Alright, thanks everyone for the lovely support, and humongous apologies for the delay. I am glad to announce that I am now referring the Twilight Lexicon for this fic, and I shall try to take this story on as close as possible to canon. Thanks again for the tip, and hope you'll all enjoy this story!

A Purpose and a Prospect

The year was 1916. The day was rather unsettling, with the sun being indecisive about staying hidden in the clouds or blasting us with occasional flashes of bright sunlight. I was driving along an empty, winding country lane in a smooth, sailing-in-the-wind speed, despite the obvious rough roads. I was barely paying any attention, as driving had become a sort of a reflex for me. Though I wouldn't like to boast, I was one of the first women in town to start driving a car. I loved it. I loved the freedom of movement it gave us usually chaperoned women, the flying along in never-before-imagined speeds. Sometimes heads turned when they saw me gaily flash past in my shiny T-Model Ford, my hat nearly flapping off my head. Not that the car was unusual, it was merely me driving it that was. Folks in the country were not very open to new and 'radical' ideas.

I didn't care one bit whether people stared at me or not. And so I was just as complacent that day, the day I am speaking of. I wasn't exactly complacent- I'd had another of many rows with my parents over the marriage issue. A lot of my friends were getting married, even though there was a general fear that our country might be called to war any moment. And then the men would have to go to war. But couples were getting engaged nonetheless, and wedding plans continued to go on peacefully. Meanwhile, my parents and I seemed to have struck some sort of impasse, with neither of us making any move to relent.

My delicate brows slanted forward in a frown, I was thinking of new arguments to counter theirs', barely looking at the road when it happened. I was passing through fields at that moment, and suddenly, without any warning, a child ran out of the tall, golden wheat crops. I gave a little half-shriek, stomped down on the brakes and swerved at the same time. With an almighty screech, my car tumbled into the field, making a huge mess of all the golden crops and itself. I barely noticed the mangled front hood of my car. My heart thudding so hard I could feel my body thrum with the pulse, I struggled to open my door, but it had jammed shut. "Damn!"- I swore, and stood up on my leather seat and leaped out of the car as quickly as possible, tearing my skirt in the process. Silently thanking fate to have given me an open-bodied car, I ran to the road, hoping, praying that nothing had happened.

Two children sat in the middle of the road; the younger, a boy, wailing loudly, and the older girl trying to console him. The girl looked up at the sound of my scurrying feet. She seemed all of eight years old, yet she glared at me with such venomous hate that I froze in astonishment, and deep, deep mortification. The boy- who was the one who had run out- seemed only five, at the most, and had a scraped knee. I examined him from a distance anxiously. He did not seem have been injured in any other way. I breathed a quick sigh of relief.

The girl, however, was not done with me. She stood up and approached me with her hands on her hips and such a murderous scowl on her face that I actually took a step backward.

"You were gonna kill my brother!"-she squeaked in a high-pitched octave.

I winced as though she had slapped me. "I didn't mean to. I'm terribly so-"

"He could have died!"-she shrieked again, pointing at him, her jarring voice grating on my eardrums.

"Linda!"-a soft reproving voice came from within the golden foliage. The next moment, the crops parted, and a plain little woman, with blond hair slicked back into a bun emerged from the field. She seemed to be on the verge of entering her thirties, yet had a certain youthful charm. The girl immediately ran over to her, her finger shifting a full hundred and eighty degrees to point at me. "She ran over Luke in her fancy car!" It was like she was telling on me. The little pipsqueak.

"I most certainly did not!"-I exclaimed in my most outraged-ladylike-manner. "I nearly ran over him, there's a difference-"

"He could have died!"-she repeated again, with a certain relish only children have.

"Linda." The woman repeated warningly. The girl lapsed into a sulky silence.

The woman knelt next to the boy, enveloping him in a warm, soft hug, completely ignoring me. "There, there," she murmured. The boy buried his face in her chest, his wails muffled. For several moments I stood there awkwardly, watching them, while Linda watched me sulkily. I watched the woman murmur soft, comforting nothings in his ear, examine his knee tenderly and tell him that there was no harm done, and that real men don't cry. The boy immediately ceased sobbing, and sniffled in acknowledgement.

