Chapter 38
The little green fledgling swooped around the room, his loud, squeaking voice carrying in echoes that bounced off the high beams of the conical roof. Alice giggled as he went, turning left and right in an attempt to gain speed until he spiralled and fell, landing with a soft plop on the thick, brocade cushion of an armchair. His protesting peep was muffled, his beak buried deep in the golden embroidery as he hauled himself upright, his tail askew and his plumage ruffled.
The child scooped him up at once, bringing the little face close to hers for a sweet, gentle kiss.
"Not hurt," she said, appraising the scruffy wings with a careful eye. She smoothed the pad of her finger down his soft, downy cheek. "No worse for wear."
Bella put out her finger, holding it high and still, and the bird leapt quickly from Alice's cupped hands and landed smoothly on the outstretched digit.
"He did better than before," Bella reasoned, bringing the small creature to her chest. He peeped at her, his sharp, black eye trained on her face, and put his head down to tap her thumb, demanding a scratch.
Bella obliged without complaint.
"Much better," agreed Alice. The child sat herself before Bella on the rug, her knees tucked under her as she leaned in close. Bella folded her legs, giving the girl more room, and together they watched as the little thing fluttered to Bella's shoulder, where he tucked his head beneath his wing.
A swell of affection for the little thing grew as she stroked him. His back was soft— softer, even, than Bella might have expected— and he tolerated her interference with relatively little fuss, letting her run her fingers up and down the length of his back. Bella felt each plume beneath her fingers— sharp, angled feathers interspersed by soft, fluffy down — and though he cracked an eye open to watch her, he did not complain.
Pip— for that was what Bella had decided to call him— had become as much a fixture of her rooms as her bed or her dressing table, and though it had taken some time for each to adjust to the other, Bella would not have it any other way.
"Do you think the other ladies will approve?" asked Bella wryly, watching Alice surreptitiously from the corner of her eye. The child shifted uncomfortably. "Will they like him, do you think?"
Alice sniffed, looking away.
"I don't much care if they like him," she said with a barely contained petulance that reminded Bella of the girl's true age. Bella bit her lip to contain her amusement. "It doesn't matter one whit what they think, because he's already here. If they don't like him, they know exactly where they can go."
Bella laughed outright, jostling the bird and earning herself a sharp nip. She pulled the creature away, scolding him, and let him roost on the edge of her end table instead. The bird turned his back on her, nestling his head back beneath his wing. Alice watched this exchange with passive disinterest, but Bella saw the unhappy fissure between her brows and sighed.
"You know it must be done," said Bella wisely, and Alice, unmoved, gave a shrug. "It must happen before…"
"Before the wedding," said Alice quickly. "I know."
The wedding.
In the whirlwind fortnight between the New Year and the present, Bella had been bombarded by work and preparations. The Kingdom, usually settled into planting and summer planning by this time, had gone into a frenzy of rumor and talk. To her intense and lasting discomfort, the most prominent topic of conversation was her, as not only did they think her divine, but she was soon to be their leader.
The date had not been set. The food had not been ordered. The venue, which Bella knew to be a ceremonial temple in the centre of the city, had only just begun the sacred rituals to introduce a monarch to the gods. Though she had felt the folly down to the marrow of her bones, it had taken every ounce of her strength not to sink through the floor when she'd had to meet with the Temple Host to discuss the proceedings. The Host, a wizened, elderly man with a beard that touched his knees, had been the caretaker of the temple since the time of Edward's grandfather, and he had met her with such open and abject deference that she thought she might die of embarrassment.
How, he had asked, should they proceed, when the intended Queen was one of the godly race herself? Would it be wise— would it be proper— for a mere mortal to introduce a heavenly daughter to her own father, who would be asked to bless the match? Could the match be blessed, if the man was not of the stars? And how should he proceed, given her status and her birthright?
Bella had answered none of these— not even when Edward, seated next to her in stalwart sympathy, had attempted to translate some of the more complicated, theological terms that Bella did not yet understand. Edward's halting speech only made it worse. It proved to her, if not to the Host, that she was anything but the divine entity the people believed her to be. She had no authority whatsoever to dictate the movements and choices of someone as learned and schooled as he, and she wished sincerely that he might see this too.
Bella had gone to bed early that night, her head swimming with new doubts about her station and her place.
In the week after the announcement, the palace had begun to clothe her. Queens, Bella learned, had a very particular role to play when it came to dressing, and though the very thought was laughable to her, Alice had informed her that her choices of dress and style would hold more weight than she knew. She felt a pang of regret when her old trunks of plain, white frocks and simple vests were hauled away, as if yet another piece of her past was being exiled to make way for the unknown future. She seemed to be the only one with these reservations, however, as even Bella could not mistake the glee on Alice's face when the new trunks, decorated with precious metals, gems, and enamel, were hauled laboriously up the tower steps. Her new dresses had more pieces than she knew what to do with— skirts that attached to a bodice with buttons, sleeves that could be sewn on, petticoats so large that even Alice, who had an eye for such things, lost herself to mirth. The final straw had come in the form of a corset— a corset!—that looked as if it would squeeze the life right out of her.
"Women don't even wear these anymore," Alice had chortled, holding the offending item between her thumb and forefinger. Bella recoiled when it touched her, her ribs throbbing in anticipatory protest, and Alice took it away, still snorting.
Some of her new clothes were old. Some, hauled from dusty trunks hidden deep in attic alcoves, were embossed with names that Bella did not recognize from old family trees. She discovered that Theodora— a distant ancestor of Edward's— liked red, while his great Aunt Tilly favoured bright violet sashes. Some of the clothing was too big, like a billowing pink skirt she'd pulled from the bottom of an old bamboo box, and some were made for infants still in their baby clothes, so old and unused that they had turned yellow with age.
Bella was pulled from these recollections when the bird chirped again, peering at the two of them with his one, beady eye. Alice, shaking away the cobwebs, gave a great sigh, hauling herself to her feet.
"I suppose you're right," she said tiredly, dusting her skirts. Bella followed suit. "But I do wish you'd tell me who you're going to choose…"
"If I knew, Alice, I'd tell you in a heartbeat," Bella said. "I've no idea who I'll even have to consider, much less who will make the final cut."
Alice grimaced.
Three days prior, just as she had finished sorting through the last of the old, dusty trunks, Edward had descended on her yet again with a sheepish smile and a a gift of a singular flower— a massive, fragrant purple thing that was almost as big as her hand.
