Author's Note: Thanks to twilightprincess2010, miss.dramatikkkk, NellieGURL, and tori for reviewing! I just got back from a very long road trip this evening, so I'll respond to all of your lovely words tomorrow, hopefully, except for tori, to whom I'll just respond right now, because I can't personally respond to anonymous reviews, so thank you very much for reviewing, tori! I'm really glad you're enjoying the story! (Hey, that rhymed without my even meaning it to.) :-D
Anyway, I'm sorry I kept you guys waiting with the cliff-hanger for almost five days (my one friend, who has already seen Chapter Three, has been waiting for about two or three weeks, so you're actually luckier than you think!). In recompense for the long wait, I hope you'll accept this 10-page long chapter, which just refused to end.
Disclaimer: Twilight and New Moon belong to Stephenie Meyer and her publishers, along with Esme Platt and Carlisle Cullen. Samuel and Miriam Platt, Margaret Platt, and Mrs. Betsy Olmstead belong to me (although you're all welcome to take Betsy off of my hands).
And now, on with Chapter Four!
4. Cold Hands
I opened my eyes only slightly so that a sliver of light entered them. I must be very disoriented, I thought, if it's still daylight, why is the sky black?
"Esme?!"
The worried tone in my mother's voice made me fully open my eyes and glance around for her.
I finally spotted her peering down at me from above, her face pale and her brow creased with concern.
I shifted my weight to try and figure out where I was. The pain stopped me. It traveled up my right leg, up my spine, and out the top of my head in less than a second, leaving me gasping for air, my eyes squeezed shut once more.
"Mother!" I cried in fear.
My mother stroked my hair softly, lulling me with soft sounds.
The pain had lifted the haze of confusion from my brain and replaced it with an irrational but incapacitating fear. My breathing escalated and I felt tears forming in my eyes.
"Where am I?" I demanded breathlessly. I tried lifting my head to see, but a dull ache in my neck ended that effort, too.
"We're in town, darling. Your father is speaking with the doctor right now; he'll take care of you."
"Why do I need a doctor? What's the matter with me?" I felt a sob rise up in my throat – was I going to die? The thought tore me up inside. I remembered the fears I had had when I was younger of my parents dying, but I had never given much thought to my own mortality. I suddenly had images of my own headstone:
Here lies Esme Anne Platt
Born: April 23rd, 1895
Died: June 12th, 1911
I imagined my mother cutting the grass in front of it with a pair of kitchen shears, her hair prematurely gray. I imagined my father coming home from work, looking up to see a girl skipping into the room. He smiled and reached for her, but his arms closed around nothing, the ghost of his daughter fading into the evening air. And what about Margaret? She always pretended to be nonchalant and carefree, but I knew that she would never forgive herself, that she would blame herself for my death. I opened my mouth to pose the question I did not want to hear the answer to, but no sound came out. Then my mother spoke.
"You fell out of a tree, Esme. We think you've brok-" She broke off. I glanced up at her. She had her hand over her mouth, her eyes closed. I let her regain her composure while I tried looking around again. This time, ignoring the sharp pain in my neck, I succeeded in raising my head enough to have a limited view of my surroundings. I understood why the light had seemed so strange. It was coming in the windows of our covered carriage, the roof of which I had been staring at when I first regained consciousness. I had my head in my mother's lap, leaving the other side of the carriage for the lower half of my body. I noticed that one of my legs looked straight underneath my father's traveling cloak. The other looked… strange. Bent in an odd way.
I started when a figure appeared outside the window. Pain once more shot up the entire right side of my body. I recognized my father just as I managed to stifle the scream so that it only came out as a whimper.
"Miriam," my father said. He and my mother traded a grim look that I didn't understand until he said, "the doctor's away."
"What?" my mother sounded as horrified as I felt.
"Away," father repeated. "Apparently there was a case of pneumonia in Marysville. He won't be back until tomorrow afternoon."
"But she can't wait that long! Samuel, her leg – what will we do? She can't wait."
My father thought for a moment. "The nearest hospital is in Columbus. With luck we can get her there before eleven o'clock."
My mother opened her mouth to protest. "It's the only way, Miriam." My mother held her handkerchief up to her mouth, muffling a sob.
"Mother," I said. Both of my parents looked at me as if they had forgotten I was there. "I'll be fine until Columbus. Everything will be fine. The doctor there can take care of my leg… it's broken, isn't it?"
She nodded. "Does it hurt terribly?" she asked me, her voice trembling.
It depends on your interpretation of "terribly," I thought, but I lied and said that it hardly hurt at all. My parents again exchanged a long and meaningful look, as though they were having a silent conversation with their eyes.
