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I looked into the bottom of my fifth glass of scotch after I finished my tale. I motioned Liam for another, but he put up his hand. Despite the drinks, I felt little more than a bit warm and dizzy. Years of finding solace in liquor had allowed me to build up a formidable tolerance.

"Sorry son, but it's just a few minutes to close." I looked up to find the bar empty and cleaned, with all the chairs stacked save the lone stool where I sat. "So tell me," Liam continued, "Did she ever forgive you?"

I shook my head and Liam continued, "I wish I could say I felt sorry for you, but sending your fiancée away? I gotta say –"

"She died." My voice cracked as I cut him off before he could continue moralizing for me. "Trust me, I learned. The hard way. I learned my lesson in a way that I can never be forgiven, or make up for my sins."

Liam nodded his head and looked at me apologetically, "I'm sorry to hear that. She sounded like a great gal."

"She was the best. I never met anyone like her."

I was told by my mother that before Isabella left that she requested to suspend correspondence from anyone in Seattle until her training was complete. This didn't sound like the Isabella I knew, but I thought perhaps this was a consequence of me essentially breaking our engagement and telling her to leave. No matter, I was convinced I would wait for her and make amends as soon as she came back to the city.

Months passed. I hardly remembered my high school graduation ceremony as I could only think of the one person I wanted to see there. I turned down parties time and time again until eventually I went to one and discovered that the numb feeling from being in a drunken stupor was the only thing that provided me from a temporary reprieve of my emotions.

I sulked. I drank. I waited.

In July, my mother started hosting Saturday mother-daughter teas at her house, and although her intentions didn't escape me, I didn't care enough to fight her or to fully engage with the ladies present. I managed to thwart the advances of several young ladies, including Lauren Mallory on several occasions.

The lights turned off in Liam's bar, and I broke from my reverie once again and finally took that as my cue to leave. Walking out into the crisp spring air, my head cleared and I made it back to my hotel room without incident and promptly fell into a restless slumber, haunted by the same images as the last twelve years – large brown eyes with tears cascading down ivory and rose colored cheeks, soft small hands running down my chest and the telegram received on September 4th, 1935.

All my hopes and dreams came crashing down on that day, when we were shown the telegram from a teary Renee Dwyer, regretting to inform her that a train that Isabella had boarded was in a terrible crash outside of New York City.

Like many others, her body was never found. So many passengers were so badly burned in an explosion that took place that only a few bodies were recognizable, and even fewer were identified through dental records, if they were available.

Just a few months later, Philip and Renee Dwyer relocated to Virginia after he was nominated and appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court. We never heard from them again.

I floated mindlessly through time and space after that. College, med school and residencies were a blur. I surely would have sunk had I not been kept afloat by hard liquor and an almost obsessive relationship with my studies. Anything to keep my mind from wandering to what could have been, and what part I had in the death of the only woman I would love.

After medical school I found myself at a crossroads. I didn't have the endless hours of studying or residency to occupy my mind, and my mother became more insistent that marrying would fall next in the natural order of becoming a full-fledged man. Between the emptiness in my life and the sound of her voice directing me to find an object for my affections, I found myself losing my grip on sanity.

So I joined the war, which was always in need of qualified doctors.

It 1943, I arrived in Europe with the same animosity for my existence that I had eight years earlier, and while I couldn't bear to actively end my own life, I never shrank away from dangerous situations. I decided that if I could save someone's life and then take my own, then we would both win. The man I would save most likely had a true love at home, and I would meet my maker and with luck, be reunited with Isabella in the great beyond.

I wouldn't be so lucky.

I returned to the United States to the open arms of my mother who promptly slapped me for being "so stupid" to put myself in harm's way, and then hugged my fiercely for being to brave and returning home to her. My father silently handed me a cigar and with a pat on my shoulder, welcomed me home.

Not long after my return, I realized that I couldn't stay in Seattle. Even after more than ten years her memory haunted me on every street and around each corner. I made the decision to relocate to New York City, focusing on surgery. My father wanted to move with me, but my mother refused to leave her home in Washington. While she missed me dearly, she simply stated that their lives, their resources and their social standing were too tightly bound with that city.

Specializing in surgery after I came home gave me another distraction from the emptiness in my life. It wasn't long before I was promoted to Chief Surgeon at Lenox Hill Hospital. Due to a combination of hard work and having met many of the staff who were sent to England during the war, I was one of the youngest Chief Surgeons in the country. At 30, I should have been proud, I should have been happy. It was difficult to feel that way though. However, in keeping with how my parents taught me to comport myself, I did the next best thing. I faked happiness until I believed it.