"I come with news," he'd said haltingly.
"Good news?"
"It's not bad news… although it does bring another task."
Bella had felt the prickle of tiredness in her bones at the very thought, though she said nothing more about it and let him speak.
"The Lords have been asking, and they can pester me no longer," he said apologetically. "They are demanding that you choose your household."
"Demanding?" Bella had asked, her eyebrows raised. "I didn't know they could demand."
"Well, strictly speaking, I suppose they can't," conceded Edward. "I suppose it is my right to refuse…"
"I see…"
"But they are not wrong."
Bella had breathed a sigh.
"What do you mean, my household?" she asked when his silence went on. "I have my maid, and Marta…"
"Aye," Edward bowed his head in acquiescence, "but there are other customs…"
The King, Bella learned, had his Council. Twelve learned men, elected by their districts and bound to represent their cares and interests in the presence of the King, all of whom Edward employed as workers of the realm. They served the greater good, making choices and decisions for the masses, and Bella admired them for it, though she did not always agree with what was said.
The Queen, however, had no such Council. Her place was at the King's side, where she could contribute to, but not control the Council proper. Her word held weight, it was true, but her real influence in the palace was felt by the servants, the entirety of whom were under her personal employ. Marta, the head housekeeper, would be her direct contact. The butlers, only one of whom Bella knew by sight, would be at her beck and call. She could hire at will, and fire, should a body prove unworthy, and one of the most coveted places in the whole scheme was as a personal maid to the Queen, of which there were twelve official posts.
Alice's place had been secured the moment she'd returned to the palace. The girl was young— more child than woman— but Bella had already promised her the especial role of Lady's Maid. Ladies of the realm— of which Bella was an honorary, if not truly legal member— often had only one. A maid helped a lady dress. She helped to fix her hair. She walked with her in public, so that neither would be alone, and served as a diplomat to arrange meetings and gatherings between other women of equitable rank. The only person Bella ever saw in a social capacity was Rosalie, who had no maid of her own, and so Alice had become more of a friend— a pupil turned sister— rather than a true servant.
But, alas, she must choose her household, Edward had said. She must choose twelve maids— twelve women and girls to bring into her inner sanctum, just as the King welcomed his twelve councillors. Twelve girls to wait on her, to fetch her slippers and fill her teapot, and the very thought of it had made Bella writhe with unholy laughter.
"I don't need twelve girls," she had argued. "I barely need the one I have now, though I'd not trade her for the world."
"It is essential," Edward had replied. "It is the duty of the royal family to provide employment, and that employment always begins in the home."
Bella had pondered that for a long while. It had taken some time for the words to sink in, for her to really understand what it was that Edward was saying, and when she did, she felt the unexpected weight of responsibility on her shoulders.
Twelve girls, all vying for her favour, and all desperately hoping that she'd choose them, that she'd bestow her favour and mark one out as special.
She had watched Elizabeth. She knew Downton Abbey inside and out. Though she had never had servants of her own, Bella had some idea how these things worked and the impending drama exhausted her before the final candidates had even been selected.
"Where will they sleep?" asked Alice curiously, running her fingers through Bella's hair.
"Upstairs with the others, I think," she replied. Alice began to twist her tresses into long, winding braids. "I don't know where else there'd be room."
"The staff upstairs is scarce," said Alice with a sigh. Although she stayed with Bella in the blue rooms, Alice had become a familiar face in the rooms upstairs when she had to wash her clothes or mend her stockings. Marta had taken her in hand— Edward had told Bella that she was always kindest to the young ones— and had made sure to show Alice the ropes just as soon as she was able.
Aside from Marta, Lessie, and a handful of scullery and kitchen maids, the female servant's quarters had been almost barren since the last Queen's funeral.
"Will I stay with you?" Alice asked, pinning a braid in place. Bella grinned. "Or will I go too, with the others?"
"Here, I think," said Bella idly, though she did not miss Alice's cheerful smile. "Your room is here, should we ever desire our own bedspace, and I don't think it would be fair to move you."
Alice said nothing for a long moment.
"That room is for the head maid," said Alice slowly. "The one who is closest to you."
Bella grinned, turning to face her.
"You think any of these other girls will be as dear to me as you?" Bella asked at once. Alice's face turned beet red, though she did not lose her smile. "You, whom I've loved like a sister from the first?"
"I'm young…"
"And capable," Bella said at once. "Don't worry yourself over it, darling. I'd take none of them if I could, but alas, I've been told I must."
"It's good for families," said Alice wisely. "Marta told me that almost every grand name in the capital sent a daughter for consideration. Some sent two or three."
"So I've heard…"
"Some of them are very pretty," said Alice again, and this time, Bella thought she heard a note of jealousy. "They're… handsome."
"I don't care if they look like trolls or princesses," Bella laughed. The child flushed again. "I care nothing for such folly… all I want, if I must take them at all, are good-natured, pleasant, and trustworthy girls who will perform their duties and keep out of trouble."
Alice snorted, pinning the final braid in place.
"Fat chance," she said, taking a step back to survey her handiwork. "They may be good-natured and pleasant to you, but you can bet that once they're all cooped up here, vying for attention, there'll be more catfights in the attic than there are in a barn."
In the great, bright throne room, Bella stood still, her eyes trained on the brilliant crowd of hairpins and skirts that bustled before her.
"So many?" she asked in an undertone. Edward smiled in sympathy. "I didn't think there'd be this many…"
"All of our prominent families are eager for your favour," Edward whispered. She leaned in closer to hear. "Everyone wants their daughters to make a good match."
"Match?"
"Courtiers are in high demand," Edward replied. "It says something about a woman if she has the ear of a Queen. Good marriages are an economy all their own. Western daughters, in particular, are expected to marry high."
"How high?"
Edward laughed, and the gaggle of girls paused to look. He turned away from them, hiding his dancing eyes, and waited until the voices rose again to reply.
"Very high," said Edward softly. "I wouldn't be half shocked if more than a few had designs on my brother."
Bella grimaced, shaking her head.
"So young?"
"Many of these girls are children yet," Edward pointed out. "Many are younger even than Alice, for all she serves you."
With a surreptitious curiosity, Bella glanced around the room once more. With renewed eyes she saw the truth of this— beyond the grand, big girls were flocks of smaller, sheepish creatures beruffled and curled in the highest of fashions. Bella watched their wide eyes, darting to and fro across the wide expanse of the great stone room, and more than once a particularly small girl glanced back towards the great, arched wooden doors.
