Stephenie Meyer wrote Twilight, and thought up most of these characters, not me. The plot is mine however, as are Anthony, Charlotte and Sarah.

Thanks to blk3660 for pre-reading!


BPOV

I woke up the next morning feeling groggy and fatigued. A headache pounded at the back of my head but I willed it away. As always, there was too much work to do and too little time in which to finish it. I rolled over and opened the pocket watch that I kept on my bedside table. 4:15AM. I had 15 minutes before I needed to get up and going, but I knew if I gave in, I would most likely fall back asleep.

I rolled out of bed, and noticed my clothing strewn across the floor. The memories of last night flooded my mind: Anthony rushing in, telling me heard singing on the road; me with my shotgun putting on my bravest act, while inside I trembled with fear that we had been discovered; seeing Edward's face, and feeling the stirrings of emotions I hadn't felt in years; running home, remembering the past, and checking on the children, who would never let me forget him.

I stretched slightly, shook my head to clear myself of my thoughts and began to mentally compile my list for the day. First, I'll put out the oatmeal and a couple of eggs, then head to the barn. Anthony will meet me out there to milk and feed, and Charlotte will mind Sarah, finish breakfast and cook up the eggs. We'll bring in some of the milk, and then we'll have time to bathe before we are off to church. I reworked my list again in my head, still knowing that I needed to be out to the barn in a few minutes. Sunday may be a day of rest for the Lord, but he must have forgotten to tell cows. For a farmer, every day is a work day.

I busied myself getting dressed into my work clothes, adding in every extra task I could think of so that I wouldn't have to think of him. The one person I never thought I would see again. His spirit haunted me from the pages of the newspaper, as he lived the life I thought we would have together. Instead, my fate took a different path while he lived the live he was born to live, with another woman beside him.

I stepped outside into the still-frozen spring air, the grass frosted and crunching under my feet. I made it over to the water pump that was located just a few feet from the house. After a few solid pumps, frigid water began to surge from the spout, and in an act of self-flagellation, and to clear my thoughts and refrain from sulking about the past, I quickly stuck my left arm, and then my right under the cold liquid, until my arms were freezing and red from the water, and my mind was clear. I rapidly ran my hands over my face and took a deep cleansing breath of Berkshire mountain air before I continued on my way to the barn.

I loved the barn. While most people might be turned off by the musty smell of animals, it was a source of comfort for me. For years I have been doing the barn work – feeding, milking, and mucking out – and I knew I did a good job because my animals thrived. My cows gave lots of milk, my chickens lots of eggs, and my sheep has the finest, softest wool around. I took a lot of pride in my animals, because I knew that my hard work was obvious through them. Unlike my former life when appearances and acquaintances and family names determined your worth, here my work thrived without bias.

Upon entering the barn, I took a narrow hallway to the right, where my chickens clucked softly in the coop, and my head rooster crowed impatiently for me to let open the door. As soon as I stepped through, I opened the hatch and the rooster bolted from the barn, announcing his presence to the barnyard and beyond. Most people saw roosters as being cocky and proud. I always thought of them as insecure, because they felt they needed to take every moment to announce their presence and mark their territory over their flock of chickens. I owned two roosters for a flock of 30 hens, and still they fought over who was king. Men.

I tossed some of the grain and wheat hulls into round dishes that worked as feeders, and rinsed them before I gave the birds their clean water. Chickens were useful, providing meat and eggs, and even feathers for new pillows, but I didn't like them much. They were messy with their food, their droppings got everywhere, and they acted like they didn't care about anything else in the world. Except Jasmine. Jasmine was my chicken, who every morning clucked around my feet until I gave her a pat on the head. She was also my best producer of chicks, but that could have been because I coddled her so.

Scratching her throat as I knew she liked it, I carried on with my task. I could hear the cattle lowing in the back of the barn.

