Chapter 11: I'll be the guide, for all time
Edward slowed down to go through the tiny town of Point Reyes Station. There was just one main street, no traffic light, and as we crawled along behind a black BMW I noticed a bakery, two bookstores and three art galleries. As we passed Toby's Feed Barn and the Old Western Saloon we could hear the unmistakable sound of a cow mooing really loudly. It sounded like it was coming from the Saloon.
"Is there a cow in that bar?" I wondered out loud.
"No, Bella, although that is what it sounded like. There's a speaker above the door and everyday at noon the cow moos. Some of the sound engineers from I.L.M. hooked it up as a practical joke, but it was so popular they left it," he explained.
I digested this information, but had to ask, "What is I.L.M.?"
"Industrial Light and Magic, George Lucas' movie company. Skywalker Ranch is in the forest just about ten minutes from here, if you ignore the speed limit. They filmed American Graffiti in Petaluma, where we landed," he informed me.
"Oh, I loved American Graffiti."
"That's one of Rosalie's favorites; she loves all the cars in it. They filmed some of The Birds around here, too. The scenery here is so beautiful, they have made many movies here. And of course, Gattaca was filmed here in Marin. "
"That's why you chose that movie the other night. I had no clue."
"It is fun to surprise you," he said, barely able to hide his delight.
"Don't press your luck, mister. I thought this street we're on was awfully quaint. No wonder this looks like a Hollywood movie idea of an old West town."
"Hollywood is not responsible for the way Point Reyes looks. It hasn't changed much in 80 years," he replied. "It is a little old West town."
"Have you been here before?" I was really curious now.
"Yes, Carlisle and I first came here in 1921, just a couple years after the Lodge we're going to was built. But first we're going to take a short detour though Bear Valley."
"Bear Valley – has Emmett been here?" I asked with interest.
"Yes, he's been here. Unfortunately there are very few bears left. Over in Sonoma County, where we landed, they still have bears," he explained. "Bear Valley is Miwok land, that's the local tribe. There are still a few of them around, too."
"Tribal land? Is it safe for you to be here?" I asked apprehensively.
"Yes, the Miwoks are a very peaceful tribe, not like some others we won't mention," he glanced at me with a rueful smile.
"Carlisle worked out a treaty with them that is beneficial for both of us. They have nothing to fear from us and they don't try to threaten us. Bear Valley here is the spiritual home of the Miwoks. They have a lot of myths and legends that revolve around ghosts and spirits. I believe there is a haunted room at the Lodge where we're staying."
"Not the room we're staying in?" I figured all I needed now was a ghost to torment me.
"No; we're not staying in the main Lodge and I can assure you our cabin is not haunted."
"Do you believe in ghosts, Edward?"
"You are aware that you are asking this of a vampire?"
I guess I had my answer. I tried very hard not to shiver.
As he spoke we were winding through a eucalyptus grove; he said the trees were planted around the time he was born, 1901. They were massive now, each with a circumference of at least 12 feet. The road through Bear Valley was full of twists and turns; he said it used to be a deer path, and that's the way many of our modern roads came into being.
"This land belongs to the National Park Service now; creating this park was one of the last things President Kennedy did before he was assassinated in 1963," Edward explained.
Of course I had studied that in history class, and seen the newsreels, but it occurred to me that Edward had lived through it, so to speak. "Do you have memories of that day, when President Kennedy was shot?" I asked curiously.
A shadow passed over his eyes and they almost seemed to have clouded up. He looked like he was choosing his words carefully before he spoke.
"Yes, I remember that day. There was so much shock and sadness. It was just unbelievable. It didn't seem like only the President was killed, it seemed like hope died that day, too. He was such a charismatic man, he held the hopes and dreams of an entire nation, and he was popular all over the world, too. We haven't really had another President like that. For a long time after that, when you met someone new they would say, 'What were you doing when you heard Kennedy got shot?' It was an event everyone shared. So many sad thoughts," he concluded.
