A/N: So. We've all read the Twilight saga, hopefully. If you haven't, please don't tell me you'll make me cry. It's beautiful and far better than the movies. The books always are… Anyway, I decided to skip ahead a bit because assuming you've read SM's Twilight you know all about Edward's death and Elizabeth's. For those of you who don't, there will be a chapter that reveals that sort of thing coming up. For now, though, this is where we're picking up. Thank you everyone who reviewed.
Remember, There will be citrus after 50 reviews. Happy reading!
Disclaimer: I never have and never will own anything mentioned in SM's Twilight. I am but a poor student. She is a God. Enjoy.
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Chapter Thirteen: Worrying, Always Worrying
. . . . . . . . Bella. . . . . . . . .
I watched in fascination as Eddie's lilac colored eyelids scrunched into wrinkles and twitched. His little mouth puckered slightly and his round, rosy cheeks puffed out while he stretched one way, then the other, finally lifting his tiny arms up just slightly and flailing his little fists. I leaned over the side of my bed and scooped him gently out of the white whicker bassinet Edward had brought shortly following Eddie's birth. Sister Agatha and Miss Jones had rubbed it down with dry soap before they had let me use it for the baby. I rocked little E.J. slowly, and he quickly calmed down, returning to easy sleep.
How in the world could I be so lucky? In my arms, I held the most beautiful creature on the planet – and even more of a miracle – he was mine and Edward's to share. I marveled a little at the situation I found myself in. He was so tiny, so helpless, yet it seemed that my happiness depended entirely on his. Last night, I had seen him smile for the first time while I hummed one of the songs Edward wrote for me from our courtship. My baby. My little Edward Junior.
I could not believe that it was August already. My little one would be a month old, soon. Yet his father had only seen him twice since he brought the bassinet two days after Eddie's birth. Trying hard to control the fear and worry that threatened to overtake me, I held Eddie closer. His rosebud mouth was open in a perfect O. I placed my fingertip gently over his mouth, feeling for suction. It seemed he wasn't so asleep after all. I chuckled and undid the old-fashion wrap maternity gown's bodice, cradling Eddie so he could eat.
I looked out the window again, sighing at the sunshine. There had to be another reason for Edward's absence. I ran through my head, trying to come up a logical explanation other than that. Perhaps a case..? No, too many people were ill to afford Edward. And the majority of criminals that needed convicting were already half way to one of the crematoriums or mass graves designed to hide away the bodies before the hysteria could spread even more. I pulled my lower lip between my teeth, chewing it as I contemplated the possibilities.
I could not imagine that anything less than life-threatening would keep my Edward away from the hospital waiting room. And he would have to be in the grave or lashed to a bed to not call, and there definitely had not been any calls.
I wondered who had fallen ill that made Edward vulnerable?
Elizabeth?
Charlie?
I shuddered to think that it could be Edward himself who had contracted what they were now calling the Spanish Influenza.
My hands shook slightly and I shifted Eddie slightly. His wispy bronze curls shone fire-red in the sunlight streaming through the window.
God, please protect my husband, I begged silently. But whoever had exposed him – for there could be no other possibility that would keep him from our son – was my loss as well. Who else was closer to Edward than vivacious Elizabeth and my father Charlie?
God, please protect my loved ones.
The days passed slowly. I worried more and more even as I rejoiced over my little boy's loveliness. He smiled at me often and made gurgling sounds that melted my heart. His eyes, though they had the same exact shape as mine, were darkening from ambiguous blue to clear, jade green. When he got older they would be as brilliant as Edward's emerald eyes. E.J. was strangely calm, for a newborn. He rarely cried, even when he needed my care. He fidgeted, and I learned to tell from his slightly annoyed expression (it reminded me so much of Edward when he was frustrated) and the set of his little lips when he needed changing, burping, and feeding. The nurses had become quite taken with him as well.
Edward Anthony Masen III had been christened two days after his birth, in the chapel housed in the bowels of Saint Anthony's hospital. It made me cry that my Edward could not see it, but I knew he would be proud. Eddie wore the gown Elizabeth and I embroidered and mended. As with the bassinet, it was washed thoroughly before being allowed to touch the baby. But still, it was a comfort to me.
I only hoped that the comfort I felt was not false.
As the days flew by, I became more restless. No one answered the telephone at the Masen residence. I called Charlie, but he could not locate them. We could only assume that Edward and Elizabeth had either left for the country or gone into a hospital. Charlie hoped they had checked into a hospital because of an emergency. He mentioned some business about Michael Newton vomiting in Edward's office. I hoped that he and Elizabeth had left Eddie and myself here until the number of bodies went down. I would be safe in Saint Anthony's. On the outside, I knew people were not as fortunate. I hoped that they had left Chicago without me.
Eddie's first month passed easily. Finally, I was well enough to be released. Charlie met me in the waiting room. Both of us wore cloth facemasks. I had gently draped a handkerchief over Eddie's mouth and nose. It was not until I reached the car that I realized that Charlie had no intention of taking me back to my home on Elm Street.
