Author's Note: Well! Here it is (finally)! It took a while to get out, but it's nearly as long as Chapter Four! Anyhoo, thanks to dick and dunn, SockShopping, NellieGURL, cakeaddict61, Vio Lenz, and miss.dramatikkkk for reviewing! I know last chapter was a shortie, but, as I mentioned, this one is pretty lengthy, so hopefully it makes up for it!

Disclaimer: Twilight, New Moon, Esme Platt, and Charles Evenson all belong to Stephenie Meyer and her publishers. Margaret Platt-Bennington, Samuel and Miriam Platt, Frank Bennington, Mrs. Malcolm, Betsy, Johnny, Robert Benjamin Baker, Franklin Platt and Mrs. Platt, whom I still haven't named, and William and Hester Evenson all belong to me, although technically I stole Margaret's looks from a friend of mine. ;-)

On with the show!

8. The Wedding

"You look lovely, dear, simply lovely."

"Thank you so much."

"Why, I remember when your mother wore that dress back in 1892…"

"I'm sure you do."

Margaret strolled over to me as quickly as possible, trying to inconspicuously dodge her well wishers. I smiled at her as she rolled her eyes.

"I can't believe this. Did we invite the whole town, or something?"

"I have a feeling it won't matter in a couple of seconds," I said, looking over her shoulder.

Frank Bennington came up behind Margaret and placed his hands gently on her shoulders, pressing his cheek to hers. Margaret gasped softly and closed her eyes.

The moment was short lived, though. Frank pulled back and turned her to face him.

"Well," he said, clearly struggling for polite words. "It, erm, seems as though you live in a very… supportive town."

"Ugh!" cried Margaret, flinging her hands up. "I honestly don't think that New York City has this many people! Where did they all come from?"

Frank leaned in and leered at her. "From outer space, of course."

We all laughed. That was why Margaret could be happy with him. He was perfect for her: he was a gentleman and always knew what to say, but he shared her wicked sense of humor.

There was music playing in the background, and Frank looked up as a new song began.

"Come, Maggie, they're playing our song."

"We have a song?" Margaret said sarcastically, trying to hide her pleasure at being called a pet name.

Frank paused. "…Yes. And this is it." He took her hand and dragged her off to the dance floor, but not before pausing, bowing ceremoniously, and saying, "Please excuse us, fair lady."

"Good afternoon, Esme."

I looked around. Mrs. Malcolm, the doctor's wife, was smiling at me." I smiled back.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Malcolm."

She gestured to the dancing couple who had just left me. "She looks beautiful, doesn't she?"

"Oh, yes," I fervently agreed. Margaret certainly did look beautiful. She had always been exceptionally pretty, but somewhere between sixteen and twenty-one Margaret had blossomed into a swan. She grew into her willowy frame, filling it out nicely, and her dark brown hair, once wild and simply everywhere, had tamed into slick, beautiful curls that cascaded down her back. With her full lips and her almond-shaped eyes, all of her features now suited her perfectly.

"And Mr. Bennington is a mighty handsome young man," Mrs. Malcolm added, a twinkle in her eye.

I laughed lightly. "Yes, he most certainly is."

"Now, Esme, when are you going to settle down?" she asked, tapping me on the shoulder.

Completely caught off guard, I stuttered, "Uh… I… I'm… not exactly sure."

"Well, get a move on, child. There are plenty of eligible bachelors who are waiting for just a girl like you."

I laughed nervously.

"And what are you waiting for? You've finished school. It's only the next natural step for a pretty young thing like you."

I couldn't answer. What did she expect me to say? "Yes, you're exactly right. Is there anyone you know who can do the job?"? I was as polite as I could be, and she left shortly thereafter.

I sighed and sank down into a chair, watching the couples dancing. There were several children there, dancing joyously to every song. I smiled. They looked to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. I could name each one of them. Betsy, Johnny, and Robert Benjamin Baker. I chuckled slightly to myself at the last name. Poor child; his parents insisted on addressing him only by his full name, and everyone else automatically followed suit. If anyone needed a nickname, it was Robert Benjamin Baker.

"Excuse me."

The voice startled me, and I jumped nearly all the way out of my seat. I looked up.

"I beg your pardon," Charles Evenson smiled a thin smile.

"It's nothing at all," I breathed, clutching at my chest all the same.

Charles extended a hand out to me. "May I have this dance, Miss Platt?"

I stared at him, nonplussed. "Yes, of course," I answered automatically, accepting his hand.

He led me out to the outskirts of where the others were dancing and placed his other hand on my back.