I whipped through feeding the sheep, expertly tucking the right amount of hay into their troughs and refilling their water. I could see that a thin sheet of ice had formed over their water bucket last night, but it wasn't anything to worry about, they could have easily broken through the bit of ice with their noses. The nights were still cold, so it must have dipped to freezing in the barn. It certainly wasn't as bad as the winter, when I had to wake up at all hours to break through the thick ice that had formed on their water. The sheep were fine with the cold, but they couldn't drink a block of ice. My two rams brayed at me to be let outside, but it was too early. The pasture still had a thick layer of frost over the grass that wouldn't melt until sunrise, and even then, sheep were prone to the parasites that were transferred from the moisture on the grass.

Second last, I stopped in at my best friends in the barn – Billy and Charlie. I bought these two from the auctions almost seven years ago, and Charlotte and Anthony insisted that I name them after their grandfathers in memoriam. Although they had never met Charlie, I supposed they considered his presence to be here in some sort of spirit form. Who knows? Perhaps he had already passed and had made it his business to haunt me. Billy had passed on just months prior to buying the two draft horses and Jacob insisted that he would have been flattered. They were the right color, anyway. Charlie was chocolate brown, just like his eyes and hair had been, and Billy was coal black, like the hair he had had passed down to my late husband, and my littlest daughter. Billy had been my greatest supporter and defender when I married Jacob, and while I couldn't say much for my feelings toward human Charlie, my horse Charlie was as loyal as any.

I fed and watered the horses, and I briefly considered giving them a brush and curry, but I knew that Anthony loved so much to do it, so I left it for him. I moved onto my herd of cattle, gathering my clean buckets and rags on the way. I washed thoroughly with some water I'd brought in and some lye soap, and then headed to my cows.

I brushed down the right side of Molly, who always liked being milked first. Wiping down her udders and giving the bucket a final check, I laid down a small bowl to catch the first cups of milk. The first bit of milk was likely to be the dirtiest, so that went to the barn cats with their strong stomachs. Even before I had shown up, a sizable colony of cats had congregated around the cows. They had heard me enter the barn, and darned if they knew my chores better than I. I sunk down onto my milking stool, rested my head against Molly's flank, and began the familiar pulse and tug of my hands while the milk squirted into the ceramic bowl.

"I still can't believe you can get up every morning at this hour."

I nearly hit the rafters when I heard that voice. The barn was dim but my eyes had adjusted to the low light some time ago. Still, she must have chosen to sit in a shadow on purpose. Molly shifted and a few barn cats scurried away from her hooves as she regained her balance.

I righted myself on my stool again, and continued to milk. If I didn't finish in a timely manner Molly could get an infection. I tilted my head and saw Alice sitting on the wall that separated the sheep from the cattle. Her dainty legs were clad in tailored denim, and she even had red cotton work shirt on that was made for men, but she had apparently altered to fit snugly on her tiny frame.

"What has you up so early?" I accused, "And when did you have time to tailor yourself such a fashionable set of work clothes?" I was wearing Jacob's old coveralls that I had taken in and altered, but it was nothing compared to Alice's outfit. She looked like she belonged in a magazine – if Harper's Bazaar ever did a fashion spread on farm women. I scoffed internally.

Alice hopped down from her perch, and pulled up the extra milking stool. Her she propped her elbows onto her knees and eyed me intensely, "I know, Isabella."

Molly grunted and kicked at my hand as I involuntarily squeezed too hard, "What did you just call me?"

"You can't hide from me anymore," I opened my mouth to protest, to explain the many, many reasons why she should be prying, but she continued by raising her hand, "Don't worry, I haven't told a soul. I don't know why you're hiding, but I can respect it. I've known you long enough that you wouldn't lie without a very good reason," She eyed me pointedly, and I ducked my head in shame.

Yes, I had good reason for keeping my real identity a secret, but in the end, I had to keep myself from people who cared about me.

"Alice, there are things that happened…and, let's just say that it's safer if you stay out of it. I wouldn't want to put you into any danger on my behalf."

Alice nodded her head thoughtfully, though she could never fathom my dilemma. She tilted her head at me pursed her lips, "You should tell him, though. I think he deserves an explanation."

"Who?"

"Edward."

I started to choke on my own saliva. It wasn't possible that she knew.

