The Journals
By: Everleigh Allen
Chapter 2
Bella grasped the leather bound book and opened it back up.
It was full of sketches; a study of the local flowers, herbs, trees and animals. Very rarely, there was a scene with a building or a person in it but when she came across them, Bella ran her fingers over the thick ink.
It reminded her of Indigo Ink she had in her life drawing class.
Bella thumbed through the pictures until she found a page with writing.
.
May 5th, 1917
Mother is having tea in the garden now that the weather is more favorable.
She invited many of the ladies from her sewing club and a few from her reading club for the luncheon. Many of them I could hardly recognize under their large hats and obnoxious laughter.
I usually close myself off in the study on such occasions, but Mother gave our housekeeper Mae the day off and I was left to task.
I was in the kitchen placing the small cakes and tarts on the platter that Mother left. It was one of my favorite desserts so we knew the guests would enjoy them, as well. I may have saved a few for myself.
That is when I first noticed her.
Mrs. Crawford was shapely and attractive for a mature woman. She had a pleasant smile and laughed at all the right moments. She was social with the other ladies but I noticed her eyes darted around the greenery as if she was looking for something. I couldn't see what she saw, but she soon excused herself from the rest of the group.
She made her way to the house and stopped just inside the porch, right outside from I was standing in the kitchen but I don't think she noticed me. I watched as she fingered her tightly pinned red hair, making sure it was secure before she sat down on the swinging bench. She seemed to be making sure she was away from view, or so she thought. She took several moments swaying back and forth and looking from the ladies at the table and then at the tree line before she bent forward and lifted her skirts, exposing her ankle and then her leg.
I was in shock.
One of the tea cakes was mush in my hand when I saw her bosom squished unto her knees and overflowed for the slightest moment before she pushed the breast back into her top.
I noticed that her stocking fell down to her ankle. Perhaps it was wrong, but I couldn't help but watch as she fumbled under her skirts until she pulled the silk up her leg to secure it to the garter.
I felt my body flush warmly, not for Mrs. Crawford, but the idea of what the female form was like under their dresses.
In my haste to run upstairs, I forgot to bring out the dessert but licked the one ruined off my palm before my virility stiffened on its volition and emanated.
EAM-
.
Bella giggled. She wondered what it must have been like to live back then in a time when women still had tea and cakes in the garden. She imagined EAM tripping over his own feet trying to make it up the stairs and into the water closet to cleanse himself from his ruined pants.
"Here's your tea." Alice whispered. "I didn't want to interrupt you as you seemed to enjoying the journal.
"Thank you, I am enjoying it. Do you happen to know who wrote it?"
"I do." Alice nodded with a smile.
"Will you share his name?" Bella scoffed, running her hand over the dark leather in a caress. The motion wasn't lost on Alice.
"I could, but where's the fun in that?" She giggled as a crack of lightning lit the stained glass windows and the room. "The sun went down while you were reading and the storm isn't letting up any time soon. I was curious if anyone was expecting you at home?"
Bella worried her lip with her teeth. She didn't realize that she had sat for so long and let the day get away from her. She knew Chicago streets at night weren't necessarily the safest bet for anyone, especially a woman alone. But she wasn't looking forward to the empty apartment, either.
"Well," Alice smiled softly when Bella didn't answer. "You're more than welcome to stay here for as long as you'd like. It's much safer than being out alone in the storm. I'll go start on something for you to eat. Don't let your tea get cold." She tapped on the teacup twice with her finger before handing the cup and saucer off to Bella. She set a small silver tray on the side table next to the leather chair.
Bella couldn't remember the table being there before but she couldn't recall if it wasn't already there, either.
"Thank you," Bella whispered. Alice gave a curt nod before she moved out of the space and back down the stairs.
Bella brought the cup to her lips and took a sip of the tea. She smiled. It was sweetened perfectly and she adored the feeling of warmth as it moved through her and into her empty stomach. Bella's eyes brightened as she noticed a small frosted cake hidden behind the tea cup. She looked back at the journal and then to the cake before shaking the apprehension away. Biting into the sugary cake was ambrosia for the soul and she couldn't help the moan that slipped from her lips. She squished a bit of the cake in her fingers and licked the frosting off, much like she imagined EAM did.
With her cake quickly finished and settling nicely in her stomach, Bella opened the journal and thumbed through another few pages of plant studies and a many pages of musical notes without the lyrics.
She imagined it was music that EAM randomly created in his spare time. When she got to another entry, she took another sip of tea and read.
.
August 28th, 1918
Today was the last day of my classical piano lessons outside the home for the foreseeable future.
My instructor has succumbed to the Spanish flu as have many others associated with Miss Bradley. Each one of her students was either sick or have perished since we were notified of her death. Mother keeps an eye on me and although I feel fine, we cannot help but worry.
Mae has made soups each day for the past few weeks before the meal and if I never see soup again, I would be content.
My private lessons at school have also been suspended.
EAM-
Bella frowned. She thumbed through another few pages. There was a sketch of a squirrel hiding a nut in the ground and several other flowers EAM said reminded him of his mother. Bella recognized it easily as a wild geranium. It was light with striking reddish veins.
September 8th, 1918
My father and I are not close and as these few moments pass between us and the fact that he is unwell doesn't sit well with me at all.