We swayed gently to the music. Charles danced very well. I was completely bewildered by him. Why had he asked me to dance? What brought that on? The most emotion Charles had ever shown towards me was fury when Margaret and I sneaked away to Columbus that night. Every time he had been over to the house with his family or I had seen him around town for the next three months, he had glowered at me and not spoken. After that, he had gone back to his old ways. He didn't scowl at me anymore, but he still never spoke, and I only met his gaze when I would look up to see him staring at me intently. His eyes would bore into mine for a few seconds before I had to drop my eyes.

I mustered up my courage and looked up at him. Just as expected, his black eyes watched me intently. I was determined not to look away this time, and I stared back. We danced like that, not smiling, not speaking, just watching each other. Charles seemed to grow frustrated with my tenacity, and a frown planted itself on his face. Finally, he tightened his grip around my waste and spun me around abruptly. The sun shone into my eyes, momentarily blinding me. I quickly lowered my head. My eyes smarted and watered painfully and my first instinct was to massage the pain away, but Charles kept a tight grip on my right hand, and he was too tall for me to make any use of my left hand, resting high on his shoulder.

Mercifully, the music ended just then, and I pulled away from him, yanking my gloves off and rubbing my eyes vigorously.

"Why, Esme, what's wrong?" I looked up at the sound of my mother's voice, though I was still only able to squint. Mother was walking towards the two of us quickly, looking concerned.

Charles chuckled. "Oh, I'm afraid I'm a little tall for her, and the sun got in her eyes."

My head whirled around to stare at him. His entire countenance was completely different from that of a moment ago. He was relaxed and smiling graciously, his own eyes crinkled with a sympathetic humor. My mother, too, relaxed into a smile.

"Oh, poor dear." She touched me gently on the shoulder. "I'm exactly the same way when I dance with Mr. Platt."

"Really?" Charles seemed genuinely interested in this tidbit. "Well, I suppose that must be where dear Esme gets her grace. If you are at all similar you must dance like an angel."

"Why, Charles! What a compliment; you're too kind."

I must have looked like a complete imbecile: my head turned back and forth between my Mother and whatever it was that had possessed Charles in the past minute and a half, astonished at this exchange that was taking place – this exchange which included compliments, from Charles, for me.

Charles suddenly looked over my mother's shoulder.

"Oh, I do believe my mother is beckoning to me. Please excuse me." He smiled and bowed to me and then strode off quickly in the direction of his mother, who was waving inanely at us. My mother turned back to me, positively beaming.

"He is such a gentleman, Esme, don't you think? It's a pity the Evensons didn't have more children – they certainly know how to raise them and raise them well!"

She touched my cheek with her gloved hand and then excused herself, leaving me standing rooted to the floor, completely flabbergasted.


I sat on Margaret's bed, watching her pack. We both sniffled occasionally. She and Frank had just returned from their honeymoon three days ago, and she had broken the news to me yesterday.

She was moving. Margaret was leaving Ohio and going to live in Milwaukee with Frank. The wedding had been timed in such a way that Frank's internship would be finished shortly beforehand, and that they would be free to leave town.

A mixture of emotions was running rampant within me. I felt angry with Margaret for not telling me sooner, but I also felt very foolish. How could you not have known? I berated myself, What did you think, that she was marrying him just to marry him, and that she was going to stay here?

Above all, though, I was absolutely devastated.

Upon finding out, I had lost my temper with Margaret. I had set up such a ruckus that her mother had come running, thinking a wild animal had somehow gotten in. The situation climaxed with my making very petty, very untrue remarks – which, in turn, culminated in Margaret slapping me across the face. That brought both of us to our senses, and we both lay across her bed, holding each other and crying.

This morning I had woken up with an extreme sinus headache and an equal dose of guilt. I quickly threw together a batch of cookies and a pitcher of lemonade and brought them to Margaret's house. We spent the morning together the way we had done ever since we were children. We ate and we chatted and we laughed and we pretended that nothing was wrong, that nothing was happening, and that nothing would ever change.

Then Uncle Franklin knocked and entered Margaret's room to tell her that, if she and Frank wanted to catch the six o'clock train, she had better get a move on and finish packing her things.

All things considered, I thought that I behaved myself very well. I didn't cry, I didn't sulk, and I even helped Margaret pack, as if to show her that I wasn't upset that she was leaving – indeed, that I was so un-upset that I could even assist her to leave me alone sooner.

But nothing could prepare me for the moment when her last trunk snapped shut. My breath caught in my chest, and I had to turn away and pretend to examine her bookshelf in order to catch my breath.

There was a deafening silence, and I finally couldn't take it anymore. I turned back around to find her staring at me, her arms hanging, defeated, by her sides.

She seemed to compose herself before she whispered, "What will you do?"

"I don't know," I answered honestly, and my voice broke. My entire body heaved as I turned away again and clamped a handkerchief to my mouth. I heard Margaret breathing raggedly from behind me.

I dried my eyes, thankful that it was only a small spell, and faced her once more. "Maybe I'll become a teacher."

