A/N: Stephenie Meyer owns all Twilight.
Thanks to blk3660 for pre-reading this chapter, and noticing my Canadian spelling!
Chapter 9
~Bells~
I ran back to the house panting with a light sheen of sweat over my body, causing my cotton shirt and denim work pants to stick to my skin. As soon as I made it behind my closed bedroom door, I leaned against it and sank down, shaking.
It couldn't have been him. But I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was. I would know his face, his voice, his scent better than almost anyone else on earth. Though they were nearly unchanged in the last twelve years, my memory had not done them justice.
Yes, he looked older. His eyes looked flat and his mouth drawn. Was he unhappy? Of course he wasn't. My obsessive side that needed to know about his well-being often joined with my masochistic tendencies, and they encouraged me to read about his envious social life in the Times almost weekly, so I knew he was off doing all sorts of wonderful things with another woman – just like he was destined to do. But why had he looked like that, so…worn? Perhaps it was the alcohol at the soiree…?
Of course I knew why Edward had looked that way. I was holding him at gunpoint. I bent my head and cradled my face in my palms.
I had never imagined that I would ever have to face anyone from my past life at all, no less like that. It had seemed that I was fairly well hidden out here in the country, and other than that hound of a man called Demitri and his bodyguard Felix I hadn't seen hide nor hair of anyone who would have known me as Isabella Swan.
I was supposed to be dead, after all.
Of all people to have found me, I couldn't believe it was him. I thought at first he hadn't recognized me, but when he called me by name, I was shocked and scared out of my wits. With my hair tucked up and wearing my work clothes, I couldn't believe he would have known me for who I was in the darkness. I wanted to run back to him, to hold him, but I knew it wasn't right. Even without the danger of being recognized, I wasn't that person anymore, and he had moved on. When I heard him fall, I nearly turned back, but just few moments later I heard Jasper calling his name. They must have met at the party, I guess. It turns out that Jasper was closer up the trail to him than I was, and it was safer for him to tend to Edward. With sadness and longing, I turned and ran back home.
The only person who knew of my whereabouts was Elizabeth and her minions, and I know that she would go to the grave before she told her son of my whereabouts. This wasn't my choice, mind you. The situation I found myself in gave me very few options in the matter.
It had been made it clear that by a fateful phone call and then a letter from Edward himself in the summer of 1935 that he had found someone else. I was never sure of Edward's intentions while I was gone. Perhaps he was hoping that with distance, I would forget about him as he had forgotten me. My letters to him went unanswered, and then after calling weekly for over a month and a half, he was always "busy", at croquet, with baseball, on another non-descript outing as delivered to me by Mr. or Mrs. Masen, or sometimes the Geraldine.
Then, in the beginning of June, the Masen's telephone wasn't answered by a family member at all, or even their cook. Instead, I was greeted by the distinct nasal tone of Mrs. Mallory. I questioned her answering the telephone of another home, but she informed me that the Mallorys and the Masens were practically in-laws, what with the way Edward and Lauren were getting along. Mrs. Mallory mused that she could foresee a wedding being planned for next summer.
All that felt like a punch to the gut, and I hung up before I could hear anything more devastating. For two days afterward I waded through life in a haze of sadness. Edward had forgotten about me. Once I was out of the picture he had easily moved on. At first I was betrayed, and hurt, and angry, and on the third day, I became resigned. It all made sense. This is why he was so eager for me to leave; he simply didn't see a future with me. There were girls my age who were far better suited to his life, who I knew would be more than happy to be Mrs. Edward Masen. What had he seen in me in the first place? At that moment, all I had to do was look at my misshapen body and swollen ankles, and it was no wonder he never wanted me.
On the fourth day, I finally cried. I cried for my first love who had changed my life so dramatically. I cried that he would never know about how he had affected me. I had no intentions of ever going back to Washington, so I cried for the place of my youth and childhood that was now forever lost to me.
On the fifth day, I wizened up. Memories of Edward spilled forth in my consciousness. Something was amiss. All the times that Edward and I had expressed our love for one another; the look in his eyes when I entered a room; the way his attention was undivided when I was speaking with him. Those were not the actions of a man who treated love flippantly and cheaply. I didn't know how Edward had felt about me at that moment, but I knew that the love he had shown me was genuine.