This was going to be a different sort of weekend. I wasn't just learning about history, I was learning about his history. He was letting me see parts of himself that I knew nothing about. He seemed so moved by talking about the popular President.
"Did you ever see President Kennedy in person, like on the campaign trail or something?"
He looked pensive for a moment and then said, "No, I never saw President Kennedy," and he paused before continuing, "but I met Jack Kennedy, before he ever thought about being President."
"Tell me, Edward. When was this?"
"It was awhile after my rebellious period, and Carlisle decided we needed a complete change of scenery so he took us off to England. This was right before World War two. Joseph Kennedy was the U.S. ambassador to England then. Esme was an admirer of Rose Kennedy and her big family, and she used to read out loud about the activities of their nine children from the London papers."
I nodded; it was easy to imagine Esme wishing she had that many children in her home. I didn't want children but I longed to be part of the Cullen family. To have two loving parents, brothers and sisters and a built in best friend would be a dream come true for me. For all of Edward's protests that he wasn't much of a bargain, I couldn't agree with him about that. I would be getting the love of my life and a happy family as well. I had to remind myself that they were vampires and it was just a price I would have to pay. I still thought I was getting the best end of the deal.
"London is foggy and rainy, even in the summertime. I was walking through Hyde Park one gray day and I sat on a bench to watch a group of young men playing American football."
"It wasn't long before one of them got injured; he twisted his ankle. They brought him over to the bench where I was sitting, to elevate his leg. It was Teddy, Jack's youngest brother. I think he was as accident prone as you," he said as he winked at me.
I rolled my eyes, knowing he was justified in making that statement.
"They started talking to me, and they were thrilled to find another American. When they found out I was from Chicago it was like they immediately adopted me. Their father owned the Chicago Merchandise Mart and they loved Chicago. They needed someone to replace Teddy, and Jack asked me if I would step in."
"They didn't shy away from you?" He had told me most humans had a reluctance to be close to his kind.
"No, they were fearless and somewhat reckless. And I have to admit, I wanted to test myself, playing a game with humans. Jack was definitely the ringleader… extremely competitive, but a good sport. He was having fun; I got the impression he always had fun, no matter where he was. And he didn't think he was going to ever be President; he had an older brother for that, Joe junior. When Joe was killed during the War, that changed everything in that family."
"Did you ever see them again?"
"No, they invited me back to their house but I declined. I was already pressing my luck, playing football with them. Any one of them could have received an injury that resulted in bleeding. Besides, they were way too high profile as children of the U.S. Ambassador to get involved with in any long term way. And can you imagine JFK meeting Rosalie?" he shuddered slightly.
I smiled as I tried to picture that meeting; then I thought of Jackie Kennedy meeting Edward and I felt a slight shudder run through me. I had read that she was very charming, too. I was glad his encounter with the Kennedys had been brief.
"Thanks for telling me about that; it's interesting to get your perspective," I said gratefully, wondering how much of his life I would ever get to hear about. He had so many experiences I had never even imagined. Hopefully I would have an eternity to hear about them all.
"You can always ask me about anything, Bella. I hope you know that."
Yes, I thought, I can ask, but you don't always answer. You edit far too much to suit me. But maybe he was serious. Maybe he would begin to answer all my questions fully. I hoped so, for both our sakes.
As we turned onto Sir Francis Drake Boulevard it stopped raining altogether, although it was still very overcast. On the left side of the road there were only a few houses, scattered among tall trees and I could see a massive forest rising on a series of hills. Wisps of fog nestled comfortably amidst the large pines and fir trees.
"That's Tomales Bay," he said, pointing to a large body of water on the right. "That's where the most shark attacks in the world take place."
"Hey, what about Florida? That's what you said when we visited Renee."
"I have to admit I was fibbing then, for your own good."
"What!" I shot him a look of disbelief. Not something else for my own good. I was so sick of that phrase.
