Part 4, Chapter 3. February 1922.
The trip was a long one; we drove from Minnesota all the way to New Hampshire. Because we never needed to rest though, it went by much faster. We only had to stop to refuel the car and the only thing that slowed us down was the snow now and then. We had long talks. I read aloud while Carlisle drove; even though he had taught me how to drive the car, I don't like driving. He does; so it seemed to work out well. I had finished the entirety of The Scarlett Letter, as well as another more recent publication called The Lamp in the Desert by Ethel M. Dell, and was quite enraptured with Emily Dickinson's poetry when we pulled up to an enchanting Colonial style inn.
"Why are we stopping here?" I asked, confused. It's not like we needed to sleep.
"It looks nice," Carlisle replied. "I just thought a break would be good, some time to freshen up," he explained, coming over to help me out of the car.
The ground was covered with a few inches of pure white snow. Icicles hung from the rafters and black shutters of the large white house. It was a cloudy, cold evening but still beautiful. I admired the architecture and grounds as we walked up to the door. When we stopped at the front desk, I had to keep myself from wandering around the foyer. I tried to occupy myself with focusing on doing things at a human pace, but the décor was very distracting to me.
"This is breathtaking," I said, gazing out a nearby window to the mountains behind the house. Carlisle glanced over at me with a small smile and I had to stop myself from giggling over my automatic use of such a human expression. I mean, we didn't really have to breathe, so the phrase didn't quite have the same effect.
When he requested a room, referring to us as Dr. and Mrs. Cullen I shot him a look. He responded by putting his arm around my waist while we waited for the attendant to get some papers in order. Carlisle signed the register and someone was sent for our suitcases. He did all the talking, declining an invitation to dine, saying that we had just stopped not long ago. I found myself having an urge similar to a human trying to force herself to stop trembling as we walked up the stairs. Do vampires really get this nervous? I wondered. I guess so.
I had no idea what to make of this, so I opted to just keep quiet for the moment. I certainly didn't want to get into any kind of serious, personal discussion on the stairs within the earshot of everyone. I looked down at my feet, pretending to concentrate on my steps, but I was mostly hiding behind my hair. The weather didn't seem to keep away a decent number of people. In fact, more people were probably inside rather than outside, as they surely would have been in warmer conditions, and I felt as if everyone was staring at us. I suppose not many people did show up in weather like this.
When we got to our room, I walked through it, admiring the polished hardwood paneled walls and charming antique furniture. Everything seemed so solid and full of personality, unlike so many of the things found in stores these days. The quilt on the bed was hand stitched and I ran my palm over it before walking over to the window to admire the view of the mountains in the distance. It wasn't until after our bags were brought up and Carlisle gave the boy some money that he finally spoke.
"Do you like it?" he questioned, almost warily. I suppose I had made him just as nervous by keeping silent.
I merely nodded, running my fingers down the hem of the lace curtain before turning to him.
"We drove halfway across the country, all the way to New Hampshire to stay at a country in?" I questioned. I wasn't angry, but now my curiosity was at its peak. I wanted to know what on Earth he had in mind with all of this. I thought we were coming to see where we were moving, but I had a feeling we weren't moving into an inn.
He smiled and shook his head.
"It's not like we really need to stop," I repeated, outright stating the point I had hinted at earlier. "Why are we here?"
Carlisle was putting the bags up on the bed, going through his now for a change of clothes.
"I told you that I thought maybe we could just freshen up," he responded. "Do you want to take a bath?"
I was staring down at his open suitcase and my mouth just dropped open. He couldn't be serious about this. I didn't know how to reply, but I wasn't completely sure what he was suggesting.
"Not with me," he stated frankly after a long pause. "I meant you could go first, that's all." Then, he laughed at me and I couldn't help but get angry. This was not at all funny!
"No," I said, crossing my arms and sitting in a chair in the corner, turning my head toward the window. "You go ahead."
I was even more surprised when he just responded with "Whatever you prefer," before walking into the adjourning room and closing the door.
Lovely, a shared room in an inn out in the middle of nowhere with our own private bath. Dr. and Mrs. Cullen indeed, I thought, trying my best to ignore the sounds of running water and clothing being shed coming from the bathroom. It did not work, of course, so I picked the key to the room up and walked out, locking it behind me. I knew he would hear me, so saying anything would have just been a courtesy—one I was not in the mood to extend at the moment.
I wandered around the house, admiring all the details of the interior, the furniture, the crystal, the wallpaper, and the paintings by local artists on the walls. I passed the dining room where a small group of diners sat enjoying their evening meal. In the foyer, I found a map of the area, which I studied for several moments before the young attendant offered to share with me the history of the grounds, starting with their original purchase by a man named Zebedee Applebee in 1772. He told me about the library, which I explored for a while. It was small, but I looked at every title before realizing that it had been at least an hour since I left the room and that I probably looked extremely odd since I was supposed to be on a trip with my husband and was walking around looking at everything alone instead. I decided my point had been made in any case, so I returned to the room.