"I don't know what you are talking about," I countered, "I don't owe him anything,"

"Not even the lives of the children you created?"

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was getting to be too much. She shouldn't have known this. It was dangerous for her, it was dangerous for me, and it was capable of destroying…I couldn't even think the words.

"Does he know that I have…?"

"No," Alice answered, guessing my train of thought. "Jasper told him nothing about you, or your kids. But he told Jasper a lot about you. He cared deeply for you, Bella."

"I didn't – don't belong in his world. He made that clear."

Alice tapped her chin with her right index finger, "I don't know. I meant that, I really don't know. I can only piece together bits and pieces from what I've figured out over the years, and what I overheard last night. But I do know this: He was acting like a man who cared last night, with no reason to do so than his own genuine intentions." Alice paused, and scuffled the ground with the toe of her boot. "He's a good man, Bells. He saved Jasper's life over there during the war." The last part came out as a whisper.

"I know." I answered simply, because with all the uncertainties that surrounded my time with him, this was something I had never doubted. I didn't understand why he would propose to Lauren Mallory, or why he didn't answer my letters. I had believed for a long time that he fell out of love with me, but I had never once believed that it was because he was bad. If anything, it was me who was lacking. I was the coward who wasn't able to tell him I was pregnant. I was the shy girl who wanted to please the world and agreed to go to "Finishing School" without a fight. It has been made painfully obvious to me where I belong in life. I was nothing but a poor widow of a farmer. In my own eyes and those in my life, I lived well, though I would have been seen as poor and decrepit in the eyes of anyone like Edward and his kin.

Turning, I focused on Molly, making sure she was milked thoroughly and in a timely manner. When she was finished, I untethered her, patted her flank and she ambled her way back to the stall. I looked onto the next cow in wait, Renee.

"I can't tell you what to do, B, but I can tell you this," Alice had stood now, her chin jutted out and her eyes determined, "I don't know what it's like to be in your shoes, but I do know what it's like to be in mine. I grew up without a father. I only knew stories of a Mr. Porter from Ohio who wooed my mother. I know he was a kind man, he was generous, and that he loved her. That's all I know and all I'll ever find out. Any other information was taken with my mother to her grave, and not a single day goes by," Alice's voice rose and she emphasized her words with a finger held up to me in the air, "that I don't wonder if there was a father out there that could have loved me back. Now don't get me wrong, I love Carlisle, and Esme too. But they can't erase the questions I have, the mystery of my roots, of my parentage and the ache that somewhere out there, maybe there's a man that aches for me." I ignored the crack in her voice at the end, as it was obvious that Alice tried to disguise it with a cough.

My mind flashed with images of Anthony and Charlotte, their questioning faces when I had wanted to tell them more about their father but between my fear of being known, and guilt in dishonoring Jacob, I had never been able to do so. Whenever I mentioned their father they both held an odd expression of hope, longing, and emptiness. Although they remained hopeful that I would tell them more, they missed the experience of him, of knowing him, of loving such a wonderful person and having him love them back. Tears sprung in my eyes for all that they had missed in not knowing him.

"I don't know the reasons that you hide, Bells, but I don't blame you. But unless you fear him, which I don't think you do, your children need a chance to know him. Don't you think they deserve it? Don't you think he deserves the right to know those amazing children?"

"He thinks I'm dead!" I blurted out, my face colored in shame. But I realized as I looked at Alice, that she already knew this. "How much do you know?" I asked.

"I know he thinks you died. I know that he has mourned for you. I know that you still hold a place in his heart that can never be filled by another," I let out a deep sob at her last statement. It wasn't true, was it? I had always imagined that my place in his life had long been filled. That truth kept me sane for years, the knowledge that somewhere out there, Edward lived on, and he was happy.

"Edward Masen," I whispered.

"I know his name," Alice countered indignantly.

"Then you must have read about him, right? Edward Masen, the man who is expected to proposed very soon to none other than Tanya Denali? The man who is swiftly climbing to the top of New York's ladder of the social elite? He doesn't love me, Alice." I looked down and pulled at my rough coveralls. "He loved a girl he once knew, from a very different place, a very different life." As if Renee herself had heard me, her namesake cow lifted tail and dropped a patty, as if to emphasize the nature of my present lifestyle.

