~.~

Chapter Seven

~.~

Edward stared at the portrait and blinked hard, as though his eyes would clear and reveal he had been mistaken.

But the image in the locket remained the same. It was his face.

Or, rather, it was his face as he might look in twenty years. This man was older. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing the future. His own grass-green eyes stared back at him, with light creases around the corners. His tousled rusty hair was a little darker, as his mother had predicted it would become.

But it couldn't be Edward, of course. That made no sense. It had to be Bella's first husband who was painted in the locket she wore almost every day, close to her heart ...

The man in the image wore a high-necked black doublet, a tiny ruff around the edges of its collar. Hundreds of slashes covered the chest and sleeves, so the snowy-white undershirt might show from beneath. Gold buttons ran in a line down the front of the doublet, and a wide gold chain was draped over his shoulders. His arm rested on a table, and in his hand he held a book, his finger tucked between the pages as though to hold his place. Something was painted on the book's cover.

Edward had to squint and bring the locket close to his eye to make it out, but it was the same crest with a coronet above it that Bella had on the cover of her books. Having lived in Holland for most of his life, among working-class people, Edward had never learned the complex language of heraldry. He did not know what the shield or crown meant. He knew only that it was tied to her noble family members in some way. To this husband Bella had loved, the husband whose visage sent chills down Edward's spine.

Edward closed the locket and slipped it into his pocket after he had washed and dressed. He wet his hands and raked them through his hair, leaning on the table as he stared into the mirror. There was a question he didn't want to ask, didn't even want to think, but it kept spinning through his mind.

Had Bella married Edward because he so closely resembled her dead husband?

He was surprised at the pain that thought gave him. He'd known there was some mysterious reason that Bella had asked him to marry her and arranged things so quickly. A reason she said she'd tell him when he was ready to hear it.

"Will you just hold me?" she had asked him on their wedding night. "My husband used to ..."

Cold pain twisted his gut, and he had to take deep breaths to steady himself enough to walk to the door. His hand shook as he grasped the handle.

He made his way down the stairs, his heavy steps clomping on the treads. Alice was at the fireplace, frying salt pork on a flat iron griddle suspended from a hook over the fire. Edward glanced around the room, but didn't see Bella, a situation which both relieved and disappointed him at the same time. It was such a confusing feeling, wanting answers but not wanting them - wanting to confront her with his wounded feelings, but also wanting to put the locket back where he had found it and pretend that he'd never seen the portrait inside.

Emmett and Rose sat in the baby tender, and it seemed like Emmett was telling Rose a story of some sort, babbling nonsensical syllables and waving his arms for emphasis. Rose gnawed on a finger as she listened, so intent on Emmett that she hadn't noticed Edward had come into the room.

Alice smiled at Edward. "Good morn - "

Edward cut her off. "Where is Bella?" The smell of the frying salt pork was making him queasy.

"She said she had to speak with our father about an urgent matter. She left shortly after dawn." Alice pointedly looked at the open window where the sun shone brightly above the horizon. Edward had slept later than he ever had in his life. He didn't care to think about the reason why at the moment.

He turned on his heel and strode out the door.

"Edward, what about your breakfast?" Alice called after him, but Edward didn't slow and his only answer was a disinterested wave as he donned his hat.

At the end of the street, he went through the palisade gate, nodding at the guards, and down the narrow dirt path toward his father's farm. The sun blazed overhead, beating down on his dark-clad shoulders. The heat seemed to shimmer up from the grass in humid waves, and even the shade provided little relief.

He found Esme in the front yard, washing clothes, stirring them in a pot of hot water with a paddle. Edward could smell strong lye soap as he approached. Esme's face was pink with heat and exertion, and her dress was soaked with sweat and the steam rolling from the kettle. Edward sympathized with the misery of women's work, especially on sweltering days like this. Chores such as washing clothes or cooking over a fire had to be torturous in hot weather, but women's lives were tied to the hearth.

"Good morning, son," Esme said. She took the paddle out and laid it over the pot's brim, wiping her hands on her apron before she embraced Edward. She peered up at his face and frowned. "What is amiss?"

"Nothing," Edward said, the first lie he'd ever told her. "I'm looking for Bella."