I managed to fake it by falling in love with my lifestyle. I enjoyed the black tie affairs that happened several times a month, and I felt a warm sense of satisfaction in being able to contribute large sums to charity. I purchased fine art, I owned a beautiful penthouse apartment near Central Park, and I had a lovely lady on my arms at almost all times in public.

The media loved me. With my attractive face, as well as my long muscled frame, I became popular with women and photographers alike. There was not a weekend that passed in which my whereabouts were not mentioned in the Society pages of the Times.

It was through my public life and social mingling that I met Tanya. Fierce, determined, unbelievable wealthy, it was easy to be with her because she was everything that Isabella wasn't. Golden red hair and bright blue eyes, a curvaceous yet toned body – she was Aphrodite incarnate. Tanya never made excuses for who she was, because she was very comfortable having grown up in one of the most prestigious families in the country. She never made mistakes in public, and her mother certainly never strayed from being anything but the ideal role model of how to be wealthy, beautiful, graceful and demure.

When my mother discovered that Tanya and I were dating, she was over the moon, and promptly held a soiree at her home to introduce her future daughter-in-law - who she had neither met, nor was present at the party.

With pressure from my mother and a need to feel like I was moving forward, I took the next natural step. I arranged a private appointment at Tiffany's and purchased a ring, which I had every intention of presenting to Tanya and requesting her hand – until I had to attend a funeral.

So that was how I found myself shuffling my way out of a bar in Bennington Vermont on a cold April night. I made it back to my hotel suite and swiftly fell in into the dreamless slumber that only sleep could provide.

I woke up in the late morning with sunlight blinding me through the expanse of windows that faced east. Stumbling through the suite, I swiftly shut the curtains and made my way back to bed, but the memories I conjured last night were all too sharp in the morning. I wasn't sure if I wanted to fall asleep, even if I was able. Doing so would mean I would have to face the nightmares featuring the Pandora's Box of memories from my love and I.

I glanced at my watch and noted that at 11am Eastern Time, my father and mother would be enjoying their Sunday breakfast at this very moment. I picked up the phone in my room and after some time, the operator had connected me with my childhood home in Seattle Washington.

After a quick update as to my whereabouts, my parents offer up their sympathies to myself and the family of my late comrade. My mother didn't have to tell me that in less than a week, the family of Chelsea Afton will receive a lovely bouquet from Dr. and Mrs. Masen of Seattle Washington. If my mother is anything if not considerate and polite.

My father also took the opportunity to remind me that a former schoolmate of his, Dr. Carlisle Cullen had an obstetrics practice just outside of Bennington. Apparently he and Dr. Cullen were also mates on Stanford's rowing team. He asked that I drop into visit him before I returned to the city, to which I agreed. While I wasn't in the mood for socializing, I recalled seeing a photo sitting in my father's study that featured his rowing team, and I remembered that the handsome blond-haired man on the far left was Dr. Cullen. During my high school days, my father regaled me with many stories of his antics in college, and I almost felt like I knew Dr. Cullen for all the times that his named has been mentioned. My father always regarded him as brilliant, compassionate, tenacious, if not a bit too sensitive for the field of medicine. My father managed to stay in touch but had not had a chance to visit him since he relocated to Vermont almost 14 years ago.

Before long, I was headed through the winding roads with an address and directions clutched in my hand. At first it seemed as though there were nothing but farms, but after a while I noted that there were private lanes that were sometimes obscured by the overgrowth of the forest. I realized I had been searching for an entrance that was a bit more ostentatious than the ones I had seen, so I forced myself to slow down and read each mailbox with care.

Soon I came across a mailbox marked "Cullen, Glendale". Hoping that this was the correct place, I veered onto the bumpy lane and headed into the bush and up a steep hill.

Finally I arrived at a large Victorian home, with a circular driveway set amongst a well-kept lawn in a clearing. The house looked warm and inviting, although upon closer inspection it was clear that the otherwise cared for building had some areas of disrepair. A few of the spindles on the porch railing had broken, and the house appeared to be in need of a fresh coat of white paint.

After knocking on the black painted door, I was greeted by a petite woman who was no more than five feet tall. She had large inquisitive eyes, the same color as yesterday's April sky and though she seemed young – her ringlets made her look like a raven-haired Shirley Temple - the engagement ring on her finger indicated she was older than she appeared.

"You must be Dr. Masen," She held out her hand in greeting. "I'm Alice, pleased to meet you." Her voice was small and clear and chipper.

