Recap: He wasn't very wealthy, but he had built a nice farm for himself in the country. I was to be married on Sunday. I looked down at the dress I was embroidering. It would be my wedding dress. As my parents embraced me, I let a tear stream down my face. What would become of me?

Ok, so the Prologue was originally part of the first chapter. Oh, and I know most of this is cheesy, oh well. I don't have a Beta yet, so if there are mistakes please notify me or just ignore them. This is my first fanfic, so please don't expect perfection. Thank you for reading, reviews are appreciated. Merci! ~IndiaIdania

IndiaIdania

Carlisle et Esme

Morning Light

La Lumière du Matin

Chapter One

January 26, 2009

First Sight

My husband was never abusive and we got along, but I can't say that I truly loved him. Our marriage had been arranged. My parents had been on the brink of poverty, and my father wanted to marry me off, so he would know that I would have my needs met. His name was Charles Emerson. He was not very handsome, but he was gentle. He didn't speak very much to me, but he would smile at me as he walked out of the door to tend to his … our… farm. He had not touched me yet. He was very shy when it came to intimacy, but that didn't upset me. I didn't think of him that way. I began to think of it more often now because I was twenty, and we didn't have any children. My desire for a child steadily grew stronger as I watched my former friends carry their cherub cheeked toddlers into hat boutiques on my rare visits to my family in town. My father's and mother's health was fading. I spent long hours trying to nurse them back to health, and spent the allowance Charles would give me every month on doctors and the tonics they would prescribe. Nothing seemed to improve them. I knew I would lose them soon. Who would I have to love? Who would love me? Charles, even though he was kind, was not interested in love. His farm was his lover and wife. If he had ever opened up, then possibly we would have grown to love each other.

One Year Later

As worry of the U.S. joining the Great War frightened and loomed over the heads of the American citizens, the young men became more and more excited. They wanted nothing more than to defend their country. President Wilson had already declared war on Germany in April, and if Austria-Hungary didn't sign a peace treaty with the United States, he would declare war on them as well. So far Austria-Hungary remained loyal to Germany. If that happened, a draft would be instated. Charles told me during the summer that if he was drafted he would send me to his brother's home in Wisconsin.

After my parents died in January, I began volunteering at the hospital feeding invalids and washing soiled bed linens. Later I began to nurse the children there as well. I enjoyed interacting with the children especially. Taking care of them and just being around them helped to coax with the pain of loosing the only people I truly loved, and loved me. I tried to avoid the elderly patients after an elderly man that I had been assigned suffered a seizure after I fed him. He died right in front of me. There had been nothing I could do, just as with my parents. I tried everything, and they still slipped away. Almost all the children that came into the hospital mostly had broken bones or needed various surgeries. Very few were lost. I had very little to entertain myself with at the farm; and as I said, I enjoyed keeping the children company. After I had finished the washing, I would go and read to a little boy named Andrew. He was suffering from Cholera. A young doctor, who worked a night shift, was treating him intravenously. I had never seen the doctor, but I had heard of how all of his patients always recovered. It made me wish I would have known of him when my parents had still been alive. Maybe he could have saved them. Why couldn't I have saved them?

I wish I was able to say that my humanitarian efforts had only been motivated by selflessness and a desire to serve others. After my parents passed, Charles began to change. He had been on edge since the United States declared war on Germany. He would storm around the house mumbling things about not leaving his farm and "damn those bloody Germans." I wasn't used to this kind of behavior, and it frightened me a little. One December evening as we sat down to dinner, Charles announced that he had been drafted. At first I felt relieved, then embarrassed for feeling that way. Hadn't Charles given me a comfortable home, fed and clothed me? Why would I feel relieved that he would be put in a place where he could very possibly be killed? I looked across the table at his troubled face. I instantly got up and walked across to him. "I'm so sorry, Charles." What was there to say? I hardly knew him. We rarely spoke to each other, other than the usual "Good morning, breakfast is ready, Charles."

"Thank you Anne."

"Are you ready for supper, Charles?"

"Ah, smells good."

"How was your day, Charles?"

"Chickens are laying."

"Oh, that's good, omelets for breakfast tomorrow." I always started and ended the conversation. It didn't vary much. It was like reciting lines for a play. We never had any other type of relationship. It suddenly occurred to me that he may have married me for my cooking expertise, and that wasn't saying much. There really wasn't any other explanation. We certainly had never been intimate. We didn't even sleep on the same floor, much less the same room.

He started up at me, and furrowed his eyebrows. "Anne… something has been bothering me of late." His eyes slid from my mouth and focused on my collarbone. He wouldn't call me Esme; he wasn't fond of the French. I waited. Would he send me to Wisconsin?

"Anne, I'm not going to force you," I think his words came out a little louder than he wanted them to, my body felt like I had been electrocuted, like when you realize that you've been caught for something you though you had gotten away with.

"I don't know what you mean Charles," Oh, but I did.