Pity struck her hard, and she turned at once to Edward.
"How will I choose?" she breathed. "There are at least fifty… and half of them barely grown!"
"Sixty six, to be precise," Edward said. The crowd milled about, each making polite smiles at the others. A few were circled together, whispers carrying like hisses in the sombre "More than I thought we'd get, but fewer than before…"
"Before?"
"Legend has it that the retinue that turned up to serve my mother was at least a hundred strong, though of course, I can't know for sure," Edward explained. "We had a larger population then, and there was an overabundance of daughters in the city's west end."
The group nearest them— a trio of teenagers who reminded Bella so wholly of her high school days in Forks— began to giggle. Bella took a moment to watch them, surveying the three girls with elaborate curls, ruffled petticoats, and sneering lips as they broke away from the main body of the crowd. Eyes of venom surveyed the crowd, fingers pointing discreetly at this girl or that, and more than once Bella saw a tall, redheaded beauty dissolve into fits of snorting laughter.
"What's the protocol?" she asked. Edward shrugged. "Do I just… pick some?"
"How you make your choice is up to you," Edward replied. "It will be your household, so it must be you that chooses."
"Is there… an interview?"
Edward cocked his head curiously.
"If you want to have one."
Bella blew out a breath.
"It really doesn't matter?" she asked, and Edward shook his head at once. "I can choose whoever I want simply because I want to?"
He laughed again, but this time he seemed confused.
"It will be your household, Bella. Their pay will come from your coffers, they will be housed and clothed at your discretion… they will serve you, in your private quarters. It must be up to you… I would never feel right saddling you with maids you don't get along with."
Bella, rolling this over in her head, chewed on her lip in contemplation.
"How do I dismiss them?"
He laughed again.
"You say no thank you," he replied, as if talking to a child. "There will be no tantrums, I assure you…"
Bella snorted— a loud, unladylike sound that carried clear across the room. Edward stifled a grin, turning away from the curious heads again, and Bella turned towards her audience, red-faced.
"Thank you for coming," she said. Even she heard the shaky tremor in her voice. "Thank you all for coming…"
And one by one, the girls fell into low curtseys, leaving Bella to perch herself on the edge of the Queen's throne with awkward grace.
The choosing made her weary, and by the time the sun was beginning to set over the western mountains, Bella had finally whittled her choice down to the final eleven. Wide and starry eyed, her charges looked up at her, prim and proper in their ruffled pinks, yellows, and greens, each as feverish and giddy as the girl beside her. Bella glanced at Edward— he, too, seemed tired, and though he had said nothing at all to the maids or Bella throughout the process, she saw that he seemed pleased with her newly hired dozen.
Alice, having peeked her head through the door after dinner, had been asked to stay for the remainder of the evening. She had said nothing, just like Edward, but Bella could tell by the sagging relief in her shoulders when she made a good choice, or the icy flint in her eyes when she contemplated a poor one, just what the girl thought of each of these new comrades. One of the girls Bella had chosen came from the orphanage— the same rough, lonely place that had housed Alice— and she saw the spark of friendship between them at once. Three came from the Rocklands— younger daughters of large families who had sent their girls to the Capital, knowing full well that their chances were slim. Two of these girls were sisters— Bella had felt herself intrigued by the smaller of the two, and though they were not identical, she knew at once that the girls were kin. The look of despair from the other when she'd selected the initial girl had been tragic, and though the child had not said so much as one word to sway her choice, Bella had felt that she would carry that nagging discomfort for the rest of her days should she tear those two creatures apart.
Five girls from the east would join her as well, mostly second daughters from homes full of children, and one tall, awkward tween from Honeybee Point. One from the Farmer's Village— a hardy, jolly girl who laughed at the slightest provocation and who, if truth be told, watched Bella with such a wide-eyed reverence that it almost made her squirm. All of her girls were young— even Edward, saying nothing, had eyed them all askance when she lined them up before her— but that was what Bella liked about them. She did not want women grown, judgmental and sneaking in their service. She did not want gossip, flying like hornets through her very walls and chambers. The girls she had chosen were peaceful— kind, gentle creatures who were giddier about their new friends than their duties, and it made Bella glad to see it.
She liked to hear a child laugh, and she would not begrudge the noise in her own, blue chambers.
The twelfth girl— the last one to be chosen from her group of peers— was one that Bella did not quite know what to do with. Edward had not told her as much— had not said anything at all that might influence her choices or her reasons— but she gathered from the long, surly faces of the taller girls in their lavish clothing that her choices were unprecedented. She knew that, in generations past, that the majority of a Queen's maids came from the city's west end. Courtiers were refined creatures— not the gaggle of noisy, giggling girls that Bella had chosen for herself— and though Bella knew that she would have to teach them and train them, she also knew that if she chose no one from the west, it would be a great and terrible offence.
Elia— for that was the name she had whispered when Bella had asked her— was the only Western girl in the whole group, and with her glittering jewels, coiffed, stiff hair, and overabundant skirts, she stood out like a sore thumb. Bella watched her from the corner of her eye as she shuffled her feet in the dust, looking for all the world as if she would like to break into the laughing, riotous group that bounced not three feet from her, but when one of them waved at her— a jubilant, exaggerated wave— the child shrunk away at once, embarrassed to be spotted.
Bella filed this away for later, and let Edward help her to her feet.
"Congratulations," said Edward, eying each of the children in turn. "Your lady has chosen well."
The girls sobered up at once, looking torn between terror and amazement to be so addressed by their King.
"Your duties will start when our Queen is annointed," he continued. "Until then, enjoy your families and collect your belongings. You will leave your names with the page, and a letter will be sent to each of you detailing the proceedings for your arrival."
Each girl bobbed a curtsey, first to Edward, and then to Bella, to whom many flashed an excited, winning smile.
"Thank you," said Bella courteously. The children fairly bounced. "I trust there is someone here to take you home?"
Each girl, including Elia, though she would not meet her eye, gave a sharp, quick nod.
"Then off with you," laughed Bella. "The day has been long, and sleep will be sweet. I will see you back here before you know it."
One by one, some fairly sprinting, the girls filed out of the throne room. Bella saw a collection of men and boys waiting in the hall, each receiving their small daughter or sister with smiles and congratulations. Bella waited until the door was closed again before she turned to Edward, who let out a deep, satisfied sigh.