Despite all this, it was my memories of him and Lauren that were the most striking. Edward openly but politely expressed his disdain for her. There was so reason for me to believe it was a cover up for affection. He had known Lauren since elementary school, and he could have dated her at any time. But he didn't, he chose me.
As Shakespeare said, something was 'rotten in the state of Denmark'. I could completely understand Edward falling out of love with me. While the thought of that caused my gut to twist, and tears spring to my eyes, I realized that everything else was so unEdward-like, and the actions were adding so quickly is looked nearly impossible that Edward was a willing participant in the events that separated us.
On the seventh day, I made up my mind. Despite my current condition, I was going back to Seattle to see him in person. I distinctly recalled that Phil and mother had given Dr. Voltura a lump some of emergency money that would more than cover my round-trip train ticket home. I would have to find a way to access the money, in order to return briefly to Seattle to confront Edward in person. Even if he had chosen another, I needed to hear from him in person. Since letters and phone calls were seemingly ineffective, I doubted that a telegram would be anymore reliable. Yes, he would be surprised, but what else could I do? I had to hear it from him that he didn't want me.
Three days later, I was given an opportunity to confront Aro. I had hurried through my laundry and cleaning duties, and I was currently between one of the outside jobs that were assigned by the Academy.
June 14th, 1935
I had just finished in the laundries, and like usual, I was dishevelled from the rough work.
Working the laundries was one of the more physically demanding jobs that was required of us, but it was often given to girls in the later stages of their "condition" as it was so affectionately labelled, because people didn't want to hire domestics with rounded bellies who waddled like ducks and who were out of breath at the top of a flight of stairs. Girls like them, or like me whose belly was expanding at an unusually rapid rate, were given tasks behind closed doors; mainly kitchens and laundries.
As I made it toward the cool air of the hallway that led to the secretarial rooms and offices, I tried my best to compose myself. I patted down my frizzy hair, and rubbed my hands vigorously to allow some feeling to return to my raw fingers. I had just spent the last three hours working linens against washboards in steaming hot water with rough lye soap, and my fingers ached when I moved them back and forth. There was nothing I could do about my smell. I'm sure I was a bouquet of laundry soaps and sweat, but there was no way to fix that in that short window I was given to approach Aro before he left for the day.
Walking up to the solid oak door of his study, I rapped softly on the door and waited for his deep baritone voice to permit me entry. I heard a deep and distracted "Enter", before I slowly opened the door and slipped into the room.
"Well, what a pleasant surprise, Miss Swan! I haven't seen you all week, it's certainly a treat!" Despite my frazzled appearance and unpleasant odor, Aro embraced me in a small hug and then stepped back, eyeing my abdomen like it was a prized pig. I had no where in which to shrink back from his appraisal, so I instead chose to hold my head high and feign indifference toward his attention.
I didn't understand at the time why Aro gave me special attention. He was very careful about it too. Beyond the doors of his study, he treated me as he did every other girl, with a mix of professional distance and judgmental iciness. When he had to refer to me in public, I was simply, "Swan", and he gave me no more attention than anyone else.
But within the confines of his study, he was a different man. At first, he was as all the other girls described him in private: brusque, indifferent on a good day, cold and insulting on a bad one. As the primary physician for all the girls staying at Volterra, he saw all of us at least once a week, and then more often as we progressed.
But in March, and more so in the middle of May, his demeanor changed. Around the time of St. Patrick's Day, he began treating me like the royalty of Volterra registrants. I was offered my choice of coffee and tea at every visit; he went out of his way to make sure that I had fine linens and a new pillow for my bed – he even offered my a private room, which I declined as I was afraid it would unfairly set me apart from the rest of the girls. Aro conceded this was true, but then told me that of all his patients, I certainly deserved it the most. I agreed to disagree with him, pointing out that there were a handful of girls who were almost at term, and would most definitely be grateful for a full sized bed.
Aro said that was true, but that grateful and deserving were not one in the same.
