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as always, Twilight and related characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer
EPOV
Ghostly voices surrounded me, and I could hear bits and pieces of conversation that were mixed with images in my brain:
Let's try and get him to the bed…
A hazy image of white cardstock popped into my mind
He's not too heavy…
The scent of grass and lemon verbena floated through the air
Let me have a look there…
Yellowed paper that crinkled under my touch. My writing, but not my words
Is he OK?
And finally a strange sensation of a soft lumpiness under me, followed by a blanket being pulled up to my waist….
He'll come around, you'll see
I blinked rapidly, my eyes cloudy for a moment. I took in my new surroundings: a small room – no, an alcove as one wall was a curtain, with a double bed in which I lay on. A kerosene lantern sat on the table to my left. A worn quilt covered me and as I moved my arms, I heard a rustle in the lumpy mattress underneath me. I tried to turn my head but it ached, so instead I shifted my eyes to the left to see Carlisle sitting beside me.
"Dr. Cullen, I am so sorr-"
"Please, Edward," raised a hand to stop me, "No need for apologies. I'm happy to help. And right now you should lay still. No moving and no talking. I don't need an explanation. Bells has explained and I can only imagine…" he trailed off and looked beyond the curtain, where I imagined Isabella might be waiting.
Instead of answering. I simply tipped my head in confirmation. As I lay for a moment in silence, I looked out at the black of the night. Either I hadn't been out for long, or a whole day or more had passed. As if sensing my question, Carlisle answered, "It's only been a few moments, Edward, less than an hour. When you fainted, Bells panicked and ran to get me. She was worried about the bump on your head – she still is, in fact," He glanced once more to the curtain, "we brought you into this bed, and I'm sure she's happy to hear that you are awake and cognizant. Tell me, do you remember where you are?
It didn't take me but a moment to answer, "I'm in Isab— Bell's cottage." I tried her nickname out on my tongue. I hated it, but I figured it might be easier than calling her Marie.
"Do you remember why you are here?"
"Yes," I answered, and I felt my fists clench under the sheet. A flood of emotions returned, and I remembered feeling anger, surprise, shock, and for a brief moment elation. Isabella and had children. This was quickly replaced by a furious jealousy as I remembered this Jacob – the man who married my woman and raised my children. The man who took my place in the life I wanted to have while I pined for her –
A strong hand rested on my shoulder. "Calm down son, it will do no good. Here, take this," Carlisle offered me an aspirin, "and when you are ready, Bells will tell you her story. I think once you hear it, you will understand a little bit better. I grunted in agreement. I wanted to hear no more about Isabella and her love affair with Mr. Black, but my head hurt and I couldn't listen to any more. My eyes closed of their own accord, and the last thing I remembered thinking was, I'm a father. Somewhere, very close to me are my children, and I'll be damned if I leave before I meet them.
The sound of birds chirping wildly roused me from a deep sleep. The ache in my head had calmed to a dull throb, and when I opened my eyes, I was surprised that the sky was still an inky blue-black. I tested out the feeling of sitting up a bit, and after a small bout of dizziness I felt quite fine.
Until the rooster crowed.
I jumped, and curse as my head pounded from the sudden jolt and bounced back onto the thin pillow. With a crash, I landed back onto the lumpy mattress where I lay. I then heard the clatter of a tea cup, and heard a small, feminine voice clear her throat.
"Edward?" despite the ache in my head, her voice still made me smile. It was something I never thought I would hear again.
"Oh, uhh" I started, my voice thick and raspy with sleep, "My apologies Isa – Bells, I didn't mean to disturb you"
"Not at all, I've been up. May I come in?" I nodded my head before I realized she couldn't see me, and then confirmed that she could enter.
Isabella hovered in what one might call a doorway. She parted a thin curtain that hung between the bed and the living area. The curtain was a patchwork of bits of cloth, sewn together in a pattern of yellows, blues and greens. Isabella glanced around the tiny room before her eyes landed on me. "How are you feeling? Would you like anything? I can get you some water." She bit her bottom lip, and I hated to admit that one simple action still sent a thrill through me. She was still so much like the girl I remembered, though different. She was…more. Though I couldn't place my finger on how it was so. Her hair was pulled back under a hat, and small tendrils had already loosened themselves from the up-do, and were curling around her cheeks and chin.
Realizing I was staring, I answered her, "Yes, water would be lovely. You don't mind?"
"not at all" she turned to leave. And then looked back, "Umm, I'm sorry I haven't better accommodations for you, the Cullen house was far away. The linens are fresh," she quickly assured me, "But, I know it's not what you are accustomed."