"I didn't want you going into the water when I couldn't be there, and it was too sunny for me to be on the beach. They do have shark attacks, and you are just too tempting. But the most attacks take place in these waters."
"You're kidding, right?" I asked incredulously, looking at a few sailboats skimming peacefully on the Bay.
"No I'm not. The coastal waters just north of San Francisco have more shark attacks than anywhere else. Lots of surfers in black wetsuits look like seals to a shark, and they even come into this Bay to go after kayakers."
"Ooh, kayaking sounds like fun," I interjected.
"What, you don't want a surfing lesson?" he asked sarcastically. "Just guess how many water sports you're going to be involved in this weekend?" he finished.
"Zero," I offered.
"I knew you were smart, Bella. I don't even want to see you dipping a toe in the Bay. With your delicious scent I can just see an entire school of sharks going after you."
"Well, as long as Alice doesn't see it I think I'll be okay," I retorted. "Whatare we going to do this weekend?"
Edward began to tell me about the Lodge where we would be staying. "Carlisle discovered this place when it was still new, in 1917. He was visiting San Francisco and heard about this hunting lodge, deep in the forest on the coast. He brought me here at a time when I was having some trouble adjusting to my new way of life, and I've always had a special fondness for this place."
We passed a small cottage on the bayside where a flock of about a dozen sheep fed near the fence, just a few feet back from the road. An old, weathered handmade sign read: Dream Farm, and that's exactly what it looked like. This whole area was like something out of a dream or a fairy tale.
I began to hope that from this point on that's what my life would become; a fairy tale where all the evil monsters had been dealt with and we could go straight to happily ever after part. I really was a dreamer.
We quickly passed through Inverness, a tree-lined town on the Bay, even smaller than Point Reyes. I noticed the cross streets all had names reminiscent of Scotland: Aberdeen, Dundee, and Heather Way.
Then Edward turned left on Argyle and we were going steeply uphill on another twisting road. Suddenly on the right I saw it looming out of the fog, shrouded by tall Douglas Fir trees: Manka's Inverness Lodge.
An old sign on the side of the large, three-story wooden shingled structure said: Honest Beds, Phenomenal Food, and beneath that, Providing Pleasure and Respite since 1917. This would be our home for the next three days and that sign dovetailed perfectly with my plans.
A red BMW convertible was parked in the lot on the side, and as we pulled up next to it I looked at Edward and asked in confusion, "Rosalie isn't here, is she?"
"No, that model is one year older than Rosalie's, and it has California plates. You can relax; none of my family is here. This weekend is for just the two of us," he said with more than a hint of satisfaction.
Edward parked the car and came around to open my door and whisked me up the stairs to the wide porch. He set me down when we reached a front door filled with old, wavy glass and we stepped into another world. Edward whispered, "Amazing. It's remarkably unchanged, like a place where time has stood still."
There was wood everywhere: dark hardwood floors, walls and even the ceiling, covered in a light colored birch bark. We looked around the front parlor, where a bearskin rug lay in front of a fireplace built of river rock. A chandelier made of antlers cast a golden glow over the old wood frame sofa, covered in red and black wool plaid fabric. A low oak table held an antique gameboard, set up for checkers.
A very large, pale yellow English Labrador Retriever was asleep on the bearskin rug in front of the fire. He opened his eyes and lifted his head as we approached. He sniffed the air and then closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
I looked at Edward and said, "You seem to have passed the sniff test."
"He could have picked up my scent from a previous visit, so it isn't a shock to him now," Edward surmised. "Or maybe he's just an incredibly mellow dog."
He wore a large leather collar with a nametag that read: Louie.
"If he wasn't sleeping so peacefully I would say he looks like the Hound of the Baskervilles; that dog must weigh more than me," I marveled.
"Yes, about twice as much as you. He doesn't look like he's missed any meals but I don't think he's dangerous. There were a lot of hunting dogs last time I was here, but they stayed outside. This big guy looks very comfortable in here."
