Chapter 4 Cinnamon and Pine

"You and Chief Swan look like you were having a nice conversation," Rosalie said. We sat in a booth at the front of the restaurant with cups of coffee, legal documents spread out over the scarred Formica countertop.

"This day just keeps getting more and more surreal," I said, not meeting her gaze. "I'm waiting to wake up and realize this was all just a bad dream, brought on by a defective batch of store brand ramen."

"Trust me, Bella, your dreams would be a whole lot more interesting than this." Rosalie was too busy shifting papers to notice the dull heat that colored my cheeks a dark, vibrant red. Her statement was too intimate, too insightful, reminding me of the strange longing I'd developed for the voice from my dream. I couldn't call it a nightmare – even if the beginning had been horrific.

Wishing won't make him true. Let go, Bella. I told myself, only realizing after that I'd called myself Bella. The transition from Marie Geoffrey to Isabella Swan was coming almost too easily, which scared me. The answers that I could find in this town were important, but I knew I couldn't turn my back on the life I'd had before. At some point, I would have to face Renee and the lies she'd spun to understand exactly why she had taken me away from all this. I didn't doubt that she believed her actions were for my benefit, but at this point, I was having an incredibly hard time discerning what would have motivated her to run. Charlie Swan seemed like a good man, and everything about the situation to date had been entirely above board.

There had to be something more, something that I either wasn't seeing or didn't yet know. For now, I decided to push that to the side, focusing instead on Rosalie Hale and the information that she could provide that would fill in the gaps.

"There are two pieces to the trust," she said, speaking slowly as she slid a document across the table. "The first is the house, a gift from your Grandmother Swan, which you have already taken possession of. It and all the items contained within are yours to do with as you see fit. The house has been appraised at two hundred thousand dollars, and is paid in full. An escrow account covers property taxes and any related insurance fees, so you won't have to worry about any of that. As for items in the house of value, there are a number of books that would be considered local antiquities. I am sure there are a number of people that would very much like to buy them from you."

My head was spinning; the numbers and facts Rosalie Hale was throwing out at me were mind boggling. I owned a house worth two hundred thousand dollars – and it was mine to do with as I pleased. I'd never lived in a house, and now I actually owned one. It felt like a little slice of heaven.

"The second portion of the trust is a financial bequest on behalf of your Grandmother Higgenbotham. When she died, she left you fifty thousand dollars. It has been invested for you, and the amount has matured –"

"When did she die?" I asked, cutting Rosalie off. Talking about money in the same breath as a woman's passing felt inappropriate to me. I needed to know more about her before I could process what she might have done on my behalf.

"1999. The money has matured and grown with investment, and is just short of eighty thousand dollars now –"

"So my dad is all I have left," I said, cutting her off again. "He wasn't wearing a wedding ring— he didn't marry someone else?"

Rosalie took a deep breath, no doubt channeling her frustrations with my off topic questions. "No, he's not married. I don't understand what that has to do with your trust."

"It doesn't," I answered quickly. "It's just – I spent my whole life thinking one thing, come to find out it's the total opposite. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, my whole life has been based on a lie. I have a family I didn't know about, a different name – I just need to understand why."

"Trust me," Rosalie said, leaning forward to place her hand over mine, just like I had with Charlie. She'd been cradling her coffee mug, her poise and posture similar to that of her brother's. The heat from the ceramic had transferred to her palm and fingers, warming them.
It complimented the resolve in her voice. "I had a big family, and when I lost it, everything I thought I knew was flipped on its head. Even when you have all the answers it doesn't mean things are going to make sense. It took a long time and a lot of bad things for me to figure out who I should be, let alone who I wanted to be. You aren't any different. You'll get it. It just takes time."

Withdrawing my hand, I rubbed my eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm just completely exhausted, and this is all a lot to take in."

She smiled kindly, nodding her head. "I can understand that. We can wrap this up, and I'll let you get some sleep." She aligned a piece of paper to the edge of the table, tapping a finger at the edge. "In addition to the two bequests, there are some stipulations. The house and the money are yours to do with as you see fit, on the condition that you live in this town for one year. You must take possession of the house by your twenty third birthday and maintain the property for one year."

