AN ~ this one has sadness and fluff :') As usual, big thanks to favouriters, subscribers, readers and reviewers! Keep those reviews coming, they really warm my heart...and my fingers!
If you're interested, look up Musical Cues Contest. It is a competition on which will be voted on over here, so all the entries have been posted here. We had to write a 2500+ word oneshot based on/inspired by a song. It was fun!
I have about 4 entries I think but I can't tell you what they are because it is an anonymous contest. There are nearly forty entries so get reading, guys - voting starts soon!
Chapter Eleven: Nostalgia
Carlisle:
Esme and I retreated to her bedroom – or rather, the room upstairs in which she kept her blueprints and personal items. There was a desk beside the door, with a hinged lamp folded against the wall above it. Nearby was an eclectic collection of pigeonholes - the remnants of many sets which had been partially destroyed or lost over the years - in which she kept blank and unfinished designs, and her favourite old ones. In the middle of the room were a floor rug and a pile of cushions, most of which the children had given her over the years, and along the other three walls were benches.
On the benches – among other things - were a stereo and CD wrack, a jewelry box (and several stands surround it, each dripping with necklaces) and lots of photographs. Perhaps hundreds. Esme moved them around a lot, and pictures from around the rest of the house were often switched with them, but there were two pictures too important and too personal – not to mention far too old – to be moved outside of her sanctuary. One was a sepia photograph of she and I at our wedding in 1922, and beside it was the only picture in the world of Esme's baby boy, who had died just days after being born.
Esme's story was a tragic one, but as she so often proclaimed, she would suffer it all again if she had to, just to be with me. There was one thing this life couldn't grant her, though. She tried not to let it get her down, but every once in a while it took its toll. She missed the chance to have a baby.
"Don't look like that," she said, gliding over to me and looking up into my eyes. "It's not your fault."
"I know, but…" but I took that from you.
"Carlisle, I have five beautiful children, and I have you. I love you all with all my heart, and I thought I'd never get to do that again."
"You're too easy on me, sweetheart," I said, but she had made me feel a little better. She kissed me gently and then backed off, satisfied that my moment of guilt had passed.
"Speaking of hearts," she said, "don't you have to go to work soon? Doctor Snow called in sick, remember, and you owe him a shift."
"I have a while longer," I stalled, wishing I could stay here with Esme for longer than just a while. It was so rare we got time to ourselves.
Just then, Alice and Jasper appeared.
"Sorry," Jasper said. "She's getting ideas." He and I laughed as Alice danced over to Esme, already babbling ideas for some new dress or other.
"I'll be outside…" he told me, looking from my face to the girls, giggling away to each other. Esme always looked so much younger when she laughed, so much closer to Alice and Rosalie's age. I sighed with longing as the sunlight shone through her hair, lighting it up like a bronze halo.
...
Alice was not going to let Esme go any time soon, and I was already stretching the time I had to get to work. To get my head out of the clouds of its daydreaming, I headed back to my office and picked up Avicenna's Canon of Medicine; a book from before my time, which I had not read in some years. It was interesting to note the changes and discoveries that had been made since then – of which there were many. I had noted these changes in margins at first, but eventually decided to record my observations and tuck them into the back of the book.
"You can laugh, it is sort of ironic."Edward's voice drifted down the stairs. A smile touched my lips: clearly they had reached the crucifix. Contrary to my expectations, though, Bella didn't laugh.
"It must be very old,"she mused.
"Early sixteen thirties, more or less," came the casual reply. Very old indeed.
"Why do you keep this here?"
"Nostalgia. It belonged to Carlisle's father."
"He collected antiques?"Bella wondered doubtfully. I laughed quietly and started reading. The words were Latin, but that was no more trouble for me to read than for the people who had written it. Canonus of Remdemdium, the front page was labelled.
"How old is Carlisle?" Bella wondered.
"He just celebrated his three hundred and sixty-second birthday," Edward replied. He followed this by recounting a shorter – and somewhat censored – version of my history.
Scolding myself for eavesdropping, I returned my eyes to the pages before me, letting their conversation drift into the background. Rememdium est scientia quo nos perceptum varius civitas of humanus somes in valetudo quod ut non in valetudo, I read, quod opes quo valetudo est amo ut defluo quod, ut lost, est amo futurus recidivus. (Medicine is the science by which we learn the various states of the human body in health and when not in health, and the means by which health is likely to be lost and, when lost, is likely to be restored.)
"Come on then," Edward invited. His voice was so close, he must have been right outside the door. "I'll show you."
"Come in," I invited.
...
Bella stared in awe as she looked over the room, her eyes scanning the desk and the shelves and the leather-bound volumes that filled them…and no doubt trying to associate them with my twenty-three-year-old appearance.
"What can I do for you?" I inquired.
"I wanted to show Bella some of our history," Edward said. "Well, your history actually,"
"We didn't mean to disturb you," Bella added.
"Not at all," I brushed off her concern. "Where are you going to start?"
"The Waggoner," Edward replied. He pulled Bella along the row of pictures - making her heart jump in ways I'm sure she found very embarrassing - to a small, square, oil painting; the Waggoner.
"London in the sixteen-fifties," Edward stated.
"The London of my youth," I explained. Bella jumped, and I silently apologised. I hadn't realised I had approached them so quietly: she must not have heard me coming.
"Will you tell the story?" Edward asked.
"I would, but I'm actually running a bit late," I excused myself. "The hospital called this morning: Doctor Snow is taking a sick day. Besides, you know the stories as well as I do." Edward gave me a pained look. I smiled slyly.
Coward. Why don't you just talk to her? I teased, recalling the very words he had used eighty years ago to make me interact with Esme in phrases longer than three words. He fought a smile, my specific choice of words not lost on him. I gave Bella another warm smile and slipped out of the room, leaving the two of them alone. Then off I ran to work, realising that I was in fact late.