"One job done," he said in relief. "Many more to go, but one big job done…"
"What do you think?"
He peered curiously at her.
"Of what?"
"Of the girls." Bella rolled her eyes. "Do you like them?"
"I think they are girls through and through," said Edward with mild amusement. "You've set yourself a task, I'll say that."
Bella frowned at him.
"How so?"
"None trained, none experienced…"
"I'll train them," she snorted. "I don't want them experienced…"
"Evidently not." Edward smoothed her hair, which had gone frizzy in the afternoon heat. "But if they make you happy, they'll do just fine."
"I'm sure they will." She felt his thumb slide across her palm. "I'm almost positive they will."
"It will be a refreshing change," said Edward after a few moments of quiet. "It's been too long since we had a lively crew in the palace."
"How long?"
"Years," said Edward, glancing back at the setting sun. "So many years that I can hardly remember…"
Bella, feeling suddenly anxious, glanced up at Edward with a plaintive frown.
"Have I done wrong?" she asked, and at once she felt his arms tighten. "I want so badly to do things right, but I'm not always sure…"
At once, he turned her around to face him. Bella felt the touch of his hands, rough and warm, as they combed through the hair at the side of her face, gathering it at the nape of her neck. She watched him closely— watched how those bright, green eyes flared with sudden passion, and before he said a word in response, she felt his lips pressing a quick and gentle kiss to hers.
"You will be Queen, Bella," he replied. "The one and only Queen. It is not for anyone else to say what is right or what is wrong— only your own conscience can dictate. Did those choices feel wrong today?"
At once, Bella shook her head. He kissed her again.
"Then there you have it," he concluded. "It is neither right nor wrong. It is simply a choice."
"But there are traditions…"
"Traditions change," said Edward simply. "They evolve with us, and so the march of time goes on."
Bella sighed.
"I don't want to be a…" She struggled to find the right word. "I don't want to be a sensation."
Edward, all sympathy and sighs, let out a short, quick chuckle.
"It is the nature of this work," he said, glancing back at the grand, empty thrones. Bella looked with him. "We are always a sensation, whether we mean to be or not."
Bella relayed the whole thing to Rosalie the very next day, seated across from her on the wooden chair opposite the hearth.
"You'll be like a mother hen amongst a flock of chicks," Rosalie chuckled. "How will you manage them?"
Bella grinned sheepishly.
"Edward said much the same, though with a few more words," she replied, "and as I told him, I like my choices."
"More's the pity," said Rose. She shifted awkwardly on her seat. "You'll have a time training them up…"
"They're good girls," said Bella at once, though by Rosalie's sceptical glance, she knew that her lie did not hit home.
"So you think."
Bella scowled, shaking her head.
"So I know," she said loyally. "At least until they prove otherwise."
Rosalie barked a laugh.
"Reasonable," she chuckled, nodding her defeat. "I suppose that'll have to do."
The pair fell into a companionable silence that Bella relished, leaning her head back against the painted clay wall. The stone was cool against her hair— the blazing sun, hot even by Maronese standards— had turned her leisurely walk over into a rather daunting trek. She had arrived at noon, just before the sun had crested, and though Emmett, who had come with her, seemed not to mind it, Bella's delicate complexion was not used to such abuse. Her cheeks were sunburned and sore, and though she'd worn her wide-brimmed straw hat, she had a strange assortment of tan lines around her shoulders and her collar. Bands of red, shaded by the straps of her silver party dress, were overlaid by large patches of white and brown— old sunburns fading from pink to brown along her arms, and fresh, rosy tints that hovered around her chin and chest.
Bella did not know how Emmett could tolerate it. Even now, while she and Rosalie sat fanning themselves in the parlour, he and Finn were making merry in the backyard, shouts and hoots of laughter accompanying the darting shadows from the kitchen window.
Rosalie puffed out a sigh when she shifted again, struggling to sit herself upright on her over-large cushion.
"Any day now," she complained, patting her belly. Bella did not know how it was possible, but she had grown even bigger than she'd been just a fortnight ago, her balance now so awkward that she'd taken to holding chairs and walls whenever she moved from room to room. She could no longer bend over— that, it seemed, was only borrowing trouble— and she did not dare seat herself anywhere other than a chair or her bed.
"I'd never get up again," she'd groused. "There you'd find me, old and gray with a belly like an anvil holding me down."
All around the little house, Bella saw signs of Rosalie's increasing settlement in her new home.
In the kitchen, on a new shelf made from square stones, hemp rope, and bamboo poles, rested jars of preserved and pickled vegetables. Beans, floating in brine, shone greenly in the light from the window. Tomatoes, ripened to bursting, had been peeled and quartered. There were fruits, too— yellow pineapple floating in amber syrup, and berries smashed and stirred to make jams and preserves. There were roots like carrots and turnips, and a strange, purple legume that Bella did not recognize. There were coconut shavings and long, curling ribbons of cinnamon bark. Star anise, dried vanilla beans, and pots upon pots of liquid, golden honey that cast a rich glow against the ruddy clay walls. The pantry held bread, both new and old. There was a sack of flour, barely used, closed tight atop the counter. Sugar— a small, precious pouch— rested in a covered clay pot to keep the ants away, and a bushel of fresh avocados, a mix of grass green and midnight black, sitting in the sun. Her water jug was full and the pump outside ran clear. Firewood, stacked in tall, neat piles, had been cut by an obliging neighbour boy whose mother had ten children of her own and knew all too well the struggles of the third trimester. The fire was not needed now— indeed, it was so hot and sticky that Bella wondered that one was ever needed at all— but there it waited, unperturbed, for a cool and misty night.
In the parlour where they sat, Rosalie had hung her painting to match the gaudy red rug. White doves flew across the floor and again across the wall, where they'd been inked with more skill and precision than Bella had expected. She had not known Rosalie to be a painter— indeed, she had not known her to be much of anything but a mother and a homemaker— but somehow, it did not surprise her. Painting, Bella knew, took careful attention to detail and Rosalie was nothing if not attentive.
Finn's loud, raucous squeal rang through the room and Bella, jolted from her daydreams, let her gaze fall upon her friend.
"Just about ready to be done, I suppose?" she asked idly, making Rosalie grimace.
"More than ready." Bella saw, with morbid admiration, the wiggle of a foot or a hand beneath Rose's dress. Rosalie poked it— a sharp jab that Bella was sure would leave a bruise— and the limb only pressed harder.
