Posted 2023-10-21; Beta'd by Eeyorefan12

On their walk back from the matriarcha, Edward and Bella were stopped by almost every other person they passed, many congratulating Edward on his safe return from Earth, all of them asking after his family and sending greetings. Bella was beginning to understand just how well known—and highly regarded—the Cullens were in the community.

Though the people they met were curious about Bella, they greeted her with polite nods and vague, nonintrusive questions. Edward fielded most of them on her behalf, and she was struck once more by how charming and at ease he was in his familiar environs.

"How are you faring," Edward asked her, "meeting so many new people?"

"I'm fine," she said. "I don't consider myself an introvert but . . . well, it's alright. I'm not going to remember all the names, though."

"No one would expect you to. You are operating in an unfamiliar environment, with a new language and customs"—he glanced sideways at her—"and you're doing very well. I only wondered if it might be fatiguing."

She felt herself blush at his praise. "A little," she admitted. "But it's manageable." As she thought of the busy market, though, she wondered if she could suggest they have some time apart—if only to be spared even more introductions. He was right: it was tiring.

Once they reached the large square, the shade evaporated, the bordering parkland offering only sparse trees. The paved stones reflected back the heat of the day, and as they paused under a tree, Bella fanned herself, noticing again how big her gloves were on her small human hands.

Though she couldn't see them, she knew there were musicians ahead. Listening more closely, she revised that opinion.

"What is that?" It was like listening to a beginners' orchestra tune up.

"A string ensemble." Edward peered into the distance.

After taking a few steps in the direction of the noise, Bella shook her head. "Are they tuning their instruments?"

"No."

The sound morphed from the innocuous to the unpleasant. The instruments were not in tune. And if Bella correctly remembered her piano teacher's lessons, they were a solid quarter or half tone off. She grimaced.

Edward grinned at her. "Our tonality is very different from your own. Your hearing . . . it won't capture the harmonies being produced."

Bella gave thanks she wasn't a musician and tried for a neutral expression, determined to ignore the aggravating sounds. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of her neck, and grateful for the minor distraction, she fanned her face again, the tips of her too-long gloves flopping clownishly. This earned a chuckle from Edward.

"I think we should find you some better–fitting gloves," he said, playfully imitating her movements. "I can see why they are on my mother's list."

Bella snorted out a laugh. "You know you're fitting in when your hosts feel free to make fun of your outfit."

He gave her a sheepish glance. "I'm sorry. Was that—?"

"Totally fine. Kind of nice, actually. And definitely funny. I'm not used to so much . . . formality."

Edward hummed thoughtfully. "I assure you, moving from the formal to informal is much, much more difficult. I was very . . . confused by the way people interacted with me."

Bella could only imagine. "I bet."

He smiled to himself as he walked but didn't elaborate.

"C'mon, tell me about it," she finally asked. He had to have some story in mind.

He thought for a moment. "Alright. You've noticed we don't eat much in the way of sweet food?"

"Very much."

"When I started interacting with people, I was constantly confused by the frequent mentioning of sweet things. In particular, I had no idea why so many people told me things were 'a piece of cake'."

She laughed.

They slowed to a stop in another spot of shade, watching the people around them. There was notable variety in facial features, ranging from the prominently alien to the more traditionally Sabellian. Bella cocked her head, considering her characterization. There was a sharpness to Sabellian faces, though at first glance, she could easily mistake them for human ones. She surveyed the visages around her again. Skin tones ranged from a minority of grays to a full spectrum of warmer tones and shades. The distinct curl of claws was nearly universal, though, even when covered by gloves. Fewer people had canines that extended past their lower lips, and she noticed those only on men.

"So," Edward said, looking towards the market and then at Bella, "may I?" He held out his hand.

A little tentatively, she laid her hand in his. Barely touching her, he took a measure of it. He smiled a little wistfully. "I remember helping my brother buy gloves for Alice when she was his intended. He was very nervous that they should fit well, but he also wanted them to be a surprise, so I had to stealthily measure her hands when I helped her into the cart one day."

Bella smiled. "Did they fit?"

"They did." Another grin. Edward looked towards the square. "On the topic of marketing, the merchants are indecently thrifty. If you see something you need, I'll barter on your behalf. Shall we?" He gestured to the stalls, where one of the merchants lifted his hand in greeting and Edward mirrored the movement.