"Anne, I'm being sent to Germany." Oh heavens, that was in the heart of the battle. "I want to leave our farm to an heir; I don't need my brother trying to take over my property. You may stay here; I won't send you anywhere. There is enough money in the bank to pay the farmhands I'll hire before I leave until our son is old enough to do it himself." Our son. He doesn't think he'll be coming back…

"Charles, you shouldn't think that way." I tried to comfort him, as he rose from the table and walked to his bedroom door.

"Anne, I'm being sent to Berlin."

The kitchen was clean, and I sat on the edge of my bed. Should I tell him that I am ready? Because I am certainly not… Will it hurt very much? Will he love me because I will be carrying his child? Where did that come from? Sex doesn't equal love. I had seen it with almost all of my friends and their husbands. In their cases it seemed to equal the opposite. How do I lay with him when I don't even love him like that? Does this mean I'm a whore? No, of course not!... I am his wife… It's expected. Everyone probably thinks I can't have children by how long we've waited… I hope it doesn't take very long. I'm going to die of humiliation. How awkward and embarrassing!!! What if I see him? What if he wants me to take my blouse and bra off? Surely not. This is only for an heir.

"Anne." I looked up, and he was in my doorway. His face was crimson. Please be quick.

I decided to stay late at the hospital the next day. I didn't want to endure that humiliation again. Maybe he would be asleep when I got home. I sat down in a chair next to Andrew's bed and began to read The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Why did this child want me to read a horror story to him? If it made him happy, then one ghost story wouldn't hurt him. The sun began to set, but I ignored it. I would finish the story first. There was a knock at the door that made Andrew jump. Maybe the story was too much for him. "Excuse me, Madame." Oh. I turned to look at the doctor. My breath caught. He's so handsome… I blushed, but didn't look away. I'm staring; he's going to think I'm incoherent. "I don't mean to interrupt, but may I have a look at my patient?" He smiled warmly and held out his hand. "My name is Dr. Cullen," he bent to my level and took my hand.

"Esme," I breathed. I mentally shook myself, and sat up straighter. "Mrs. Esme Emerson."

"Enchanté, Madame," he said looking me straight in the eye and kissed my hand. It burned where his icy lips had been. It must be colder outside then I had thought. He straightened up, and continued. "It's getting late; shouldn't you be home with your husband?" As if on cue Charles entered the room.

"Anne, why are you still here? Does the car not want to start?"

"Sorry, I lost track of the time."

"Dr."

"Mr. Emerson. Goodnight, Mrs. Emerson."

"Goodnight, Dr. Cullen."

Charles led me to the car. Had he walked from the farm? I used the car to go to and from the hospital each day. Charles normally stayed at the farm all day. When he needed it, I made plans to stay home and clean the house, or catch up on the ever-growing pile of things to be mended. "Phil gave me a ride, when you weren't home for supper," he shrugged before I could ask. Phil was a neighboring farmer. The drive home was comfortably silent, as always. He looked straight ahead, and gripped the wheel tightly. He was so tense. I could tell that we would be trying again tonight. It would happen nearly the same as the first night, except that I would understand that I was to remove my dress and get into the bed under the covers while he turned around and removed his trousers.

He had led me to his room; I was so grateful that it hadn't happened in my bed. I wouldn't be able to sleep there anymore if it would have. I stood in the center of the room beside his bed and waited for him. I had no clue how to do this. I understood that the husband usually undressed the wife. I waited patiently for him to get it over with. He had been facing the door for a long two minutes. Was he trying to compose himself? His hesitation was shaking my own resolve that I had built up, just a few minutes earlier in my bedroom. "Are you ready, Anne?" he said to the door.

"Yes, Charles," I replied my voice still held its resolve. He turned around. He took me in and frowned.

"Please, Anne, don't be difficult."

"I don't know what you mean, Charles. What do you want me to do?" my voice faltered on the last sentence.

"Take off your dress and get under the covers," he ordered, but his face was cherry red. He turned around again, and I did what he said. I stared at the ceiling while I waited for him. He sat on the edge of the bed and scooted under the covers, careful not to uncover me. I was still wearing my bra, camisole, and panties. He looked at my face once before getting on top of me. His weight crushed my lungs at first, but he soon lifted off of me as soon as he registered the contact. Though my lungs were grateful, I couldn't help but wonder if physical contact with me disgusted him. Please just get it over with, I pleaded in my head over and over again. While he hovered above me, he fumbled with my panties trying to get them over my hips. I lifted myself only a fraction so that I wouldn't touch him either. Once my panties were off, he stared into my face, not particularly my eyes, but in their general direction. I nodded slightly. He entered me suddenly, the searing pain almost caused me to scream, but I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw began to ache. Thankfully, it didn't last long. As soon as he was finished I wrapped myself in a sheet, took my dress and panties and went back to my room. After throwing up and lying down for a while, hoping the soreness would go away, I decided to take a hot bath. The bath calmed my muscles and washed away the bloody mess on my inner thighs that had been too sore to touch. I cried myself to sleep that night, as I would tonight and the next few nights until Charles left for Germany.