"All right," my father finally said. "We'll head for Columbus." And with that, he turned and climbed onto the carriage, picking up the reins and giving them a shake.
The ride to Columbus was torturous. The pain in my leg was only a dull ache – when it wasn't moved. But on the uneven road my entire body was jostled this way and that, jolted and shaken in an unending cycle from left to right. I lay my head in my mother's lap and tried to relax, praying that the pain would subside, or that we would hit smoother road, or even that I would pass out again, anything to take the pain away.
I had known days that hadn't lasted this long, but at last the horses slowed. I raised my head slightly, but it was too dark to see anything past the halo of light cast by a nearby lantern. I lowered my head again before I realized that the pain in my neck had subsided.
There was a slight shift in the carriage as my father descended and a low thump as he hit the ground. I looked up at my mother. She was looking anxiously out the window after my father, as if she thought that by sheer willpower she could see in the night.
After a wait that seemed at least as long as the carriage ride, I heard a small racket. A door loudly banging open and closed, hurried footsteps, and several voices.
There was a woman with a shrill voice saying, "she rode how long? Oh! The poor dear!"
My father's voice came quickly as he tried to answer the profusion of questions being shot at him. There was only one calm voice in the trio, a man's smooth voice. His was low, but only because he was speaking quietly, and yet I could hear him as clearly as though he was speaking directly in my ear.
"Have you checked the leg? How swollen is it? How discolored? Are there any signs that the bone may have punctured the skin?"
If I had heard anyone else talking about my bones poking out of my skin, I think I would have screamed, or been sick, or both, yet I felt absolutely no fear when this man voiced such possibilities. Indeed, I suddenly felt safer than I had all evening. I knew that I would never need fear again, that this man and his voice would protect me from anything dangerous.
My father's tone now held a hint of panic. "Punctured the skin? Can it do that? I didn't check her leg. What does that mean if it's swollen and discolored?"
I couldn't understand how my father could be so afraid – didn't he see that this man wouldn't let anything harm me for the rest of my life?
The footsteps stopped, the voices right outside the carriage now. I saw a flash of light outside the window, and then the door opened. My mother put her hand over my eyes to shield them from the sudden profusion of light from the lantern someone held. I was grateful for my mother's thoughtfulness, but, in my fear, I felt a desperate need for sight. What, for instance, was the cause for the woman's sudden revival of her lamentations that had ceased moments before?
"Doctor," my mother's voice was slightly choked with relief.
The voice was smiling, I would tell. "Don't worry, madam, your daughter will be fine. May I?"
Suddenly, I felt a pair of arms slide underneath me and lift me from my mother's embrace. I wrapped my arms around the person's neck, even though as soon as my mother's hand slid off of my face, the lantern's rays blinded me. I squeezed my eyes shut and buried my face in a firm chest.
I heard the crunch of gravel, and expected to feel the now-familiar jolt of pain up my right leg as the person began walking. I felt nothing. I was so surprised that I opened my eyes. The lantern was sufficiently behind us that it no longer bothered me. The first thing I saw was my own arm, clinging to this someone's neck. I lifted my head slightly and saw that the man – for it was a man who carried me, and it was decidedly not my father – cradled my leg in such a way that his movements didn't jostle it.
I laid my head on his shoulder, feeling completely safe. I noticed that he had very pale skin, but perhaps it was the light of the lantern – no one's skin should be so white. He had golden hair, and I wondered if it was as soft as it looked. I shifted one of my hands ever so slightly as that I could brush my fingers against the hair at the back of his neck. It was even softer than it looked – like spun silk, or rather, spun gold. His head turned slightly in my direction, and I quickly moved my hand back to its original position, horrified to feel a blush creep up my cheeks. I desperately hoped he wouldn't see it.
The woman, who was clutching the lantern, rushed ahead of us to open the door. I noticed that she was wearing a nurse's outfit.
The inside of the hospital was brightly lit, and I had to squint my eyes again until they adjusted. The golden-haired man carried me easily, and walked quickly down the long hallway and into a dark room. The nurse switched on several lamps as the man set me down on a table. As he stepped back, and I finally got a proper look at him, I barely managed to stifle a gasp. He was the handsomest man I had ever seen. And handsome didn't even nearly begin to describe him. His neatly cropped yellow hair fell slightly into his eyes, which from where I was sitting appeared to be as golden as his hair. His skin was every bit as pale as it had looked outside, if not more so. He was tall, over six feet high, but as he moved around, preparing the room, it was with complete grace and agility. I couldn't spy one flaw in his complexion. In fact, I couldn't spy one flaw anywhere. His nose, his jaw line, his ears, his eyebrows, his lips – all were perfect.