"Maybe, um, meeting so many people is a bit more tiring than I realized."

Edward looked at her and then the market. "Would you like us to remain here? My mother can easily buy the gloves."

"Would it be alright if I walked around by myself while you shopped?"

He studied her for a moment. "Of course, but I'd appreciate you staying away from the south end of the square."

Bella followed Edward's gaze. The stalls made a U around the fountain, the open end full of carts, a few rough tents, and stalls of smoked food. At a quick glance, she spotted mostly men around it.

"I will," she said.

Edward nodded. "I won't be long, and I'll come find you as soon as I'm finished." He still sounded unsure.

Was he worried? Was this a bad idea? Everyone she'd already met had been so polite, some even friendly. She just planned to observe, anyway.

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

Edward eyed her for a moment longer before heading off down the east side of the square.

Bella watched him leave, choosing to go in the other direction. Nervous but excited, she paused to tilt her hat to keep out the sun and the gazes of strangers. She walked down the southwest side of the U, working her way back slowly, examining the wares and merchant-customer interactions from a respectful distance.

Most of the people she saw were adults, but there were a few families with children scattered through the crowd. Along with them came a certain air of excitement. Market day was obviously a significant one for out-of-towners. Watching the people was as much fun as seeing what was being sold: pottery and dishes, burlap sachets, large gourds—or she assumed so—leather goods, mysterious bottles of bright blue liquids, and even some carved wood figures and dolls. She veered away from the stall that displayed large glass jars with squiggling and tentacled occupants.

What stopped her in her tracks, though, was a man and woman rapidly signing—and not just signing, but having an argument about how much the man was spending on . . . canvas? Bella wasn't sure of the sign he'd used. Beside them, a young boy with stick-straight brown hair tugged at his mother's skirt, earning a quick open-handed wiggle of the woman's fingers—a terse command to wait.

It took her a moment to realize how rude she was being, and Bella forced herself to look away, walking on and wondering how some of the same American Sign Language she'd grown up using was known here on Sabellia. No doubt, Edward would have answers.

More questions for the teacher. She chuckled to herself, and a woman passing by stopped to glance at Bella, who mumbled a quick "excuse me" and continued on.

Even as she moved forward, she couldn't help but glance back at the little family—still talking with their hands—drifting in the same direction as she was. No, Bella realized, it wasn't ASL, but there were remarkable similarities. Enough for her to grasp the gist of their conversation.

She passed by a baker's stall, then a lace merchant, and when she glanced back again, the two adults were still animatedly signing, but the child was nowhere near them.

Knowing how children wandered, Bella waited, scanning for the little boy. Nothing. She turned around, widening her search through the crowd, a swell of anxiety rising inside. She'd been lost more than once as a young child because of her wandering. Had the parents sent him with someone? Or were they so caught up in their conversation that they hadn't even realized he was gone?

She bit her lip, waiting and watching.

After a moment, she had her answer. The woman looked around, and the signing went from angry to urgent. Bella presumed she was asking where the boy had gone.

That was when Bella spotted him, swinging on a bit of tent rope near the southern end of the U. He was maybe four or five years old.

She was closer than the parents, and not trusting the boy to remain where he was, she went to him first, crouching down and signing, asking if his parents knew where he was.

He stared at her, tilting his head as the tips of her loose gloves flopped everywhere.

"Oh good grief," she muttered, yanking them off and repeating herself.

The boy sat up and pointed to where his parents had been.

They don't know where you are. I saw them over there. Bella pointed to where she'd last seen his parents. They looked worried.

Bella suddenly felt a little worried herself. Here she was trying to convince a child to go with her—a stranger—purportedly to find his parents. The action could certainly be misconstrued. Did he even understand her? Maybe her signs wouldn't make sense?

The boy had stopped signing and playing. He stared at Bella's fingers and then at her face, confused.

There was a gasp behind her, and then, an emotional "Agrias!"

The boy smiled and signed a response. Mama!

The woman swept in from behind Bella, picking up the young boy and then setting him down, rapidly signing a thoroughly maternal mixture of relief and chastisement all together.

