"If you must know the entirety of her plans," Said Carlisle pointedly, "You are to be taken to the home of an elderly woman by the name of Mrs. Charlotte Evenson. Your grandmother insisted that you are to reside there, with her, until you are old enough by law to claim your monetary inhertiance."
Esme sat there, trying to absorb the information that was given to her, "But aren't I entitled to that inheritance now? After all I am the only benefactor."
"You are. But you can only use it legally when you come of age."
"How old exactly does the law states?"
"Eighteen."
Carlisle watched her form sink in disappointment.
"That's a million years away." She mused dryly. "But I suppose is a better alternative than a dreary orphanage." She added, feeling a tad bit hopeful once again. Esme turned to him once more and said in a tone that was mildly hesitant, "Where does Mrs. Evenson reside?"
Esme awaited his answer. She could hear him collect something from the recesses of his breast-pocket, a paper of some sort.
"Mrs. Charlotte Evenson. Bilinghurst, West Sussex, Berfordshire Grange." Carlisle recited to her.
"Sounds ostentatious." Said Esme. Still disappointed at the fact that she has to live in another household and possibly with people whom she barely knows, with the exception of Mrs. Evenson and Charles Evenson. Her heart fluttered briefly as she remembered her first meeting with Charles. "I suppose it shall do for a while." She added sheepishly.
"What a fickle mind you have, how quickly your heart changes," Said Carlisle tucking in the paper back into his pocket.
"I am my own person," She justified, "I can think what I wish."
"Let us hope so." He added.
She let out a breath. Surprisingly annoyed at how he is teasing her indirectly. Esme decided that she liked his reticence before better.
There was a brief silence. Carlisle somehow found aggrivating her rather amusing, how easily her anger is roused. But then he quietly chastised himself for breaking his Doctor-patient conduct. His actions tonight was completely out of his character. He was a recluse, a sullen pompous loner that didn't require the company of others. And yet here he is, secretly, if not, infinitesimally enjoying, the company of this young girl. Somehow in all her naivete; precocious presumptions, upper-class temprament, and self-destructive tendencies, there was an emotional vulnerability within her that endeared him. He could not understand it nor decipher it, and so, for now, he simply brushed the thought aside. Reasoning that it was the stress of his earlier circumstance during the hospital fire that is causing him to think of such things.
He could still remember the hot flames prickling against his skin, the endless patients that needed to be tended to. All of them wailing as parts of their skin were melted off from the fire, all of them suffering and clinging to him for dear life.
"Dr. Cullen?"
"Yes?" He replied, shunning out the thoughts inside his head.
"Did you hear what I said?"
"No, I was busy channeling celestial creatures outside of this world." He said sarcastically.
He could hear her exasperated sigh, "You know, I liked you better when you spoke less." Remarked Esme.
"My sentiments exactly." He responded.
She rolled her eyes, exceedingly infuriated. "My question was, when am I suppose to travel to Sussex?"
"My dear, with your eye sight, I scarcely think you'll be able to find the front door by Wednesday afternoon."
There was a small silence, one that belonged to either offence or surprise.
"I admire your candor Doctor Cullen," Said Esme evenly, "Although I didn't expect the Grim Reaper's son to have any sense of humor at all. But don't you think that statement was in poor tatste?" She fired back.
There was an awkward pause between them.
"That was rather tactless of me, I don't know what possessed me." He said quietly, his voice fading the traces of satire in his timbre.
Esme toyed with the sleeve of her nightgown, "Its all right Doctor. I'm glad there is some humor at least in me being blind, its better than being pitied. I don't want anyone to feel sorry or ashamed of me or my condition. Its a part of me, and I've accepted it and learned to live with it in spite of its costs. But never once had I wished to be anything else than who I am."
Carlisle listened to her closely, feeling immensely guilty at his words and yet also found admiration in the integrity that she showed.
"You are quite an extraordinary young lady, Miss Platt...I'm sure your grandmother would be very proud of you."
He watched her nod, "I do hope so too, Doctor. Thank you."
Carlisle's mouth parted partially as though he wanted to add something, but instead said something else,
"Wednesday."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're leaving on the afternoon train, on Wednesday." Said Carlisle, answering her previous question, and his own way of apologizing for his earlier remarks.
"Ohh." Said Esme, a note of sadness in her voice.
"What's wrong?" Inquired Carlisle.
"What a sad way to celebrate one's birthday." She responded bittersweetly.
"Yours?"
"Yes."
"And how old will you be this year?"
"Sixteen."
"I see. Hardly any older than Methuselah, but I suppose one has to grow up at some point."