I found myself completely mesmerized by him, so it took me a moment to register what the nurse was saying to him.
"Will you be needing any surgical tools, Dr. Cullen? The poor child rode for four hours in a carriage – that's more than enough time for gangrene to set in if the bone went through her skin…"
When it was this nurse speaking of my bone coming through my skin instead of the doctor, the prospect seemed much grimmer. I felt a twist in my stomach.
The doctor spoke quietly, but loudly enough for me to hear, "I'm sure everything is fine, Mrs. Olmstead."
Mrs. Olmstead looked over at me. "Look, doctor! She's shaking! The infection may have already taken hold!"
I hadn't realized that I was shaking. Dr. Cullen turned and looked me full in the face for the first time. All coherent thought left my head as he smiled briefly at me. He walked over to me, slipping his arms out of his white jacket.
"It's a cool night, and you're only wearing that light dress." It was a moment before I realized that he was addressing me. He stopped right in front of me and swung his jacket around my shoulders, gently encouraging my hands to take hold of the fabric. The coat wasn't warm, as it should have been. On the contrary, it was rather cold. Perhaps the doctor had only put it on to come outside, and it hadn't had time to sufficiently take on the heat of his body. Nevertheless, I was grateful for the extra layer when I realized that I was, indeed, quite chilly.
"Thank you," I breathed.
He gave me the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. "You're quite welcome, my dear." His smile had stunned me, and it wasn't until I heard the nurse cluck sympathetically that I noticed that I'd forgotten to close my mouth after speaking.
"Oh, doctor, look at her – she's incoherent and dazed. Do you think she'll survive an amputation?"
Dr. Cullen, who had been holding my gaze up until this point, cleared his throat and turned to Mrs. Olmstead. "Betsy, why don't you go and see to Miss Platt's parents? I'm sure Mrs. Platt would appreciate a cup of your marvelous tea."
"But, doctor, I should be here to assist-" Dr. Cullen turned to the nurse and looked her full in the eye, and something very strange happened. Her eyes seemed to go blank and her mouth, too, fell open.
"Now," was all Dr. Cullen said.
"All right," Mrs. Olmstead murmured. She turned to go, but stopped at the door. "If she needs held down, doctor-"
"Mrs. Olmstead!"
"Yes, doctor." She left, closing the door behind her.
Dr. Cullen turned back to me and smiled again. "Well, Esme, is it? From what I hear you had yourself a battle with a vicious tree earlier this evening."
I couldn't speak, so I just nodded.
He smiled and stepped closer to me. He placed his hands at the hem of my skirt. "May I?" I didn't understand what he was asking, but I nodded anyway.
He lifted my skirt and pushed it up my legs. I was shocked and embarrassed. I opened my mouth to protest when I noticed the object of his attention: my right leg, bruised and bent at an odd angle. He folded my skirt neatly at my knees and leaned over my right leg, examining it.
"I must say it seems to have been quite an unfair duel. You should tell that tree to pick on someone its own size next time." I immediately felt shame rush through me; what would he ever do to hurt me?
Dr. Cullen shifted my left leg slightly to get a better view of the side of my right leg.
"Although I'm sure you gave as well as you got; that tree probably deeply regrets having ever instigated a fight with someone as brave as you, my dear… I am correct in assuming that the tree started it, aren't I?" He glanced up, but when he noticed my conflicted expression, the amusement left his face.
"I beg your pardon," he said, smiling sadly. "This must be… uncomfortable for you."
I recognized his double entendre and wanted to let him see that I appreciated his kindness and gentleness. I smiled shyly. "That willow will think twice next time." I only managed a whisper, but I could tell that he heard every word as he flashed another one of his smiles at me. My mind went blank again, and I heard myself blurt out, "I was climbing the tree."
Dr. Cullen nodded. "Your father mentioned that. You followed your friend, correct?"
"Yes. But it wasn't her fault!" I exclaimed, suddenly needing to remove any shred of guilt that might befall Margaret.
Dr. Cullen raised his eyebrows. "I thought we had established that it was the tree who was at fault?"
I let out a small laugh. "Yes." Dr. Cullen raised his head and looked straight into my eyes. It seemed like an eternity that we sat there, looking into each other's eyes, smiling. It had just occurred to me that I would happily have stayed lost in his strange but entrancing golden eyes for years when he blinked suddenly and dropped his gaze. He continued examining my leg from all angles, cocking his head every which way so as to avoid moving it. Then, he raised his hands, palms out, in front of me to signify that he was going to touch me, and gently placed the tips of his fingers on the swelling.