As I stood in his office that day, I still hadn't discovered what set me apart from the rest of the girls here. I had long since presumed that Mother had asked Phil to pull some strings, and since he was nominated for a seat on the Supreme Court, it wouldn't have surprised me if Judge Dwyer had taken it upon himself to line their pockets in an attempt to get his way about things.
That's what he had done with my father, after all.
After declining a drink, ensuring that my accommodations were adequate and internally rolling my eyes after Aro declared that pregnancy had done wonders for my complexion because I was "positively glowing", I was able to ask of him what I needed.
"Dr. Voltura, I've come to ask a very important favour of you, one that would definitely lower my stress," I rubbed my belly meaningfully. I didn't know exactly why I was important to Aro, but I knew he spent a lot of time regarding my condition.
The doctor eyed me up and down in the usual manner, and then cocked a single eyebrow in my direction, beckoning me to continue.
"I need to make a short trip to Seattle. I know that Volterra has strict rules about travel, but I also know that I have money set aside, and I would be more than happy to pay for my return ticket, plus one of a nurse if you feel I need to be accompanied." I looked up at him, mustering all the confidence I had with a man that I distrusted implicitly.
"Seattle? I haven't heard of your mother requesting your travel, so I don't see why you would need to go there. Care to enlighten me?" Aro had moved to sit in the large leather chair behind his desk, while I perched on the smaller chair in front.
"Dr. Voltura, I understand this is an unusual request, but I desperately need to check in with a…friend." My heart withered when I said that. I loved Edward, and it was difficult to speak of him without referring to what he was to me – my fiancé, my boyfriend – anything to that effect. But I also knew that speaking of our…'significant others' was frowned upon, and I wouldn't win Aro over by flaunting my hopefully maintained status with Edward.
I continued to try and explain the situation without revealing too much, "I haven't heard from a good friend since I came to the Academy, and I find this unusual. I need to make sure this person is OK. Please Dr. Voltura. I know I can't be stressed right now, and I am finding their lack of correspondence atypical and very distressing. You understand, right?"
Aro gave me a condescending smile that didn't reach his eyes, "I certainly do, Miss Swan. In fact, my concern is that the trip will stress you out further. Neither of us want that, do we? As your doctor, I can't allow you to knowingly take on stressful situations such as long travel aboard a train, unknown circumstances…" Aro trailed off and took a deep breath, and gazed at me intently, watching the tears pool in my eyes. I tried to plead him with my gaze, silently begging him to reconsider. I realized that I was absentmindedly fingering the chain around my neck that held my rings. I dropped my hand quickly, but Dr. Voltura's eyes caught and followed the movement.
"Listen, how about I contact your mother, and see what she has to say? Perhaps she can agree to meet with you and you're…friend somewhere discreet? Give me a few days to get in touch with her, yes?"
I nodded an emphatic 'yes!' to his suggestion, wishing I could jump over the desk and hug him. Instead, I stood up and thanked him profusely. Standing, I backed up to the door and thanked him once more for his kindness.
I was elated that I might get to see my mother. When Phillip insisted upon my leaving, my mother was saddened, and even tried to find alternatives to me not moving all the way to North Carolina from Washington State. She even suggested I move back to Forks for a time, but Judge Dwyer wouldn't hear of it, stating that there was too much risk that my condition could be found out by 'influential parties'. In the end, my mother conceded to his demands and I found myself alone and pregnant, on the east coast, in a "Finishing Academy' that was most certainly not training me to become a socialite.
I was also incredibly nervous at the prospect of seeing Edward. Yes, I believed that he loved me, and I also had a strong feeling that he did not want me to be sent away. He wanted to marry me. I still wore his rings around my neck on a long chain, which I hid between my breasts and tucked into my brassiere. But I hadn't had the chance to tell him I was pregnant. The day he came to my house and escorted me to the garden, I could hardly get a word in edgewise between my shock and the way he rambled his decision out to me. Between my tears and confusion, he stormed out of my backyard and drove away before I could find to the words to tell him.