"Bells," I began, and she looked up. A small smile played on her mouth, and I wasn't sure if it was my use of her nickname, but I liked that I had put it there, "This is fine. I thank you for letting me use your guest room, I'm grateful." I gave her what I thought was a warm smile, but was confused as her mouth fell, and her skin turned a little paler in the warm glow of the lantern that she held in her hand. Soundlessly, she turned and left.
I was confused by her reaction. I thought I sounded grateful, did I not? Regardless, my head was cloudy and I was in no mood for analyzing a woman's psyche. Isabella returned quickly with a glass of water for me, and as I drank it quickly my head began to clear. I studied her outfit, surmising that I had never seen such a thing on a woman. She was outfitted in a pair of sagging overalls, and a flannel overshirt. She huffed and her cheeks reddened with embarrassment, at my scrutiny I imagine. I hadn't meant to make her feel self conscious.
Wringing her hands, she offered explanation, "Well, it's 4:30, and the cows don't like to wait so…" she trailed off, sticking her thumb backward behind her.
Wait, what?
"4:30 you say? AM?" Well, it was still dark out.
"Yes," she nodded slowly, a slow smirk appearing on her face. I could still tell by how she rubbed her hands together that she was anxious, and I sought to put her at ease.
"Hmm, interesting," I began, "Seems it's not just doctors that keep odd hours," and when I gave her a lopsided grin, her smile widened, and I felt like I had one a small battle. When I gave it thought I offered, "I'm in no shape to accompany you, but I'd like to see your operation here later, if you don't mind.
"I don't mind," she replied, "But I'm afraid it would bore you. There's really not much to it. Just your average farm. Far from…" She quieted and stopped, thinking, "Far from anything that might interest you, I suppose…"
"I'm interested in knowing everything,Bells," I gave her a knowing look, for I had decided, I wasn't leaving without finding out more. I wanted to know of my children, and I thought I deserved to see them.
Isabella sighed, "I know. I know I owe you some answers. I just hope you can appreciate my situation after I've told you. I need to ask for your discretion, though. And one other thing."
"Anything," I replied, without thinking about what 'anything' might entail.
Isabella looked over and absentmindedly drew her finger along the top of a dresser to her right, "I know my children should know who their father is,"
"They don't?" I asked. All this time, had she been lying to them to? Did they think that Jacob was their father?
"They know it's not Jacob," she explained, holding her palms up at me, "and I've told them about you, as much as I could, I mean. But they don't know you're here, and I can't let them know until I have some guarantees from you."
"Which are?"
"They've already lost a father," she explained quietly. As much as it enraged me that she could call this Jacob Black their father, I tried to understand her point of view. "I can't have someone waltz into their life, tell them that you are their father and then have you leave without a word. That would be worse, I think, than not knowing you to at all. Especially for Anthony," She added.
I gasped at the name, "Anthony?" My chest tightened when Isabella nodded, "You gave him my name.
"I did. He knows that's your middle name."
"But we - you, had twins, right?And what of the other child?"
"Her name is Charlotte. Charlotte Marie," I had never heard that in the family, and I had wondered how she came up with that name. Guessing my look, she said, "Her namesake, well, let's just say she's part of the story."
My mind was boggled by the fact that I had a child, and I don't think I had completely processed that I had two. "Where are the children now?" I pondered.
"At the Cullen house. Alice was very helpful last night, and she made up a big elaborate story about needing a sleepover night with them. Anthony wasn't thrilled, he thought it a bit too girlish and he doesn't like to be away from here as he considers himself the man of the house, but Carlisle told me that Jay – I mean Jasper helped him out. He does adore Jay so." Isabella's eyes smiled at the thought.
I didn't know these children, they were all but strangers to me. But knowing that they existed, it did something inside of me that I had never felt before. It was like a pulling, a longing. I wasn't sure how I longed for someone I had never met, but I suppose it was born out of a deep paternal instinct. Mine, Mine, Mine. I can't say I was jealous of Lt. Whitlock knowing my children, my son. But I was envious. I wanted to be for them what he was. I wanted to be more.
"You have my promise, Is- Bells" I corrected myself, "I'll not walk away from them. I want to know them. I know New York seems far, but I promise, I'll do what I can to make sure they know me."
Isabella simply dipped her head, and said, "Thank you." She left the curtain and came back with a small tray of food – bread, some hard cheese and an egg, along with a delicious smelling black coffee and a creamer. "Not sure if you are up for eating, but just in case, I'll leave it here." I nodded as my mouth began to water, and I silently watched Isabella walk out the door.
