisle used his key to enter.

The living room was empty.

Carlisle looked to the bathroom as he closed the door behind him and the door was partially open, as was the bedroom door.

Carlisle approached the bedroom door slowly, afraid of what he'd find. He had been hopeful that Edward's caution and fastidious habits had kept him healthy. If he was sleeping in their shared bedroom, he might have two patients.

What he didn't expect to see was Isabella sitting up in bed, more alert than she'd been in the last twelve days.

"Don't wake him. This is some of the best sleep he's had since I fell ill."

"How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I've turned a corner."

Carlisle took her temperature and was pleased to see that her fever had broken.

"I believe you are right. Did Edward sleep in here all night?"

"Yes, but even sleeping he wore that mask."

"That mask is what kept him healthy. He knows my instructions for proper cleaning of this room, but I think it is time to remove the white scarf from your door."

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