I felt a pang in my heart, and a horrible sweaty, choking feeling. The boy could have been my Edward, and the woman me. And if it had been Edward today, in the fields…

The world dimmed around me and I staggered. Immediately, a pair of soft, yet firm hands steadied me and made me sit down on the strip of dirt next to the road that was the sidewalk.

"Are you alright?"-the woman asked me anxiously, her plain face creased with worry. The little boy was standing next to her, staring at me curiously.

"Yes," I half-choked, half-gasped.

"It's alright, there's no harm done."-she said softly, reassuringly.

I shook my head. Already the terrible clamminess was going away. It had been a momentary weakness.

"I'm terribly sorry about your son. I was-"

"Oh, but he's not my son," she smiled and cut in.

"Oh? But-"

"I'm a schoolteacher. I teach at their school."

I stared at her for a full moment. A schoolteacher? But that maternal love, that tenderness…

Her smile widened at my expression. "I know. They seem to be my own children, don't they?" She let out a delightful giggle. "Everyone thinks so. Of course, every child I teach is like my own. I love them all equally, and love them a lot."

I searched for words. This suddenly seemed very new to me, though I didn't know why. Somehow schoolteachers belonged to another world, another life. But I suddenly saw it as an actual, real occupation in my own world.

As though she was reading my thoughts, she said, "Sometimes, I think it is one of the noblest professions. You teach these children to live in this harsh world, you shape their minds, and you can give them all the love you have to spare. It is the best feeling in the whole world."

She was smiling so sincerely, that I believed her. I believed that she believed in what she was doing, and I respected her for doing so.

Suddenly, the idea gripped me. You can give them all the love you have to spare.The sentence was stuck in my head. Of course I had lots of love to spare. I was nearly smothering Edward with all of it, and indirectly hurting Mother in the process. To be a schoolteacher would be heaven… and so my life suddenly had a purpose.

"A schoolteacher?"- my father exploded. It had been a week since the accident. I had spent the whole week thinking realistically and planning practically. Would I really enjoy being a schoolteacher? The children could be angels, but could be little devils at the same time. Could I handle that? Could I teach well enough to capture the little ones' interests? Of knowledge I had a considerable amount- my parents had always encouraged me to read- but could I share it well enough?

I had thought and thought, and at the end of the week, I could answer a yes to each of my questions with some confidence. With Edward in the house, I didn't really doubt my ability to mingle with the children. And the teaching part- well, with some experience, I was confident I could improve. And so it was decided.

My parents, however, did not take my decision well. Not that I expected them to.

Mother was worried. "But Esme, dear, why? You don't have to earn any money-"

"It's not for the money!" I snapped. "It is- it's my calling!"

My father muttered a word I never heard him speak before. In fact, I didn't think he even knew the word. But it made Mother say reprovingly, "Jeff!"

"What do you think," he demanded angrily, ignoring Mother and pacing up and down, "we'll tell everyone? That our daughter is working in the local school for a mere pittance as though she were penniless! What will people say?"

"Let them say what they like," I said calmly. "I'll be happy, that's all that matters."

"Do you never think straight, Esme Anne?"

Ignoring him, I swept on, "And besides, I won't be working here. I wish to go out west to teach."

"Out west- out west! Madness!" Father spluttered.

But I was firm. The western states were fast progressing- industrialism had seen to that. However, it was essential that the people and the children progress as well, in every possible sense. And so they needed more schoolteachers to help usher in a new era of prosperity. I knew all this because I had had a long chat with Mary, my new schoolteacher friend. As to me, personally, the thought of aiding the grand wave of progress had me thoroughly excited. Not to mention the fact that I would be traveling, seeing new places.

"Absolutely not!"

"And why not?" I asked heatedly.

Dad seemed to search for words, then he snapped, "You must take care of your mother! You can't leave her!"

I had a ready answer for this. "You're ready to pack me off and marry me to some man- tomorrow, if need be! Who'll take care of her if I get married?"

There was a pause. "That is different," Father said slowly.

"How so?"-I asked triumphantly.

"He means it's more socially acceptable."- a bored voice said. "Understand, Esme."

Elizabeth sauntered into the sitting room, and collapsed languidly into a chaise. Just turned fourteen, Elizabeth had abandoned the last traces of childishness left in her, and would set off to college(or finishing school, as they called it) soon. I had to admit, I was jealous. She was turning into more of a rebel than I ever had been. Not to mention a damned attractive rebel. Though I never could have imagined it, this mutual rebelliousness actually made us get along, and get along well, sometimes.

