Chapter 4: Discoveries

The fall quarter was going better than anticipated. I had been worried, understandably, about how I was going to get to class on sunny days, but I felt that I had come up with some workable solutions. My current plan was arriving at the buildings as soon as they opened in the morning, well before other students were really up and about. I also knew the location of every covered walkway and every shade-bearing tree, and wore a baseball cap when I had to. I also found that using a little bit of makeup helped take off some of the unnatural sheen that still reflected in the shade. So far, so good.

Today was a slightly sunny day in mid-October, so, once again, I was planning to spend the day indoors. I often spent time in the library, reading, studying, or surfing the 'net, but today I decided to start on an assignment for my Art 101 survey class, and go analyze a painting in the Hood Art Museum.

The rules for the assignment were pretty loose - it was supposed to be a five-page analysis of a work of European Art from the Renaissance or Baroque eras. Having little experience with art, and no idea of where to start, I figured a day at the museum would be the best way to find something that looked interesting to me. When I arrived, I was pleasantly surprised at the calming, welcoming atmosphere within the galleries - it was quiet, private, and the walls were not white, but darker, muted shades of green and blue, making the place feel much more like an old European house than a public gallery. I wandered through the permanent collection galleries, feeling slightly overwhelmed at the depth and breadth of works that I had to choose from.

I was moving down a wall of Baroque paintings - a couple of small Rubens, a Velázquez, both of whose names I recognized from the week's lecture, and turned to go into the next room. And then I stopped, open-mouthed in shock.

Right next to a doorway, on its own wall, in a heavily-ornate frame, was a painting of Carlisle.

I don't know how long I was frozen, my eyes moving rapidly around the image, which was painted in the swirling, theatrical style of the late Baroque. Carlisle's figure took up almost half the canvas, his face anguished, body twisted to look painfully toward the figure of a woman who was being pulled from his grasp. I looked at the title of the painting. Orpheus Leaving the Underworld, painted in the early 1700s by Francesco Solimena.

If there was any chance I was capable of crying, this would've been when it happened. Instead, I stood, breath caught in my throat. I realized a moment later that I was shaking, and quickly looked around to see if my reaction had been observed by anyone else. Luckily, I was alone.

Although my first response was How!?, I vaguely remembered seeing another painting of Carlisle in the Cullen's house, possibly by the same artist, now that I thought about it. Edward had told me that the artist often painted Carlisle as a god, or something along those lines. There was something else tugging at my memory, though, and I tore my gaze from Carlisle's visage to examine the rest of the image. In addition to the distraught form of Orpheus, Eurydice was in the process of being pulled back into the Underworld by several figures, two of whom were apparently meant to be Hades and Persephone. I looked more closely, though, and noticed that the faces of both Hades and Persephone were familiar ... from that same painting at the Cullen's, I realized. With a jolt, I remembered the story that Edward told about the painting at his house - about the Italian vampires that Carlisle had lived with for a time. They had Roman-sounding names ... Marcus, Gaius ... no, wait, Caius, and I couldn't quite remember the third name, although I was pretty sure it was something short. Did it start with an "A"? They were all men, but I had learned in class that Renaissance and Baroque painters would sometimes use male models for painting females, since female models were more rare and expensive to use. Or maybe the artist knew better than to insist on someone else as the model, I mentally appended.

There was no question that this was the painting I would write about, since I knew I would be unable to concentrate on anything else while I was in this museum. How masochistic of you, Bella, I thought, but at the same time I felt oddly comforted by the painting, which stood as a tangible link between myself and the Cullens. It will be as though we never existed, Edward had said, or some such nonsense. Yes, well, I guess when you were hundreds of years old, and buddies with the rich and powerful, it was hard not to leave some traces behind.

I looked again at the informational label for the painting, finally focusing on the last two lines. On long-term loan from the private collection of Aro Volturus, Volterra, Italy. This loan was made possible in part by a generous donation from the Simon Cullen Foundation. Although I thought I couldn't be any more surprised, I experienced another shock. Aro - that was the name of the final vampire. And they were called the Volturi, the ones that were essentially the ruling body of all vampires. It was beginning to come back to me. But Simon Cullen? I knew that the Cullens I knew had to be related to this - it was too much coincidence otherwise. But I had never heard that first name used by any of them.

