Good guesses, all of you! Let's find out!
Thanks to my team, and you, for your help and support!
For the first time in her twenty-four years, Isabella doesn't wake to the sound of a rooster crowing at dawn's first light. She doesn't hear the repeated scrapes of her mother's rocking chair on the front porch.
Instead, the sound of raised voices and a pungent odor greets her from her resting place, and she rises from the worn mattress slowly, her eyes adjusting to the bright room she finds herself in.
Surprisingly, she had slept through the night without a hitch. The hard mattress beneath her and the tattered blankets went unnoticed; she had been far too tired from her day of travel and work to even think about it. She was grateful for absolutely everything. If it hadn't been for Emmett, she most likely wouldn't have had any place to sleep at all.
In her exhaustion the night before, Isabella vaguely remembers hearing him say he had a place for her to stay only for one night. Unsure if she had heard him correctly, she makes a quick vow to herself to find her own lodgings first thing today after she collects herself. With no set plans ahead of her for the day, she doesn't jolt from her spot right away like she thought she would. Instead, she makes her way upright slowly, purposely, and stretches her muscles in search of relief from yesterday's exertions. Her eyes follow the sound of voices coming from directly outside the window across from her, somewhat shaded by a thin curtain most likely hung for appearances instead of purpose.
The voices are all passing, sounding friendly in nature as one greets another before disappearing down the cobblestone streets. Like most things in Port Angeles, it's different from her mornings back home in Forks. The day doesn't cease to exist or fall into chaos if the cows aren't milked, and the eggs aren't collected from the coops. Everyone has their own agenda, separate from that of their neighbor, and conducts themselves accordingly. Isabella watches from the window, a tentative finger holding the curtain back so she can watch the people of the city begin their day.
While it may look different, the principle is still the same back home.
Wake up. Work hard. Provide for your family. Sleep. Repeat.
This concept she is familiar with, and sends a simultaneous wave of comfort and homesickness into the pit of her stomach.
… Along with guilt.
It's a feeling she can't ignore, either. She doesn't miss the home she left yesterday morning. She misses the home from September when Mama did more than rock away her demons in the chair on the front porch and when Daddy spent more time with the family instead of on the farm.
When James was just a train ride away in the city with the secrets.
But now, in the middle of February, she recognizes the guilt. It's as familiar to her as the air she breathes.
Unfamiliar to her is the voice she hears coming from down the hall, heading in her direction. Her eyes whip to the sound, and it is now that Isabella notices the chipped paint on the walls and the brown and wilted ceilings above her. The sunlight casts the room in an early morning yellow, bright but also dull around the edges. It's small, barely a room at all. It fits the single, narrow bed she collapsed on last night and a small table next to the window. Despite the uncertainty of the footsteps outside her closed door, Isabella smiles at the sight of a simple violet in a small vase on the table.
Proof that there is beauty, life, somewhere in this cold and ugly world.
"Are you decent?" A loud voice asks between knocks on the other side of the door.
Isabella looks down at herself, still wearing her clothes from the day before. "Yes," she answers. "Come in."
The door swings open at her invitation, and in walks none other than the woman she had seen at the pub yesterday morning. This time, there are no gentlemen suitors on either side of her. It's just her and her long blonde hair, wild yet still tame, and her piercing blue eyes which search for Isabella's story like she's wearing the words on her sleeve.
"You're in better shape than I thought you'd be," the woman thinks out loud and heads over to the small table. She places a plate next to the simple violet before looking at Isabella. "Thought you'd be running by now."
Isabella shakes her head in disagreement. "I'm tired of running."
The woman nods, crossing her arms over her chest. "And you think it stops here?" She motions vaguely to the world outside the window. "The running?"
Swallowing down her embarrassment, Isabella actually lets out a small laugh at her expense. "Is it stupid of me to think that?"
The tall blonde woman smiles. "We're all stupid, honey." She takes a few steps to squeeze Isabella's shoulder. "Some way or another."
"Right."
"Here," she points towards the plate of food on the table. "Eat. You need something in your stomach."
"I'm not hun-"
"Eat." She peers out the window. "The smell of food alone will have them linin' up at the door in no time."
"Who?"
"You'll see soon enough," she sighs. "Hopefully not."
Unable to ignore the jabs of hunger in her stomach, Isabella scarfs down the plate of eggs and a small orange.
"Thank you for the room," she remembers a few minutes later, embarrassed she had forgotten her manners.
The woman chuckles. "This isn't your room, sweetie. I tried to tell you last night your room is upstairs this way, but you went right on in and fell asleep before I could tell you otherwise."
"Sorry," Isabella mumbles. "Yesterday was -"
"I know. Emmett told me."
"He did?"
The woman nods. "Not the reason why. But we all have our reasons for running." She grabs the now empty plate off the table. "He told me you needed a room. You want one, or do you want to stay in this shit hole?" She asks, speaking of the room we're in.
"You have a room for me?"
"Upstairs. Hurry on out," she says and helps Isabella grab her few belongings. "This is Victoria's room, and she should be home any minute."
"Victoria?" Isabella asks, adding another name to her mental inventory.
"Mmhmm."
She doesn't add anything more than that and ushers Isabella out of the room, shutting the door behind them. Isabella follows her up a set of small stairs where she sees a row of closed doors. She assumes one of these must be hers.
"Here you go," the woman says. She opens a door and hands Isabella the key. "Rent is 4.50 a week and is due at the beginning of the week."
Isabella swallows at the shock of the cost, deciding to deal with that later. Instead, she turns away from the room and back towards the woman.
"Thank you…" Isabella trails off, searching for a name for the woman who helped her.
A knock at the door signals the end of their time together. The woman smiles and lets the corner of her robe slip off her shoulder. "Rosalie."
I've always loved Rose as a friend instead of foe. Cheers for Rose!
See you soon!