"Stubborn thing," said Rose fondly. "Cruel, stubborn boy…"
"Girl," Bella quipped at once, just to watch her friend scowl. She was not disappointed. "I am absolutely convinced that she is a girl."
"He most certainly is not," groused Rosalie. "I know a boy when I feel one… this one will definitely be a boy, and he will definitely be a fighter if he's got anything to say about it."
"How much longer, do you think?" Bella asked. Rosalie frowned. "It's been… more than enough?"
"Within the week, I'd say," Rose replied. "There have been practice pains for a fortnight, and that was a sure sign when I had Finn."
Bella sat up a little straighter. Deep in the pit of her belly, which was stirring with nerves, she felt the slightest nudge of excitement mingled with a healthy dose of apprehension.
"How do you know they're only practice?" she asked seriously. Rosalie grinned at her. "They might be real…"
"They come and go and lead to nowhere," breezed Rose. "Trust me, Bella. I'll know when they're real. When it really gets going, the whole island is likely to know…"
Bella didn't know whether to laugh or frown.
"Don't worry for me, Bella," said Rose. "I'll be fine. I'm always fine, in the end."
But Bella, feeling for all the world like a nagging, worried husband, only shifted her chair a little nearer, and drew her friend a little closer.
It began in the evening, just after Emmett had saddled his horse.
"I'll be back in the morning," Bella had said. "Tomorrow morning, and every day after until your little lady makes her appearance."
"My little man, you mean," Rose had groused. Emmett, waiting rather sheepishly by the door, said nothing at this exchange, but Bella had not missed the careful glance he gave to that bulging, taut belly.
"You'll be well?" Bella asked
"Absolutely."
"You know who to call?" she queried.
"The woman down the road…"
"And you'll be alright tonight?"
"Perfectly well, love. Now go, before it gets too dark…"
"And don't forget us," Bella had said at once. Rosalie struggled to her feet. "Whether it's at daybreak or noon or complete darkness…"
"I'll call you when it's done," said Rose with a grimace. She got her feet placed under her and took a few steps forward. "Babying is hardly a pleasant business and I suspect you'll enjoy the result rather more than the process."
Bella, squeamish though she was, said nothing.
"You have someone to send? With a message, I mean?"
"To you?" Rose laughed. "Most of the boys in the street would beg me just for the chance to know they're all sweet on you."
Bella felt her cheeks heat up.
"They are not," she sniffed. "They're children…"
"They're almost grown men, and they know a pretty girl when they see one," she chortled. "Although there is nothing to worry about… they know you're quite taken."
Bella's face flamed.
"Well on that note, I expect we'll let you rest," she said pointedly. Rose took a careful step towards the door. "Remember… if you need anything, you just need to…"
But Bella would never finish her sentence, for at that precise moment, the stone floor beneath Rose's feet grew suddenly wet.
No one said anything for a long, quiet moment. Rosalie, frozen in sudden surprise, stared down at the growing puddle as if she half blamed it for ruining her clean floor. Bella went white— her rosy cheeks paling in an instant at the sight of the mess, and Emmett, wide-eyed and dumbstruck, looking torn between a brilliant, scarlet excitement and absolute mortified terror.
It was he, clearing his throat in the sudden hush, who found the courage to speak first.
"I expect we'll have to delay our departure," he said slowly and at once, both women turned to stare at him. Rosalie looked ready to retort, as if she might send him away after all, but the minute she opened her mouth, it contorted into an uncomfortable grimace. Bella watched as she brought a hand to her middle, which seemed suddenly overburdened, and though she did not say so much as a word, Bella knew exactly what was happening.
When Emmett caught on— a little slower than Bella— she felt herself nudged carefully out of the way as he took her by the hand and led her away from the clear, wet puddle.
"Come," he said at once, and Bella heard a strange sobriety in his voice. "Come, Rosie. To bed with you…"
Bella followed hopelessly after them, taking care to avoid the trail of dripping water that marked Rose's path.
What happened in the next hour, Bella would never be entirely sure. Rosalie, unhappy to be holed up in bed, submitted grudgingly to be tucked and covered, a towel beneath her to catch the last of the water. Emmett, not knowing what to do with himself, hovered so anxiously in the doorway that Bella had taken pity on him and ordered that he take Finn, who bounced at the foot of the bed, to the neighbour, before he might send for some assistance further down the road. He hesitated only for a moment, glancing carefully to the front path where two young soldiers still stood sentry, but once his mind was made up he darted off with the boy on his hip and Bella, suddenly nervous, turned back to Rose with a grin.
"I guess we're having a sleepover," she said, making Rosalie grimace at the English. "Just like old times…"
"Old times?"
"It's what girls do, where I'm from. Spend the night together, braid each other's hair, share all kinds of secrets…"
"I don't braid very well," Rose quipped dryly. "And I expect you'll learn more than secrets if you intend to linger here. There won't be much of me left to discover come morning. You'll know it all, and quite thoroughly."
Bella laughed, but was cut off by the arrival of another pain. Rosalie was stoic— she did not fret or fuss as she lay calmly in her bed, but Bella saw the twitch of her brow and the uncomfortable shifting beneath her thin, white covers.
The hour seemed to take an age.
In the quiet of the room, Bella made herself small and quiet, perched on a hard, wooden stool by the edge of the bed. Rosalie fidgeted— her fingers, twined together, tapped rhythms on her knuckles, and her foot jiggled beneath the sheets. When Bella asked her, she could not say how long the pains had been coming— she had felt them frequently over the last two weeks, and though she'd felt a few particularly sharp twinges earlier in the day, she had assumed them to be practice pains like before. When Finn had come, Rosalie told her, there had been no mistaking it— a more miserable, unhappy mother there never was or could be, and though Bella suspected some part of her feared a repeat of the ordeal, she said nothing at all that betrayed fear.
And so they spent the next hour together, talking nonsense and making distractions. People, milling about in the late afternoon sun, walked by the sweet, pink house without so much as a glance, and the pair spent some busy minutes observing. Rosalie pointed out her neighbours— proud, haughty Mr. Whatsit with a garden full of weeds, and Mrs. Up-the-Road with her gaggle of twelve unruly children. A group of boys about Jasper's age— all too tall and awkward— snuck past the window to chase a group of giggling, darting girls. Rosalie rolled her eyes, shaking her head in mild disgust, and though Bella was brimmed full of questions, she dared not ask a single one.