I didn't want her to leave. Watching her turn her back and go ripped at me, but I had already taken up so much of her time, I knew it would be incredibly selfish to call her back just to be near her for one more moment. So instead, I turned my attention toward the food on my plate.
I ate as I lay in bed and I tried to piece together everything that had happened in the last 48 hours. When I first arrived, I came up for a simply dinner party, that I had agreed to attend out of respect for my father and one of his oldest friends. And suddenly I find myself in the guest bed of the love of my life, whom I thought had died 12 years earlier. It was truly uncanny. This doesn't happen to people. There was so much of the story missing. And children! I didn't think that could be. Could it? Perhaps it wasn't…no, it wasn't that. Isabella may have done things that angered me, I didn't think she would tell me they were my children if they weren't. I refused to let my mind wander that perhaps she'd had a tryst at school, and since she didn't want contact…
No, no. We had already discussed the strange misunderstanding. She wrote to me, and waited for me to return her letters. Why did I never see them? Why was I told not to write to her? None of this made sense. But I was certain that if Isabella thought I was waiting for her, she wouldn't have been unfaithful to me. I would not accept that possibility.
I wanted to know my children. I wasn't sure how it would work out, but I knew I could find away. As I thought of this, my mind drifted to New York. Carlisle told me he would contact the hospital on my behalf, and I knew the doorman would take any message and keep the mail for me. But I needed to contact Tanya. She would be upset that I was delaying my return, but she would be furious if I didn't contact her. If anyone asked where I was or what I was doing and she didn't know, she would find it positively embarrassing. What with her nearly being my fiancée, which admittedly, I didn't want to think of in that moment,
I spent a bit of time thinking about that, and I couldn't recall when or by whom it was decided that Tanya and I were to wed. Of course no proposal had been made, and I hadn't even spoken with her parents, but we talked about it as though it were a given. Admittedly, I thought that she was the woman for me, in the sense that once I got married, I could carry on in a state of semi-existence. She knew I wasn't completely with her emotionally, but I had a good social standing and no desire to sully that image. I had never given her doubt of my commitment, and that was most important to her. She came from a very good family, and I knew she wouldn't want to do anything that might blacken their name.
From Tanya, my thoughts drifted to Isabella, and I was completely aware of how my heart rate quickened when I thought of her. Even in her overalls, her smile was more rewarding than any part of Tanya, physically or emotionally. I thought of Tanya and her mink stolls and off the shoulder dresses, and when I imagined Isabella in those, with her shoulders bared to me, the seam of the stockings travelling up the back of her legs under her dress that fitted over her backside….lips rouged….
I had to take a deep breath and adjust myself. As I did, my palm came in contact with my cock and I hissed, imagining Isabella again. In the outer room I saw a large old wash basin, and I wondered what it might be like to watch her bath. Standing nude in the middle of the tub, rubbing soap over her body, her long hair dripping down her back and leaving trails of water down to the dimples above her…
My hand was now rubbing furiously, and my back arched off the bed a little. I could imagine the smell of her skin – the new smell, and the scent of lemon verbena seemed more potent as I remembered the feeling of nuzzling her neck and breathing her in.
With one more pass, my balls tightened and my body jerked, the euphoria rising and leveling off in me. I used my handkerchief to clean myself, and then stuffed it in my pocket. I would hate to ask my cleaning lady to take care of it, so I'd had to make a point of washing it in my sink at home. Ah, well.
At the last moment, I laid down on the bed I just made and breathed in her pillow. It was as though I could smell her there. I rolled onto my side, facing the window, and I saw what I hadn't yet noticed. There, on the small bedside table was a photo of a very young, very pregnant Isabella. She stood stiffly beside an even younger looking man with tanned skin and a bright, wide smile. Isabella's right hand rested at her side, while her left arm was linked into the man's. She was wearing a while lacy gown and a veil, while he sported a black suit that perhaps looked just a bit small for his frame.
I wanted to purge my breakfast at the sight of the photo. I didn't suppose she had intentionally placed it there for me to see – see the life, the love, and the children that I had never known. I was sure it was an oversight and not meant to send me a message. I then began to look more closely at the bedside table. Other than the photo, there was a small clock, and a ceramic dish. Peering inside, I saw a small pair of earrings, a sewing needle, and a long familiar gold chain. I pulled the chain out, knowing what I would find on the end. Sure enough, it was still there. Dangling from the gold chain, a simple gold band with a single diamond in a setting that resembled a flower.
I had given her a ring that I could afford at the time. If it were now, I would be inclined to line each finger with jewels and purchase her a necklace for every day of the week. I was beginning to suspect she wouldn't appreciate those gestures, but such was my nature and upbringing. But the sight of the ring confirmed a few things for me.