"Maintain, you mean live there?" I asked, shocked. "But I'm in school! I've got a job and a life in Phoenix."

"You must also have a paternity test done to verify that you are indeed Isabella Marie Swan.
I have no doubt that you are, seeing you and Charlie together is enough to prove that, but it's
a mandate in the trust that must be met. I've made an appointment for you at the hospital on Tuesday morning. Once we have that formality crossed off the list, you can decide how you would like to proceed."

"Proceed? I don't understand?" I was fumbling now, trying desperately to line everything up. The trust had been the farthest thing from my mind, and now I was being forced to make a decision. It was like a bizarre twist on a game show – this too can be yours if you choose to drop out of society and live in the sticks for a year.

Was a chance to know my father, to learn the other side of my personal history worth stepping off track for a full twelve months?

"Your grandmothers wanted you to know this part of your life, Bella," Rosalie said, collating the documents and slipping them back into a file folder. "That is why they created the trust for you. I know it's a lot to take in, and you don't have to decide now. Sleep on it, spend some time here. It's only September fourth. You have nine days to decide what you want to do. The house is already in your possession, and the paternity test will just be a check mark on the list." She stood, pulling the file folder along with her. "You have my phone number. Call me if you have any questions."

She was halfway out the door before I'd gathered my wits to call after her.

"What would have happened if you hadn't found me by my twenty third birthday?"

She smiled, and something in the way she responded chilled me to the bone. "Never an issue, Bella. We always knew we would find you."

Ω Ω Ω

Rosalie's words stayed with me long after I'd gone back to my grandmother's house. The shower, meant to wash away the travel grime and relax me into sleep did little to calm my overactive imagination. My day had been a blur of activity, highs and lows of emotions that I realize now had been designed to keep me moving. Action meant no time to over analyze the day and all the things I'd learned.

Pulling the faded quilt up to my chin, I rolled over on my side, exhausted and emotionally drained. I wanted to fight off sleep, to dissect everything I'd learned and decide what came next. In the course of a few days, I'd gone from not having two nickels to rub together to owning a house. There was a chunk of money sitting in a bank, waiting for me to claim it. I would be able to do everything I ever wanted. Finish my degree, actually own property, the list went on and on.

Those were the tangible facts, the concepts I could easily wrap my head around. The more esoteric ones were what I was struggling with – like the fact that I had a father, man who looked at me like I was the sun, moon and stars. It was almost impossible to reconcile his reaction to me with my mom's insistence that I'd not been wanted. Where was the truth, or did it lie somewhere in between, layered in the dynamics of divorce and love lost?

"Think about it tomorrow," I told myself, pulling the quilt in tighter around me. "Sleep first."

Just like the previous two nights, the strange dream laid claim to me quickly, dragging me under with a vicious tug. This time there was a face to go with the scarlet eyes, a dark haired man with a wide, childlike smile. There was no kindness in his expression, merely a terrifying glee as he stalked me, whispering things that made no sense.

You will be queen, and through you I will control it all.

The voice echoed all around me, everywhere and nowhere and I couldn't escape. The dark closed in as I ran blindly, my hands extended, groping for an exit - some way of escape. When his hand caught mine, I screamed, but the voice that filled my head was warm and calm, quickly soothing away all my fears.

Shh, it will be alright, he promised, pulling me into his arms and stroking my hair. I let him hold me, trusting that he meant what he said. Somewhere nearby there was water; the gentle crash of waves and the salty tang of the ocean, pungent and strong. You're safe, he said, rocking me gently back and forth. With my eyes sealed shut, I took slow deliberate breaths, my lungs filled with pine and cinnamon.

You are the vow, he said. I believe in you.

I shot straight up in bed, gasping desperately for air. It had all been so real, the sounds and the smells, the panic and then the calm more tangible than any dream I'd ever known. Closing my eyes, I took a slow, deliberate breath, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart as it slammed painfully against my ribs. The pain wasn't exclusively physical, for there was longing there too, a desperation for the safety I'd felt just before I woke up.

"I have no clue who you are," I said aloud, "but god I wish you were here right now."

The small digital clock on the nightstand read 5:45. I doubted I'd be able to fall back asleep. Better to get up and face the day with whatever new insights it might bring.