It took that full hour for Emmett to make his reappearance, arriving in such a tumult of noise and panic that Rosalie, drawn from her sudden sobriety, barked out a sharp laugh. He tumbled into the house, bringing with him the two soldiers and a strange, old woman. He left the soldiers at the door and brought the latter into the bedroom, peering anxiously across the threshold to where the two women sat.
"On our way, eh?" croaked the old woman, and Bella saw Rosalie's lip disappear between her teeth. "Not to worry, darling, not to worry…"
Her bag, an old, leather thing with a silver buckle on top, swung loosely in Emmett's fist. Emmett did not seem to notice, and only when the woman's expectant frown turned into a scowl, her fingers snapping angrily beneath his nose, did he take the slightest notice. He relinquished it at once, setting it unceremoniously on Rosalie's wooden trunk of clothes, before he came to lurk at Bella's back, looking for all the world like a child without its mother.
The woman's eyes bugged out and her voice rose in a harsh, sharp croak.
"Out," she snapped. "Out with you. You've got no business in the birthing room, and we've certainly no need of you. Go and make yourself useful and boil some water. Make sure the pot is clean, and find some fresh towels. Nothing soiled, now…"
Emmett, blinking in surprise, looked as if he might argue.
"Out!" the woman snapped again. Beneath the sheets, where their hands were clasped, Bella felt Rosalie start. "Off with you, man!"
Bella felt a stirring of pity in her heart.
"Find those towels, boil that water, and then go and tell Edward that I shan't be back before the dawn," Bella said softly. The old woman, grinning her wide, toothless smile, nodded in approval. "He'll be worried if we do not send word, and I've no desire to make him fret."
"I can't leave you here…"
"Leave the men at the door," Bella urged. "They are well trained. We will be quite safe here, with that retinue."
"I…"
Rosalie, her cheeks suddenly mottled, jerked her chin.
"You've been set your task," she said, not unkindly. "Now go and see to it. The day is fast approaching when you'll be forced to obey her, so you might as well start now."
"I can't leave…"
"Go and tell him for me," Bella asked again. "Go and tell him that I must remain where I am, for there is a need here that is greater than any we might find in the palace. I'm not about to leave her here, with a stranger we just met…"
The woman, head ducked, seemed neither bothered nor offended.
"...and so I must stay."
"I will not simply leave."
Bella felt a surge of pity deep in her belly.
"I'm not asking you to," she said at once. "I'm not asking you to stay away."
"Men are not welcome in the birthing room…"
Bella interrupted the crone as delicately as she could.
"Go and tell Edward," said Bella again. "Tell him what's happened, and then you're free to do exactly as you please."
"What pleases me is to remain just where I am."
"Go and tell him, please."
He glanced anxiously at Rosalie. Rose, having none of his suffering looks, rolled her eyes and threw a cushion at him, which he caught with deft hands.
"Get on with it," she snapped. "There's nothing helpful to be done here other than fetch water and towels. And they won't be needed for some time yet."
"I may yet be of service…"
"Doubtful," Rose grimaced. "We're in for a long night, these girls and I, and once you've delivered that missive from your Lady to your King, you may park yourself on my sofa in the sitting room and wait it out, just like all nervous men do when a baby is being born."
"I'm not nervous."
The old crone cackled wickedly.
"Of course you're not, pet," she chortled. "You men never are."
Three hours later, when the last of the red sun gave way to a clear, indigo sky, the moon began her nightly reign. She shone like a beacon— a great, white orb rising in the window to the south— and Bella stared right back at that glowing silver face, praying with every ounce of strength for a final deliverance. The moon had blessed them— that was what the crone had said— and as it rose ever higher in the sky, Bella felt the evening's calm give way to a nighttime storm that tossed them on a rough and rocky sea.
Night was a time for women, the crone said. The day was busy— it was bright, and harsh, and hectic, just like the men, and so loud that one could hardly hear herself think. The night was cold, its sky a black mystery that unravelled in sparkles and glints, and only when one sat up at the darkest witching hour could it be fully appreciated in all its forms. Darkness held within itself a great and powerful beauty— a beckoning mistress with depths and furrows unknown and unexplored. That beauty taunted men, those creatures of light that sought to unwind each and every question, but at the closing of the day it was the night that won her fight, pushing back the light until the whole world went quiet.
Women, said the crone, were the products of that beauty. They were the legacy— the lasting imprint of that unconquered night on the brilliant face of day, and though Bella clung to these fancies with a desperate, unrelenting optimism, Rosalie barely heard a word.
As the woman had said, the sunset had brought about a change in the little pink house. The pains had only been a nuisance before the sun had disappeared, earning only a grimace or a wince when they rolled through Rose's belly or her back. Bella had spoken to Rose— made asinine smalltalk to push away the sting, and they had giggled like schoolgirls over fancies and whims. They'd played with cards, Rosalie winning each and every time, and they'd even managed to coax the old woman into letting them eat some fruit. Rosalie had scarfed down her apple in triumphant delight, ignoring the worried mutters of the old midwife, who had vented her anxiety by burning sage in the window to cleanse the air of ghosts.
But as the sun went down, when they'd grown tired of their talk and games, Bella had sensed a change in the small, hot room. The old midwife had seen it at once— from her place by the window she'd sat up a little straighter, her eyes narrowed when Rose had turned away. She'd approached the bedside, reaching her hands beneath the sheets and Bella had looked away then, not wanting to intrude any more than she had to. Only when she heard the woman's approving cluck did she dare look back down to see the stranger's grim smile and Rosalie's frowning grimace.
"Not long now," the crone had said. Behind her, stacked neatly atop the trunk beside the bag, was a pile of clean, laundered towels. The woman took one now, wiping her hands and setting it at Rosalie's feet just in time for her patient to curl in on herself in a sudden agony.
"Not long now," she said again, this time for Bella. "We're nearly there…"
"So soon?"
"Second babies are faster than firsts," said the woman. "And thirds and fourths even faster still. This mother is a hardy one, and I expect we'll have no trouble."
"Trouble?" Bella squeaked. Rosalie, clinging to the bedpost and Bella's fingers, dug her nails in hard. Bella bit back her complaint. "What kind of trouble?"
"Nothing to worry over," soothed the midwife. "Nothing to signify. This lady is strong…"
Rose, sudden tears brimming, turned her head away when the pain released her, and Bella wordlessly offered her a handkerchief.
