Author's Note: Okay, so I'm really sorry this took a while to update (yet again). I'm thinking that the wait's going to be a bit longer for the next few months. You see, I'm in two plays this summer, and rehearsals for the one can run pretty late, and by the time I get back I'm completely beat. Not that that's an excuse or anything, but I think it would be safe to say to expect an average of a week's wait between updates... sorry. Please still like me. ::showers reviewers with conversation hearts - after removing the cruel ones such as "get real" and "in ur dreams," of course::
Anyhoo, thanks to miss.dramatikkkk, SockShopping, Isabel Hale, MissAlyssa, NellieGURL, Ame Warashi... Ame Warashi... um, Ame Warashi, and cakeaddict61 for reviewing!
MissAlyssa: EEE!! Thank you so much for reviewing! You know, my Dad says that you should be able to count the number of times you use an exclamation point in your entire life on one hand... I wonder how many fingers we both have by now? I do love the compliments, though... :-)
Disclaimer: Twilight, New Moon, Esme Platt, Carlisle Cullen, and Charles Evenson all belong to the wonderful (and very much endowed) Stephenie Meyer. Miriam and Samuel Platt, Margaret Platt, Margaret's Mom Platt (whom I haven't name yet, if you haven't noticed), Dr. Williams, Skippy, and Jimmy belong to me (although Jimmy was based upon my sister's former horse of the same name, and he wishes me to say that he belongs solely to himself). ::sighs:: Here we go: Romeo & Juliet, Macbeth, Julius Caesar, and the Sonnets (particularly number 87) belong to William Shakespeare. David Copperfield and Oliver Twist belong to Charles Dickens. And last but most definitely not least, The Count of Monte Cristo belongs to Alexand-ray... dumb-ass - just kidding! It belongs to Alexandre Dumas. Whew! All right! On with the chapter! Go. :-)
6. Fire
"I still think this is a bad idea, Margaret."
"You hush up. It's a brilliant idea and you know it."
"Margaret, we're going to get caught. What are you doing?"
"I'm organizing the rebel forces – what does it look like I'm doing? I'm trying to saddle up this ridiculous horse! Why won't he take the bit, Esme?"
"Maybe because that's a halter."
Margaret glanced at the piece of tack in her hands, then looked up at me sheepishly. I tried to maintain a look of nonchalance as I shrugged and said, "Might have something to do with it."
Margaret sighed and threw down the halter, looking around for the bridle. "Well, if you're such an accomplished equestrian, why don't you take care of the other horse?"
I curtsied. "With pleasure."
For all of our bickering, there was a feeling of excitement in the air, a sort of tingle that pervaded all of my senses. It was late at night, and we had sneaked out of our bedrooms to converge in Uncle Franklin's stable. We were heading for Columbus, and according to Margaret, we wouldn't stop until we got there. With luck, Margaret had said while poring over a map she had "borrowed" from her father, we would be back long before anyone woke up the next morning. "After all," she had said, "you said that it was just past sunrise when you got home the first time, and you spent who knows how long in that inn."
Despite the late hour, I felt wide-awake; all of my senses were alert. That was partially due to the coffee that Margaret had forced me to swig, but mostly because, ever since she and I had started planning this insane rendezvous, I was completely and utterly consumed with the idea of seeing Carlisle again. I passed through the intervening days between the conception of this plan to this night in a daze, a fog that had only lifted this evening, when Margaret gave me the signal that the plan was a go – her, standing outside my window and hooting like an owl. Ridiculous as her wild evasive tactics undoubtedly were, I reluctantly found myself caught up in the intrigue of sneaking away in the night, though that could hardly be considered very high on my list of motives.
Margaret finished saddling her horse and came over to assist me, to speed the process up.
"There," she said, satisfied, when the saddle was sufficiently tight and the bridle (complete with bit) was in place. She turned to me.
"All right. Supply check-list."
