"A few months at most." Clementine repeated the words slowly. The weight of their meaning sunk deep into her heart.
Carlisle said nothing.
"Well, it seems as though I will have to get my plans in order after all." Said the elder woman.
She looked at him, her aged eyes weary with so many nameless fears. Clementine took out a small piece of folded paper and held it in her hand. Carlisle eyed it with a faint curiosity.
"Dr. Cullen, do you believe that, when a person is dying, their last request should be granted solely because they need it; perhaps one last good memory before leaving this world, or because it is mandatory?"
"I should like to believe it should be granted because they deserve it. We all need something - someone - in the end. A familiar face, a fond memory, even a familiar scent could make the transition...easier." Said Carlisle.
The strange doctor watched Clementine cautiously as she stood up from her seat and stood before him. Her eyes were moist with tears, but her countenance remained calm. She took Carlisle's hand and placed the paper into his palm.
"May an old woman make her last request now?" Said Clementine.
Carlisle's eyes met hers, before nodding reluctantly.
Clementine clasped his hand tightly, "There is a war that is coming soon to England..."
"I've read the papers," Carlisle intercepted, just as her voice broke. It was not in his nature to offer comfort, but in this case, in his own way, he made a light exception. He squeezed her hand mildly, "I do not think it can be encumbered."
Clementine closed her eyes for a brief moment as a single tear escaped and rolled intricately down her cheek, "When this war comes," She continued, forcing her voice to remain even, "and should my strength fail me, may I entrust you to bring Esme to Worcestershire? An extremely close friend of mine resides there with her family. I've already informed her of my...condition, and she has agreed to take my granddaughter in as her ward."
Clementine saw the flash of hesitance in Carlisle's eyes, "Please," She pleaded, "I beg of you. I have no one left, she has no one left. Esme lost her father, I've lost a son. I cannot lose her too. Please Dr. Cullen, my conscience will not let me die in peace if I know she is not safe."
After a long moment, Carlisle nodded.
Nothing was said after.
It was most probable that it had been past 12 midnight when Carlisle emerged from the drawing room.
Just as he finished closing the door behind him; he could see a white cloth sticking out from behind the old grandfather clock, a few paces away from the drawing room. At first, his instincts told him it might have been a handkerchief of some sort, but as he drew nearer it was most definitely something else.
He found the source of the strange white cloth that had caught his attention as he drew nearer to inspect it. His gaze softened for an instant as he looked at Esme's sleeping form. Her head was resting against her elbow; while her legs were curled all the way up to her abdomen, the excess fabric of her night gown was haphazardly lying on the floor. Her face was reddish, stained with tears.
Had she been listening to their conversation?
It remained to be seen.
The air was positively more colder at night, even her small figure shivered in her sleep.
He did not bother to rouse her from her slumber as he knelt beside her. He simply could not be faced with whatever question she may have in store for him. Seeing her like this has confirmed that she may have been eavesdropping on the private discussion that commenced earlier.
Gently, Carlisle slipped his hands beneath her legs, and upper back as he carried her in his arms.
Several moments later Esme stirred to the sensation of being held. The arms that held her were quite strong, long and muscular. Yet they felt almost like ivory, ivory in a way that it had been exposed to ice. She sensed that they had returned to her room, for she could feel being placed back down on her bed. She breathed in quietly and caught a waft of a familiar scent; the smell of old paper, and a more heavier aftershave that reminded her of cherrywood in the countryside.
She had recalled why she had been so upset earlier, and also remembered who had visited her grandmother after the Evensons left. Several hours prior, she awoke to the sounds of voices speaking in hushed tones. The noise awoke her from her sleep. In the darkness, she pushed her bed sheets aside and got out of bed. All of the house was silent, except for the drawing room. Esme learned long ago that sound travels in large houses, especially old ones. She got out of her bedroom and made her way to the corridor that led to the drawing room. She walked barefooted against the carpeted floor; making no noise as she kept close to the passing doors and walls till she finally found the source of the voices. At first, she heard nothing. But then as she pressed her ear against the wood, she heard everything.