After dressing, I dug through the cabinets in search of coffee. There wasn't a pot or filters, let alone beans, but there was box after box of tea. Herbal, English, green, all with different, clever names. A rust colored carton caught my eye, the title literally jumping out at me - Cinnamon Apple Spice. It wasn't a double shot of espresso, but it would have to do.

With a kettle on the burner, the water slowly warming to a boil, I wandered into the living room to take a closer look at what could be my new home. In the early morning light, the space felt cozy, a place that I would have happily spent hours reading books or watching TV. I approached the hearth, using the top of the wood burning stove for balance so I could lean forward to study the framed pictures. There was an old black and white photo of a young couple, their clothing dated from what looked like the mid-fifties. The man was tall, his arm draped around a petite woman with dark hair. They were both smiling at the camera self-consciously. It was flanked by two smaller frames, both pictures of Charlie Swan. In the first, he was much younger, without his moustache, holding up a giant fish proudly. The second photo couldn't have been much older than the first, for he still looked so incredibly young. He held a tiny bundle of pink nestled safely in his arms, and he stared down at that, not at the camera. His attention was riveted on the snub nose and thatch of dark hair, the only details visible.

I'd once asked Renee why there were no pictures of me as a baby. What few we did have were always of the two of us, and seemed to start around age three. Renee's answer at the time had been simple – she said we hadn't been able to afford pictures, that food had been more important.

It made absolute sense. In a way it still did. My mother had never been malicious, never denied me things like love or attention. She'd simply approached it in a very different, albeit unconventional manner. I never doubted my love for her, but when faced with all this, I didn't know how to treat her deception, and I struggled to make sense of it all.

The questions continued to pile up, one after the other, obscuring the path that brought me here. At some point in the near future, I would need to have a conversation with my mother about her decisions. How would I begin to ask her why, and trust the answers she gave me? It felt as though my entire foundation had slowly started to crumble around me, starting with a tiny crack - the first time I heard the name Isabella Swan. I wasn't exactly sure who I was – Marie or Bella – but I did know that the answer to that was mine to discover. That was, if I had the courage to ask the right questions.

Stepping down off the hearth, I moved to my right. There was a large bookshelf that occupied the far wall, filled with books, a welcome distraction from the why's that swirled in my head. The titles were a combination of non-fiction and literary classics. A number of titles on local wildlife and history appeared to be very old, and I slowly eased one out, my index finger tugging gently at the spine.

The Making of Forks.

There was no author's name, nothing to indicate the year it was printed. The book appeared to be professionally produced, but the traditional markings, an ISBN number, copyright date, or production house were all missing. Inside was a short inscription, the handwriting masculine and bold:

I am but a simple man, moved by acts I cannot control. They brought me to you, and they gave me a new life. For this I am eternally grateful. We will change the world, make it a better, more beautiful place because the destruction did not reach the town, and out of tragedy grew hope.

I will love you forever.
Geoff

I flipped slowly through the pages, skimming captions below black and white pictures. There was an aerial shot of four rivers, the Quillayute, Bogachiel, Calawah, and Sol Duc. Small houses had just started to pop up on the crescents of land that had been carved out of the foothills.

Another photo, taken at the formal incorporation of the town on August 28, 1945, contained more distinctly Irish and English names. Cope, Banner, Newton, Stanley and Higgenbotham. According to the details on the facing page, the town had been founded by an unnamed benefactor, a wealthy industrialist from England who helped ambitious young men and women escape the drab workhouses and factories of London and work their way west, creating the backbone for the timber industry that would create the town of Forks.

I flipped the pages slowly, stopping at a color photo, the tones faded from the years. Large trees, their trunks scared black from fire, towered in the distance. The Great Forks Fire of 1951 burned more than 38,000 acres of private, public and state held land. While many homes and businesses were destroyed, it marked a boom time for Forks as the logging industry raced to process trees marked by the fire. At its peak, post fire recovery efforts processed over 1 million yards of lumber a day. Once the reclamation effort was complete, the area was restocked by seeding and planting new trees.