"It's too dangerous, Bella!" he shouted at me, purple in the face as he drove the road that led out of Chicago, into the country. "I'm taking you to Angela Corner's. You can't stay in the city with your baby. You'll both fall ill and then what will you do? I can't loose you, too, Bells," he finished softly. His eyes were hard and determined.
And because I knew that he was right – right that Edward would grieve if I died and that the little one in my arms was dependent on me – I held Eddie closer and sobbed into his blanket.
It was nighttime when we arrived at the farm seven miles south of Tinley Park. Angela had lit an oil lamp over the porch. Ben walked out to help us carry in Eddie's and my things. Neither of them commented on my tear-streaked cheeks, only quietly helping me settle into the guest room. Angela was very round, probably on her sixth month.
"You look lovely, Bella," she said once I had finished unpacking my embarrassingly large collection of dresses. I was glad Angela did most of it for me, as I fed and rocked Eddie. He had picked up on my mood and had begun crying soon after our arrival. The gowns reminded me of the happy times I had spent with Edward in them. And the times he had helped me out of them.
"It's sweet of you to say so, Ang," I said tiredly, patting the bed beside me. "Come sit down. You've got to be exhausted carrying that around," I laughed good-naturedly, patting her tummy.
"We're betting on a girl," she said proudly. Ben says his first guesses are always wrong, and since he guessed 'boy' first…"
I smiled weakly.
"Where's the other one?" I asked suddenly, remembering that Angela's first born would be big enough to walk now.
"Fast asleep," she answered with a smile. "He's such a happy boy. I'm so glad he's started toothing. I'm tired of nursing," she laughed. I could not force myself to smile anymore. Eddie had finally stopped crying, so I carefully set him in his bassinet and returned to the bed, laying my head in Angela's lap. We had always been like this. Close enough to cry with each other. And for the first time in over two years, I dissolved to tears in her lap while she stroked my hair.
The weeks that followed were the hardest. Eventually, I had to accept that he was gone. I spent days locked away in my room, staring into my baby boy's darkening eyes, adoring him while holding back tears for his lot father. It seemed that the place in my heart Edward had carved out for himself during the weeks of courtship and the scant year we had spent with each other had festered into a seeping wound in his absence. My son did nothing to lessen the pain. But his smiles, his little dove coos, helped me cope.
I launched myself into being the perfect mother, daughter, and friend. When Charlie called I said nothing of the emptiness I felt when I thought of Edward. I spoke about the ripening fields of wheat and corn on the Crowley farm and the delight of watching my son learn new things.
At two months, he had discovered the joys of his Benjamin rabbit. He gummed the ears and fell asleep with one arm slung over the plush animal at night. He had a fascination with my hair, and would pull it if I let it down. He also liked to torment Angela's golden retriever. I had set him on a blanket one afternoon in the sunshine during lunch, and when I wasn't looking, he yanked the dog's tail. I had been afraid that it would bite my boy, but the dog just turned around and licked Eddie's face.
He had seemed confused at first. Some of Eddie's wispy hair stood up at odd angles due to the dog saliva. Finally, he broke into a wide smile and giggled so shrilly that I almost broke out in laughter too. I spent the rest of lunch tickling his little tummy to make him laugh some more. The sound was infectious.
Charlie called once a week from August 27th till October 16th, then suddenly the phone calls stopped. I waited a week, hoping that he had just been caught up with work. Finally, I worked up the courage to call the Police Department and was informed of the news.
Chief Swan had died from the influenza. He would be cremated and the ashes would be borne to me by the following week.
Around me, I felt the world crumbling, yet I could only sit and wait discontented for my own end. I had too much to live for, still, though I ached for my losses, and envied my son's innocence.
I marked time by his growth. The main events were my son's accomplishments. His first word was "da," and the event brought me to tears. I could only assume that he said it because I referred to his father as "daddy" when I told Eddie stories. Following "da" was "uma," which I understood to be "ma."
His first steps, his first birthday, his first sentence. I meticulously noted each event in a journal along with a sketch of what Eddie looked like.
All the while, I wished desperately that Edward could see. I knew I would not see him again. I understood that because I recognized the pain in my chest. The pain I could hardly contain at times. Still, I wished. And worried.
What would I say to my son when he finally understood enough to ask me "Where is daddy"?
To tell the truth, I wished I had been able to see him leave this earth. Then I would know without question how to answer. Because, at this moment, some part of me still managed to cling to the slightest shred of hope that perhaps – perhaps by some miracle – Edward was alive.
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A/N: I know. You wanted more. It's not over yet, lovely readers. At least Eddie survived the hospital, right?
Thank you reviewers! I'll probably have another chapter up at some point. This one was a bit short for my tastes. Much love, and as always, happy reading.
-Forensica X