Esme laughed softly for the first time with him, erasing whatever tension that existed between them. It was strangely pleasing to his ears, the laughter of her youth.
On that particular night, they seemed to have reached some form of connection; a bond that was inexplicably sprout forth between them. It was odd, in several respects, that in ways both of them could not fathom. And yet it was there. Delicately woven, between two opposite beings, a tie that somehow was linking them together. He felt a queer sort of affinity for the young Esme. The reason, however, for this strange affliction of emotion eludes him. She was a young girl, what hold could she possibly have on him? The meaning perhaps of this notion, lay further than is expected. All Carlisle Cullen knew, was she was not like most of the patients he has been in contact with in the past. In fact she's the only patient he has kept in contact with for the majority of his very, very long life. If it were not for the adamant audacity of her Grandmother on insisting that he should become the family Doctor - against his will - he would have been utterly content to live side by side with Clementine and her granddaughter in utter disassociation; without even sparing them a second's thought. But then things changed the moment the old woman's servant knocked at his door several years ago; then later Clementine herself, pleading with him and entrusting Esme to him before she died, trusing him with complete confidence. How was she so sure he was worthy to be trusted? Worthy enough to be enrusted with another life? If it were not for his hippocratic oath, he would have been inclined to completely wash his hands of the matter, but this was not to be so. He was a Doctor after all. Regardless of his thoughts, he did have a task at hand, a most delicate task indeed, and he was one to finish his work conscientiously.
Several minutes later, the grandfather clock in the downstairs foyer started to chime, signaling it was four a.m. They both said their respective goodnights, but even as he walked out of her home to return to his own house, he could still feel Esme's presence with him. Like a strange lingering perfume in the air.
Carlisle opened his eyes, adjusting his vision to the brightness that was coming in from the train's window. He looked up carefully at the wooden luggage compartment, counting how many trunks they were traveling with. He already knew precisely how many they were; he aslo knew exactly where they were going, how long the traveling time was, and what day he expects to be back in London to the hour. He just needed a distraction, his mind was wandering again, pondering on thoughts and memories of a bleak past. As much as he enjoyed his isolation, there was no solace in his solitude, for the ghosts of his memories never allow him a moment of peace. His trail of thoughts were distracted briefly when he felt her move beside him. Esme had fallen asleep the moment she sat down next to him, her face facing the window, her eyes were closed. Her head bobbed idly with the movement of the train, the sound of its locomotor humming crudely within their cabin.
He thought back randomly on the events that occured, several hours ago - just before leaving London. At five thirty in the early morning, he himself was already packed for the long journey to Bilinghurst. It was particularly easy for him to pack since he did not need so many belongings, except perhaps for a few items of clothing; a book good enough to hold his attention, and his medical/personal journal. Aside from all that, he was punctually prepared. He was already fully dressed and wearing his bowler hat when he watched Esme's pale form emerge from the house. She was dressed in dark traveling clothes; her delicate hands were covered by the white gloves she wore to protect them from the cold; her long hair was put into a single braid. She walked out quietly of the house, followed by Mr. O'Hara and Judith who were carrying the remainder of her belongings. He watched them haul it on to the motor-car that was to drive them to the train station. She was unusually silent - solemn, in a way as she said her goodbyes to Judith and Mr. O'Hara, embracing them with dry eyes before she made her way carefully to the vehicle. Esme was still all the more so quiet during their drive to the station; he did not bother, however, to disturb her reticence for he too was preoccupied and pensive of what was to lay ahead in their journey. He could still see her image clearly in his mind, the dismal weather adding to the dampness of despondence in her young soul, and yet for whatever reason, her resolve did not break this time. She was saying goodbye not only to the people whom she has known most of her life, but she is also saying goodbye, in a way, to the life she knew.
His attention was brought back to the present as his eyes darted off into the passing landscape; the skies much more profoundly blue as they neared the countryside. They've been traveling for two hours now, the weather was pleasantly cool, but it was not biting to the skin. Carlisle shifted lightly in his seat, his limbs feeling rather stiff from lack of mobility during those two hours they were sitting in the train. He quietly reached in his left breast pocket to affirm that the package he carried was still there; then slowly he reached over to his right breast pocket, retrieving a light reading material to keep him entertained for the remaining duration of their excursion before they arrived.
He relished the hour and a half he was not disturbed in his readings. Fifteen minutes later, he could feel Esme begin to move more frequently, a clear sign she was waking up. He took a quick glance at her just as her eyes fluttered open.
"Oh, Hello..." She said sleepily, feeling his large presence before her, yawning as her eyes tried to trace the outline of his silhouette. Esme rubbed her eyes as she tried to sit up straight. She could feel the vibration of the train's engine rumble resoundingly clear in her ears, "Oh," She said again, a faint smile touching her lips, "I'd almost forgotten where I was."