I took her hand gracefully, and questioned, "Are you a relative?" I recalled my father telling me that Dr. and Mrs. Cullen were unable to have children.

"I'm their daughter," She smiled sweetly. She pursed her lips and tilted her head in response to my questioning expression, "Dr. and Mrs. Cullen adopted me about seven years ago."

I nodded and confirmed my pleasure in meeting her while she took my coat and hat, "My parents are in the parlor. We will begin lunch shortly."

I followed the woman-child to the parlor, and met a familiar face. Dr. Cullen had aged gracefully. . With a few more wrinkles around his eyes and his presumably blond hair now grayed, he still stood tall and proud. He shook my hand enthusiastically.

"Edward!" Dr. Cullen crowed, "So good of you to come by. Your father called and said you were in the neighborhood and planning to visit."

"Yes, well I wish I were in Vermont for better circumstances. A fellow comrade of mine was buried yesterday, Dr. Cullen."

"Please, call me Carlisle," He eyed me seriously, "I'm very sorry to hear that. It's always sad to know that we lost a man who fought for our country."

I turned to the slight woman on his left. Introduced as Esme, she was approximately the same age as her husband and she had also aged beautifully. With honey colored hair and sparkling hazel eyes, it wasn't hard to determine that she was still enthusiastic about life. Her hair was cut short in a modern style and curled to frame her face in shiny locks. She all appeared to be a 'down to earth' and 'classic grace' all rolled into one maternal, yet vibrant woman.

Alice appeared at my side and announced that lunch would be served momentarily. She offered me a choice of coffee or tea, and I accepted the latter gracefully. Before lunch was served, I was able to chat with Dr. Cullen about my work as Chief Surgeon, as well as my years overseas. I was also able to ask him about the practice at his private clinic, as well as the mystery of the word 'Glendale' on the mailbox.

"Oh yes, of course you would have passed that on your way up. Glendale is the home we run," Carlisle answered while placing his arm over Esme's shoulders.

"Home?" I questioned, "I was under the impression that you ran a private clinic, pardon me." What kind of home would an obstetrician run?

"A Mother's Home, Edward," Esme smiled and continued cautiously, "I don't know what your parents have told you, but Carlisle and I, we….well, we were not able to have children," She sat wringing a linen handkerchief in her lap, "We considered adoption, and when a private arrangement fell through, someone suggested we look at the possibilities available through a maternity home, so we thought we'd give it a try." Esme's eyes narrowed in memory.

"We looked into a few of them, and with assistance from a colleague, I was granted behind the scenes access to see what they were like. I was absolutely appalled by the conditions," Carlisle shook his head, " Often labeled 'Finishing Schools', they housed young women - some of them no more than girls – who were pregnant and being used as glorified slave labor. Most of them were a front for another business, often doing laundry or being sent out as unpaid servants to work in private residences. Through research and a little bit of digging as a doctor, it only got worse in how the young girls were forced to give up their own children without their own feelings being considered - "

I had seen and heard a lot in my day, so it was unusual that I had bile rise to my throat at the thought of pregnant women being exploited as such. For god sakes, I had stitched up men who were practically torn apart! I dealt with soldiers who woke up vomiting from their memories that came to haunt them at night. Yet, I when heard about women being forced to do laundry I felt like I was going to be sick. What was happening to me?

"Edward, are you OK?" Carlisle questioned.

"Fine, I'm fine."

Esme sat near my chair and touched my arm and consoled me, "Edward, my apologies. I should have known that you are your mother's son, so compassionate. I want you to know though, that we worked hard in making a good place for our girls. They are healthy, rested, and respected. That was the point of our story."

I nodded dumbly. Although I was thankful for what they were accomplishing, I couldn't help the confusion that I was experiencing. I took a deep breath. Just as I was about to relieve them of their guilt, young Alice danced through the parlor doors, announcing lunch.

I followed Carlisle and Esme through the doors to the parlor, a beautiful music room with various hanging plants, into a sparsely decorated, intimate dining room set for five.

"Have you another guest?" I motioned to the plate

"Oh yes! I forgot to tell you, my fiancé Jay will be joining us. He is running a bit late, he'll be here anytime." Alice bounced on her toes with the prospect of seeing her own fiancé.

Esme added helpfully, "Jay is completing his graduate degree in History. Such a smart boy."

Esme and Alice retreated to the kitchen to collect the serving bowls, and Carlisle looked at me keenly, "Son, I saw how you looked when we spoke of the mother's homes. Are you alright?"