Esme blotted the back of her neck with her handkerchief. "She came here earlier looking for Carlisle. I told her he had gone to the Meeting House."

"Thank you." Edward turned to go.

"Wait, please."

He closed his eyes. "What is it, mother?"

"Can you please tell me what is the matter?" She stepped in front of him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I haven't seen you like this since ... Well, I don't think I've ever seen you like this. You've seemed so happy since your wedding. If there are problems between you and your wife ..."

"No, there aren't. I mean, I suppose -" Edward rubbed his face. He reached into his pocket and handed her the locket. He didn't need to watch her reaction. The soft gasp she have when she opened it told him all he needed to know.

She was silent for a long moment, and then she took his hand and put the locket back into it, folding his fingers around the gold case. "There has to be an explanation," she said. "You must allow her to explain, Edward."

"How can she explain that?" Edward asked.

"I don't know." Esme pushed back a strand of hair that had escaped her white linen cap. "What I do know is that you and Bella are building a good life together. 'Twould be a shame to endanger that over what may be a simple misunderstanding. You must allow her to explain it to you."

"Esme, I'm her dead husband's twin. What other explanation could there be?" Edward felt his eyes sting and had to close them for a moment until he had gathered his composure. It was starting to feel like he'd lost something infinitely precious, something he hadn't even realized existed until it was gone.

"Would it matter?" she said.

He let out an exasperated sigh and turned to go again, but she stepped into his path once more. She took his arm in a surprisingly hard grip. "Would it matter?" she repeated. "Whatever the reason she married you, she now cares for you because you're you, Edward. Not because of your appearance. But because of who you are."

Her normally soft eyes had an intense light which gave further power to her words. "Your father married me because I was there. Because I was convenient and he needed a mother for his children. And then, you all left, and I was the most purposeless creature on God's good earth. Married to a man who would not even glance in my direction. And then your wife changed that in one abrupt moment. Carlisle and I are ..." She paused for a moment and gave a small smile, but one that was contented, none the less. " ... We are coming to an accord."

Esme looked so happy, Edward thought. Just a little kindness was all she asked. He thought of Bella's smiles when he came through the door, the interested tilt of her head, even when he spoke of something as dull as cutting reeds, and how Bella snuggled against his side in the dark. He thought of the feeling of her warm lips on his skin, and wished he could somehow go back to the moment when he'd awoken this morning and ignore the locket when he saw it on the table, and avoid upsetting that accord they were building.

Was Esme right? In the end, did it matter how they had come to this place? Could confronting her with his hurt feelings damage what was between them, like a tender new plant pushing its way from the soil only to be burned by the frost?

"Just think on it," Esme cautioned. "Remember that once words are said, you can never call them back. If you regret them, you can apologize, but 'tis just like trying to put ink back into the bottle once it's spilled. Some trace, some stain, will remain wherever it's touched. And so I urge you to consider your words carefully before you say them, Edward. Or you may find yourself looking at traces of an indelible stain for the rest of your days."

~.~


Bella hurried to the Meeting House atop the hill. She slipped through the door and found Carlisle in the center of the room, flanked by three men. The floor planks had been picked up and moved to the side, and Carlisle had taken off his doublet to work in his shirtsleeves as he dug into the soil below.

There was something buried there after all.

Bella's heart sank.

Governor Bradford turned when she stepped into the room. The other men instantly flanked him, creating a wall of bodies that blocked her view. "Mistress Masen," he said, with a bow. "How does the day find you?"

"I am well, Governor," Bella replied. She tried to peer around him to see what was in the bottom of the hole, but his body blocked her view.

The men exchanged awkward glances, and Carlisle put his doublet back on as he climbed up out of the hole. He greeted Bella politely and she curtsied to him in return. Did he look a little guilty? A little distracted? Bella could not tell.

"Might I present Captain Myles Standish," the Governor said, indicating the man beside him, and the man's leather jerkin creaked as he bowed to her. Standish was short and stocky, with a broad face covered by a heavy dark beard and mustache. He took her hand between his thumb and two fingers, like it was a bit of bread he was picking up from the table, and bowed over it.

"Captain, this is Mistress Bella Cullen Masen."

"Cullen?" Standish's eyes sharpened. "Might that be in relation to the Duke of Cullen?"