Alice smiled sadly, "I don't know how he would feel about meeting you, but what about the children?"

I remembered Elizabeth. I remembered her threats about contacting Edward, or anyone who knew him. He'll hate you if he finds out, she warned me, and it would take nothing to get those children from you and put them into a proper family. I knew she could do it too. If the Masen family ever came after me for the children, I would barely have two coins to rub together in which to fight. They could throw money at the best lawyer in country and not bat an eyelash about the cost. I collapsed onto my stool and cried freely, realizing how close I had been to jeopardizing my children's lives. "They'll take them," I mumbled through my tear-streaked hands, "they'll take Anthony and Charlotte, and then what will I have?" Not only will my two children be gone, but my last remaining piece of Edward would be taken as well.

I felt a soft hand touch my shoulder. "I heard him last night," she reminded me, "Yes, I think he would be shocked to find out that you are indeed alive and well. And if it was me, I would be angry and hurt to discover that such a big part of me was kept away all this time," Alice smiled knowingly at me. She was aware that part of my silence was not only due to Elizabeth Masen, but on the demands that Jacob placed on how much I spoke of Edward. "But I think in the end, you have to let go of this fear, do the right thing and trust that it will work out. Trust in the good person you know he is.

"I've known about your real name for over six years now, and I've only heard it spoken once." My head snapped up, and Alice looked sheepish, "It was just after I arrived. I was hiding in the hayloft. You and Jacob didn't know I was there. I didn't know why he would call you Isabella, but after hearing Edward speak last night, and remembering what Jasper had told me of the Dr. Masen in France, it became clear. He's a good person. He will have feelings over this, but I don't think he would ever hurt you on purpose."

I eyed her skeptically. His intentions weren't my issue. He had hurt me before, albeit unintentionally, and I wouldn't have put anything past that mother of his in getting what she wanted.

Alice's expression sobered, and she took another angle. "Listen, if it helps, maybe we can talk to Carlisle and Esme? We don't have to tell them anything, it's just –"

"They know," I interrupted her curtly. I looked at her hurt face and explained, "They don't know everything. I wasn't trying to keep it from just you – they found out on their own, and I was forced to explain…again to protect myself. They know that I have some relationship with the Masen family that is…strained. They aren't aware that I knew Edward. They know I keep my identity secret, but they don't know my real name.

"Isabella," Alice stated.

I nodded, both relishing and dreading the sound of that name on her lips, "Isabella Marie Swan." It had been so long, too long since I had said that name out loud. It felt foreign on my tongue. Like I was saying the name of a girl I knew long, long ago.

"You know what the right thing is, B."

I nodded, and was about to offer another round of reasons why I couldn't do as she asked, but inside, I was tired. I was tired of living in secret. I was tired of honoring Jacob's request that I not speak Edward's name. And as much as it frightened me not to, I was tired of arguing my way out of approaching Edward. Though my mind told me of the dangers, I felt a pull toward him, a magnetic connection that I hadn't felt in so very long.

"I'll think about it. Alice. But it will be me, not them."

"He's staying until Monday. Carlisle wants to monitor his injuries." I winced, remembering his fall in the woods. How I wanted to care for him.

I nodded mutely, and I heard the barn door slam and its hinges creak, "Anthony's here. You better move along. He'll wonder why you're in the barn at this hour, and I don't want to lie to him."

Alice nodded but didn't move. I sighed and let my head fall back, "I said I'll think about it. Come back after breakfast hour, before church. Now go!" She flashed a triumphant grin at me before scuttling off through the back door, just as Anthony rounded the corner with sleepy eyes and mussed hair.

"Mama?" Anthony questioned in his quiet voice. His voice had been changing lately. The high-pitched tenor of his boyhood voice was surely being replaced by deep velvet that was designed for melting hearts. Anthony was quite musical, just like his dad, I thought, and I was sure that his voice would mature into a lovely baritone.