Was I alright? The answer would really be no, but for the sake of the visit, I put on a brave face. "I'm fine sir, really. I…I once knew of a girl who was sent away, not under those circumstances mind you, but…well, I'm just glad to know that the young women you care for are in good hands." Truly, I hoped the last few months of Isabella's life had been good ones. That idea was the only thing that had kept me from completely losing it. If I found out otherwise, that if something had happened to Isabella…I couldn't imagine how I would feel or act.

"Were you close with her?" Carlisle prodded. That was a loaded question. He wanted to know if I was a father who had abandoned a pregnant woman and his unborn child.

"Yes, but not like you think. We dated." We were madly in love, I thought to myself. "She left to attend a prestigious academy, and was killed in a train accident not far from New York City.

"Ahh," He concluded, as though he knew my story. A strange look passed across his face, but was then covered with a blank, professional mask.

Just then, the front door opened and closed, and Alice scampered out of the kitchen. She quickly placed a large pot of stew on the table and ran off, presumably to meet her fiancé. Not a moment later, she returned, "Dr. Masen, I'd like to introduce you to my fiancé, Jay. Jay, this is a friend of our family, Dr. Ma-"

"Edward?" I turned around and looked disbelievingly at the man in front of me.

"Lt. Whitlock!" I moved forward to shake his hand and he quickly pulled me into a tight hug. "Jasper Whitlock, I...I had no idea!"

I turned around to our gaping audience to explain, but Jasper beat me to it, "Alice, Carlisle, Esme, I'd like to introduce you, to Dr. Edward Masen, the man who saved my right leg."

Jasper had been a patient at the hospital while we were in France. He was with us after he had multiple compound fractures in his leg that led to an infection. I completed several surgeries on him while he was there, as he was not yet stable enough to fly home. I tried hard to maintain a distance from my patients as I didn't want to risk becoming attached to people whose futures were uncertain, but there was something calming and reassuring about Lt. Whitlock that drew me in. We spent many a night playing gin rummy while he told stories of his home in Texas.

I looked over to Alice, whose eyes were brimming with tears. Before I could blink, she had her tiny arms wrapped around me and her face was buried in my neck. I heard muffled 'thank yous' coming from her as her tears dripped onto the lapel of my jacket. I cautiously embraced her, and then we all sat to eat with feelings of friendship and reunion in the air.

Dinner was simple but tasty with excellent company. I learned that Jasper had his sights set on teaching. His leg had healed, but not well enough to consider any sort of strenuous physical labor, and he enjoyed learning about and passing on ideas about history. Not surprisingly, his focus was on the American military. His folks came from a long line of ancestors who were involved in the army and the marines.

Carlisle and Esme were wonderful hosts, and I could tell from their demeanor that they were committed to their work and were very compassionate people. It was also clear by looking at their clean but humble home, that they were not in this business for the huge pay checks at the end of the day. I tried very hard for the rest of the evening to put away any comparisons I held to my own lifestyle so that I could listen to their work in the Mother' Home.

Throughout our conversations I could feel Carlisle scrutinizing me intently. After dinner, he took me aside and gave me a tour of his home, finishing in his study.

The furniture in the room, like the rest of the house was understated and practical. While it was obvious that the Cullens took good care of their possessions, they were not worldly by any means. In fact, many of the pieces appeared to be made out of solid, simple construction with minimal decoration or fine woodwork. A few pieces, such as the glass cabinet that sat in the corner of the office appeared to be bona fide antiques and well-maintained, while others like the desk and the book shelves were made of solid, plain hardwoods that had been carefully rubbed with lemon oil. Carlisle took a seat behind the desk, and I pulled up a wooden chair in front.

"Edward," he began, "I can be sure that if you are as half as good as your father, then you are nothing less than a remarkable physician."

"Thank you sir, my father has always been my inspiration." I replied as vaguely as I could, not knowing where this conversation was headed.

"Esme and I are very happy with our work here, although our dream, well, it manifested in a way that we hadn't anticipated. You are aware that Alice is adopted?" I nodded, and Carlisle continued, "Alice was the daughter of one of our patients. When her mother Ruth became ill, she sent Alice back here on a train with a suitcase and a letter, asking the home to take care of her. Needless to say we were surprised. We welcomed her into our home of course, and one of the girls from Glendale took her under her wing. Before long, she found her way into our hearts. We adopted her a year later."

It became apparent that Dr. and Mrs. Cullen were running something far more complex than an inpatient clinic for impregnated girls. Was this a charity he was running? While it seemed honest of him to care for the new mothers as well, I wasn't sure it was his job to take on all of society's burdens.