I jumped. His hands were absolutely frigid. I felt gooseflesh run up and down my arms. He looked up and smiled apologetically once more.
"I'm sorry. They're always cold."
I remembered what my mother always told me when I came inside out of a wintry day, and said before I could stop myself, "Cold hands, warm heart."
He shook his head. "I don't necessarily think that's true."
"Why not?"
"Well," he reached out and took my hand in his, "your hands are very warm, my dear."
We shared another look; everything around us seemed to blur. Nothing else mattered. He leaned forward and I found myself doing the same. I felt the conflicting sensation of my heart stopping in its tracks and pounding at the same time as I watched him tilt his head slightly to one side. Just as I felt my own head tip to the opposite side, he jerked himself away suddenly, looking angry. He was on his feet so fast that I didn't even see him rise. I saw his jaw clenched tightly before he turned away, giving his head a firm shake.
I watched him, troubled. What was that? Finally, after what seemed like ages, but in reality was only a few seconds, he turned back to me, all traces of anger and frustration vanished. He reseated himself at the foot of the table and pulled a grim expression.
"Well, Esme, I'm afraid I have some very bad news."
My eyes widened in horror. While entranced by his presence I had entirely forgotten why I was here. I tried to look brave; nevertheless, my voice shook. "Yes?"
He looked terribly grave. "I'm afraid you'll be up and about in time for the start of the school year."
I giggled, any remaining tension gone.
"Your leg is broken, however," he continued, looking slightly more serious now. "And I'll need to set it and cast it before you can go home."
I nodded, and wondered how to ask 'does that hurt?' without sounding childish. Before I could frame the question, though, he seemed to read my mind.
"I'm afraid that setting the bone can be rather painful. But, truthfully, you could be a lot worse off. This is a nice, clean break."
At my puzzled look, he qualified. "Basically, if you had to break your leg, you did it the best way." He grinned at me briefly, taking my breath away.
"Would you like me to bring your parents in?" He asked.
I took a deep breath and shook my head. "No, thank you. I'll be fine." There was even less conviction in my voice than there was in my head. I didn't always handle pain very well.
Dr. Cullen nodded. "Very well," he said, rolling up his shirtsleeves.
I took another deep breath and closed my eyes.
"Would you like something to bite on?"
I opened my eyes. He was looking at me with concern written all over his face. I hadn't realized that, when I had closed my eyes, I had tensed my entire body. I let out a breath I was also unaware I was holding. I shook my head again, and he nodded again. He placed his hands gently on my leg, but I still felt a dull throbbing from the multiple bruises.
He glanced up at me. "I'll count to three, shall I?"
"Mm-phm," I said, biting my lip.
"One… two…"
"Wait!" I suddenly cried.
He looked up, startled. "What is it?"
"Is it, 'one, two, three, and then go' or is it, 'one, two, and go on three'?"
He furrowed his brow, pretending to be deep in thought. "'One, two, and go on three,' I should think."
I nodded. "All right."
He returned his attention to my leg.
"One… t-"
"Stop!"
He looked up, but he just waited for me to speak this time.
I was suddenly feeling very light-headed, and the room felt hot. When I spoke, my voice sounded far away and weak.
"M-maybe you could just surprise me."
I watched his eyes as he analyzed mine. This time his serious expression was not a jest.
All at once, sharp pain shot through my leg, up my spine, paralyzing me, and briefly flooded my entire body. I felt a rushing in my ears and my vision blurred and changed colors, until everything was black.
Suddenly, I felt a pair of strong arms around me, cradling me. They gently leaned me backwards until my head was resting on a thin pillow. I was so disoriented that I didn't know who had their arms around me, but I knew that I felt safe once more. When the arms gently let me go and started to slide out from underneath me, I instinctually clutched at them; I never wanted to be let go. I heard a small chuckle as the arms gently detached mine.
Then, I felt something very cool on my face. Something that smelled wonderful.
I opened my eyes and realized that Dr. Cullen had placed his hand over my forehead. It felt as good as it smelled, so I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relax, thinking I could sleep for hours like this.
I was therefore rather disappointed when he removed his hand. My eyes snapped open. He smiled down at me and chuckled again.
"You blacked out for a minute, there. Glad to have you back; I enjoy your company."
I blushed and dropped his gaze shyly. It was then that I noticed that my skirt was no longer folded at my knees, but back down around my legs. I sat up quickly. I could see white bandages and plaster peeking out from underneath my skirt.
I was completely bewildered; how long had I been unconscious? I remembered being caught hold of and lain down. How could Dr. Cullen have bandaged me that quickly? I turned to ask him what had happened, but I was worried I would sound foolish, so I kept quiet.