An earsplitting shriek broke the quiet of the house, the book falling to the floor as I jerked my hand to my chest in shock. "It's just the tea kettle, you ninny," I chided myself as I quickly picked it up and slid it back into the bookcase. It might be a good thing there wasn't any coffee in the house – I was edgy enough as it was. Artificial stimulants would only wind me up more.

In the cabinet next to the sink I found a collection of travel mugs, each one emblazoned with the Forks Chamber of Commerce Seal. I unwrapped a tea bag and dropped it in the mug, inhaling deeply as the hot water from the tea pot released the sweet aroma of apples and cinnamon. It wasn't the same as the smell in my dream or the one on the black fleece from the airplane, but it was close enough for now.

Using the olfactory tweak to create a sense of calm, I stood at the kitchen sink, looking out over the backyard. The sky was awash in soft pinks and blues, frosted with gauzy clouds. There were two chairs sitting in the grass, flanking a small wrought iron table, and beyond that, the edge of what appeared to be an endless forest. Had this been part of the area burnt in the fire mentioned in the book? I tried to imagine the trees charred black, the trunks oozing sap like wounded soldiers. Out of great tragedy comes great potential, some people would say. Acres of trees destroyed, but it brought the town together, maybe even creating the reason for my grandparents to meet. So much loomed out of our control, things we'd never be able to comprehend, causing lives to intersect and blend. There had to be a reason for all the madness that happened, the strange unexplainable events that changed the path of our life.

If I told myself that enough, maybe I could make myself believe it, and find some logic to the last few days.

I let go of all thoughts, loosing myself in the sights and smells that were dawning around me. Birds fluttered through the backyard, light brown finches hunting for bugs and worms. A squirrel raced down a tree, pausing at the edge of the woods before darting up what appeared to be a path that disappeared into dark canopy of green. The entire town was enclosed by the forest, and I was desperate to wander through the shadows, run my hands along knobby bark and pick up leaves. I wanted to experience everything about this strange new world, to let my senses loose and absorb the natural glory that was all so foreign to me, and learn more about the place I'd called home for just a little bit.

Retrieving the fleece jacket from the chair where I'd dropped it the night before, I slipped the bolt and let myself out into the backyard. The air was cool and damp, carrying a pungent, earthy smell. I pulled the jacket a bit tighter around my body, and set off towards the back corner of the yard and the little path.

For the first four hundred yards or so the path was relatively flat, cleared of roots and debris, but then it forked, the right leg angling off, up a hill, the route to the left narrower but still relatively flat. I turned left, my free hand extended as I walked so I could skim the trunks of trees and bat at low hanging ferns. The vibrant green leaves were damp from morning dew, and scattered droplets of water down onto the path along with the intermittent leaf. It was all magical and beautiful, and helped to alleviate the strange sense of gloom that had pressed down on me this morning.

"It's hard to believe that bad things can happen when the world looks like this."

The voice was gentle, and at first, I thought it was my imagination, for it was exactly what I was feeling. But the speaker was masculine; the infections similar to my dreams and the man who promised to keep me safe.

"I'm officially losing my mind, but at least it's in a pretty place," I said as I followed a sharp bend in the trail. A young man was waiting for me on the other side, his hands clasped in front of him, shoulders back as he placed most of his weight on his left leg.

I took an immediate step back, my foot snagging on a root. Unable to catch my balance, I tumbled backwards, the travel mug full of tea falling to the forest floor with a quiet thud before rolling off into the bushes.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" the man asked, taking a tentative step forward. His hand hovered in the air, as if he intended to offer it to me in assistance. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to alarm you."

He did not continue his approach, his hesitation clear. There was a good fifteen feet between us, which he did not attempt to cross.

"You didn't mean to alarm me?" I shot back, wiping my palm on my jeans. "Why would standing in the middle of the woods at seven in the morning alarm me?"

He frowned, cocking his head to the side as if he was listening for something, but he didn't move any closer. When I realized he was not going attack me, nor was he going to help me to my feet, I braced my hand against the ground and pushed into a standing position. My jeans were damp and muddy and my muscles were sore from breaking my fall, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage.

The man was still rooted to the same spot, his eyes narrowed and confused. He was young, probably my age, with thin, aquiline features. The dense canopy of trees blocked out the early morning sun, leaving him in shadow. I could make out thick hair, the color hard to distinguish in the low light. Heavy cargo pants, maybe khaki, maybe darker, and a long sleeved black shirt. He looked about as prepared to be wandering around in these woods as I did, and more keyed up than I felt.