"A cousin," the Governor explained before Bella could answer. She bit the inside of her lip. One of the most irritating customs of men on land was that they sometimes carried on conversations around women like they were incapable of keeping up with the discussion.

"My kin were from a village on the Duke's lands," Standish said. He stared at Bella's features. "I can see the family resemblance."

Bella gave him a brief smile. She glanced to his left and saw a copper-skinned man dressed in English clothing, though his ink-black hair was long and braided. Shell beads decorated the leather strands that tied the ends.

"And this gentleman?" Bella prompted.

"Squanto," was all Standish said. He took her arm and led her to the door, rather than allowing the man to bow to her or take her hand. "I fear you find us at a most inconvenient time, Mistress Masen. If you could return - "

"What are you doing?" Bella asked, trying to peer back over her shoulder.

"Nothing of import," Standish replied. He propelled her out the door. "Good day to you, Mistress." He shut it with a thump and she heard the rasp of the bar being lowered to lock it.

Undeterred, Bella walked around the side of the Meeting House, out of the line of sight of any of the men who might be stationed on the second floor with the cannon, and out of view of the townspeople below. She followed the wall until found what she was looking for, a gap in the chinking between the logs. She had noticed these gaps before during Meeting, when the bright sunlight gleamed through them.

She peered into the dim interior.

"Is she gone?" Carlisle asked.

"Aye, back to it then."

She heard the rasp and shuffle of digging and then a hollow thunk as the shovel struck something. "There it is," Carlisle said in satisfaction. Shoulders and backs bent and she heard grunts as they pulled up something that they dropped with a thud on the floorboards. After a moment, there was a sound like a cork being pulled from a tight hole.

"Hand me that snakeskin," Standish said.

The men all crouched around the object on the floor she could not see.

She heard the soft, dry hiss of powder being poured.

"That should do it," Standish said. "Put some lead shot into it, too."

"Do you think it will get the message across?" Carlisle asked. "Have any of them ever seen gunpowder before?"

"If they haven't, throw some onto a fire," Standish said to Tisquantum. "They'll get the message." Bella saw him tie up the bag. "Take that back to Sam, the chieftain."

"Samsuot," Tisquantum corrected.

Standish grunted. "Aye, him. Take it to Sam and say we will not be intimidated. If he wants to come with his bows and arrows, we'll be ready with guns and English steel."

Tisquantum hesitated, but nodded. He headed out of the meeting house, shutting the door behind him. Bella ducked back a few paces to ensure he wouldn't spot her as he walked down the path toward the palisade fence.

"I'll store the gunpowder at my house," Carlisle offered. "It's far enough away from town not to endanger you if aught should go amiss, but close enough that I could get it to you in a hurry, if needed."

"No, I'll store it at my house," Bradford said. "I will put it in the hen coop. My wife will not touch it, and a fire out there is unlikely."

"Let us pray we find we have no need of it after all." Carlisle began to shovel the dirt back into the hole. "My wife has told me three more of the Weymouth settlers have gone to live with the savages." He shook his head in disbelief.

"I do not understand it, either," Standish said. "Living like them ... Taking the savage squaws to wife. One of those who left was a man who had lived with them after the colony failed for the first time. He said after tasting the freedom of their life, he could not bear to live as an Englishman again."

"He has given himself over to the devil's ways entirely, then," Carlisle said with a sad sigh. "What is to be done?"

"I've sent orders they are all to return to Weymouth," Standish declared.

"How can we hope to convert the heathens if our own people are absconding to live as they do?" Bradford added. "We must look out for the souls of our brethren if they are so steeped in sin they cannot do it for themselves."

They stamped down the earth after Carlisle had put the last shovel full in place and re-set the planks over it.

" 'Tis a pity they seem incapable of making the colony thrive," Carlisle sighed. "Perhaps the new colonists will prove more industrious and God will bless them as he has blessed us."

"God is rich in his blessings for those who walk in His way," Bradford agreed. "And thus we are better set than many of the colonies here in the New World. A friend of mine forwarded a copy of a letter from an indentured servant in the Jamestown Colony. They are beset by starvation and disease, and naught but a few of the original colonists survive. He writes that they live on bread and water."