Margaret nodded vigorously. "You've always loved little children."

I forced a thin smile. "Yes. And maybe… well, maybe I'll see a bit of the world for myself, as well. Go west."

There was a silence again as our forced conversation fizzled and died. Margaret's eyes filled up.

"Esme-"

We were both startled by the knock at the door.

"Come in," Margaret called.

The door opened and Frank stepped in. He quickly picked up on the atmosphere in the room, and looked at the two of us regretfully.

"Maggie… it's getting to be time."

Margaret held my eyes for another moment, then looked over her shoulder at Frank. "Yes, I'm all packed," she said with a commendable cheerfulness.

Frank and Uncle Franklin moved all of Margaret's things outside and into the carriage they were borrowing.

My parents had come over to see the couple off, and they were the first to say goodbye to Margaret. Then came her mother, whose eyes were streaming, but still held happiness for her daughter and son-in-law. Uncle Franklin embraced his daughter and then clapped Frank on the shoulder.

"Well, Margaret, the way I see it, there's no reason for this to be a day of mourning. You've got yourself a fine husband who's going to make you happy for the rest of your days. And I know for a fact that he's a good man. Besides, where can you go wrong with a name like Frank, I ask you?"

Uncle Frank's small speech brought a burst of laughter from our small, somber group. It offered me enough of a reprieve from the grief that threatened to engulf me that I could wish Frank farewell and hug and kiss Margaret goodbye without tears.

And that was all I really could ask for at that moment as I watched Frank and Margaret wave as they set off down the road, that dusty lane which she and I had so often raced each other down, and which might never be marked by her footprints again.


For many weeks I was marked by a deep depression. I had never felt like this, not even the other time. The other time had been fiery and turbulent. It had awakened in me emotions and passions that I hadn't known I possessed. This time was much calmer, but, in a way, much worse. Nothing seemed to mean the same to me. Situations that I normally would have secretly stored away to tell Margaret about were no longer interesting. I barely even marked the time passing, or the events therein. Had I given them a spare thought, I might have noticed that the Evensons came calling more often than was ordinary. But my thoughts were elsewhere, in a state of inactivity, which abruptly came to an end one afternoon, when I received a letter from Margaret.

My mother called me down to the kitchen where she was preparing supper for yet another visit from the Evensons. I headed for the kitchen, and when I arrived (via the back staircase, which my mother didn't comment on) and saw that there was a letter addressed to me from Mrs. Francis Bennington, I got the first shock to my system in almost a month.

I raced upstairs to read it, tearing it open in a frenzy. It read:

Dear Esme,

Frank and I have been in Milwaukee for a little more than two weeks now, and it's absolutely wonderful. Can you believe that neither of us has ever been out of state before? It's amazing to see something that isn't surrounded by wheat!

Frank's parents are lovely people, and his father, who knows the land quite well, has helped us to find a beautiful little house by a stream. I know you would love it – you always go on so about architectural things, and the aesthetics of buildings. The minute I first saw it, I could almost hear you whispering excitedly in my ear, "Look at that wrap-around porch! It is so complemented by the oak trees!" The whole time Frank and I were touring the place it's as if you're there with me: "What a cozy room! Normally, I'd say it was a little crowded, but the way the light comes in those windows – so well-placed, by the way – it just makes it seem to welcoming!" I miss you so much, dearest.

Do you miss me? It's strange: I'm so terribly happy to be with Frank, but I feel as if something has been torn out of me.

But Esme, you must listen to me, because I know what you're doing. You're letting yourself be swallowed by your pain, and it's taking up every aspect of your life. You can't let that happen, Esme. You must put things in perspective: I haven't died. We haven't had a falling out. We're simply separated. I know that there's nothing simple about absence, but it's not like you're never going to see me again. What sort of suspicions are you entertaining? I can just see through your mind, even though I can't see your face. You're under the impression that I'm never going to come back to Ohio again, aren't you? You think that because I'm married now I'm going to start a new life and completely discard my past.

Aren't I correct? I thought so. Esme, you know this is nonsense. Deep within you, you know that it won't be long before we see each other again. Wisconsin may be far away, but you're still near to me. And it's not like we live on the moon, now!

Well, I'd better go. We're at Frank's parents' house and his mother is teaching me how to cook. Can you imagine? Me, cooking! I tell you, if my mother couldn't manage it over nearly twenty-two years, then I really don't think that Mrs. Bennington stands a chance! That's funny. I'm Mrs. Bennington now, too.

Well, anyway, I truly hope that this letter finds you well and leaves you better. You must promise me that you'll write. I will see you sometime, I promise.

Love Always,

Margaret

Postscript: When did you receive this letter? The postman I gave it to didn't really seem to be all there, if you get my meaning.