One, Isabella hadn't forgotten me, nor had she completely given up on us, even if it was something in the past. As much as she said she had no intention of finding me, she thought of me. I knew it.
The second thing I realized was why she gave me a strange look when I called this a guest room. This was not a room intended for guests, and I wanted to slap myself when I recalled the tiny nature of the cottage. No, Isabella had let me sleep in her bed, which means that not only did I inadvertently insult her home and her bedroom, but I had also fantasized about her in her own bed and pleasured myself between her own sheets. The realization was equally embarrassing and erotic, and I briefly wondered if I had time to do it again.
The sound of that blasted rooster outside the window roused me from falling again into fantasy, and I quickly straightened the bedsheets. I tidied up the dishes and placed them at the small wooden counter on the other side of the fireplace, noticing that she still had a pump at her sink to draw water from inside the house. I began to orientate myself to her meager surroundings. The area behind the large fireplace was divided into two; One side served as her bedroom, not the guestroom, and the other was a kitchen area with a sink, counter, and a worn and well oiled table that was deeper than all the rest. The front was dominated by the kitchen table where we had sat, the icebox and a cupboard. A row of hooks were fastened to the wall by the front door, and the shotgun with which was far too familiar, hung over the back door. Except for the shelf of photos I discovered last night, and a cross stitch that said, "God bless this home", the surroundings were plain and practical. I surmised that the children must sleep in the attic.
I had to admit that unnerved me that my children had spent their lives, unbeknownst to me, sleeping in a drafty attic. I had always reasoned that any child of mine would have the best of the best, and in my estimation this was not it. It wasn't Isabella's fault, I reasoned. She simply did what she could with what she had. No, the blame laid entirely with this Jacob Black, who had assumed the role of father with my children, and then set them to live in this rusted shack. Then he had the gall to go off to war and leave them! They deserved better, all of them did.
Well, now I was in the picture and I could certainly rectify that. Starting with the house. I wondered whether I could add on to this one, or just have it torn down? I preferred the idea of tearing the whole thing away and starting from scratch, but there were other things to think about, and that would be easy enough to do in time.
Before she left, Isabella had assured me that going to the Cullen's house would be safe. The children were all up and by 8am were already well on their way to school. I felt relieved that I could move freely, but still disappointed. I knew I shouldn't meet them without Isabella there, but I didn't want to skulk around like a secret.
Taking the small path I had just two nights ago, I came upon the Cullen house once more. The windows were open to let in the tepid spring breeze, and I momentarily stopped and noticed how the air seemed different. The buds on the trees still made the forest look bare, but there was something in it's scent – not green per say, but a promise of something, a bit of wild. I could imagine were it my home, I'd like the same scent to cascade through my hallways as well.
It briefly brought be back to Seattle. There, the air was usually heavy with the scent of the pines and other conifers on our property. This smell was different, but also similar. I had to admit it brought a small smile to my face as I made my way to the front door.
The day at the Cullen house proved interesting as well as long and tedious. Mrs. Cullen – Esme – as she preferred, was a fine hostess for my sorry bruised self, and allowed me to wash up in her home. When I saw the washtub and the pump in the cottage, I quickly realized that Isabella had no bathroom facilities. As much as I appreciated her letting me stay there, I felt like I needed a proper toilet and a shower.
I was able to reach Tanya on the phone. I informed her that I was staying in Vermont to assist my father's friend with his practice. She was angry, and while my nature to acquiesce to her demands that I return to the city immediately, all it took was one memory of Isabella's smile to remind me of my reason for staying, along with the fact that I would soon meet the children. She was very unhappy when I refused her demands and ended the call.
After, Esme suggested I take a leisurely stroll in the grounds during the day. While I had never spent much time in the country, I had to admit that it was peaceful. There was something refreshing about wandering along quiet roads listening to the sounds of the forest. Vermont is mountainous, but I found that walking on foot was invigorating. I realized that I rarely walked simply for the sake of walking. I was usually very busy moving from one place to another, that walking was a means of moving from point A to point B. Here, I saw that walking served another purpose, one that made me yearn to read Thoreau or a Robery Frost Anthology. I had all but been unacquainted with this part of our grand country.
And I waited. Isabella had finished her morning chores, and then did some work or other in the fields, and after lunch she let her farm hands take over, and said she'd come over to the Cullen house as soon as she'd cleaned up.
Glancing at my watch, it was nearly 1 O'Clock in the afternoon when she arrived. While waiting, my anxiety had increased exponentially every moment after I'd finished eating, but when she walked through the door, it felt like a huge weight was taken from my shoulders. I hadn't realized how much tension I had just in waiting to see her again.