"Water?" Carlisle grimaced. "Everyone knows that water weakens a man. You need a good, strong beer to fatten and strengthen a man."

Bradford shook his head. " 'Tis all they have to keep body and soul together, and so they lap at it like dogs, according to what the letter said. And they are sore beset by the savages. The last attack - " His voice trailed off, and Bella saw all of the men nod, as if they were well familiar with what had happened during that incident, but it was too awful to be spoken aloud.

"That is what I'm trying to prevent," Standish said, and his tone was grim. "I will not allow them to think they can harry us in a similar fashion. I will keep this colony safe, no matter what methods I have to employ."

Carlisle clasped Standish's hand in his own and laid the other on Standish's shoulder. He and Bradford exchanged a few words as well before he put his shovel over his shoulder and exited the Meeting House.

Bella waited until Carlisle was headed down the path to his farm before she ran to catch up to him. "Carlisle!"

He turned and removed his hat, sweeping into a bow. "Greetings, daughter. Were you waiting for me all this time?"

Bella nodded. "I needed to speak with you about a matter of some import."

"Oh?" Carlisle squinted up at the blazing sun and set his hat back on his head to shield his eyes.

She laid it out bluntly. "Carlisle, I fear there has been a misunderstanding. The Wôpanâak do not want war. You have to explain this to Governor Bradford." She wished she could speak to the man herself, but she knew he would not take a woman's word for it. But if she could convince Carlisle of the truth, he could speak to Bradford and keep this situation from escalating needlessly.

Carlisle just stared at her.

"They want peace, just as we do, but they have been misled by ... by erroneous information." She wasn't going to accuse Tisquantum if she didn't have to. She did not know the man, and while Jacob might feel Tisquantum was exploiting the situation to his own advantage, Bella could not state his opinion as fact. The last thing she wanted was to cause more strife.

Carlisle's gaze was impassive. "How do you know this?"

Bella bit back a sigh of impatience. She wished she could simply grab his hand and show him, but his walls would block her, the walls that humans built in their minds when they grew old enough to begin to have secrets. "I have spoken with the man you call Jacob."

"Jacob?" Carlisle gave her a sharp look. "How did you happen to meet him?"

"That is not important right now - "

"Jacob is not ..." Carlisle searched for the word. "He is not the most reliable source. He fancies himself a prophet of some type. I know not what he means by it, but they say he has visions of himself as a Catholic priest."

Bella felt her breath leave her in a whoosh. "Jacob" was such a common name it had never occurred to her to think he might be the Father Jacob she had once known, the man who had so mercilessly persecuted her. Her soul had felt no spark of recognition from him. How could this be?

Could he really have repented so deeply of the sins of his previous life that he had been sent back again? But why would he be unrecognizable to her? Could his rebirth have been such a complete transformation?

Bella remembered she had once compared Father Jacob to a wolf in a trap she had encountered. The fear and pain of his mangled paw had turned the wolf vicious, but once the pain had been taken away, he had gentled. Had some pain in Father Jacob's life driven him to such cruelty and evil?

She could not judge; it was not her place. All she knew was he had been given a second chance, so there must be good in him, else he would still be in the Cold Place, where souls without love or compassion were sent until they had rid themselves of those evils and could be given another chance.

She realized in a sudden flash that she was never supposed to encounter him. He had been reborn far, far away from his previous life, in a New World, in another culture. Far from whatever it was that had twisted him with hate. It was only by an unusual set of circumstances that she had come here, that her family had come here. For a moment, she puzzled over that and wondered if it had some deeper meaning. It seemed too incredible a coincidence to be accidental, but the gods did not work that way, at least not in the selkies' faith.

Carlisle saw her shocked expression and took it as confirmation she understood not to trust Jacob. He patted her arm. "Best to stay away from the savages, daughter. They take advantage of the innocence and naïve nature of women. They have the cunning and duplicity of the devil himself."

She met his eyes. "Carlisle, I know in my heart he was sincere about wanting peace with us." That much, at least, she could be sure of. It was impossible to lie with the mind. It created blocking walls as the person sought to conceal the secret truth, and she would not have been able to see into him as clearly as she had.