To say that I was devastated was an understatement. At the time I had reasoned that if he didn't want me the way I was, he certainly wouldn't want me pregnant. He had big dreams – he was so smart, and so driven, I knew he would make a fine doctor. How could I destroy that for him? If I were pregnant, it could ruin his chances for greatness. I couldn't allow that. I couldn't be that person that would sabotage his dreams.
After I moved to the Volterra Academy, I spent my days working through my monotonous chores and thinking about what had taken place. I thought about that fateful day in the garden – and all the days previous. I realized that I had overreacted. Edward would never hate me for being pregnant, and in any case, he would be able to see that I didn't get pregnant on my own. He could still go to medical school. Even if just one of our families were wealthy, I knew we would have the finances. With both our families there would be no issue. I could stay home and cook, clean, mend his clothes and take care of him as a proper wife should. And Edward had already asked for my hand in marriage. Certainly having a daughter who was pregnant and married wouldn't hurt Judge Dwyer's career, would it?
I tried to tell Edward that I was pregnant with his child. If I couldn't do it in person, then at least I could call him, but he was never available. I eventually broke down and told him in a letter, apologizing profusely for telling him in that manner, yet my letters were unanswered. This all added to Mrs. Mallory's claim that Edward was courting Lauren just didn't make sense. Despite my nerves and fears, I had to see Edward, and hear from him in person.
Three days later, Dr. Aro Voltura called me into his office late one morning. He greeted me with a loose hug, and then told me that my mother was on the phone.
"Sweetheart?" mom asked after I said hello.
"Hi mom," I replied, my voice cracking as I heard her voice for the first time in four months, "how's everything?"
"Oh," she replied, I could hear the faint sound of papers rustling and china clinking against itself. I imagined she was sitting down for breakfast with Judge Dwyer while he read the paper and drank his coffee, "Everything's fine here, Isabella. How are your classes? Are you learning lots of useful things?" My mother was trying hard to sound enthusiastic, but I knew this Academy had not been her idea. The night before I was told I would be going, I heard hushed voices coming from her bedroom. The next day she stood as a United Front with Phillip, but I could see the sadness in her eyes.
Still, I couldn't help but scoff at the naiveté of her question, "Yes, mother, lots of useful things," For a servant. I added silently, like how to fold hospital corners tightly, how to get blood out of sheets, and how to cook a meal for 150 people. In truth, I had no problem doing these chores, but I resented that I had been lied to, and that I had been taken away from my home, my family, and my baby's father against my will. Still, I had been covertly threatened by the headmistress, Jane Drew, if I spoke differently of the Academy than that which they had advertised. Ms. Drew was a cranky old maid who reminded us as often as possible that referring to Volterra as a 'Finishing Academy' was for our own good, so no one found out about our 'conditions'. Most of the girls at the Academy came from well-to-do families from all over the eastern seaboard, and didn't want their loved ones exposed to drama and embarrassment. Volterra, in my opinion, took advantage of our personal gag orders and shamed us into lying to those who we were closest.
My mother's voice brought me from my bitter reverie, as well as a something else. A suspiciously feminine voice cleared her throat fairly close to the receiver. Certainly a maid wouldn't have been that close to the phone while my mother was using it?
"I received your request Isabella, but I regret to inform you that it simply is not a good time to visit." My shoulders sagged in disappointment. A part of me had been expecting this, but a bigger part of me, it seemed, had remained hopeful that my mother would miss me enough to have me for a visit, "So I needed to tell Dr. Voltura," she continued, "To withhold your monies until there is a true emergency."
I heard a strange whisper behind the receiver, "Very nicely done, Renee."
Even in a whisper, that nasal tone was unmistakable.
Mother paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, "I'm so sorry darling," she sniffled, "I miss you."
I paused for a moment to collect myself and wisely choose my next action. Based on everything I knew, I wasn't sure if it was better to describe my mother as a puppet, or a pawn. In either case, I became certain that someone else was controlling her moves. Claiming this over the phone wouldn't be very wise, as the accused was with my mother thousands of miles away from me, ready and eager to defend herself. And knowing Catherine Mallory, she would stop at nothing to make sure she got her way.
I sighed, knowing it was better to cut this call short, "I guess I understand mother. I miss you. Please call me if anything changes."