"I'll just be heading back," I said, pulling the jacket tightly around me. The smell of cinnamon was still there, mixing with the heavy earthy scents of the forest. It took me back to my dream and that deep sense of peace I felt whenever the dream man was present. I buried my nose in the material as I backed up, focusing on the smell and the calm that it brought me, not the stranger who had popped out of nowhere, scaring me enough to knock me flat on my ass. Still frozen in place, he watched, his eyes darting from my arms to my face, his brown creasing in confusion, and then what almost looked like realization.

Once I cleared the bend, I spun around and started walking quickly back towards the house, stumbling a few times over exposed roots. My hands, pressed close against my body, were curled in fists, ready to hit should someone touch me without my permission.

"Wait, Bella," he called out. The use of my name, my new name, pulled me up short, and I spun around to face my pursuer. The man approached slowly, his face composed into a neutral mask. He carried my mug, the Forks Chamber of Commerce logo shining white against the blue plastic. "You dropped this."

His voice was so close to the one in my dream – soft and reassuring, the diction very proper, almost antiquated. He inched forward, each step slow and measured, as if I were a colt that would spook if he moved too fast.

"How did you know my name?" I asked, confused by the presence of this man and the strange reactions he brought out in me. He was closer now, some of the light breaking through the canopy to illuminate his features. Out of the shadow, his thick hair was clearly in disarray, dark honey, almost brown, with copper, bright red, and auburn streaks blended throughout. It reminded me of Charlie's comment from the night before. Hair that color can't be faked.

"Why are you smiling?" he asked, his head angling to the side again. "Did I not scare you?" The affectation made him appear childlike, confused by something he couldn't quite understand.

"How do you know my name?" I demanded, a little bit more harshly this time. I had been smiling, here in the middle of the forest with a strange man who knew my name. My judgment was slowly going to hell in a hand basket – at this rate I would probably end up dead before I got the answers I so desperately wanted.

"You're wearing my jacket," the man said, tipping the mug in my direction. "There is a small bleach stain on the left elbow. I liked it too much to throw it away. My brother gave it to you yesterday when he flew you up here."

Frowning, I extended my arm straight up into the air, tugging the material. A small grayish white spot slid into view, roughly the size of a dime.

"If that isn't enough proof," he said, his eyes fixed on my face, "it's made by Patagonia. Size extra large. There was probably a black roller ball pen in the pocket. I almost always have a pen on my person."

He was babbling, his speech oddly disjointed, clearly uncomfortable about being the cause of my distress.

"And you're Jasper and Rosalie's brother?" I asked, overcome by the ridiculous need to put him at ease. "Does that make you a Whitlock or a Hale?"

The man laughed - a strange hiccupping sound. It was awkward, and his confused expression only deepened. "My name is Edward, Edward Cullen. And you are Bella Swan."

"Yes," I said, drawing out the s to placate him, "I think we established that already." I extended my hand, my eyes on the mug he held. "May I?"

"Oh, yes, my apologies," he said quickly, extending the mug in my direction without stepping forward. "I didn't mean to startle you. I needed to get out of the house, a bit of peace, you know? I guess I wandered a bit further than intended."

"That's okay. I'm a bit on edge too."

"The last few days must have been very difficult for you." He was studying me, and it felt as though he was cataloguing my features, committing everything to memory. I ducked my head, forcing some of my hair to fall like a natural veil. "Jasper told me a little bit about your conversations. He said you were very clever, and rather shaken by the revelations."

Edward had not stepped closer, his arm still extended holding the mug. It made him appear like a contrite little boy, an offering extended to placate me. How could I have ever been scared by someone like him?

"He's a nice guy. Helped keep my mind off a lot of things yesterday, you know?" I said, filling the awkward space with meaningless words. The need to run away was gone, replaced by my natural curiosity. "He probably kept me from freaking out a few times."