Dr. Cullen cleaned up the extra bandages that hadn't been there before, either. I watched him silently. Finally, he turned to me and said, "I believe I can bring Mrs. Olmstead in with your parents, now. I imagine you'd like to go home?" He was smiling, but my heart sank. I had completely forgotten that I would have to leave. This presented a problem. I didn't want to leave; I never wanted to leave. How could I leave? I felt like dissolving into tears, but I just smiled.
I drank in every move he made. I knew it wasn't polite to gawk, but I stared at him as he strolled to the door, opened it, and called out into the hallway. I committed to memory the way that his voice sounded when it was raised slightly.
"Mrs. Olmstead? Could you please bring Miss Platt's parents in?"
The wait before the nurse and my parents came into Dr. Cullen's and my room was entirely too short. I felt very fidgety; why couldn't we be alone together again?"
My mother rushed to my side and embraced my head tenderly, stroking my hair and murmuring, "Oh, Esme, darling…"
My father turned his attention instead to my doctor. "Well? How is she?"
Dr. Cullen smiled, and I found myself suddenly jealous and angry with my father. Why did Dr. Cullen smile at him, now? And why did we have to live so far away from the city?
"Your daughter is going to be just fine, Mr. Platt. You should be very proud of her; she's a very courageous girl."
Now that I was out of immediate danger, my father was stern. "I'm very glad to hear that. Perhaps this will teach her to be mature and stop climbing trees like a wild animal." This last comment was directed at me, and my face burned again. I tried to surreptitiously conceal my face in my mother's arms, so Dr. Cullen wouldn't see the redness to my cheeks.
Dr. Cullen reached inside a pocket and withdrew a watch. "Hmm. It's nearing midnight. May I suggest that you find a place to bed down for the night? It's a long drive you made. There's a very nice place just down the street that I could show you."
My father opened his mouth, but my mother cut him off, saying, "That would be lovely. Thank you so much, doctor."
Dr. Cullen smiled again. "My pleasure."
He came over to the table and this time his smile was solely for me. He held out his hands. "May I?"
I felt as though I were soaring. I once more desperately tried not to blush as I nodded and placed my arms around his neck.
Mrs. Olmstead, who had been hovering over my bedside, wringing her hands, anxiously glanced back and forth between Dr. Cullen and myself, clicking her tongue. Finally, when he lifted my gently into his arms, she could apparently contain herself no longer.
"Oh, you poor child!" She fretted. "And you're still a growing girl. Now it's unlikely that your legs will ever be the same length again!"
I felt the color drain from my cheeks as I stared, horrorstricken, into Dr. Cullen's face.
He smiled easily around at the similar expressions on both my face and my mother's, and chuckled. I could feel the rumble of his laughter, deep within his chest. "I wouldn't worry about that, Mrs. Olmstead," he said. "We'll just have to be sure that she doesn't eat her fruits and vegetables for the next eight weeks." He looked into my eyes and winked. I immediately relaxed; a laugh even escaped me.
Dr. Cullen turned to my parents. "Shall we?"
My father held the door for us as we exited the room. Dr. Cullen stepped through with a word of thanks and glided down the hall, with me in his arms. I turned and looked over his shoulder as my father closed the office door. The nameplate on the door said "Dr. Carlisle Cullen." Carlisle…. I sighed and leaned my head against his chest, and I couldn't resist burying my face slightly into the crook of his neck.
I suddenly felt cool air wash over me, rustling my hair slightly. My eyes opened – I hadn't even realized they had closed. I lifted my head from its comfortable position to look around. It was pitch black, and I couldn't see anything at all, except for a couple of very small, dim lights in the distance. How Dr. Cullen could see where he was going was a wonder to me. My eyes hurt just from straining to see the flickering lights that we were walking towards. I gave up and rested my head once more on his shoulder.
It was then that I became aware of how tired I was. The eyes behind my impossibly heavy lids itched and ached. I turned my head slightly and tried to surreptitiously inhale Dr. Cullen's heavenly smell. It was unlike anything I had ever smelled before. I simply couldn't place it. It was a sweet smell, but it wasn't floral, and it also had body to it, a certain mouthwatering quality, but he didn't smell of any food I had ever tasted.
It made my head spin. I sighed. The gentle rhythm of the combination of Dr. Cullen's stride and his breath, both so even, both so… reassuring, was very relaxing. So soothing.
Perhaps if I just closed my eyes for a moment….
Author's Note: What did you think? Did the long-ness make up for the long wait? Please let me know: all reviewers will receive their very own Carlisle Cullen in a button down, long sleeve shirt in the color of their choice. Oh, and did I mention that the shirt will be wet?