"Due to the unique set up we have here, demands for medical care have increased significantly." Carlisle reached into a drawer of his desk and motioned for me to stand beside him to view a drawer thick with files. "As it stands, I am acting as the primary doctor for all the patients as well as former patients and their children. I'm no spring chicken, Edward. I've been looking to hire someone to assist me, but Glendale is my life's work, and I guess you could say I'm a little nervous to work with just anyone.

"We are looking for someone with the kind of compassion you displayed today in the parlor. We need someone who can work with our mothers and not judge them. Many of the women say that they are judged as though they wear a scarlet letter, and are nervous that their children will be treated differently because they are bastards. We need someone who can treat them compassionately."

Before I could speak, he raised his hand, "Now, now Edward, don't think I'm delusional. I know better than to ask the Chief Surgeon of Lenox Hill to work as a backwoods family physician. I'm old, but I'm not stupid," Carlisle chuckled, "But I'm sure you see your fair share of doctors completing their residencies, so all I ask is that if you see someone who fits the bill, please, don't hesitate to send them my way."

After viewing Carlisle and Esme's humble lifestyle, I would be lying if I said I wasn't hesitant to send any doctor here. We didn't spend seven years in school to live like paupers! However, to appease my father's old friend, I nodded and extended my hand, and we silently shook in agreement. My silent agreement being that if I ever met a compassionate resident who wanted to work in the middle of nowhere for a pittance, I would refer him to Dr. Cullen.

"Excellent," Carlisle concluded. "Listen, we're having a small dinner party here in a week's time, to support Glendale. Quite a few of New York and Boston's elite, especially those who were once connected to the suffragettes and women's leagues have heard about our work and are eager to support a facility that treats the young women respectably, and also provides quality medical care. It's next Saturday, and I would love it if you could come. I can give you more details before you leave." Carlisle gave me a hopeful look and a firm pat on my shoulder before we left the room.

Upon exiting Carlisle's study, I found Alice and Esme in a heated discussion over the upcoming dinner party.

"Mother, you can't handle it on your own. Call the restaurant on Main Street, I am sure they can accommodate with appetizers."

"Nonsense Alice, I can get a few of the girls to help, they won't mind. I'll pay them a fair wage, and I'll still save money."

"I guess that could work. As long as Ms. Black doesn't help. She should be guest, what with the work she does and some of the money going toward supplies."

"Oh Alice, you know how she is. She'll be elbow deep in the kitchen regardless of what fancy dress you manage to get her into." Alice pouted at this thought.

My curiosity about the setup of this home/farm got the better of me, what with a mention of a Ms. Black who received supplies. "Who's Ms. Black?" I questioned.

Alice piped up, "Ms. Black is our teacher, of sorts. She helps some of the girls finish high school, she teaches typing. Father has found that many of his patients end up estranged from their families and require jobs. Ms. Black has been helpful with that, especially since the war ended and factory jobs for women are so scarce. She also owns the farm that we co-operate with, it's sort of a…joint venture, you could say."

"Alice," Esme chided, "That woman is like a big sister to you, you are allowed to use her first name."

"I know mother, but it feels strange to refer to her by her first name when speaking of her job. I mean no disrespect to Bell."

"Bell?" I queried, It sounded like such a strange name for a woman.

"Her given name is Marie," offered Alice. She took on a faraway look before she continued, "Her husband gave her the nickname Bells, and it just stuck. Some call her Bells, or Bell. Almost no one calls her by her true name, and for some reason she seems to like it that way."

"Gather round everyone!" Carlisle walked in, effectively ending the conversation about Mrs. Black, dinner parties, and appetizers, "You probably don't know this, but Edward here is a talented musician, and we have a lovely piano that is sorely underused."

Jasper must have sensed my sudden apprehension in being thrust into the spotlight, "I play guitar, are you up for a duet?"

After a few duets with Jasper in which the Cullens sang along, I ventured into a couple of solo pieces. I hadn't had the motivation to play in years, and it felt good to play again. Everything felt good here with this family, and I realized that although I had colleagues and acquaintances in New York, I didn't have very many friends, and no family of which to speak.

After our impromptu sing-along, I bid the Cullen family and Lt. Whitlock good night and drove toward the hotel. I left for New York City the next day, away from the humble warm surroundings and into the lavish life I had waiting for me.

I knew I would return next weekend for the dinner, if only to bask in the warmth of this family once more.


So...who's Ms. Black? What's her story? How do you think she managed to find Dr. and Mrs. Cullen?

Please review!