"I will my dear, I will."
Whispering goodbye, I disconnected the call, and looking at the ground, feigning defeat. I was a terrible liar at the best of times – my mother always said my face was like an open book – so I tried to hide the ire in my expression and hoped that Aro would interpret my posture as one of defeat.
"Thank you for your time, Dr. Voltura."
"My pleasure, my dear. I'm so sorry it hasn't worked out the way you'd like." He didn't sound sorry, "Please, let us know if there is anything more we can do for you, we are happy to accommodate."
As Aro continued to ramble on about some extra accommodations he could make for me, I stayed staring at the ground, strategizing how I could get out of this place and back to Seattle. With my mother's blessing or not, I knew I had to talk to Edward. I knew once I could reach him, he would understand and everything would be worked out. I stayed still, looking anywhere but at Dr. Voltura's face while he spoke.
It then dawned on me. While the rest of the facility was spotless, I noticed that Aro's office had developed a distinct layer of dust on the shelves, light fixtures and rugs. I saw a spot on his desk where a book had been recently moved, and a shiny rectangle of polished oak stood out from the rest of the cloudy surface. I had a plan.
"Actually, Dr. Voltura, there is something," I began. Aro nodded his head for me to continue.
"The laundries have been taking their toll on me, and what with my special circumstances," Although I hadn't figured out what was so special about me, I still managed to look him in the eyes, and saw them twinkle as I mentioned my condition, "I am finding that work particularly difficult. The heat and heavy labor are simply too much for my small frame."
Aro looked on, considering. Slowly, he nodded his head, agreeing with my assessment. For the moment, I had to push away the thoughts that there were half a dozen other girls who deserved a break from the laundries more than I did. I needed to do this if I wanted out.
"I also recall that your private maid had to take leave suddenly, one week ago," I hedged, "It looks like your study could use a thorough cleaning. Perhaps we could help each other?" Knowing that Dr. Voltura was very private and only trusted a few people with his personal belongings, I tried my best to look at him through my eyelashes and widen my eyes. Edward used to call them 'doe eyes'.
Dr. Voltura chuckled, "You see my dear, I only trust a very small group of people with my personal affects. You would have to be very, very trustworthy to be given the privilege of cleaning my study."
I allowed the worry I felt that I wouldn't be able to leave, bubble up from within me, and I hoped with the next statement that he would understand it to be worry of a different sort, "You mean, you wouldn't trust me to dust your shelves? I don't think I'm asking much, Dr. Voltura. I'm sure my mother would rather have me dust shelves than scrub soiled linens."
Aro's eyes flashed in recognition of the subtle threat. While I hadn't stated I would tell my family just how 'prestigious' the Volterra Academy was, I reminded him that I had information that I could use in my favour.
"You can start Monday…my dear," Aro hesitated. "You can work in here while I catch up on research. I won't be in your way, will I?" He cocked his eyebrow at me. He was acquiescing to my request, but he was also calling my bluff.
I nodded my head and excused myself. If I can get him to trust me, then perhaps I can find a way out.
I broke from my dark memories and realized I was still hunched over inside my bedroom. A quick look at my pocket watch told me that it was almost 11 o'clock in the evening, far too late for a farmer who usually starts her day a half past 4 in the morning.
Taking a deep breath, I stood up and poured some water into my basin. I splashed my face, and stepped out of the room to look in on my children.
I had been expected to make a brief appearance at the Cullen's soiree this past evening, and I always hated having to attend. While a small part of my reticence was due to my dislike of the spotlight, a larger part was from my fear of being recognized. I had a bad feeling about this evening, and I couldn't risk my children's lives with someone who could call me out as being Isabella Swan. When my youngest daughter Sarah came down with a mild fever, I knew that my eldest daughter Charlotte could have taken care of her. It was however, a perfect excuse to stay home. I would never wish illness upon my children, but if one of them were to get sick, as children are wont to do, tonight had been a good night to do so.
Stealing up the stairs to the loft, I poked my head through the curtain on the side that was occupied by my two girls. Charlotte lay sleeping on the bed, while Sarah lied closer to the ground on a small mattress that we had dragged up for the evening. She was lying on her belly, with her feet stuck out of the white sheet that covered her body.
