Rachel, 1950
I can't take it anymore. Giving my husband the excuse of needing the bathroom, I leave the pew, towing Joan by the hand. She has a right to be with me when I do this.
I follow the directions of bewildered ushers. Bewildered because I am looking for the groom right before his wedding, bewildered because of the look on my face. Joan is looking rather nervous herself…she has never seen me as anything but calm and docile. She has only ever seen the façade I have used since I married, the façade I used so she could live in comfort and be fed. She will never realize what I've done for her, she whom I love more than everyone in the world, whom I love equally to Emmett. None of my other children can compare; it is only for Joan, my first child, my Emmett's child, that I would continue to live without him.
I storm into the room, and there is my Emmett sitting on a chair, head in hands, skin white as snow, no longer the rugged skin of a man living in the mountains of Tennessee. He must have been living softly all this time, to be so pale. For a moment, I question myself. Emmett loved the outdoors; he could never stay away from the sun long enough to be so pale.
Yet his muscles still pull at his skin, and his face is the same. It is, indeed, my Emmett.
He looks miserable, pained. Agonized, even.
I long to comfort him, but I am too angry to do that. Joan hangs back in the doorway, embarrassed. Then I notice her.
It is a sign of how completely Emmett controls me, a sign of how completely he takes over my mind, that I didn't immediately notice the magnificent woman in the wedding gown in the corner. I notice her now. Joan has been staring at her, openmouthed, from her position in the doorway.
Her skin is also white, as white as his. It and the gown are the same color. The silky skirts are draped with impossible elegance, and her lacy veil falls back over her perfect golden curls. Her lovely golden eyes are framed by long lashes. It isn't fair for any woman to be so beautiful. She is so beautiful she can't be real; she is ethereal, magical. I am so very envious; she is unbelievably gorgeous, and she is marrying my Emmett.
"Emmett," I whisper. He looks up at me then, horror in his eyes. These eyes puzzle me; they are a warm golden, instead of the deep brown I knew. This saddens me; while he is still beautiful, more beautiful than when I last saw him, I miss his brown eyes. These golden eyes…I don't know them. I reach out a hand to touch his cheek, to see if he is real, to make certain I really am seeing him now, after fifteen years. . . .
And then his bride, Rosalie, is shoving her lovely face into mine. Her face, though livid, is still as beautiful as an angel's. Her voice, though a hiss, is surely still more musical than a chorus of heavenly host. Even I, I who cannot help but despise this young, beautiful, vivacious woman, can understand why Emmett loves her.
"Leave! You are not welcome here; go!" She is angry. She knows who I am.
"I will not go," I say calmly, even though inside I am terrified. For a reason unbeknownst to me, this woman, in her anger, scares me nearly witless. But Emmett is at stake here; I will be brave.
Nothing can be more terrifying than life without him, and I have already been surviving that. I have been brave for him, for his child, for fifteen years. What is this beauty's rage compared to losing Emmett?
Nothing.
Her eyes widen in disbelief at my answer, then narrow in absolute fury. In rage her hand flashes out swiftly, so swiftly I can't see it until it is an inch from my cheek. "Rose," Emmett warns.
She growls, an inhuman sound, this unbelievable bride of my Emmett. Her hand flicks out to grab my arm, and it is like ice. With a push that appears to be effortless, she sends me backwards, into Joan's arms. Joan and I both tumble into the doorframe. And I a hardened girl of Tennessee.
"What do you want here?" Emmett moans in pain, and my eyes and Rosalie's go to the same place at once: Emmett's face.
I answer his question in a clear voice. "I came here because I love you. And because there is someone you should meet."
He looks at Joan despondently. He does not know who she is. He does not care. "This is Joan," I say, "my daughter. And yours."
Rosalie, 1950
I should have known the moment I laid eyes on the girl. She has her mother's eyes, true, but her hair is all Emmett's. Emmett is rising up, slowly, and reaches out a tentative hand towards the one thing I can never, ever give him. I know he could never love a child as he does me, and I know that he never wishes for one. We are complete together; we are whole.
But she is a pretty girl, and he seems fascinated and staggered. Emmett is a father.
Crippling pain hits me then. For though I know he loves me infinitely more than these two humans before me combined, as I see him next to both of them, fingers gently on his daughter's cheek, I see them in my head as a family. If Emmett hadn't been attacked by the bear.
And though when I found him, and I saw that bear about to kill him, I was filled with rage, and ripped the bear to shreds, I was able to appreciate what the bear had done for me. I knew Emmett was the one for me, and the bear had given him to me.
And as I bless the bear, I curse the mother and daughter to Hell. Damn them! Ruining my happiness. Ruining my Emmett's happiness.
I cannot see I am so angry. But despite my blindness I make my way to them and wrench Emmett away. I send the mother staggering into a doorway. For a moment I fear I have betrayed us for what we are by using such strength. But no, she is merely staggered. She has a look in her eyes I know very well. I see such a look often in my mirror.
If it is a fight she wants, it is a fight she will get.
Rachel, 1950
So she can push me into a door frame. That does not mean she can beat me in a tussle. I have older brothers and cousins; I have fought against people far stronger than this delicate creature from God knows where.
Unladylike…but still. Emmett surprised me by drawing Joan to him, as if he feared what would happen. Well, actually he just pulled her behind his chair, then dropped her wrist as if burned. He made a move as if to pull Rosalie back, but she hissed at him without taking her eyes from my face, "Leave me, Emmett. I will take care of her."
That unexplainable fear shivered up my spine once more.