"Mmm," Was the reply from her traveling companion. "Did you sleep well?" Asked Carlisle.
"Yes, quite well thank you." She replied, enjoying the vague smell of country air that was seeping from the closed windows.
"You were quiet earlier." Said Carlisle plainly, the sound of him turning a leaf in his book breaking the silence.
"I know," She said, her voice suddenly growing quiet again. "I guess I'm a little nervous."
He could read straight through her white lie, "Terrified?"
"Completely." She confessed.
Esme manuevered herself carefully, as she moved closer to him. She bit her lip in contemplation, "I'm also quite excited, to be honest."
"Mhmm." He replied, turning a page once more.
"Is that bad?"
"I suppose not."
"Hmm," Said Esme thoughtfully to herself, analyzing her psyche. She battled her emotions of both excitement and rapture to no avail. After three minutes of self-argument, she gave up. If she felt both excited and petrified simultaneously, there was not much she could do about it.
She moved even closer to the Doctor who sat beside her, eager for conversation, eager for something to relieve her mind; she lightly rested her cheek against the arm of his thick coat, "What are you reading?"
"A book." He replied flatly.
"What book?" She insisted.
"Just...a book." He replied again.
"Can you read it to me?" She asked, nudging his covered arm with her cheek.
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pleasee?"
"Its not meant to be read out loud."
"Why not?" She demanded.
"Are you always this infuriating?" He asked, closing the book precisely.
"Only when I am bored." Esme stated.
She could hear an annoyed sigh coming from out of his nostrils, "Which is every five seconds I presume?"
It was her turn to make an exasperated sigh.
Carlisle shook his head at her and tried to continue his reading. Several minutes go by, uneventful and dull. Esme leaned back into her part of the seat and closed her eyes, trying to center her mind and calm her anxieties. She tried to visualize the train tracks beneath them, each one passing quickly by the millisecond, she tried to concentrate on the theory of how that might look like and the speed they were traveling in. She found herself losing interest quickly on what she was doing four minutes later, her mind was restless. It was her first time out of her grandmother's house ever, and somehow when she was younger, there was this expectation, this great belief that when she would finally be able to leave that house, it would be the most exciting day of her life. To be out in the world, to partake in it, to live in it. But instead, she was on this dismal train, with this infernal man, and this arrangement that she was uncertain about. She wanted desperately to talk to someone; someone to assure her that all her fears were wrongly interpreted, and that she was just going to be alright; that this war was not going to kill her - one way or the other - at least. She needed reassurance, an affirmation of life so to speak. She'd been in the dark so long, she was used to it. And now suddenly, circumstances have changed, and she's being pushed out into the world head first and without anything to hold on to, she was unsure of herself, and yet she wanted to be. She wanted to know her destination, she wanted to make her destination.
Esme did not realize she had been tapping her foot furiously on the floor.
"Miss Platt," Said Carlisle, finally closing his book for the third and final time. "Must you make that ridiculous noise with your shoe?"
The tapping stopped, "Oh," Replied Esme, awakening from the deep state of thought she was in, "Sorry..." She replied absently.
Carlisle raised an eyebrow at her, rather curious at what she was thinking of, he made no comment of the matter as he set his book aside.
"Still bored?" He asked, casting a sideways glance at her.
"Oh nooo," She said in an exaggerated tone, "I like the sound of a locomotor, it makes me want to sing."
"Not any song I'd like to hear, I can assure you." Said Carlisle, surpressing a smirk. He watched her shake her head and turned away from him.
"Miss Platt," Carlisle began.
"Go back to reading your book, I know my company is excruciating for you. I know you'd rather have a tooth extraction than to have to sit next to me." She mumbled under her breath, crossing her arms defensively.
Carlisle watched her intently, knowing he had hurt her feelings when he ignored her earlier. If indeed he felt any remorse or guilt, it was not evident in his face. Silence again for a few moments.
This time, it was Carlisle's turn to move closer to her, just by three inches, leaving a significant amount of space between them once again. Esme still did not face him. He carefully reached for his other breast pocket; careful not to brush his elbow against her arm as he pulled out a medium sized box, it was black, tied together by a simple silk ribbon. He studied it for a moment then turned to her,
"Miss Platt?" He called to her, his voice quiet and mild.
Still she did not move.
"Can't we call a ceasefire on this little war of ours?"
She was incredibly stubborn, Carlisle thought to himself secretly.
"Happy Birthday," He whispered, feigning a voice of defeat. He placed the box on her lap and retreated his hand.
