Chapter Nine

Denali, 1951

I shouldn't have been scared of Edward's family. From his "parents" to his "sisters," they were a wonderful group of people, so much kinder than anyone – human or vampire – I had met before. When they introduced me to their friends in Denali, telling them of my struggles with my new diet (because, in comparison to the self-control of the Cullens, especially the good doctor Carlisle, what I had so far was nothing more than luck), it was mere moments before I was accepted into the coven. Carmen immediately set to mothering me and preparing a room for me – my own bedroom! – my own mother figure! – and her husband was more than happy to show me the lay of the land.

I wasn't sure what to think of the three sisters; Tanya, Kate, and Irina. They were infinitely more beautiful than I would ever be, blessed with the natural grace of figure and poise. I, in comparison, was a mess – wild hair and my face was all angles. I felt alternately ugly standing near them, or just plain. The years they had lived – the myths they had started – intimidated me, though I would never say that aloud. The three women were encouraging, helping me when hunting, and comforting me on the days I felt most depressed. Still, I didn't know if I could count them as friends – I didn't even know if I wanted friends.

Thus uncertain, I burrowed into myself again, like I had when I first entered Our Lady's Children's Home, all those years ago. In the beautiful mountains of Denali, I found infinite inspiration and spent most of my time painting, drawing, molding, carving, sewing – my art became my escape from this surreal reality I found myself in. It turned out, though I did not learn this until later, that many vampires bring "special" abilities with them into their next life – like Edward's mind-reading. I was always a particularly artistic individual; now, I was immensely creative. Carmen encouraged my art, understanding that I might need time before I truly felt like a member of the family, though simultaneously frustrated that I was so disengaged. Eleazar simply, and wordlessly, provided me with the tools for my craft: a sewing machine; bolts of material; sketchbooks; an easel; a potter's wheel; a toolkit. I was given possession of a shed, where I might be as messy as I liked, and frequently I would walk out there to find another wrapped package on the doorstep, or set up in the middle of the floor of my workshop.

Distracting myself was never a conscious decision; I just didn't have the confidence enough to make myself comfortable in my new lifestyle. Refusing to join in was just easier; that way I wouldn't get hurt later.

"Molly, have you read the book yet?" Tanya leaned against the kitchen counter, where I sat at the table.

Yet? I glanced at the wall calendar. It was the early AM on Wednesday; book discussion day, Irina's pick. I remembered my copy of The Grapes of Wrath, sitting primly on the dresser in my room. I'd read it the same day I'd been given it, thankful for some new amusement. I always read the books, in case I did choose to join in the discussion. I never had.

"Yes," I nodded, and turned back to the magazine I was looking at. The new styles gave me great ideas for new patterns.

"Well, feel free to join us tonight, okay?"

"I'll think about it," I said. I said this every time; it was code for "No."

"You do that," she smiled at me – her face so perfect, and her manner so honest – and left the room, seeking out one of her sisters.

The conversation with Tanya was a weekly conversation, almost routine. Carmen caught me off guard an hour later, however, with her own topic for discussion.

"Molly, can I speak to you for a moment?"

"Certainly," I looked up from my work – sketching designs – and forced the edges of my mouth upwards. I tried my hardest for Carmen; she tried so hard for me.

"You've painted portraits of all of us," she began, indicating to the massive entryway, where the family portraits hung over the staircase. "I would love it if I painted one of yourself to display as well."

I hesitated; my "No" was stillborn. Carmen had caught me here; she knew that I wouldn't deny an opportunity to sit at my easel with my paints and a brush and while the hours away. "How soon do you want it?"

"As soon as you can," she said, with a knowing smile, "I got a call from Esme Cullen a few hours ago; she's on her way up for a visit, she'll be here tomorrow."

"I'll get to work."

Esme Cullen frequently came up to Alaska "for a visit," particularly when Edward and Rosalie's squabbling became too much for her, with Carlisle at work all day and Emmett only egging them on. A year ago, two new vampires came into the mix; a tiny, bouncy girl named Alice, and her mate, the tall and serious Jasper. I supposed that now, with so many people running (and bouncing) around her household, the noise level would make anyone scamper for cover.

Unfortunately, Esme's visits sent Carmen and Irina into a flurry of cleaning and "neatening up" – to which Tanya and Kate only laughed. Eleazar was usually roped in – less than eagerly – and I quietly did as I was told, glad once again for the distraction.

I took the mirror from my bathroom and set it up in my shed, where I could look at it and paint without moving too much. It was still early, but there was just enough light in the room, through the lone window, to begin my work.

I didn't spend a long time looking in mirrors; having given up on hope for my hair, I usually gave my reflection only the most perfunctory of glances. Now, I had to really learn it, and I wasn't sure I would enjoy the exercise. I felt like plain, stupid Curly all over again.

I knew Esme liked my paintings – she would ask for one of Alice and Jasper each soon, I supposed. I knew Carmen loved them; she told me every chance she got that she appreciated my work. With that in mind, I began to work.

As a vampire, I had some sort of supernatural speed; I moved quickly, and it was only a matter of hours before I decided I was finished. It was mid-afternoon; the light entered the shed differently now, bringing out different hues in my painting. I sat back and observed, unsure of what to do next.

Physically, the picture looking back at me wasn't as bad as I'd remembered. A bath and clean clothes had done some miracles over the past two years. My black curly hair was tied back by a red paisley rag I used to guard it from paint, and at this angle it didn't look so unruly. My painting dress was faded and splotched with odd colors; it fit loosely from the hours I'd spent moving around in it.

My face was smudged with blue by my eyebrow, but it did not scare me; it was my eyes that made me shudder. They were now the strange golden-yellow I'd observed the day I met Edward Cullen, but they were not the happy, content eyes of the vampires I lived with. They were the frustrated eyes of a woman who was sick of herself. Of a woman who felt guilty for all the lives she'd taken – and rightfully so, I thought. I looked again, wondering what else this painting could tell me about the woman sitting on the stool in front of it.

It struck me as odd, at that moment, as I perused my face. I wanted to be happy. That's why I'd run away from the orphanage, determined to make a life for myself. That's why I'd refused to consume more human blood. And this coven had given me numerous chances to be happy with them – to join in on their fun. It did look like fun.

I remembered the way I separated myself from the other children at the orphanage; I remembered the day I decided that the pain I'd endured had been my own fault.

I wouldn't do that to myself again; I couldn't do that to myself. I wanted to be happy.

I stared down the woman gazing back at me. How dare she tell me that, after all this, I didn't deserve to be happy?

But it wasn't a woman gazing back at me, old and tired. It was a sixteen year old girl, barely begun her life.

It was not Little Millie or Stupid Curly. I didn't see either of those people when I saw my reflection. I saw this new girl; this Molly, whom I didn't really know yet.

I decided that I wanted to get to know her. I wanted to be happy.

That night was the first time I joined the book discussion. It was fun, and I was happy.

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