Mother was on him for weeks to take leave at the office when his colleagues first became ill. Her reasoning of having plenty to live on and to keep ourselves comfortable was in truth but he disagrees. His first love has always been with the law and his heart sits in his office.
I say that openly and without malice.
It was my Gran, his mother, who first said there is a jar with his heart in it on his desk. It was all in jest. Father never seemed interested in integrating with our family and if he did it was through temper and intimidation or silence. I always imagine these moments are when he had an overly taxing case and the slim possibility to remain indifferent is his way to of coping.
Although, it bothers Mother when he keeps long hours and an empty seat at our table, to me it was oft a blessing. After all, the toleration of our shared presence is reciprocated.
On the days he is home, relaxed, and in a favorable mood, the interactions between us are mostly amiable. We chat about school and my plans for college.
Those moments are few.
I don't mention my dreams of becoming a soldier.
And as I sit in the window seat across from my parent's room, I can't help but feel for my mother. She is distraught, in pain at the thought of losing my father.
I noticed her rush to father as he stood at the entrance of our home yesterday. He had barely made it from the carriage to the door. I never saw him look so poorly. He said he just needed to rest, but I knew better. He was pale and his eyes seemed darker than when he left for work that morning. He looked like many of the men coming home from the War.
Perhaps he was sick for a while and it's showing now, but I cannot know for sure.
What I do know is that the Spanish Influenza is in our home and taking another soul.
EAM-
.
"How sad," Bella whispered to no one in particular. The thunder and lightning had calmed and all that could be heard was the crackling of the fire and the steady rain hitting the glossy windows.
It was then she felt slightly odd sitting in someone else's home having a cup of tea and cake while a stranger made her dinner.
In all her life she couldn't recall anyone being so kind with the exception of her father.
Bella swallowed.
She didn't want to think of her family.
Bella finished off the last of the tepid tea before she thumbed through the inky parchment for another entry that she hadn't already read.
.
December 31st, 1918
.
Bella stared at the date.
Had EAM lived after all? Had he been one of the very few that survived the Spanish flu?
The crisp, elegant scroll confirmed that for Bella and she decided to read on.
.
December 31st, 1918
Tonight is the last night of a year from Hell and I couldn't be happier for it to end.
I am a monster without a soul destined to live on without my beloved parents.
Dr. Cullen adopted me right after the death of my parents and saw to it that the house stayed in my name. It was the only way to keep it and my trust, he says. It doesn't feel the same. It is a shell, a void. It is a reminder that I am as alone now as I was when I lived there.
My mother begged Dr. Carlisle Cullen to save me on her death bed. I don't understand how she could've known anything untoward about him, but she managed to seal him in a promise that he couldn't break.
I imagine that my mother wouldn't wish the Hell upon me had she known the truth. How could she know that I would burn from within? How could she know that vengeance would be my life?
The thoughts and voices never cease.
I cannot sleep or eat, and all I hear are the errant thoughts of people in all directions. It is a form of torture no one could fathom or wish upon another.
Christmas was spent with Carlisle in his home. We didn't exchange gifts; though he did go help in the soup kitchens while I stayed home and cut fire wood to give out to the newly widowed woman down the street.
Carlisle decided that hunting would be a good idea since we plan on going out into public tonight to ring in the New Year. I agreed. He seems to think it is safe enough for me to be around other people now.
I took down several white-tailed deer and a bobcat before I finally felt stated. Carlisle chose to go out further for the bison, but I don't find them palatable.
Hopefully, the New Year will bring some peace.
EAMC-
.
A/N:
*E isn't necessarily indifferent that his father is dying but he doesn't quite know how to react or put his feelings into words. His emotions on paper could be much different in person but we only know him through his journals at this point.
*I know that in the books SM said that E Sr. died in the first wave of the flu. That would put him dying in March 1918 instead of Sept 1918 as I posted. I had thought he and his parents died around the same time, but research says that his father died much sooner than his mother and would go E soon after her. I like my way better as it suits the story.
*Bella is also thumbing through the journal as it suits her. They will not be in sequential order and the whole story won't be journal entries. If you read my story, Into the Woods, Mrs. Crawford will be familiar as E's first noticeable reaction to a woman written in his journal. If you read that story, you know where I'm going with this one. (wink, wink)
*Mrs. Crawford was looking around the tree line for an outhouse. Indoor plumbing was a luxury few had during that time. Some more well off homes had an indoor privy's and /or water closets (with a bowl and rags and soap to wash in, etc.) or outhouses. Lilacs were usually planted by and over the used outhouses to help with the smell. That's why homes that are over a hundred years old have many lilacs lining their property. They also planted lilacs to mark other things like placentas or the loss of a child.
*The house Edward is journaling in is NOT the same house Bella is sitting in and reading. I'll be taking creative liberties on the "house" she is currently in as it is completely fictional.
*Also, I've only been to Chicago once for the TFMU years ago and we didn't venture out much. On the one day we did, I had fallen behind the group to tie my shoe and Steve Carrell came out of the building. I gasped and pointed at him, saying "It's you!" and he pointed right back at me with a smile and said, "It's you!" back at me before he got into his awaiting car. It was a fun moment.
*All respective disclaimers needed are implied as the characters belong to SM and I am just borrowing them for yet another alternate universe.
*I plan on updating once or twice a week and usually on Monday or Tuesdays as those are my days off from painting. Thank you for reading.