Hello everyone!
Soo glad you're still with me. Still in the 1940s ;) Thank you to my team and you all for sticking with me!
"Why didn't you tell me?" Isabella asks a few hours later, the intensity of her growling stomach forcing her to follow the smell of food drifting throughout the building. She can tell by the shadows surrounding her that it's late afternoon, and while the traffic inside the building has dwindled since the early morning, she knows it's only a lull before the evening's entertainment.
"You said you were tired of running," Rosalie replies, a cigarette dangling on the edge of ruby red lips. She glances at Isabella as she turns back to the stove. "Figured you'd run if I told you."
Isabella nods, finding the truth in her words. "Emmett told you I'm not from around here?"
"He didn't have to," Rosalie says, motioning for Isabella to grab some food from the counter. There's not much, just a casserole, but it's delicious. She takes a bite. "Edward did."
His name catches her off guard.
"Edward?" Isabella chokes out. "He was here?"
"He came here last night with Emmett not too long after you fell asleep."
"Oh." She tries to picture them both here, in this tiny unimpressive kitchen, but can't. She shakes her head in disbelief. "I can only imagine what he had to say about me. Both of them, to be honest."
Rosalie continues as if Isabella hasn't said anything. "You'll be fine here. No one will bother you," she says, pulling out a chair at the table in the center of the room, "but there are some rules we'll have to discuss."
"All right," Isabella agrees, still unsure how long she'll stay here. It's possible she may grab her things and head to the train station tonight, but Rosalie has been nothing but helpful to her since she arrived unannounced on her doorstep. So, the least Isabella can do is listen to her. "What are they?"
"Well, the first rule may just be the hardest one for you," Rosalie chuckles softly. "Don't ask any questions."
"None?"
Rosalie nods her head, putting her cigarette out on the tray between them. "It's better that way."
"All right." Rosalie is right; it will be almost impossible for her to stay here in a whore house like this and not ask any questions. Now that she knows Edward has been here, more questions have already popped into her brain. She nods, outwardly agreeing to the first rule of the house while already plotting ways to get around it inside of her head. "What's the next rule?"
"Act like you're supposed to be here," Rosalie answers, her hand reaching out to touch the fabric of Isabella's dress. "You stick out like a sore thumb."
"I'm aware of that," Isabella answers, shrugging her shoulders to rid herself of Rosalie's touch. It isn't hostile but more out of discomfort. Rosalie moves her fingers away from beneath Isabella's sleeve, placing her hands onto her lap instead. "Sorry. I'm just not comfortable enough here yet. I'm still a little rattled, I'm afraid."
"You will be fine," Rosalie says with a reassurance in her voice that confuses Isabella. "I heard you fit right in down at The Lost Key."
"Luck, I guess." Isabella shrugs. "My uncle used to let me help him at his bar back home from time to time. Some things just stuck with me."
"They could use you down there," says Rosalie. "A woman working behind the bar will have the place filled up in no time."
Isabella leans forward, her elbows on the table, her eyes on Rosalie, and her chin resting in her hand. "What happened to the other barman? Surely Emmett doesn't work alone; otherwise, they wouldn't have put an advertisement in the paper."
"I knew rule number one would be the hardest for you," Rosalie laughs.
That's right. No questions.
"Is there anything else?" Isabella asks once they have eaten. She can hear a soft commotion from down the hall, and she tries to keep the concern off her face the same way Rosalie does. Rosalie pauses, crossing her arms across her chest as she leans back against the counter. She looks at the timid girl standing on the outskirts of the kitchen, several questions of her own suffocating on her tongue. Instead of giving in to the temptation of breaking the rule of asking questions, she sighs.
"You're just a girl renting a room. I'm just your landlord; you're just one of my tenants. You see nothing."
"Understood." Isabella nods in response, mutters a quick goodnight, and disappears back to her room for the remainder of the evening.
Dear Mama and Daddy,
I have made it to Port Angeles. I followed all Uncle Billy's advice about the train and had little difficulty finding my destination. They didn't want to give me the job at first, but after proving to them I wasn't as incompetent as I looked, they told me the job was mine if I wanted it.
I accepted the job for James. The wages don't matter to me — what matters is him. James was an amazing man, and he deserves justice. I'm not entirely sure I know how I'm going to find those answers exactly, but the process has been started.
Edward Cullen, the owner of the pub where James died, tells me he knows nothing about the night he was killed. I have only spent little time with him, but I can tell he is keeping secrets. Working at The Lost Key will only help us find the answers we need to lay this all to rest.
I'm hoping to also find answers in my landlord, Rosalie. I've listened to everything everyone back home has told me about not trusting anyone here in Port Angeles, but she has been nothing but kind to me since I surprised her on her doorstep two nights ago. Rent is high, but I don't plan on putting my wages towards much of anything else.
How is everything back home? I miss you all very much. Please give Pepper all of my love. I don't want to stay here for as long as you think I want to, Mama. I want to find out the truth of what happened to James so I can come home and we all, James included, can finally rest in peace.
Love,
Isabella
It seems she has a place to stay. For now. Now that she's settling in, what comes next?
See you soon!