"Jasper is good that way, he always seems to know what people need," Edward said, running his free hand awkwardly through his hair. He was a study in contrast to his brother and sister, both of whom were so cool and collected. He rocked awkwardly on the balls of his feet, his eyes, a darker gold than the others, never leaving my face. His words inferred that he felt inferior to his brother, envious of Jasper's natural charm. I knew what it was like to be on the outside looking in, not fitting in with those that were more gifted, more adept. It made me feel as though I'd found a kindred soul.

"I've spent my whole life in the desert," I said, smiling shyly at him. "This whole tree thing is kind of surreal you know? At least these kinds of trees." I reached out to flatten my hand against the trunk of a large pine. "I bet it is going to be absolutely beautiful here in a few weeks."

"It already is," he said quietly.

I blushed at the correction. He was right, there was a serene beauty here, a gentle, easy glory that was easy to discount.

"I didn't mean the trees," Edward said, his voice low. "I meant you."

Laughing uncomfortably, I tipped my head back towards the sky. A slow mist had just started to fall, the dense canopy all but blocking out the precipitation. The gentle tap tap tap of rain on leaves the only indication that something might be happening outside of this little path in the giant forest.

"What is that old saying?" I asked, redirecting the conversation. "If a tree falls in the woods and no one's around, does it make a sound?"

"Yes," he answered immediately. "Yes, it does make a sound."

The rain continued to drum gently on the leaves, and here and there, the chirp of a bird broke the stillness. Edward stared at me, his expression soft and full of wonder. In less than twenty four hours, I'd had two men stare at me like I was the answer to some deep life mystery. It unnerved me, but it also unlocked something deep inside of me, a longing for something that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"Here's your drink," Edward said, leaning forward so that my mug was in reach. When I took it, he didn't withdraw his hand, instead leaving it out, palm up, in invitation. "It's going to start raining hard soon. Let me get you back to shelter. Someday, when we get a break in the precipitation, I can take you exploring if you would like, show you things you've never seen before."

Without a second thought, I grasped his fingers. They were cold, as if he'd been out in the woods for far too long. Edward stared at our joined hands, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. He was not as relaxed as his brother, for Jasper had a casual air about him, one that indicated he was comfortable in his skin. No, Edward was more on edge, full of feline grace and

quick movements. That was the best description, really. If his brother was like a colt, brash and sure of himself, Edward was more reserved - his body tensed and ready to react at a moment's notice.

"You're warm," he said when our eyes met. The tension was slowly ebbing out of him now, his smile growing brighter as he gently squeezed my hand.

"You're cold," I countered.

"Not any longer. Come, let's get you out of the rain." He stepped around me, his grasp strong and sure, and led me down the path towards my grandmother's house. He was tall, his long stride sure and confident as he led me deftly around exposed roots and puddles, and I found myself wishing irrationally that the walk back was just a little bit longer.

At the edge of the forest, Edward stopped, releasing my hand.

"Don't you want to come in? I can drive you home," I said, glancing up at the sky. Now that we were out from under the canopy of green I could see that the clouds had moved in quickly, obscuring the sunrise and promise for blue skies. "At least let me make you a cup of tea."

"No, it's faster this way," Edward responded cryptically, stepping back into the shadow of the trees. "May I come see you again? I could show you waterfalls that aren't too far from here."

He smiled shyly, and I smiled back, touched by this sweet, awkward man. The more I studied him, the more the little details coalesced together. His features should have been too sharp, but his full lips, impossibly red, softened the overly patrician features in a way one might consider handsome. His hair, a mess of cowlicks and waves, gave him a youthful air and kept him from looking too serious – and when he smiled, it transformed his entire face, angelic and pure, like something out of a painting. No, he wasn't his brother.

He was so much more.

The first fat drop struck me smack in the center of my head. It was cold and ran down the back of my skull, followed by another. I threw my arms up over my head to protect myself as we both laughed at how ridiculous I looked.

"Come on, Edward," I pleaded, "You are going to get soaked!"

"Go inside, Bella," he said with a smile, taking another step back into the woods. "I promise I will see you very soon."

With that, he was gone, back up the trail, blending into the trees. I ran into the house, slamming the door shut behind me. My laughter filled the empty little room, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I felt light. I buried my face in the collar of the jacket, breathing deep, and wondered if I'd gotten close enough to Edward, he would have smelled like pine and cinnamon too.