Almost everything. But certainly enough to know how serious their situation is.
Esme remembered crying upon hearing the news. Her first reaction had been to burst inside the room, and confront her grandmother for keeping secrets from her; her second reaction was to embrace her grandmother and to weep at her feet. But then before she had anytime to react, she could hear footsteps approaching the hallway. She tore herself away from the door and hid behind the grandfather clock. Esme wanted to speak with her grandmother immediately, but she knew she could not just enter unannounced. And so she decided to wait. Esme was still in tears as she waited, and waited for what seemed like such a long time. Till eventually she fell into a troubled sleep.
Esme's thoughts returned to the present. She need not see to know who was in the room with her.
She could feel herself being covered by a large blanket as large hands softly smoothed it over her. Her eyes opened fully in the darkness as she caught his hand in mid-motion. It felt cold against the warmth of her palm, she felt him stiffen at her touch.
"Dr. Cullen?" She whispered, her voice small and fragile.
Carlisle immediately withdrew his hand from hers as he watched her lift herself into a sitting position.
"It is very late Miss Platt." His tone was stern, but in a way that sounded almost soft.
Somehow she was surprised. Esme wondered whether it had anything to do with her grandmother's current predicament.
Carlisle looked at her warily. From her expression, he knew what was to come.
Very carefully, he sat himself on the side of her bed, making sure that his body made no contact with hers.
Esme felt the weight of the bed shift as she brushed away a singular tear from her cheek.
"She's dying isn't she?" Said Esme.
She felt him nod.
"There's nothing to be done?"
"I'm afraid there isn't. It will be a long and difficult process for her."
Esme fidgeted with her fingers in contemplation, "Should I tell her that I know?"
"No."
Even from his tone alone she knew it was a stupid idea.
She released a surpressed breath that she had been holding. There was a knawing emptiness that began to take over, as the feeling of loss settled within her bones.
"Is there really going to be a war?"
Carlisle's head snapped to glance at her after she spoke. It seemed she heard far more than he suspected.
"Has anyone ever told you that eavesdropping is a repulsive habit?" Said Carlisle as he reproached her.
Esme winced in embarrassment, but still her will made her bold. "I deserve to know... I won't be a child forever. And I need to understand these things, even if you or she thinks I won't be able to fathom it."
Carlisle found her willfulness impressive despite her age and handicap. But she had still far more to learn about the world and its callous qualities. He could feel her wiggling her toes as she shifted her legs restlessly beneath the covers, she was waiting for his response.
"One cannot say for certain, when it comes to war." He explained carefully in answer to her question, "Nothing is set in stone."
"But-"
"That is enough conversation for tonight, Miss Esme." He added icily, his voice returning to his detached timbre. "It is already very late."
He did not want to have to go in detail with what he discussed with Clementine to Esme, what he and her grandmother discussed was extremely private. She would have to find things out for herself. But not from him.
Esme immediately understood what he was trying to do, "Of course." she whispered, sinking herself back down beneath the covers.
She felt him adjust the sheets around her to keep her warm. After a moment he said finally, "You're grandmother loves you very much Miss Platt, and whatever decision she has made is entirely for your benefit alone."
Esme felt him begin to leave her bedside, when her small hands caught the cuff of his sleeve with her fingers. Before he could say anything, Carlisle felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around his neck in an embrace.
He stood there stiff as a boulder as her soft voice entered his ear, "Thank you Dr. Cullen. Goodnight."
And with that, she returned to her downy bed.
He stood there for a few moments, in a bit of a small shock at what she had done, that no one else would even dare imagine of doing to him.
She had just hugged him. Embraced him. The first real human touch he has had in almost a century.
He pondered on the thought long after he had left her room; long after he had left their house to come into his own.
Carlisle however, did not enter his home immediately. But instead sat on the concrete steps that led to his front door. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the warmth of her body against his chest, it almost felt like warm rain.
Carlisle's eyes darted into the newly awakening horizon, and he wondered for once in his despicable existence what it would be like to live again.