The man she'd been with soon appeared, nodding awkwardly at Bella, and then, after looking at the boy and woman, signing what Bella thought was his thanks for staying with his son. He startled when Bella signed and spoke back. You're welcome. I saw you looking for him and when I saw him, I thought it was better to go to him first. She paused, realizing she was babbling. I'm happy to have helped.

The woman and man stood together, the child beside them, all three staring, nearly open-mouthed, at her ungloved hands.

After a quick sign, the man pulled the woman and child away, moving rapidly out of the square. Confused by their reaction, she followed them with her gaze, catching sight of Edward as he strode towards her, a small package in his hand and a tense expression on his face.

When he stopped, he stood directly in front of her, blocking her from the view of any other passersby. "Please put your gloves back on." He spoke in a low, urgent whisper. "Quickly."

Bella did, all the while chastising herself for what she'd already realized was a breach of etiquette. Naturally, everyone else was gloved, especially here in a public market.

How stupid! Edward was probably so embarrassed on her behalf.

"Sorry," she mumbled, unnerved by his cold manner, fumbling as she tried to put the gloves back on. "I couldn't sign properly with them, and—"

Edward didn't wait for her to finish, tightly gripping her elbow and steering her away.

"I see you, Cullen!" a man's voice yelled. "Too much of a coward to face us?"

Edward stopped mid-step, exhaling slowly but not turning around.

"Coward Cullen!" another voice called.

Bella gave up matching the fingers and jammed her whole hand into one of the gloves, her other still free.

"Weaver's threads," the first voice said, almost a whisper.

Bella looked up from her struggle. A trio of men stood by a table littered with empty bottles. She'd wandered right into the area Edward had warned her about.

"A Cullen with forbidden wares in hand." The first man snorted and shook his head. His companions mumbled amongst themselves, pointing at her and Edward.

Wares? Bella thought.

"Mr. Demas," Edward said, turning towards the group and nodding stiffly. "We have marketing to do." He spoke with crisp and chilling formality. Bella didn't understand what was going on, but she could easily read the negativity between the men.

Edward pulled on Bella's elbow, and she stumbled a little, he catching and steadying her.

"Oh, marketing, is it? Will you clothe or sell your broodmare today?" Mr. Demas laughed, and so did his friends.

Edward's grip tightened as he urged her forward.

"Hypocrite!" Mr. Demas yelled. "Is this how you spent the reparations tax you've levied against us? Buying something for yourself the rest of us aren't allowed to have?"

Edward ignored him, finally pausing after a few steps to help Bella don her other glove. When he lashed out suddenly with his arm, she ducked instinctively, looking up to see Mr. Demas right next to them, snarling as Edward held him at bay.

"Derr!" Mr. Demas yelled. Evading Edward's hold, he lunged forward, spitting at Bella.

The glob landed on her nose and cheek. It smelled boozy and yeasty, and she swiped at it, immediately realizing she'd soiled her glove.

Edward shoved the man back hard, stepping forward to keep Bella behind him.

"And now you offer us your famous peace." Mr. Demas breathed heavily, his bloodshot eyes full of fury.

"How can there be peace when you are drunkenly assaulting women in the market?" Edward said fiercely.

People had begun to gather and stare.

"Assault? You whip livestock that won't obey, Cullen," he said, lifting his chin at Bella.

There was a smattering of low hisses around them and perhaps some gasps as well. She was afraid to make eye contact with anyone, not sure what she would see in the faces nearby.

"Mr. Cullen?" Bella recognized Mr. Filo's voice, and glancing back, saw him emerge from the crowd and stand beside them. After a long moment, two other men and an older woman joined him.

Edward swept the rest of the small crowd with a menacing gaze. Several people averted their eyes. More firmly, he took Bella's elbow, which was already bruised by his handling, pulling her away. There were more hisses and some growls. Bella kept her head down and let him lead her, doing her best to ignore the calls coming from behind them. Her heart raced as Edward quickened his steps, and she struggled to keep up, nearly breaking into a jog to match his long strides as Mr. Filo followed behind them.

They walked past the square, the parkland, and out into the long street to the wagon, where Mr. Filo helped her in.

Edward glanced from one end of the street to the other, obviously looking to see if they'd been followed. After a moment, he joined Bella.