Still reeling, I sat down in front of the painting and pulled out a notebook, and started to roughly sketch the image before beginning my description and analysis. The more time that I focused on it, though, the more I felt a building ache in my chest, as I wished the painting would turn into a window that I could step through, so I could talk to Carlisle again. Even though I was aware he had not even been born when this painting was created, I began to imagine that I could see Edward's face in one of the shadowy Underworld figures, looking on resignedly as Eurydice was torn from her husband's arms. The anguished expression on Orpheus's face became an outward manifestation of the vice-like pain wrapping itself around my chest.

Hours later, I knew I would have to tear myself away from the painting, especially since the museum was getting close to closing time. I would be back, though. As I left, I stopped to talk to the docent by the front door. She glanced up from her paperwork as I paused by the front desk.

"Excuse me, but I'm writing a paper on one of the paintings in the permanent collection, and I was wondering if I could get a little additional information."

"We're closing soon, but I will do my best," she replied.

"Um, well, I'm doing my paper on the Solimena painting Orpheus Leaving the Underworld, and I wanted to know more about the donor who is loaning it."

"Ah, yes, that painting is one of the highlights of our European collection. I don't have the information right in front of me, but if you come back tomorrow, I can give you the specifics of the loan."

"Sure - thank you." I replied.

It was twilight as I walked out of the building, and I had a sudden inspired idea. Instead of heading back to my room, I made a beeline for the library, which I knew would be open late. Time to do some research, I thought. I found an empty carrel with a computer, and sat down, suddenly nervous. I opened the browser, staring at the library's home page, willing my suddenly reluctant fingers to move over the keyboard. I opened Google, and began typing.

Simon Cullen Foundation

In the seemingly eternal moment between hitting "search" and seeing the results page, I reflected on what I was doing. I had never actively sought out the Cullens - I knew that Edward did not want me around, and I wasn't going to keep after him like a lost puppy. However, I was aware my choice of Dartmouth (and every other school I had applied to) had been influenced by the likelihood of seeing Edward there, even though I had never openly admitted it to myself until rather recently. Each school had been somewhere cold, with rainy or snowy weather, as well as being somewhere I could imagine Edward attending. The pain of staying in the familiar Northwest, though, with my strong associations to spending time with Edwards outdoors - in the meadows, under the dark boughs of the ancient fir and cedar trees - kept me from going to the University of Washington or somewhere else close to home. So my schools had all been East Coast. I never really expected to be admitted to any of my Ivy League "reach" schools, but when I received the acceptance letter from Dartmouth, I knew instantly that that's where I would be going.

The search results page popped up, and I looked at it, surprised. Most of the entries obviously only mentioned the Simon Cullen Foundation in passing, mostly in relation to gifts or donations given. There was one listing for the Foundation itself, and I mentally steeled myself, and clicked on the link.

A single page came up.

The Simon Cullen Foundation was founded in 1936 as a charitable organization focused on preserving artworks of historic merit, and making those works accessible to the greater public. The Foundation makes grants and donations to educational institutions and non-profit organizations for the purpose of facilitating international cultural exchange between qualified institutions.

The Simon Cullen Foundation is a tax-exempt organization under Section 501(c) (3) of the Internal Revenue Code.

The Simon Cullen Foundation

P.O. Box 11463

New York, NY 10001-1463

I stared blankly at the page for a moment, crestfallen. Well, that answers nothing, I thought. It's just as well, though, I continued, I was only doing this for curiosity's sake anyway. Or, so I told myself, even though deep down, some tiny hope that I was going to learn something new about the Cullens was quietly being crushed.

I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing slowly in and out, more for comfort than necessity. Then my eyes snapped back open, and I pulled up the Google search page again. I typed in a new phrase:

Aro Volturus Volterra Italy

The search results page came up, and again I reacted with surprise. Whatever I had been expecting to find, this was definitely not it.