At the moment, however, I was in no mood for her black humour. "Shut up, Elizabeth," I muttered fiercely.

"Esme!"

"Don't take on so, Mums," Elizabeth said, grinning. "She can say a lot worse."

"Enough!"- Father snapped. "Lizzie- this does not concern you."

"But daddy, it concerns this family. And even if Esme might not be soon enough, I'm still a part of this family." Her lovely green eyes roved over to me, twinkling; a wicked smile on her face.

"Really, Esme," she continued in a serious tone, but the smile never leaving her face, "you shouldn't worry about Mum here. What am I for? And even Eddie. You really don't have to worry."

The casual mention of Edward's name made my blood boil. "You don't know one thing about taking care of him!"-I snapped.

Her smile flickered. "He's my brother, too."

I snorted. All Elizabeth did was romp about with Edward and show him off to her friends.

"Who'll take care of Edward, then, eh?" –Father asked suddenly, finding the weak spot in my armour of self-confidence. "Will you be able to leave him and go away?"

I didn't have an answer. It was one of the biggest questions of doubt in my mind, but I just didn't know if I could tear myself away from him.

Elizabeth watched the uncertainty show on my face with narrow eyes. "In case you didn't notice, Esme," she said silkily, "I'm trying to help you here."

I turned my gaze to her, confused.

"When I say I can take care of Mother and Edward, I mean it," she said, suddenly serious. "So you can go become the Messiah of the poor uneducated little tykes out west. I support you fully in this case." Suddenly she smiled; a warm sisterly smile she only reserved for Edward and sometimes Eleanor, but never me. And for the first time, I truly felt glad to have her with me. Spontaneously I crossed the room, and caught her in a tight embrace.

"Esme!"-she gasped, taken by surprise. "I can't breathe!"

"A schoolteacher? Esme Platt, are you mad?" My friend Amelia gasped, mortified. "What on earth has possessed you?"

"I'm serious, Mel."

"But it's absolutely ridiculous! And how terribly boring…"

Amelia was using her newly acquired English accent with much gusto. "Oh, Esme darling, you couldn't! You simply musn't!"

"Quit the crazy accent, Mel. I'm dead serious."

Amelia relapsed into her normal accent grudgingly. But she still had a hint of the English in her voice, the accent having seeped in during her months of stay in England.

"But, really, Esme- are you sure?"

"Plumb certain."

"But why?"

I sighed, and explained it all to her. Amelia listened with rapt attention. "You make it sound so… nice."-she said, finally. "Even though it isn't so easy."

"Of course it isn't," I said quickly. "I know that. It won't be a bed of roses."

We were both quiet for some time. Then Mel broke the silence-"You know, I always thought you'd be the first of us all to get married."

I smiled grimly. "And yet here we are."

"You've never really told me why."

There was a slight pause before I answered. "I have told you. I haven't met the right person yet."

Amelia said calmly, "That's just nonsense. I didn't look for any such specifications when I got engaged. And Robby's a thoroughly nice man. Just how do you know who the right person is?"

"I'll know it when I see it," I said nonchalantly.

"Perhaps," Amelia said slowly, "you've already met him."

I faked a laugh. "Oh, definitely not! Trust me, Mel, I'd have known."

She scrutinized me with that searching look of hers which always discomforted me. "Perhaps you did know."

I knew we were both thinking about the same person.

Then, thankfully, a commotion distracted us.

"Oh, Melly! Charles is home!"- Mrs. Evenson called from downstairs in one of her rare outbursts of emotion.

Amelia was completely distracted. "Charlie!"- she squealed, took my hand, and dragged me downstairs along with her.

I had never met Charles Evenson, though I had heard much about him. I had already formed my opinion about him from Mel's descriptions. He seemed to be a thoroughly enjoyable man to be with. So, as I stumbled down the stairs, my hand clasped tightly in Mel's, all I felt was genuine curiosity, nothing more. Little did I know that my life was going to go through another upheaval of sorts, and this meeting would strike down in stone the fate which was to lead me, through a torturous and painful path, to the angel in my dreams.