Carlisle was in his new clothes, gazing thoughtfully out the window when I entered.
"There you are," he said, turning to reveal a very gloomy expression. "I thought maybe you had decided to leave me."
"Never," I said, almost shocked at the seriousness of his tone. Where did he think I would go? Why would I ever want to go anywhere that was away from him?
He just stood where he was, so I decided to move first. We both took a step toward each other at the same time though and I was in his arms faster than I had expected.
"I'm sorry," we both said overtop of one another.
"I just thought it was very pretty," he said. "I thought you might like it, and I didn't plan this."
"I do like it," I assured him, nodding, my head against his shoulder. "It just seemed, well, odd and I wasn't sure what to make of it. I'm not sure what to make of all this since you haven't told me anything."
"I'm taking you with me to look at our potential next home," he explained, taking my chin in his hand. "I want to make sure you like it too. And just because we don't need to stop doesn't mean we can't. There's no reason for us to hurry either. I just wanted to have a nice trip with you, that's all."
If I could have cried, I would have. In fact, I felt a warmth rise up around my eyes, almost like I had trapped hot tears welling up. I pressed my hand to his cheek and he leaned forward to kiss me. It was a tender, lingering gesture of affection, which made my emotions swell over my point of control and I made a sobbing sound without even thinking about it.
Carlisle pulled back and looked at me carefully. I just shook my head.
"I love you," I said softly, hoping that was all the explanation he required right now.
"I love you, Esme," he replied, taking my hand and leading me over to the bed.
We sat there in silence for a few moments, my head on his shoulder. Finally the feeling passed, and things fell back into normalcy somehow, though I still had lingering guilt. Still, I gave in to the tempting suggestion of a warm bath and a change of clothes.
While I did, he lit the gas lamps in the room, creating a very old-fashioned ambience and we then sat on the floor—he had his knees bent on either side of me as I leaned back against him, his back against the wall. Carlisle had his arms around my waist and I held the unfinished collection of Dickinson's poetry as we took turns reading selected poems to one another.
I was in the middle of a verse when Carlisle kept distracting me, toying with my hair, trailing kisses down the side of my neck until I couldn't concentrate anymore and just dropped the book. He picked it up and flipped through the pages, stopping abruptly.
He read "Come slowly, Eden," whispering against my ear, his fingers running down my arm before taking my hand in his. I felt a shiver of pleasure race through me as he pressed his lips against my neck again. Though there was no mark left, I would never forget that it was the place he had bitten me. I dug the fingers of my free hand into his thigh, gasping as he slid the tip of his tongue across my skin.
"Carlisle," I breathed, taking the book once again, trying to distract myself with finding another poem.
One caught my attention immediately and I began reading. "I have no Life but this / To lead it here /
Nor any Death — but lest / Dispelled from there / Nor tie to Earths to come / Nor Action new / Except through this extent / The Realm of you."
Carlisle had rested his chin on my shoulder, listening carefully while I read. "That's beautiful," he said when I was finished.
"I mean it," I replied, turning and kissing his temple. He lifted his chin off of my shoulder and we looked at each other for a long moment, the book forgotten.
"Let's go hunting," he suggested finally. "The wild, unexplored territory of the White Mountains awaits, my beloved."
We hadn't hunted since the night before we left, so I agreed. I was still thirsty quite often, and being so close to humans was still very hard when I was. The mountains were amazing and the hunting was good. After we had our fill, Carlisle suggested that we take our usual leisurely early morning stroll back to the inn.
We walked back down the mountain hand in hand, leaping over the small river. There was a wooden fence on the edge of the property and instead of jumping over it like Carlisle, I stood on the top, balancing easily, so that he could catch me when I hopped off. The plan didn't go so well though because I managed to knock him down, but he laughed. At least he thought it was funny. I stood up first, taking his hand and brushing the snow off of my coat with my free hand.
"Wait," he said, not fully getting up.
"What's wrong?" I asked, worried that I had actually managed to hurt him somehow.
"Nothing," he said, still kneeling in the snow. "It's just that there is another reason I wanted to bring you here, alone."
"Oh, yes?" I asked, not sure how else to respond.
"There is something that I wanted to talk to you about, say…ask you?" He nodded as if he was assuring both me and himself that was correct thing finally.
I stared down at him for a long moment, almost numb with fear that I was misreading this. I took a breath on purpose, my lungs filling with icy air. I shouldn't let my imagination run wild like this, like it always had. It's true that it had always led me to disappointment. Except once, a small voice somewhere in the back of my mind piped up. But what else was I expected to hope for when Carlisle was kneeling before me with my left cradled hand gently between his?
Author's notes: Thank you to everyone who is following my stories! What do you think about how this chapter ended?
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