Carlisle accepted it with a nod. "That may be so, but Jacob is not the chieftain. Sam is, and he answers to Massasoit. Jacob may desire peace, but what of those two and their intentions? Daughter, leave this to the men. Women's minds are not suited to these thoughts of alliances and strategies. Worry not. We will see to it that you are safe. Go on home now, and tend to your home and husband."

Bella ground her teeth. She could see now she wouldn't get anywhere with Carlisle. She gave him a short bow and headed back down the path toward the town, so lost in her own thoughts that she did not see the man on the path until she bumped into him. She looked up.

"Edward."

He was pale, and his hair was in even more disorder than usual, as though he had raked his hands through it repeatedly. It stuck up in rusty spikes all over his head. He put his hat back on and regarded her silently for a moment.

"What is wrong?" Her heart sped up. "The children - ?"

He shook his head. "No, everyone is safe and well. May we ... May we talk for a moment?"

She nodded and followed him from the path, her heart slamming against her ribs like a frightened bird trying to escape its cage. He led her through the woods, far into the sea of trees. All of the colonists were warned not to stray far from the palisade, but like most young men, Edward had to explore, and he knew this area of the forest well.

He led her to a fallen log and gestured for her to sit. Bella did.

Edward sat down beside her and turned to her. He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. He then reached into his pocket and held something out to her.

It was her portrait locket, opened to display the miniature inside. Oh no ... She shouldn't have worn it once she found him again. She should have hidden it away.

She looked up at him and saw pain in his eyes, something that rent her own heart. She cursed herself for her foolishness. She had allowed her ridiculous sentimental attachment to an object of her past hurt the man who was her present, her future.

"I wanted to see what you would say about this," Edward said, his voice unsteady.

"I didn't want you to see this," Bella murmured. "Not yet." She bit the inside of her lip and wished with all her soul she could just tell him everything.

How many times would they have this conversation in the future, she wondered. Would she ever learn a way that was easier than simply allowing his mind to yield to the memories when it was ready? She hoped she would, because she knew this had to be a very unsettling time for him. And it would only get worse as every belief he had was challenged, his very identity shaken.

He glanced down at the locket again and closed it with a click, hiding it in the palm of his clenched hand. "But I did see it."

"Aye." At that moment, Bella would have given anything to take the hurt from him. But she didn't know how. This was something he had to work through on his own, to prepare his heart and mind for the truth. She scrambled for words, but none would come.

They sat in silence for a moment. Edward was the one to break it. "I must ask you a question, though I dread the answer to it: Did you marry me because I resemble your dead husband?"

"No," Bella said, and it wasn't a lie. She married him because he was her husband, not because he simply looked like him.

Edward relaxed and let out a long, slow breath. "Why did you marry me?"

"I cant tell you yet. I promise I will, but not now." Edward did not notice the breeze that sealed her promise, rustling the undergrowth around them.

"I had a dream last night," Edward said. He looked up at the leafy canopy over their heads and she saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "I led a woman on horseback as she made a speech to her troops. And you were there, wearing a clabbered-together suit of armor."

"Tilbury," Bella whispered.

His eyes widened and his face went even paler. "Tilbury. That was it. God in heaven, Bella ... What is happening to me?"

"What is meant to happen." Bella put her hand over Edward's. Rough from work with small scars and ragged cuticles, it was far from the hand of the Duke she had once wed. But the same man resided within. "I know you are fearful right now."

He let out a humorless laugh. "Fearful, confused, saddened, alarmed ... There are many words I could use."

"If you believe nothing else, please believe me when I tell you that you have no reason to fear. I will not let anything take away what's standing in front of me. Every breath - every hour - has come to this. One step closer."

"It feels like I'm stepping closer to a ledge," he said, and gave her a crooked smile.

"If you step off, I will be there to catch you." Bella reached out and cupped his cheek. "Trust me, Edward. Please, trust me."

"I want to. But I know there is much you are keeping from me."

"Nothing to your detriment," she said. She stroked her thumb over his cheekbone and gazed into those emerald green eyes.

He closed them for a moment and then turned his head to press a kiss into her palm. She drew him closer and kissed him softly. She felt him gasp and her lips opened as he deepened the kiss, his arms slipping around her waist to draw her body closer to his own. He kissed her with hunger, with an edge of desperation, as if there was something he could not say with words, but his lips, his gasps as he trailed them over her face and throat, could voice his need.