She was dressed differently than in the morning, which didn't surprise me. Her overalls were replaced by a simple blue cotton dress with a collar, that buttoned down the front. The slight flare of the skirt accentuated her hips, which I noticed were a bit wider than when she was a teenager. The dress ended just below her knees an served to show off her shapely calves in a beautiful way. Though she was living in meager circumstances, she looked healthy and fit. Of course, my perusal was noticed, and I enjoyed seeing her cheeks flushed as she looked at everything in the room but me.
"I trust you've had a good day, Edward?" she asked as she took a seat across from me. I nodded in assent, when she added, "I imagine the country can be boring after being used to the hustle and bustle of the city,"
"I had a great day, actually. I found it rather, peaceful I suppose. A nice change." I gave her a lopsided grin, and saw her cheeks darken. Then a thoughtful look passed over her face and she drew her eyebrows together.
"Yes, well I suppose it is a nice little holiday for you. I'm sure you have lots to do in the city though, and soon enough this place will seem a bore," she laughed, trying to pass off her statement nonchalantly, but I saw a darkness in her eyes.
"You're worried about something," I stated bluntly. Her expression sobered, and she didn't need to nod for me to know I'd hit the nail on the head.
Looking down, I saw that her hands were shaking. She was clasping them together in an effort to calm the tremors. I longed to reach across and take her hand to calm her, but I feared that I was the source of the anxiety, and my action would only make her more nervous.
Clearing her throat, she straightened her shoulders, "My children are my world. And I don't know what you have planned, but I will tell you now that you will never, ever be able to take them from me."
My mouth hung open in surprise, "Is that what you thought, that I might take them away?"
"I know we don't live like you, and if you haven't any yet, I'm sure you'll have plans in your head to change our lives. I want to tell you now that you are not invited to do so."
I looked away, thinking of the cottage they lived in, and Isabella must have caught the look in my eye, "I mean it Edward. I am their mother, and they will not be taken from me. Not by you, or your lawyer, or anyone else for that matter. I've run before to protect them and I'll do it again. In fact," she continued while my mouth hung agape, "I'll do it better this time. I have more resources, I have more contact" I stopped her by raising my hand. She had a fierce spark in her eye that unsettled me. I had no doubt she could carry out her threat if she felt she needed to.
"Bells," I implored her, "Please, I would not think such a thing. Yes, I will admit that I was surprised by the size of your home," I quickly moved on as I saw tears shining in her eyes, "But I also saw someone that takes good care of what they have. I saw someone who loves their children deeply, and who works hard to make a good life. How could I take my children away from such a life?" It was mostly true. I would never take them from their mother. Although I hadn't abandoned my plan to tear down that shack they called a home.
Moving on, she demanded, "You must treat Sarah as nicely as the other two. She's too young to remember her father, but she would notice if she were treated differently." I nodded, completely accepting. I wasn't sure what it would be like to meet her, let alone children of my own blood, but I knew how to be compassionate, and fair. Plus, she was a part of Isabella, and I knew it would be difficult not to feel something for her, if for that very reason.
Sighing, she took a deep breath. Esme then walked into the room, bringing a tray with tea and a few biscuits. Isabella thanked her, and then went about slowly and methodically preparing a cup of tea. First, she slowly poured the tea to what seemed like an exact measure. Then, she added one lump of sugar, and stirred. Then a second, and stirred. Then finally she added milk and stirred for a final time. I bit back a smile at her ritual. Clearly she was stalling the rest of the conversation.
"I bet you think I'm stalling, don't you?" She said, and a chuckle burst from my lips. She also had a smile playing on her lips, "You're partly right, but this is also a little habit of mine. Raising twins and another little one taught me to savor small moments in my life, even things as simple as making tea.
I felt somber, and I suddenly had to tell her what I felt, "For what it's worth, I wish I had been there. To see them grow up, to raise them with you…" I trailed off at the end, worrying that I had said to much, that she would be upset at me bringing up the past.
But I was wrong, her face looked a little bit brighter, although she responded quite seriously, "For what it's worth, I wish you had been too." She allowed that to hang between us, leaving me to ponder its meaning. Did she still want me? It couldn't mean that, could it? If it did, and what would I do about New York, and Tanya? Could I leave it all behind? Could she come with me?
"No matter," she carried on with her voice raised, oblivious to my internal ramblings, "It is what it is. I don't regret my life and we can only move forward right? Well, before you meet your children, I have a lot to tell you about how I came to be here."
