A/N As promised I am updating quickly. This is the shortest chapter in the piece, but I think you will like it. Don't hesitate to criticize my spelling, grammar or writing, this is a learning process for me. Thanks, enjoy.
Twilight belongs strictly to Stephenie Meyer.
1911
The first sensations were of the smells. There were the smells of fresh cut grass and trees. The smells of cooking, the distinct smell of beef stew, homemade bread and pie...peach pie. It was amazing, I hadn't consumed human food in over 90 years and I could still remember the smell of peach pie. Somewhere in my dim memories I recalled my mother's fresh peach pie and my mouth began to water.
There were other scents now, the whitewash paint on the fence two houses down from my home, the faint smell of smoke from somewhere further away, and the smell of my new leather shoes.
I had spent most of my day, fighting off boredom, watching the boats on the Chicago river move under the Rush St. Bridge. Dutifully, I had made my way back home before the evening meal, as I promised my mother, but not before making my way to Lily Pond at Washington Park, to watch the ducks of course.
That was one of my favorite pastimes, to play with the ducks. I didn't actually play with them so much, usually I just watched them or fed them. Once in a while I could coax one of the baby ducklings into eating out of my hand, until it's mother shooed it back to the pond. Playing with other boys my age didn't hold much interest for me, I had no interest in sports, although I could run really fast. I was more content to visit the ducks or play with my pets, when I had them.
For a few months I had a pet rabbit that my uncle had given me for Easter, but mama and papa told me that it was cruel to keep it in a cage, so I gave it to my cousin who lives in the country. Mama let me have a pet snake and a hamster, as long as I kept them in the basement. Then one day the snake got loose and ate the hamster and papa made me sell the snake back to the pet shop downtown.
I knew that my father wanted me to become a lawyer like he was, but I liked animals so much that I was thinking about being an animal doctor. When I was sick with the mumps last winter the doctor came to our house to see me and I thought about all the animals that would get sick and not have a doctor to take care of them.
Considering those memories now, I wondered if I would have made a good animal doctor or if that was just the unrealistic fantasy of a ten year old boy.
I stood on the porch of my childhood home and gazed out at my former neighborhood. The tree lined street seemed to go on forever, as did the cable car tracks in the middle of the endless street.
Across the road there were a group of three boys, about my age, laughing cruelly and tossing an object back and forth. A slightly younger, brown haired girl ran between them, desperately trying to retrieve the object. They continued to taunt her as she made attempt after attempt to interrupt their game.
My attention was drawn from the battle as I heard shouts from down the street. From my periphery I watched as our neighbor, Mr Morgan, ambled down the steps of his front porch. He paused under one of the black and white striped awnings that shielded the windows, of his house, from the sun.
"The church is on fire." Someone was shouting to Mr Morgan, as he turned to look down the street.
Following his gaze, I stepped off my porch, too. My head moved in the direction of the strong smoke odor. Crossing the yard, I could see the First Presbyterian Church, that I and my parents, had attended every Sunday of my life. It was being consumed by the flames. The smoke billowed black against the late summer sky, as everyone, including the young lads, went running in the direction of the fire.
I felt the urge to run, too. The chaos and excitement of the blaze called to my boyish curiosity.
It was then that I saw the little girl with the long curls. Instead of heading toward the fire, she was in the middle of the street bending down to collect the precious item the boys had callously tossed away for better prospects. As she started to rise, her deep, chocolate, brown eyes met mine and stared inquisitively, before she blushed and looked away.
In that brief moment I saw the fine, delicate features of her porcelain face and I was mesmerized by the loveliness of this child.
With her possession in hand, which I could now see was a worn and tattered book, she turned away from me. All at once a large, lean, black and white, spotted dog bounded up, barking ferociously at the girl, from the far side of the street. Frozen in fear, the girl clutched the book to her chest and stared at the beast, just as I was staring at her.
Neither of us heard or saw the wagon...that is...until it was too late. My head snapped as she looked up the street, watching the fire wagon round the corner and race toward the fire, being pulled by three enormous horses. Her eyes darted to me as we both realized there was no way I could get to her in time. The dog continued to bark frantically, willing her to move, but she remained still, unable to save herself from the oncoming vehicle. The driver pulled up on the reigns, too late, the team would not be stopped.
It was over in an instant. One moment she was a living, breathing, beautiful creature...the next she was lifeless, still and broken, but beautiful all the same.
A shudder ran through my body and I felt my heart rip in two. A loud wail left my lungs in response to the scene before me. I was running, running to my love, my body bleeding internally from the loss. I stopped a few feet from reaching her as two of the firemen approached with the unrealistic hope that they would be able to save her precious life.
I could have told them they were too late. I saw the light leave her eyes, I saw the moment she ceased to be.
90 year old tears streamed down my face, I sobbed as I never had before. There was no one who could comfort me, the only one who could was gone and she was unable to come back to me. The beautiful butterfly fluttered no more, it's wings quieted in death.
Before one of the men covered her with his coat I noticed the stubborn, defiant expression on her face. There was no fear, only anger and frustration. These emotions, I assumed, were from her realization that her life was ending too soon. She would not be allowed to grow into the beautiful, capable woman I knew she could be. All her potential was lost in that one fateful moment.
There was a burst of activity around me. Frantic voices and the sound of running feet filled the air. Cries of despair came from all sides. "Isabella!" A woman screamed. Isabella...Isabella. My mind reeled at the name.
Suddenly a torrent filled my head. I could feel myself being pulled away, pulled back to the present. I fought against the swirling sensation, attempting to stay where I was, to stay with my Bella.
When I opened my eyes I saw the concerned faces of Carlisle and Jasper. A tearless sob ripped from my lips as I crumpled into the comforting arms of my father.
"She died! She died and I couldn't save her. I should have saved her. She shouldn't have died!"
"This is the past Edward, you cannot alter the past", Andrew answered quietly.
I could feel the calm of Jasper's gift wash over me as I breathed deeply.
"It's natural that you would want to keep her safe, but no one has the power to change what has gone on before. This is how she died in 1911. She was 7 years old and she died." Andrew's voice was not without compassion.
"But, why show me her death if I couldn't help her?" I was confused, the emotion of my experience building once again.
"I brought you to that time to find the answer to your wife's problem now. There is a connection to her past and what she is currently going through. We have to find it if we are to be sucessful in releasing her from her torment."
"Answer? There was no answer, only her death! She was trampled to death as a little girl and you made me watch." The venom pooled in my mouth as my anger grew.
"The answer may not be apparent, but that doesn't mean it's not there. We have to keep working on this, I'm convinced that Mrs Cullen's problems are connected with her past."
"Are we going back to her other past lives?" My voice was stained with the dread of watching her die over and over.
"Yes, but right now I need to rest. This experience has exhausted me. If I am going to be of use to you, I must allow my mind and body to regroup. I'll come back tomorrow at the same time and we can resume our efforts. I think my grandmother would like to come along if that's alright."
"Yes of course." Carlise spoke for me, knowing I was still in too much shock to be civil, let alone courteous.
A/N How did you like learning about Edward as a boy? I always wondered about that myself. Thanks again.