I looked at her, nonplussed. "What were we supposed to bring?"
"Well… what about a lantern, in case it's overcast in Columbus?"
I picked up the lantern we had saddled the horses by and blew it out. For a moment, we were completely doused in darkness. Then, by degrees, the light from the blessedly full moon began to light the stable up. I used a leather thong to tie the lantern to my horse's saddle. I clapped off my hands. "Check."
"Hmm…" Margaret thought, trying to come up with other essentials that our mission would require. "What about food?"
"We'll be back before morning."
"True." She sighed disappointedly. "I guess that's it then."
"No it isn't," I interjected. "Map?"
She reached inside her father's voluminous riding coat and pulled out a folded map from one of the pockets. "Got it."
I nodded. "Let's go, then."
She grinned at me. "Mount up."
We both mounted our horses. I looked over at Margaret, and my mouth fell open.
"Margaret!" I scolded, "your skirt will be all the way up your legs if you ride like that!"
"Trust me, you do not want to ride for three hours side-saddle."
I debated for a moment, and then hesitantly swung my leg over to the other side of the saddle. It was the first time in three years that I had ridden astride. It felt completely natural, and my legs automatically gripped the sides of the horse.
Margaret looked at me appraisingly. "A very wise choice, if I do say so myself." She winked, and then clicked her tongue. "Come on, Skippy." She set off out of the stable and into the long lane leading towards the road. I trotted after her until I caught up.
"Skippy?" I laughed.
She grinned again "He looks like a Skippy, doesn't he?" She pressed her heels into Skippy's flanks and took off down the drive at a slow canter. I followed suit. She stopped to wait for me at the crossroads that led either to my father's house or to town.
She looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes dancing. "Ready to see your doctor, Esme?"
I gasped. "The coat! I've forgotten the coat in the stable!" I whipped my horse around and raced back into the barn. Once in there, I swiftly jumped off and snatched up the coat from where I had placed it so that it would be safe from the dirt. I re-mounted, turned tail and galloped him back to the crossroads. Margaret and I shared a wary look. Then, simultaneously, we broke into grins and began mindlessly giggling. Margaret rolled her eyes.
"Are you ready, now?"
I slipped the coat under my skirt where it would be protected from the dust from the road and we finally set off for good.
The ride to Columbus was actually a very beautiful one, now that I could properly enjoy the scenery. It also seemed much faster, now that I wasn't writhing in pain and praying for oblivion. Margaret and I passed the time by singing, and when we ran out of songs, many miles flew by while we decided on a name for my horse.
"Whitey?"
"Too lackadaisical."
"Georg?"
"Too formal."
"Cookie?"
"Too… past-ry." We giggled.
"Dapples?"
"Too silly."
"And Skippy isn't silly?"
"Skippy has character. Dapples is just…"
"Jimmy?"
"… Not bad."
We had to stop and consult the map several times, or whenever we came to a crossroads that didn't have a sign. At such times it was necessary to light the lantern, but otherwise the moon lit our way. It still hung high in the sky when I began to see forms on the horizon that weren't mountains.
"Look! Buildings!"
"It could be just another town."
"No, it can't be – I just know it."
I pressed my heels into Jimmy's sides hard and we flew down the path, Margaret soon right behind us.
The buildings rose above us, and I let out a very un-ladylike whoop when we came to a sign welcoming us to Columbus below a population number that looked as though it had been painted over many times.
I slowed Jimmy to a trot and briskly traversed the streets, searching for the hospital. Margaret pulled up alongside me.
"What side of the street was it on?"
"I can't remember."
"You take the left side and I'll take the right, then."
I nodded and squinted at each sign on the left side of the road. Bookstores, grocery stores, blacksmiths… but no hospital.
"Look!" I turned my head so fast that I felt it crack deep inside, something I had come to get used to ever since I had fallen from the tree.
A sign hanging from a lamppost read, Columbus Hospital.
