Chapter summary: February 1934, Bella recuperates from her attack of nerves and receives a surprising gift and a not-so-surprising well-wisher.

When I woke up, it was bright outside my window. I groaned. I had overslept. Which meant that Pa didn't wake me. Which meant I would catch hell if I showed up at the courthouse. I could just imagine Pa's indignant look: "Young lady, you have three seconds to turn yourself right around and get back into your bed, or else the clink will find itself with its first delinquent!" Pa always went overboard when it came to worrying over me. So there was nothing for it. I grabbed Pride and Prejudice and settled in.

"IT is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man
in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."

I snickered at the first line. Had I fallen, somehow, into an Edwardian novelization? This time the reading would be a more interesting, seeing that now I could draw from personal experience, but as I continued the words began to blur together.

The next thing I knew, I found myself with my cheek pressed against the book. Apparently, I had fallen back asleep. Apparently, I had only made it to chapter 2. Apparently, I drooled in my sleep. On my book. On the phrase: "When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?" Shoot. I hoped it hadn't soaked through too far. It hadn't: only ten or so pages. Small blessings. I hoped it'd dry without fusing the pages. I'd need to wait on that answer. I idly wondered why I never went to balls like Elizabeth Bennett. Nobody ever went out of their way for plain-jane Bella. Nosiree.

Apparently, someone had left flowers on my dresser.

Wait! What?

Yellow pansy-like flowers with baby's breath? I got up and examined them. They were in a cut-crystal vase that was now the most beautiful thing our house contained. There was a card.

"For a dear friend's swift recovery: zennia and yarrow. E."

Apparently, Edward had taken calligraphy. His elegant script was perfect and beautiful. Of course. Just like him.

It made me sad: I would never be able to write him a letter, because I would never want him to see my chicken scratch. He would drop his interest, then and there, just on general principles. Water splashed on the card, marring his words. What the hell! I never cursed, but I was furious: why would the roof decide to leak right on Edward's card. More water fell on it, and I looked up for the offending leak.

The leak was on my cheeks. I wiped away my stupid tears.

I got back into bed. I needed to lie down. I needed to think.

Think. Think. Think.

Telling myself to think wasn't helping me to form any cogent thoughts. Okay, so I planned what I needed to do. Doing: that was tenable, at least. I needed to confront Rosalie, and I needed to confront her alone, without the rest of her family knowing.

What else? Edward was going to visit this evening. I was sure of that. Was he going to be turned away again from the last chance of seeing me this week? Somehow, I knew he would demand to comfort the invalid. So I had to use Pa's nature to my advantage, because I couldn't face Edward for long.

Fancy that: Pa'll finally rescue me. I'd have to mark this date on my calendar.

Then I realized something that stopped me cold. I was glad that I was lying down. Edward had already visited me today.

Apparently, I was the world's heaviest sleeper, because I had slept right through Edward's delivery of flowers right into my room. Well, at least I didn't snore, so I had that going for me.

Edward was in my room. Today.

I had never taken an interest in mystery novels. Perhaps I should start reading them now, so I would know what happens next in the plot. As I was thinking this, I heard the front door open. Ah, is that the sound of the plot thickening?

Nope, it was just Pa. His idea of sneaking was to make the sounds of a shoed horse walking over cobblestones. I shut my eyes, pretending to sleep, as my door creaked open. I could just imagine the exaggerated care he took to peek in on me. The door creaked shut, and I heard Papa Bear amble off to the kitchen to fend for himself. Poor Pa! I hoped he could find his way to the ice box without getting lost.

How did Edward not wake me up? Oh, of course: he can sneak perfectly, too, I guessed. I'd have to make a list of his perfections, but then I wondered if that would be signing up for a task that would take more hours than the day was long...

I heard something on the skillet sizzling, and then the smell of bratwurst insinuated itself through my nose straight to my stomach. Ouch! I was really hungry, but a knock on the front door scared that thought straight out of my head and my stomach, which flipped convulsively. Good thing I hadn't wolfed something down, as it'd be probably coming right back up now.

As I predicted, Pa did a great job of shooing, but, again, as I predicted, Edward wasn't buying what Pa was selling. There were a whole lot of "I insist"s going around. Edward was politer but firmer with his "I insist"s, I noted, as I heard one pair of footsteps come to my room.

"You see, Edward," Pa was speaking quietly. For him. "She's asleep now. She's never sick, so something really must have knocked her for a loop. She really needs to rest."

How is it possible that Edward was in the room? I had heard only one set of footsteps. Were all the Hales ghosts, or something? I tried to recall if anyone had touched them. No. Couldn't recollect. But then I remembered Mrs. Hale had opened the door for me. Ghosts weren't supposed to do that, right? Was it a ghost door to "Lillian"'s room?

I opened my eyes. Yes, Edward was here. Again. "Hey, Pa." I didn't need to fake the weak sound.

"Sweetie, Edward Platt is here to see you." He glared meaningfully at Edward. "He gets one hello before I clap on the irons."

"That's fine, Pa, I'm good for one minute, I guess." I slid my eyes over to Edward who knelt down near Pa. He touched my forehead.

I must actually be running a very high fever. Or maybe his sports car didn't have a heater? His hands were ice cold.

"Bella," he breathed.

You know, I could live on his air. Really.

"Edward, thank you for coming, but I'm so sorry!" He looked at me in confusion, so I reached my hand from under my bed and handed him his card. He took it, looked at it, but still looked confused. "I ruined your beautiful card."

He sighed in exasperation: "Bella, I'll compose one hundred such cards so you can ruin every last one, just so long as you get better."

I wanted to find out who his finishing school teacher was, so I could shake that person's hand in gratitude.

"K." was about all I could muster.

Pa could muster more than that: "Alright. You: out!" he commanded as he pointed first at Edward and then at the door. That's Pa, my rescuer. All he needed now was a cape. Edward reluctantly complied, but not before leaning in ... his lips were practically white with the cold ... and breathing a "take care" onto me. I felt as if I had received a special benediction. He then stood and thanked Pa for the visit as he left.

I should get sick more often. I'll add that to my monthly planner.

Pa came back to check on me, I'm sure, but I must have slipped under again by then.

...

Two days straight sleeping! That wasn't humanly possible. Why was I so out of it? I woke the next day, chugging the glass of water Pa had left by my bed — bless him! — and was ready to eat a breakfast of pillow followed by a side of chair. I was famished. I practically ran to the kitchen and devoured the bratwurst in the ice box left over from last night. It was cold, but I didn't care. Pa had had mush for breakfast, I scooped out a large serving from the pot into a bowl, poured milk and molasses over that.

Where is the coffee! I growled. If Pa hadn't left me some coffee, someone would have to die.

He did leave some coffee. Bless him again. As I slurped it down, I realized today I'd be poking around an empty Hale household, or today I'd be talking with Rosalie — not "Lillian" — alone. The coffee suddenly left a really bad acid taste in my mouth.

I sighed, poured the remainder of my cup down the sink drain — something that I had never done before — and went to my room to dress for the inevitable.

A/N: There is a truly wonderful story called "One Dozen Roses" by the author Angel Ren about a not-so-mysterious admirer who leaves Bella a special St. Valentine's Day gift. This chapter has no relation to that story, other than the fact that in both Bella receives flowers. Do yourself a favor, though, please: look up Angel Ren's story and read it. It is a delight and is wonderfully-crafted from start to finish.

Now, as to Edward's selection, the flowers he chose have specific meanings: yarrow designates "good health" and zinnia means "thinking of a friend". Edward, being born before the Great War knows this well. The rest of us probably must rely on today's oracle — google — to help us along here.