"Are you alright?" His simple question brought me back to the here and now, and I realized that I must look a sight. I touched my face, wet from crying, and I could imagine the red blotches on my face. I hated lying to him, but I couldn't tell him what Alice had said.

Anthony looked on, anxious for my answer, "Yes, my boy I'm fine. Renee here swished her tail in my face and it hit me square in the eye. It hurt a bit and my eyes watered, but no harm done." I gave him an affectionate squeeze and saw his body relax. "Charlotte is up?" I asked him.

"I started the oatmeal," he answered evasively. Usually one child helped me in the barn and the other in the kitchen in the mornings, so I looked at him perplexedly. "She was up late with Sarah," he explained, "She needs to sleep." He looked down and away, looking for something to occupy his vision, an attempt to avoid a compliment. His gaze centered on the dust on the top of the stall gate, where he began to draw circles with his finger.

That was my boy. Of course, he was as typical as other boys his age. Last week he was punished at school for pulling Mary Beth's pigtail, and he's been in a scuffle or two, but at his core he has a heart of gold. When Jacob was drafted, he told Anthony that he was now man of the house; a responsibility he took very seriously.

"Thank you Anthony. What would I do without you?" I ruffled his hair, and his abashed expression turned pensive. I looked at him for a moment but he made no move to share, so I turned back to milking. If he wanted to talk, he would in his own time.

But as I continued to milk Jenna, the third of our four cows, I could still feel his presence behind me. After a few moments, without breaking rhythm, I pulled the stool closer and patted the seat. I turned my head toward my son as he sat down, rubbing the fray of a hole in his pants with his thumb and forefinger.

Finally, he spoke, "Do you think…do you think he would have liked me?" Anthony asked carefully. I thought I knew about whom he was talking, but I needed to be sure. I was finished milking Jenna, so I loosened her head from the tether and patted her flank. I sat back onto the milking stool, and ran my fingers through his hair at the temple, asking him silently if he was thinking of Edward. Anthony gave a short nod.

And not a single day goes by that I don't wonder if there was a father out there that could have loved me back. I couldn't help but think of Alice's words, and how true they sang. And I realized, I didn't have to go as far as Alice's story to understand, I need only look at my own. The man who loved me, who raised me, and ultimately gave me and my mother up in desperation.

I considered Charlie's last words to me. "You be a good girl, you hear? Listen to your mother, do your homework and don't give any trouble. Don't you worry about me," he whispered, wiping tears from my cheeks, "I'll be fine here. I ain't got much for you and your ma, but I have enough to keep an old man going. Run along now," After that, I pulled away with Renee and Judge Dwyer in a shiny black car, and never looked back.

I became aware of the anger that I held toward my father all this time. I didn't lose him to illness, and he didn't fall out of love with my mother. But apparently it was alright to give us – no, sell us - to another man. I was a piece of property, a bargaining chip. It seems that's what I've been destined to be since I left Forks, Washington. I have been treated as nothing but a pawn in someone else's elaborate game of chess. As an adult and a mother, I didn't agree with my father's choice, but I could understand his desire to keep me safe. All these years it seemed, I had led myself to believe that he had never loved me.

I knew then, what I needed to do. If I didn't approach Edward and tell him about his children, then I was only passing on the hand that I had been dealt. Elizabeth Masen continued to play me like Judge Dwyer had in Seattle. I refused to be anyone's bargaining chip any longer. Although I couldn't just run up to Edward and greet him like an old friend, I knew without a doubt that I had to give him and give my children a chance to know each other. What happened beyond that was out of my control, but I knew that if I didn't try, I would be no better than Charlie and Renee Swan.

I had to explain my story to Carlisle and Esme and to my children before I met him. My greatest allies had to know what the stakes were before I revealed myself to anyone. I would see Esme at church, so I would try and speak with her then, and I could set the ball rolling for something that my children deserved. They deserved to know their father, if he was willing to meet them.

I looked up at my sweet boy, concern etched over his features. "He would love you Anthony," I answered, "I'm sure of it."