Creeping up to her little bed, I felt the side of her face and I sighed in relief as I noticed her fever had gone down and she was back to normal. She was always one to run hot at the drop of a hat, I thought to myself, Just like Jacob. Like her father, she would sometimes get a fever for seemingly no reason at all. She might act a little off, perhaps tired and then next day she'd be right as rain.
Her jet black hair was splayed over the pillow and her chubby arms clutched the rag doll I had sewn for her last Christmas. Her golden skin tone stood out from the stark white sheets and cotton nightgown that covered her. Gently, I pulled up a quilt and tucked it over her, knowing that by morning she would feel chilled from the spring morning air.
Confident that the fever had passed, I looked over at my eldest. With dark brown hair and piercing green eyes, my Charlotte wouldn't be a little girl much longer. At 11, she was already taking on more responsibilities around the house and the farm. She had her father's personality – it was easy for her to get overwhelmed by her own thoughts, but like him she was also a hard worker. She often fretted over moral issues that were beyond her years, and took too much blame for things that were beyond her control. Just last month we had a calf die, and Charlotte cried for hours. It wasn't the first time we'd had an animal die on the farm – such is our way of life. When I asked her why she was so upset this time, she told me she'd had a "feeling" in the middle of the night that something was wrong, and she should have checked on the calf and she didn't. At that moment, I couldn't do anything but hold her close, whisper to her that it wasn't her fault and let her know that in honoring life sometimes we need to embrace death; in the case of the calf we couldn't have saved it, even if we'd tried. I couldn't help but think of her as a small Edward in that moment.
And finally, I looked over at the partition to see Anthony huddled in his single bed. I couldn't see much of his body as he was covered in a bundle of quilts – where one child ran hot, the other ran cold – just a mop of dark auburn hair sticking out here and there. Anthony, more than anyone else, knew just how much I thought of his father. He knew every time I lifted my hand to run through his unruly mop of hair that Edward was on my mind. I had come to terms long ago with Jacob that I didn't talk about Edward in his presence, but I also didn't want my children to go on thinking that their father wasn't important – especially Anthony. My boy and I made a secret gesture; when I ran my hands through his hair it meant that his father was on my mind. Anthony also had Edward's nose and the shape of his eyes were the same, though they were brown like mine.
As twins, Anthony and Charlotte were a perfect jumble of Edward and I.
My two eldest knew about their father, as much as I could tell them, anyway. So far I had avoided telling them anything about him that indicated that he didn't love me or them. I also couldn't tell them his name, in case they heard it from somewhere, or read it in the paper. They knew that I had loved him, but I had been forced to leave him against my will. They knew that I couldn't go and find him because to reveal myself would put us in danger of being separated and they knew that I felt in the bottom of my heart, that if Edward had been able to meet them he would have loved them too. My love for him, and them, is how I ended up in the backwoods of Vermont married to Jacob Black.
I refused to let anyone separate me from the last piece of Edward that I had left.
Feeling the weight of the events that evening, as well as the late hour, I crept back down to my room. I dressed and cleaned up for bed, knowing that in a few short hours, I would need to be up again for the milking, making breakfast and ensuring the children did their chores.
Just before I dimmed the lantern I had set on my bedside table, I looked at the framed photo of Jacob and me from September 25th, 1935. It had been taken ten weeks after I had finally escape from Volterra Academy, five weeks since I had chanced a meeting with Jacob on a muddy back road, and one week before my twins were born. With my head tucked into a stylish hat and my face partially concealed by a flimsy veil, I knew the shadow of a smile that graced my lips hadn't reached my eyes. Jacob on the other hand, had his signature toothy, mile-wide grin as he gazed down at me.
In the image, my left arm is linked through Jacob's and my right hand is resting on my belly. I can still recall the guilt I felt as a singular thought worked through my head, while the photographer took the photo of my the man who would become my companion, my best friend, my lover and my closest confidant.
I wish I were with Edward.
With that in mind, I dimmed the light and spent a restless night tossing and turning, hearing Edward cry out my name.