"I'd give us another hour or two," said the woman. "No more than that."
Although the night was long, Bella did not rest as first one hour, and then two, passed in a flurry of sights and sounds. Bella had never seen a labour before— had never seen a birth other than the school-mandated science video back in ninth grade— and she felt flustered and exhausted by the very notion. The midwife was unmoved— Bella was sent to fetch new towels, cups of cool, sweet water, and new sheets and pillows to prop up the head of the bed. She braided Rose's hair when it got too heavy on her neck, and then took it down again when the breeze made her shiver and shake. She held wooden bowls by the bedside and carried their foul contents away, and she mopped a soft cloth, wet with scented oil, down Rose's arms to keep away the mosquitos that buzzed in through the glassless, screenless window. Before she grew sick and tearful, Rosalie had laughed with her, and with heart hammering wildly in her throat Bella bore it all without complaint, taking her cues from the kind stranger at the foot of the bed.
"That's the ticket, girl, that's it…" The woman, resting on her heels, had her head buried beneath the sheets. Rose's arms covered her face, her lip bloody and raw as her teeth bit into it. Though she could not see, Bella felt the sudden tension and heard the shaky cry when another pain, coming right on top of the last, sunk its heels in. Bella sat down on the bedside, letting Rose grip her as she writhed away from the woman's touch, and she felt the sharp, hot exhales against her stomach through the thin fabric at her waist. She stroked the damp, blonde head in her lap almost absently, her gaze fixed on the stalwart midwife with her hands on Rose's ankles.
"This isn't like last time…" Rose's voice was thin and sharp. "Not at all like last time…"
"It never is," the woman soothed. With some difficulty, for Rose did not want to move, she tried to coax her back into position. Bella felt Rose's trembling arms resist and she whispered a soft, thoughtless reassurance that ended with her hand in Bella's palm and her knees spread on either side of the woman's shoulders.
"Don't fight it, darling… it won't be any easier. Babies never come the same way twice. Firsts are always difficult, and seconds are a surprise."
"It feels different…"
"He's coming fast," said the woman gently. "Faster than your first did, I daresay…"
"Finn took days." Bella could hear the exhaustion in her voice. "He took three days…"
The midwife, frowning, shook her head sharply.
"Not this one, darling. Not this one," she said gruffly. Another pain began to take hold, and the woman gave a quick smile.
"Not long at all. I see the head already, plain as day."
Rose's eyes shot open, and though her belly and the sheets blocked her view, she glanced down between her legs.
"Head?" she croaked. "Already?"
"Already, pet," laughed the woman. "Now… let us see what you can do. My Lady?"
Bella's head snapped up.
"Up you get, pet, and over here." The woman pointed to the other side of the bed. "Come around, now, and quickly."
Wordless, and not daring to delay with questions, Bella slipped carefully and gently out of Rose's bed. Rose sniffled when Bella stood, slipping a soft pillow beneath her head before she scrambled around the end of the bed with her eyes fixed on the wall, not daring to look where the woman's hands were moving.
"Good girl," she said. "Now grab that leg and bring it up."
Rose lay on her side now, and Bella slipped onto the bed at her back. She reached out a tentative hand and gripped the underside of Rose's knee, her face suddenly hot with second-hand embarrassment. Rosalie, with a renewed determination, did not seem to notice her discomfort as Bella held it carefully up, pulling just far enough until the woman gave her cue.
"Hold it just there."
Bella froze, the knee hooked about her elbow. The woman, grinning at Rose, pressed a hand to her hard, swollen belly.
"On the next one, you know what to do," she said and Rosalie, suddenly driven, gave a fierce nod. "I don't expect it to take very long… this little one's done great work without any extra help."
Rose nodded again.
"Let us wait for it, then," said the woman. She turned to Bella with a twinkle. "Hold that leg firm, now. Don't let go."
"I won't."
Rose grinned at her.
"Not long now," said the woman again, and Bella, still brimming with worry, saw a familiar hint of stubbornness cross her friend's face. "Not long at all…"
When the pain started, Bella felt as if time itself stood still.
"Grab it, girl!" the woman shouted. "Grab it and go!"
Two minutes, ticking by like molasses through a sieve, felt as long as an age as Bella watched the struggle. Her elbow locked tight, she felt the pull of strength against her as the last battle was won. The woman beamed, her hands sticky and wet as she called directions, encouragement, and praise. There were shouts and tears. Sweat and blood. And all the while, though she held fast to that strong, struggling body, Bella felt a curious, powerful longing as this new life came into the world. She bent her head down next to Rose's, whispering anything and everything she could think to say, and when the sheet covering her was thrown back to brighten the light from the lantern, Bella saw just how strange and wonderful life could really be.
Inch by inch, a new face was being brought into the light. First, there was a crown— the round, pink head covered by inky, black down, slick and sticky with mother's blood. On the next pain came a forehead, wrinkled and red, with dainty, curving eyebrows. Eyes came next, followed by a rush of nose and mouth, and then a pop, and a chin, and then the woman was cradling a little face between her palms.
"Almost there, darling… we've almost got it now. Just a few more and we'll be all done."
Bella, her squeamishness all but forgotten, felt a lump in her throat.
"Beautiful, Rose…" she laughed. Rosalie's eyes fell shut as they waited. "She's got lots of hair…" Rose grinned at her, cracking an eye open to see, though the effort was futile. She squeezed Bella's hand instead, letting her head loll back against her pillows.
The final pain seemed to take an age. Bella saw it on Rose's face before she felt the pull of the leg against her arm, sitting up straight to keep that limb just where the woman wanted it. The midwife's brow furrowed, her hands holding fast as the pain began its peak, and when it seemed like there could be no more fight left to tear this child from its mother, there was a gasp, a scream, and a great triumphant cry before a slippery, white creature shot out onto the bed in a rush.
For a moment, the world stood still. Rosalie, chest heaving with exertion, sagged into her pillows. Bella put the leg back down on the bed. The woman, pawing at the tiny newborn, snatched a towel from the stack and Bella felt her friend begin to cry. At once Bella reached over and embraced her, feeling those weak and tired arms grip her with a ferocious, desperate hold. Bella felt the changes at once— that hard belly gone soft, her skin clammy with sweat— and when the new mother's face pressed into her shoulder, she felt her sleeve dampened by a flood of tears. There were tears of joy, brought even higher when the midwife coaxed a hearty, high wail from the tiny, wiggling baby, and tears of pain for the struggle she had suffered. There were tears of relief for a labour now ended, and tears of love that only a mother really knew, reserved for that precious, lasting bond between herself and her children.