"We're here," I whispered reverently. Margaret and I stopped short in front of the building that looked so familiar and so strange at the same time, upon seeing it with more light. I suddenly felt very afraid. I had felt fine moments before, but now I was crippled with doubt.
"Margaret," I said throatily, "why am I here? He's not going to believe me. Why would I come all of this way just to return his coat? It's ridiculous, and he's going to know that."
"That's the point, Esme. You didn't come here just to return the coat."
"Can we just turn around and go home, Margaret? Please? Let's just go."
"No, Esme," Margaret reproached me sternly. "From what you told me, Esme, you're not the only one who felt something."
"What makes you say that? There was absolutely no indication-"
"There was, Esme, there was. Don't you see it? I wasn't even there and it's as clear as the nose on my face!" She tapped the side of her nose for emphasis.
I hesitated. "Do you honestly believe that?"
"In my soul."
My doubts still overwhelmed me, and I really don't know what I would have decided to do, but I was spared that choice by the sound of the door opening.
"Can I help either of you girls?"
We both started at the sound of the voice. My heart leapt, but only because I was startled. We broke our intense gaze and looked around at the sound of the grizzly voice. Standing in the open doorway was an older man wearing a long, white coat similar to the one that I clutched convulsively in my hands.
Before I could say anything, Margaret intercepted me. "Yes, please. We're here to see Dr. Carlisle Cullen. We have something that belongs to him, and we're returning it."
The man's brow furrowed. "Dr. Cullen?"
Margaret nodded crisply. "Yes. So could you please tell him that Miss Esme Platt is here to see him?" She then nodded once in my direction. The man looked from Margaret to me, and then shuffled his feet awkwardly.
"I'm real sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, girls, but Dr. Cullen doesn't work here anymore."
"What?!" The word ripped itself from my lips, and the man looked at me, as if startled to see that I could speak.
"Yes. He moved to Chicago, Illinois about a month ago. I'm the new doctor – Dr. Williams. Is there anything I can do for you?"
I didn't even register what he had asked me. All that came out was a strangled, "Chicago?"
Dr. Williams nodded. "I'm sorry you girls didn't know. That's kind of a myst'ry to me, because the whole town seemed to be pretty sorry to see him go. He was a helluva doctor – pardon me."
I only managed a whisper, but I had to ask. "When will he be coming back?"
Dr. Williams shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. He's not coming back."
I was completely silent on the ride home. Even my horse's hoof-beats seemed muted, or far-off. Margaret was quiet, too. She knew that talking would not help, and what would she way if they would? There was nothing – no words of comfort – that could do anything for me anymore. The most Margaret could do for me was to lead the way back, consulting the map on her own, so that I wouldn't have to think.
The return trip took much longer, and the sky was beginning to lighten when Margaret and I entered our town.
Margaret finally broke our silence by gently murmuring, "I'll take care of the horses when we get home, Esme. Why don't you get some rest?" I didn't bother to answer.
I'm not sure why my attention was suddenly alerted – perhaps Margaret's words had lifted the film over my senses – but I couldn't help but notice that there was an inordinate number of lights up in town for so early in the morning. It still couldn't be past 4:30. I was still too distracted, however, to wonder why.
We continued down the street in silence, and it was a few moments before I registered that there was a third quartet of hoof-beats, and they were much faster. I looked over at Margaret and we traded a glance. We both turned in our saddles and looked over our shoulders. Fast approaching us at a gallop was a man astride a dark horse.
I reflexively followed Margaret's example of pulling the horse over out of the way of the horseman. To my dim surprise, he pulled up his horse next to us.
"Any luck?" He asked. He had a smooth voice, but it was still somehow rough. Margaret and I were both puzzled, and Margaret opened her mouth to say something, but the man was squinting at us, evidently waiting for his eyes to adjust. He looked back and forth between us, and then his eyes widened.
We recognized each other at the same time. It was Charles Evenson, and he looked furious.