We surveyed the parlor, and it was easy to imagine it was still 1920. A stuffed baby raccoon was dangling from a branch mounted on the wall behind the antique check-in desk in the corner next to the front door. A Canadian goose with wings outspread was suspended from the ceiling in the opposite corner, above a mica-shaded lamp, whose base was made out of a large carved wood bear.
There were battered fishing creels hanging on the walls, and an old sepia photo of a smiling woman standing next to a large fish she had evidently just caught.
An antique sideboard held a large world globe that was illuminated from within, casting a soft amber glow against one wall. A massive arrangement of branches and wildflowers stood next to the globe in a large copper vase. Candles in old silver candlesticks flickered atop the gleaming black surface of a grand piano in the other corner. It was rustic yet elegant at the same time.
Edward continued, "Manka was a delightful Czechoslovakian woman who ran the Lodge and cooked for the hunters. They would bring her venison or elk, rabbit, pheasant, boar, sometimes bear."
I smiled, thinking of Emmett.
"Of course we never bothered her with requests for cooking," he gave me a significant look, "but this was a good place to relax after hunting."
Given its remote location in the middle of a forest, this came as no surprise. But it was surprising to me that he would bring me here. Before I could ask him about that, a tall, handsome young man with closely cropped dark hair came in from the adjoining dining room and noticed us. He spoke with just the barest hint of a Southern accent.
"Welcome to Manka's. My name is Bradley and I'm happy to be at your service. How may I help you?"
"We have reservations; the name is Cullen," Edward said.
"Oh yes, you're in Manka's Cabin, that's our finest accommodation," he looked up, his twinkling blue eyes showing surprise, perhaps at our youth, but he made no comment about it. He didn't look too much older than me, anyway. "Can I take you there now, or would you like some refreshments here first?"
"I believe I made arrangements for something to be waiting for us in the cabin," Edward offered.
The charming young man checked his reservation book and then smiled warmly. "Yes, I see there are a lot of special arrangements for your stay. Let me get your bags and show you right to the cabin, Mr. Cullen."
So Edward had made a lot of special arrangements; this came as no surprise. But I couldn't help wondering what those arrangements entailed, and how many of them were for my benefit. Probably most, if not all of them.
This trip was supposed to be a gift for him, and I could already see that he wanted to make it about me. I wanted to say something to him about this, but I didn't want to do anything to spoil his fun. I decided to remain quiet for now and see how far he went before I rebelled.
We walked outside to the car where Edward handed his bag to Bradley and easily slung my garment bag over his own shoulder. Edward put his arm around my waist and gave me a little nod as if to say "Don't worry, I've got you," and we followed Bradley past a row of quaint little log cabins that were joined together just beyond a little stand of Japanese maples.
We followed a path behind the Lodge and started down a meandering set of cobblestone steps, which I managed to almost trip on, but Edward steadied me before disaster could strike.
"There you go," he said. I blushed and looked up at him with a sheepish grin. His eyes were dancing with suppressed mirth.
Edward whispered to me, "Try to watch your step; you are the most precious thing in the world to me and I don't want to lose you."
When he looked like that and said things like that I wanted him to drop the luggage and ravish me right then and there amidst the ferns under the giant redwoods. I knew that wasn't going to happen, but I could daydream. I could already tell that this place was very conducive to that activity.
We wound through a little grove of redwoods and Douglas fir eventually coming to a large log cabin nestled under the low hanging branches. There were steps up to the porch, which I navigated with care, and then Bradley opened the door to the cabin and ushered us in.
This would be a nice time to leave a review. Just a word or two… perhaps the more reviews, the faster they get in the cabin.
I expanded a bit on the meeting with JFK for a challenge; if you want to read that, it's called "On The Way To Camelot." And if you want to get an email when I post another chapter of this story, click "Add Story to Story Alert" on the same menu after you leave your review, thank you.