Sniffling, Bella pressed a kiss to that damp, golden head and watched in dumb amazement as a tiny, wet, and writhing creature was drawn up from between its mother's legs. At once, Rose's eyes snapped open and she turned, shifting onto her back to scoot up against her pillows before she reached out to take the wailing, wiggling baby into her arms.
"It's a daughter, darling," crooned the old woman. "A brand new daughter for you…"
The child wailed. Her cheeks were mottled red, slightly swollen from birth, but her nose and chin were white as lilies. Her chest fluttered and her little feet kicked, and although she was still wet and slick, Rosalie clutched the baby to her heart and wept.
"A girl," she sobbed, kissing the tiny creature on her cheeks, her head, her hands… "A girl, Bella. My girl…"
"She's beautiful."
"My own girl!"
Bella, finally losing her battle, dissolved into a mess of tears.
The midwife, satisfied that mother and baby were both healthy and well, left the three of them alone as she busied herself once again beneath the newly replaced sheets. The cord was cut and tied, and the squirming, crying bundle was wrapped in a white linen swaddle. Rosalie sat herself up in the bed, letting Bella help her when her shaking arms failed, and together they gazed, poring over every detail of that tiny baby from her soft, pink head to her tiny, round toes.
The baby was a dainty little thing. Small and plump, with long, slender fingers that curled around Rose's pinky, she peered up at their tired, smiling faces with eyes as wide as coins. She had stopped crying now, had ceased her squalling, and took instead to staring with eyes of the purest, sweetest baby blue. They did not focus, did not rest on any one thing, but instead darted around towards the lamp, where a soft, yellow glow flickered on the wall. Her legs, still curled like they had been in her mother's womb, wiggled beneath her towel, and as Rose brought the end of it to dab at a spot of blood along her soft pink cheek, she turned her head and sneezed. Rose cupped her hand around the small head, running her thumb through the downy hair which, while sparse, was as black as a winter sky.
"She's beautiful, Rose," said Bella in a whisper. "She's absolutely perfect."
"I was so convinced she'd be a boy," replied Rose. "I was almost certain of it."
"I'm glad she's not," Bella said. "I think she'll do you good…"
"She'll do us all some good," Rose replied. "She'll do us all a world of good."
It was Bella, holding the precious, sleeping bundle to her chest, who came out into the sitting room, where an anxious, wide-eyed soldier sat with pale, sleepless eyes.
"I heard the cry," he said, his voice low and quiet. "Is Rose…?"
"All is well," Bella soothed. Her own face, flushed and tearstained, was sore with smiling. "All is perfectly, wonderfully well."
"And the little one?" His eyes flickered to the swaddling in her arms.
"She is well, too," Bella said. Carefully, she stepped across the rug. "She is healthy, and perfect in every way."
At once, Bella saw Emmett sit up. His gaze, flickering between Bella and the bundle, shifted instead to stare at the copse of dark hair peeking through the blankets. The baby slept on, her little face impassive in the grip of her rest, and had she not been looking at just the right time, she might have missed the way Emmett's fingers twitched.
"Rosalie is sleeping," explained Bella gently, taking another step closer. "The midwife is with her, and the baby has been fed and changed…"
"Good."
She stepped closer. Emmett, gaze still fixed, sat up a little straighter.
"Do you want to see her?" Bella asked.
"I couldn't disturb her…"
"You won't." Gently, so as not to jostle the baby, Bella sat herself on the edge of the sofa next to him where he peered over the edge of the blanket to that sleeping face.
At once, Bella saw his shoulders sag, a nervous smile creeping across his face.
"A girl?" he croaked, and Bella gave a nod. "A little girl?"
"The very littlest," she laughed. "Tiny, really, when you get a good look at her…"
And to her delight, that worried, nervous countenance melted with a quiet sigh. She saw his hand before she felt it, his warm fingers resting on the cool skin of her wrist before he gathered his courage and reached out, stroking his knuckle down the baby's warm, downy cheek.
Bella had never seen him cry before— indeed, she had not seen him even close to tears— but she saw that one, lonely drop now as it dripped from his nose to fall on the swaddling. The baby did not notice— indeed, Bella would not have seen it had she not been paying attention— but even though she had, Emmett did not seem to mind. His gentle finger turned to a cupped hand, and before she knew it she had passed that tiny creature into those strong, capable arms, where she seemed both infinitely small, and infinitely safe.
Bella felt her eyes prickle again when she saw the wonder etched on that face of stone. He was mesmerized— disbelief, worry, terror, and love all warring for dominance before he reached down again, touching the tiny nose, the rosebud lips, and the long, delicate fingers.
The first rays of morning sun, barely glowing in the east, fell through the front window and onto the baby's sleeping face. Bella saw him grin— saw the thick, careful swallow to keep away the tears— as her feet began to kick. Her hand splayed, reaching up to grip the finger he offered, and when those wide, blue eyes opened and fixed on his face, he beamed a wide, happy smile.
"Good morning, sweetheart," he said. He stood, bringing the baby closer to the window. Another beam, just peeking through the two houses across the lane, fell on her delicate wisps of hair. Emmett stroked that crown, running a finger over the soft, wispy hair before he brought his lips to the newborn's cheek, breathing in the smell of milk.
"The sun says happy birthday," he whispered, tilting her carefully to see the sky. "Your very first sunrise on your very first day, and I am honoured to spend it here with you."
A/N: An abundance of thanks goes out to each and every one of you who put up with the long wait between 37 and now. As you'll know if you read my note (which has been deleted), I accepted a rather unexpected teaching job back in November that's been eating up most of my time both during the work day and in the evenings. Free time has been scarce, which means that my writing has had to take a back seat for a little while. I'm finally getting into the swing of things, but it seems like there's a never-ending flood of problems that need solving. I can't promise when the next chapter will be out, but I'm going to try and make a point of giving myself some time to write when I'm not at the school. Writing is my outlet and I owe it to myself and to you to try and keep a somewhat consistent schedule.
As for the chapter... I've been waiting for this baby for almost a year now, and I'm sure all of you were growing just as impatient. Had I waited any longer, Rose would have given birth to a toddler. Thanks for sticking it out.
As always, I'd love to hear what you think.