Fierce, the wind outside howled as it rushed past the eves, hauling a heavy burden of wet snow. The winter had been long already, and a hard one. Even so, it wasn't nearly over. Months still stretched until the time when the warm sun of spring would show again, melting the thick blanket of frozen white away to bring forth a green reborn world.

Thin tendrils of smoke drifted heavenward from the line of candles arranged on the altar. The town's only Father kneeled before them, head tilted. His face was passive, his green eyes contemplative as ever. He had spent most of his more than fifty years dwelling within hallowed walls, tending to the souls of the tiny newborn town of Forks. He was glad for the communion with the divine, for the many moments when he felt and saw the Holy Spirit flow through the congregation. For the hundreds of times he'd poured blessed water to welcome new souls into the fold and even for the times he'd spoken ancient words as members of his flock left this mortal life. His God was powerful, and he felt His love in a lifetime of dedication. This love and faith had kept him strong in the path of righteousness.

Yet somewhere, in some dark recess of his heart, he was never quite satisfied. Some restless bit of his spirit hungered, whispers asking always if there wasn't something more. He was a good man, a lawful man, and had lived his years by the teachings of his mentors.

His birth father, the man for whom he was named, had died of fever along with his mother when he was just a small boy. He had few memories of them. There was no other family to raise him, so the surgeon who had been called to treat them took the young orphan home as his own. The surgeon's wife, a gentle and God-fearing lady called Esme, was left barren by the troubled birth and loss of their only child. Her heart was warm and she had welcomed him as a son. Carlisle was a wise man, who made sure Edward never wanted for reading materials and that his mind was honed to use them. At his side Edward had learned many things of faith and the world, and of the infirmities of flesh. He'd considered following Carlisle's footsteps to a profession in medicine before the calling of faith became louder. Short of the parents who had brought him into the world, he couldn't have asked for a better family.
He visited them still, when the snow wasn't too deep. Father Edward knew the names and stories that lay under each new wooden cross in the church's field, and often walked among them with a prayer on his lips for the peace of the dead and the families left behind. Always, his walks seemed to end at these two blessed markers. He hoped the words he spoke there still traveled to the ears of his beloved adopted parents where they sat at the Creator's feet. He hoped they approved of the man he had become, that they found him worthy of the love they'd given freely. He hoped he deserved to be the life they'd saved.

The heavy carved wooden door opened with a bang, caught by the cold wind and snatched from half frozen hands. A blast of icy air tore through the room, biting through his thick robes. He shivered.

"Father Edward!" a voice called to him, urgently. "Father!" A small group pressed through the door, caked in the wet snow. The Newtons, he quickly recognized. Michael, who lived with his wife Jessica and their four sons at the edge of town. What could bring Michael and his three eldest sons out into weather such as this? Father Edward's pulse quickened.

"Yes, I am here," he answered them, rising to his feet.

"Father, can you come? And quickly?" Michael asked, rushing over his words. "She's injured, the snow , it was too much, the roof caved and Anthony ran for us."

"Jessica?" Edward asked, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jessica had troubled him as a girl, unable to accept his dedicated calling and his lack of interest in her beauty, but that was many years gone. She'd grown past her childish infatuation, married Michael and become an important woman in the community. She was a caretaker of the ill and infirm, and a fine upstanding Christian. Her sons were nearly grown save the last. Young Anthony still clung to his mother's skirts when they came to town for service.

"No, no, Jessica is at home with her. Anthony came for us and we carried her. She's injured, she needs help. Jessica doesn't know what to do for her. We need you, Father Edward."

"Who?" Father Edward asked. "Who is it that's injured?"

"It's Bella, Father. The roof fell in. Bella's roof fell, and her legs. Oh, God's mercy, her legs!"

-Author's Note-

So, what do you think? It's been a long time since I've written anything and I have little confidence. Reviews, anyone? Please?
I have the story line already laid out for this one and it won't be a very long piece. I'll try to get it finished before the writing bug leaves town again.