Emmett, 1950
I kept my face in my hands. Rosalie would be so disappointed…but that woman knew, she knew who I was! But not just any woman…Rachel. I could barely remember her, but Carlisle assured me I was once engaged to her. I pitied her. She had believed I loved her, because then I didn't know Rosalie.
Even the thought of Rosalie not being in my life was excruciatingly painful. I was glad such a time had existed only in my human years, years I remembered only dimly, as if looking through a smudged glass.
Suddenly she was there, before my eyes. My wife, my soul mate, the woman I still believed to be my angel. But she didn't look sad; she looked mad. And as she stood there glaring at me, I chuckled. She was mad because some human was holding off her wedding. "Emmett," she said, lovely voice echoing through the room, "why does this woman matter?"
"She knows me, Rosalie, she knows who I am! She could ruin us!"
"She doesn't know you," Rosalie snapped, "she's just some poor woman hallucinating about a long lost fiancé. Everyone will believe that. She probably doesn't even believe herself."
I looked at Rosalie for a long moment, and then found myself saying, "You don't know Rachel. When someone disagrees with her, she argues until she wins. My gal could stand against a tornado."
Rosalie's face contorted, and she whispered harshly, "Do you know Rachel so well? Is your gal a match for your wife?"
I reeled at the impact of her words, but I was dizzied by what I had just said. Had I really just called Rachel my gal? Had I really gone against Rosalie about it? My Rosalie, my love?
I reached for her, but she sprang away in less than a second, her skirts settling gracefully about her.
"Rose," I murmured, gently, persuasively, "Rose, I love you. Only you." As I spoke, I felt something I hadn't felt for many, many years. Fear. Rosalie couldn't leave me. I would do anything for her.
As Rosalie snarled slightly at me, a thought rose up in the back of my mind. If Rachel caused me to lose my darling, I would kill her.
Rachel, 1935
"Lord would you look at that rock on this girl's finger?" Aunt Abigail cried. All my family was down for the wedding celebrations. I couldn't believe in less than a week I would be married to my Emmett. I would be Mrs. Emmett McCarty. Rachel Louise Jenkinson McCarty.
My wedding dress had been my mother's. It had to be altered to fit me, because I was far shorter than my mother, and far slimmer.
"Has he got your house fixed up yet?" My cousin Edith wanted to know. Edith was engaged to a man back in North Carolina and seemed determined to prove her man was better than mine. But when she had seen Emmett her mouth dropped. From what her brother had said, her fiancé was some skinny banker about fifty years old who was the richest person around those parts.
"Oh yes!" my mother answered for me, "about three miles out from here, this lovely little cabin by a meadow filled with wildflowers. It's just gorgeous!"
All day long my kinsfolk interrogated me and my family about it. My best friend, Sally, was sweet on my cousin Ben, so she was no comfort at all, for she was always off with him, kissing and doing goodness knows what else.
Finally it was suppertime. Nobody would let me help cook, because my wedding was coming up, and as my mother said, "With a man who eats as much as Emmett you'll be cooking from sunup until sundown after you get married."
I saw Mr. McCarty coming up the road. I loved my father-in-law because he so resembled my Emmett. I ran to meet him.
"Hello!" I called, grinning. Mr. McCarty smiled at me sadly, and walked with me to the porch. "Where are your folks?" he asked seriously. My smile faded slightly, and I gestured to the kitchen. "Everyone's in there cooking, sir."
"Please get them, Rachel," he sighed, and sat in a chair on the porch. I ran to fetch my parents, and of course everyone followed.
"Rachel," he said, tears in his eyes, "I have some horrible news for you." Fear clutched my heart, and every part of me trembled. My brain scrambled for explanations that completely left my beloved out of this "horrible news".
"Emmett was out hunting, and when he didn't come back, the boys and I went looking for him. We found…large pools of blood…and bear tracks. There's just no way he could have…survived."
Every part of me went numb, every nerve in my body was filled to the brim with pain, but it didn't hurt. Not then. Because what he was saying wasn't true. Emmett wasn't dead; it was some nightmare, some terrible dream.
I felt hands on my shoulders, hands smoothing my hair; I felt my mother hugging me while Sally held my hands, sobbing, and I gasped as the pain registered. Tears leaked out, and a ragged scream tore through the air that reeked of heartbreak. I realized it was mine. I leaned into my mother's shoulder, sobbing as the will to live left me. The pain was too much for me, for one person, and it overflowed to burn everyone around me, like a pool of acid.
My Emmett was dead, and I just wanted to lay down in the pool and die.
Mr. McCarty, 1935
Poor girl. Her pain is greater than mine. It is even greater than my wife's. Rachel has not left her bed for nearly two months. The only thing she says is my son's name. She hovers near death, refuses to eat or drink. Her mother has to force it down her throat. Never have I seen such grief. It is so profound…but my son adored her, and she him. I never saw anything as poignant as the love those two had for each other. Her cousin just got engaged to Sally Smith. I know that cannot help her, to see two people in love and getting married. I can only pray that we can all make it through our grief without guilt.
Rachel, 1940
I say my vows. I kiss him. I betray my broken, bruised heart to save what is left of my true love.
Rachel, 1950
It is him. I swear it on everything I love. I swear it on his life, the most precious thing to me. And he is about to marry another, a beautiful blonde, so beautiful it hurts to look at her. My eldest child, Joan, looks at him and says, "Mother, he's so handsome. Aren't they just the loveliest couple?" I laugh harshly and say, "Yes, Joan. They are." She looks worried, but she will survive. She is nearly fifteen after all.
"Sweetheart, I didn't know you knew the couple! When I said Carlisle's son was getting married, you didn't give any sign of acknowledgement."
I want to scream at my husband it is because that name means nothing to me…the only name that will ever mean anything to me is Emmett McCarty.