I folded up the letter, and let it fall into my lap. She was right. She was right, as she had always managed to be right. I was letting my sorrow override everything else in my life. And I was being foolish. Of course we were going to see each other again! What was I thinking? I could feel my mood lifting as every second passed. I jumped to my feet and hastily started pulling open drawers in my writing desk, looking for stationary. I had just sat down and put pen to paper when I heard the doorbell.

I jumped, splotching ink all over my clean sheet of paper. I shook my head. I wasn't normally skittish; I supposed that Margaret's letter must have reawakened my senses.

I heard my mother greeting the Evensons, so I set aside my letter-to-be for another time.

I walked down the hallway towards the main staircase, and immediately upon coming into sight of the foyer, I felt Charles' eyes upon me. I did my best to smile, but I quickly became aware of the strange looks that I was receiving from everyone, Charles included.

"Good evening," I said quietly, still rather nonplussed.

For once, Mrs. Evenson seemed lost for words. "Er, well, good evening, dear."

My father strolled into the room, took one look at me, and his eyes widened considerably.

"Good Lord, Esme! What have you done to yourself this time?!"

"What is it?" I asked, looking down at myself critically.

It was then that I noticed it. The front of my light blue dress was completely covered in black ink. I gasped in horror. I then sneaked a humiliated glance at our guests, who all looked very amused by this point.

Mr. Evenson chuckled. "Tough day at the office, Esme?"

All I could do was stand there and gape. My mother, after reviving from the initial shock, finally came to my rescue.

"Esme, darling, why don't you go and find something more… suitable? We'll all just go on ahead of you, all right?"

I nodded mutely. Mother began ushering everyone into the dining room, and as soon as they were gone, I turned and fled up to my room.

I could feel my whole face burning with embarrassment. I quickly disrobed and threw on another dress, in my paranoia checking and rechecking it for stains or tears. I patted my hair down and took a few deep breaths. My eyes wandered over to my writing desk and landed upon Margaret's letter. I could just see her face. Suddenly, and without warning, I burst out laughing. I hadn't laughed like this since before Margaret got married. I only laughed this much when I was with her, and relating to her some travesty that had seemed like the end of the world at the time, and which turned into a hilarious story whenever we were together.

It took me a few minutes to collect myself. I breathed heavily, wiping the tears of mirth from my cheeks. I hadn't felt this good in a long time. I composed myself and headed for the dining room.

When I took my seat next to Charles in the dining room, I was met with chuckles from Mr. and Mrs. Evenson, a gracious smile from my mother, and a stern glance from my father. Charles leaned over towards me and inclined his head.

"Writing accident? Perhaps a nasty run-in with a squid?"

I looked up. He was smiling wryly.

I blushed and looked down at my plate… and didn't say a word all through supper.


Supper was finished and, instead of facing Mrs. Evenson and her condescending remarks about me, I had volunteered to clean up. From the sounds of things in the other rooms, the evening was winding down. I still didn't feel like joining my mother and Mrs. Evenson after finishing cleaning the dishes, so I meandered about the ground floor, and I was just toying with the idea of retreating to my room when the door to the library opened. I started and some childish part of me made me dart into a corner, concealing myself from view. Mr. Evenson appeared in the doorway.

"Charles, I'm going to go prepare the horses. Why don't you finish up and round up your mother?"

"Yes, father," sounded from within.

The door closed and Mr. Evenson strode out the front door. However, instead of going for his mother, Charles continued speaking with my father. I could hear only murmurs, and a sudden wave of insurmountable curiosity washed over me. I crept closer to the doorway. I could hear the voices more clearly now. My father sounded slightly surprised and confused, as though Charles had said something he hadn't been expecting. Charles sounded quite serious, which was usual, and earnest, which wasn't quite so usual. My father spoke.

"Well, Charles, I've got to tell you, she can be a handful at times. I just don't know where she gets it. I would have thought that as she got older … but still…"

Charles chuckled. "She's feisty, all right. That much is obvious. But… there are ways of changing that." There was a slight pause.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, women can change, too."

"Charles, what are you saying?" There was a muffled squeaking noise, as though someone had just leaned forward in his chair. When Charles spoke, it was deliberately, as though he were trying to get a point across.

"Mr. Platt, I firmly believe that… well… I could make a lady out of Esme."

My stomach plummeted. They were talking about me? My head was swimming; my brain was in a haze, and my father sounded the same as I felt when he said, "Charles? Are you saying…?"

There was another pause, and when I heard Charles' words, I slid down the wall and crumpled in a heap on the floor.

"Mr. Platt, I am asking for your daughter's hand in marriage."


Author's Note: Well, there we are! What did you think? Did it make up for the long wait (even though technically the long wait was for Chapter 7, but remember that those two puppies used to be one big hound dog)? Thankies for reading!