"Are you alright?"

She gave an automatic nod.

"You need to wash your face."

Another nod. She was still catching her breath. She dropped her bag twice before managing to get it onto her lap, the action bringing her damp gloves into view.

Edward noticed her fumbling and stopped her. "Take off your gloves," he said softly.

They were easier to remove than don, and she soon had them off. Edward handed them to Mr. Filo. "Please dispose of these. And then wash your hands."

The gloves, Bella knew, were perfectly good. Sabellians didn't dispose of things unless they were damaged beyond repair. "But—"

"Anything that comes out of that man's mouth is foul, and I need no reminder of his insult in my home." He ripped open the parcel he'd carried over, bringing out new gloves and setting them on his lap. "Give me your water bottle, please."

He wetted his handkerchief and then handed it to Bella. Shakily, she cleaned her face. When she was done, he took the soiled cloth and threw it over the side of the wagon in an angry gesture.

"Just . . . don't throw me out," Bella said, shakily laughing, her breathing unsteady. She felt like she might start crying.

Edward closed his eyes briefly, looking pained as he rested his fingers gently on the crook of her elbow. "I'm so sorry. I would never—"

"Throw me out. I know. I'm just—I'm feeling a little shaky."

There was a long exhale from Edward. "Of course. I understand."

Bella cleared her throat. "I took off my gloves. If I hadn't—"

"It wasn't that," Edward said. "It's that you're human. And anyone who looked closely enough could see that. It was—there are some who don't agree with the work I and the committee do, or think it's a waste. As a member of that committee, I'm . . . well, I didn't think we'd encounter anything like we did today, but obviously, I've been gone long enough that things have changed."

"Edward!" Esme called out as she marched towards the wagon, basket in hand. "What's happened?"

After hearing Edward's explanation, the older woman sat back in her seat, put her hands over her mouth, and then reached out to Bella, taking her hand. "I'm so sorry, Bella. This—this should never have happened. The insult—" she drew in a sharp breath and released it. "This will not happen again."

"Mother—" Edward's voice was a warning.

"It will not." She nearly hissed the words out.

After supper that evening, the family retreated to the cool recesses of the darkened parlor for tea—and sikaru for some including, unusually, Edward. Bella stayed for a few minutes out of politeness, though she wanted nothing more than to retreat to her room and read. After a little while, she excused herself and did just that.

After getting to her room and starting to undress, she realized that her book was still downstairs in the dining room. Tugging the dress back on, she almost left without her choker but decided she'd had enough of scandalizing Sabellians with her uncovered skin. She hastily fixed it in place with just one of the fiddly hooks and then tiptoed down the stairs. Her skirt was slightly askew, and she wasn't sure just how much of an impropriety it would be to be seen so.

She could hear the family still talking in the parlor, just a few doors away from the dining room. Not wanting to disturb them, she crept quietly to the sideboard and picked up her book.

"Do I need to order you to do it?" Esme asked, her voice raised.

Bella froze. She realized she hadn't heard Esme truly angry before.

Jasper sounded angry too. "Mother, we can't just–"

"She's right." Even at a distance, even with its softer tone, Bella easily recognized Edward's voice. "It will protect her, and it will make it clear that we mean what we say."

"I agree." That was Rose, but Alice quickly echoed her.

They were talking about her. She shifted her weight and the floor creaked. If anyone heard, there was no sign.

"As you wish, then," Jasper said. "There's still the matter of the cost. We can't pay the fee in alogo or derr, though I can try."

"I have my widow's portion set aside," Esme said.

There was a negative chorus of response to this.

"We'll consider it a loan from the fund, then, until it can be paid back." Esme spoke decisively.

Bella felt a stab of guilt on two fronts: the lesser being because she was eavesdropping, the greater for being yet another burden on the Cullens. She had no idea what was being proposed that would cost the family precious funds but she resolved to find a way to get into town again as soon as possible to see the archivist about work—and some sort of income. She would earn her place.

She took a deep breath before saying a little louder than she normally would to herself, "Oh, that's where I left you. Me and my memory." She marched quickly back upstairs, hoping her announcement would let the family think she'd not overheard them. She could at least spare them that embarrassment.

DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.