"You two!" he snapped. "Where have you been? The whole town is looking for you!"
Margaret's and my mouths both fell open. Charles continued.
"You come with me right now."
He kicked his horse roughly and set the pace at a canter. Margaret and I were frozen with shock. Charles whipped around.
"Come!" he snarled.
Margaret and I followed, bewildered.
Charles set a grueling pace, and even in my current state I managed to muster up some sympathy for his lathering horse. We quickly reached my house, and Charles dismounted in one move. I was very stiff and took a while longer. Charles quickly grew frustrated and reached up and grabbed me by the shoulder, pulling me from my horse. I weakly protested.
He marched the two of us into my house. All of the lights were on. When he opened the front door, I heard a shriek.
"Esme!" My mother threw herself at me, holding me close.
Margaret's mother was there as well, and had much the same reaction.
I numbly appreciated the embrace, and wrapped my arms around mother's waist, but in one motion she pulled me away from her and held me at arm's length. In a movement that I didn't even see, she slapped me hard across the face. My head whipped to one side and I felt tears sting my eyes.
"Where were you?" she demanded, her own eyes sparkling with tears.
"I-I" I struggled for words. She had never hit me before.
I felt a strong pair of hands spin me around. I was now facing my father, who had just come through the door. A wave of fear doused me. He didn't even need to speak. His eyes were cold and enraged. He raised his hand and I flinched, shutting my eyes.
I felt nothing. I opened my eyes to see father running his hand wearily through his hair; he too had his eyes closed.
"Go to bed, Esme," he finally whispered hoarsely.
His words hurt me worse than any others. "Papa," I tried to speak, my voice stunted by emotion.
He shook his head. "Now."
I looked over at Margaret, who was being ushered towards the door by her mother. She looked at me with bright eyes and mouthed, I'm sorry.
I dropped my head and turned and headed up the stairs, dragging my feet. I still had trouble with the stairs because of my right leg, but I ignored the burning of the muscles as I made my way to my room.
Once inside, I looked around at my walls and my furniture. A fire was burning in the fireplace, casting shadows all around my room.
A sudden fire blazed within me. I launched myself at my bed and reached underneath it.
There, hidden in the frame, were my many books that I had secretly collected for years. I had started with Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet, Macbeth, Julius Caesar, Sonnets, and I had recently branched out to other works, David Copperfield, Oliver Twist, The Count of Monte Cristo. All of these I pulled out from various hiding places in my bed.
I stood and stared at the books strewn across my floor. Then, I reached for one. Without looking at the title, I hurled it at the fireplace. I watched as the flames slowly engulfed it. I bent and reached for another without looking and dropped it into the fire. I watched the fire's hypnotic dance. The last of the paper to be swallowed up was the title: Romeo & Juliet.
With an inhuman scream of fury, I grabbed another book. I ripped pages out, shoving them in to join the ashes. Whole sentences turned to dust, and it was though the pages fed flames inside me, as well as the ones inside the stone enclosure. I tossed the empty shell in and captured another. The books screamed. There was screaming in my head, and it wouldn't stop. All this, though, and I didn't cry. I merely picked up another and another and soon they were all blazing.
I watched the conflagration silently, my eyes quite dry. I leaned to rest my hand on the floor and instead came in contact with a lucky page that had escaped my rampage. I picked it up with a mind to send it to meet its maker with its fellows, and my eye fell to the text. The sinuous shadows of the flames danced on my walls and seemed to mock me and consume me, and the tears finally came as I read the familiar lines.
LXXXVII
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives three releasing;
My bonds on thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
Author's Note: So, are you all mad at me for torturing Esme? I feel so bad: this chapter started off as so much fun to write, and they were both having such a good time that I felt really guilty for leading them into the ambush that I knew was coming... not that I feel for fictional characters or anything... What? If we can be in love with Edward we can feel bad for Esme, right? ... Um, right? Guys?