He pulled her even closer, off the log up onto his lap, and Bella kicked her skirts out of the way to lock her legs around his waist. His hands slipped up over her back to the nape of her neck and she felt him slip his fingers below her cap. The pins gave way and the cap fell off as her hair spilled free of its knot. He gave a fragmented groan as he buried his hands in her hair, holding her head in place as he kissed her, her own lips and tongue barely able to keep up with his almost-frantic passion.

One hand came down to skim up her thigh and Bella whimpered softly. He kissed down her throat and nipped the spot where her neck joined with her shoulder and she arched against him as a bolt of heat surged through her. He fumbled with layers of fabric, trying to push her skirts aside. They both let out a soft cry as they finally achieved what they wanted, and went still for a long moment.

Edward looked into her eyes. "Bella," he whispered.

"Edward." The word that was music and magic on her lips. The song of her heart and soul.

Their movements were now slow and gentle. Their gasps mingled between their lips. Reverence was in his touch and adoration in hers.

I love you, her soul said to his.

Could he hear it?

~.~


At home again, Bella wrapped the locket in a handkerchief and tucked it into a corner of her trunk. Edward made no comment when he saw her do it. It was for the best, because every time he saw it, he would be reminded of that uncanny resemblance.

He believed her when she said it wasn't the reason she'd married him. Whatever she was hiding, it wasn't that. Her eyes had held no deceit when she answered him.

He watched her feed dinner to Rose, and a sharp pang of longing went through his heart. What would it be like to have a child of his own? He envisioned a little girl with brown curls or a boy with his own rusty hair. But two children in the house was probably all they could handle at the moment. He supposed he could foster out Emmett, but he rejected the idea almost before it was fully formed in his mind. He loved his little brother and didn't want to see him go. And Emmett was becoming very attached to little Rose. It seemed cruel to separate them.

He knew without asking Bella would never give up Rose. She said the little girl needed a great deal of love and gentle care. Rose was - terrible pun it might be - blossoming under Bella's care. She was no longer the scared, scrawny waif she had been only a short time ago. Her blonde hair gleamed like polished gold and her blue eyes were bright. She was starting to put on a little weight, and that terrible sunken look of her cheeks had dissipated. She had even smiled once at Edward, though she had yet to speak to anyone but Emmett or Bella.

He didn't read that evening. He watched his family.

His family. His wife, his children. His sister who would soon be starting a family of her own. The crackle of the fire and Emmett's laughter as he and Alice played Cat's Cradle, Emmett clumsily plucking at the yarn and making a tangled mess of it. Bella's smile as she lit the candles and closed the shutters as the sun went down.

It reminded him of the life he'd had as a child in Holland, when his mother was still alive, the ideal of domestic perfection he had always hoped to build when he had a wife of his own. Of course, he had always imagined it decades in the future, and had never thought he would acquire a family almost instantly upon marrying, but they always said the Lord worked in mysterious ways. Edward been given everything he wanted, if not quite in the way he had imagined.

He could have destroyed that today, if he hadn't heeded Esme's advice. If he had stormed in shouting as his hurt feelings had wanted, he could have destroyed this happiness they were building. This accord.

Let it build, he thought. And let these strange dreams and visions lead him where they might. His heart sped up a little at the thought. As he had told Bella this afternoon, it felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff. But as he gazed at his wife, sewing a poppet for Rose, he knew that he truly did trust her to catch him as she'd promised.

And after the fire had burned down to red coals, Bella and Edward joined hands and headed up the steps to their bedroom. They removed each layer of clothing as though stripping away artifice, barriers, doubts. Their limbs tangled together, their flesh as one, Edward knew her that kisses, her gasps, her sighs - all of them were immutable truths. She looked into his eyes, into his soul, and it was Edward she held in her arms, not a memory.

"Catch me," he whispered.

And she smiled.


Notes:

- "Samsuot" is Pecksuot, who was a Massachusett warrior and a leader of an opposition group.

- Lyrics from A Thousand Years, by Christina Judith Perri and David Hodges. © 2011 WMG

- A "poppet" is a doll made of rags. They were sometimes looked upon in askance in early America. Some children had them, but they could also be seen as objects of maleficium.