Chapter 2 – The Angel and the Hellfire
The faint light of dawn is seeping through the thin curtains when I wake early the following morning. Evie's snoring lightly in the bed beside me, and Scarlett and Catriona are both still asleep in the opposite bed. Careful not to wake anyone I get up and take off my nightgown, swapping it for the corset hanging over the footboard, and then hurry out to the wash house for my overalls and jacket.
Mama's in the kitchen, just closing the oven on the bread tins as I walk in. She wipes her floury hands on her apron and reaches for the kettle. "Tea?"
We sit on the porch steps to drink it, quietly watching the chickens scratching around the yard as the sky lightens. Mama finishes her tea and sighs, her hands still wrapped around the warm cup.
"You mustn't let this go further Nell, but it looks like we'll probably be planning a wedding very soon," she says with a conspiratorial smile. "Leonard spoke to your father last night, and he's going to propose to Evie as soon as he can."
I grin. "She'll be so happy!"
"He'll be a good husband for her. He's poor, but he's employed and that's more than can be said for a lot of the young men at the moment. I think his prospects are sound." Mama frowns briefly, before she smiles again. "Still, Evie knows how to run a household on a shoestring and I'm sure the two of them will manage."
"When do you think the wedding will be?"
"I'd think next spring. They're both of age and unlikely to want to wait too long. Leonard will need to get a little money together for a home for them, and that will give us a few months to get some more housekeeping bits and bobs together for Evie." Mama sighs wistfully. "Goodness, the first of my girls to go! It doesn't seem like any time at all since you were all underfoot in pinafores playing with your dolls, and yet here's Evie going to be married and the rest of you probably not far behind."
"Well, maybe Cat and Scarlett, but I don't think you need to worry about me." I swallow the last of my tea and set the cup down. "I'm not a marrying kind of girl, so you and Pa are stuck with me."
Mama chuckles and squeezes an arm around my waist. "I'll be perfectly happy for you to stay home with me and your father and look after us in our old age! You're as good as any of the boys at providing food for the table, and what's more you know how to scrub a floor and wash a dish, you're cheerful, and you never sulk. But you're still young, and you never know who might appear and sweep you off your feet."
"No, I DO know. I don't want that Mama. I never have – you know I've never been interested in housekeeping or babies; I didn't even like playing with dolls when I was little."
Mama smiles reminiscently. "That's true. The other three girls were always playing with their dolls and wanting to help me with the cooking, but as soon as you could walk you were always trailing after Poppa and your brothers and wearing overalls instead of dresses. You were never happier than when you were outside."
"I guess not much has changed." I pick at the bloodstain on my overalls from yesterday's hunting and say hesitantly. "You don't think that there's something…wrong with the way I am? That I should be more like the other girls?"
"Not at all. Did someone say something to you last night?" Mama looks at me sharply. "Small minded people might talk, but you've no obligation to pay them any mind."
I can't help smiling at her immediate and robust defence of me. "No one said anything. But I see how it is…I know I'm not like the other girls, and I wouldn't ever want you to be disappointed in me, but…"
"Enough." Mama squeezes me tighter. "You're just as God made you, as everyone is. I will give thanks unto thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: Wonderful are thy works; and that my soul knoweth it right well. I love you just as you are, my Eleanor, and I wouldn't have you any other way."
"Thank you, Mama." I tip my head down and rest it against her head for a moment.
She pats my knee. "What are your plans for today?"
"I thought I'd go fishing this morning," I say. "We've got the rabbits for dinner, but I could get some fish for supper."
"That would be much appreciated," Mama says. "I had to buy Evie some new shoes, so the purse is a bit overstretched this month."
She says it lightly, but I catch the tension behind her words and I jump quickly to my feet. "I'd better get going then."
"And I must get to the barn and milk that cow." Mama rises to her feet and pulls me up with her. "You can take the ends of yesterday's bread for your breakfast, and be back for dinner time."
I quickly slap some butter onto a chunk of bread and gather up the fishing gear I'll need, checking to make sure I've got the knife Poppa made me tucked into the loop of my overalls. It's a longish walk to the best fishing spot, but the early fall morning is crisp and clear and my spirits are bright as I walk.
I'm lucky and the fish are biting. I have a small string of them lying on the bank and I'm reeling in another when I get the first prickling sense of something being wrong. I should turn and look. But the flipping, silvery fish is right there on the end of the line and if I can just grab this one then I'll have enough for everyone for dinner and that'll be… Then the smell hits me and I drop the fish, line and reel and all, and spin around as I rise from a crouch.
The bear is the biggest one I've ever seen, and nearer than I had expected as he moves towards the fish glittering on the bank beside me. He moves oddly, limping and lurching, and I see that there's something tangled around one of his rear paws. A trap, a rabbit trap, not enough to stop him but enough to slow him down and make it hard to hunt. Enough to make him hungry, and mean from pain, and my quick movements have caught his attention.
He growls, low and menacing. In response my heart pounds and my palms feel suddenly slick with sweat, because I know I could be in real trouble here. There was a very real threat in that snarling rumble, and I drop my eyes and start to sidle away.
"Easy there," I murmur. "Don't get upset, you can have the fish…be my guest…"
I hold my breath as I move, nearly away, nearly safe…but then my foot slips on the mud at the river's edge and I go down hard, landing painfully on my knees with an involuntary yell, and the suddenness and noise is my undoing. Because the bear startles at the movement and strikes, and as his claws slash across my body from shoulder to hip the world explodes into nothing but pain.
I can barely hear my scream over the roar of blood and terror in my ears, but it leaves my throat raw. I shriek again, hoping the noise will drive him away, and reach blindly for my knife in case it doesn't. I can still fight my way out of this – but the bear roars back in fury and swipes his paw at me again, ripping through clothes and skin and muscle as he tumbles me over. I howl, and my blood slicked fingers slip from the leather wrapped hilt of my knife without grasping it and I am done. Sobbing, I claw at the earth and try and crawl away, but the blood flows out of me like a river and the darkness washes over me as I'm swallowed up by the hurt of it all.
It's the scent that draws me back. Summer roses and sugar cookies fresh out of the oven and something else, something indefinable, something that calls me home. I force my eyes to open, and in the blurry bright light I see a fall of golden hair and a pair of dark eyes in a face so beautiful just looking at it feels like a revelation.
Angel.
Of course, I must be dead. It certainly felt like that bear ripped me apart, and now there's an angel, who must be here to take me onward. I feel a quick flash of relief as I gaze up at that angelic face, because I've always had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't be heaven I'd be heading for when the end came but the other place.
Hi angel-girl…I'm kind of glad to see you. Not thrilled with the dying part of it all, got to say that, but maybe death isn't the worst thing if I get to spend it looking at you.
The angel comes closer, bending low enough to slide an arm underneath me, and for a moment I feel almost dizzy with the pleasure and wonder of being this close to her. But then, with no sign of effort, she rises to her feet holding me in her arms and agony blooms throughout my body again and I can't stop the scream.
"I'm sorry." Her voice is like music. "I'm sorry! But it will be all right…you'll be all right…I just have to take you home…he can help you, I just have to get you home."
At first I think we're flying, as the trees flash past me in a blur of speed, but then I realise we're still on ground level and the angel is running. The idea of it, this angel-girl carrying me like some enormous baby in her arms as she runs through the forest strikes me as funny, and I think I'm laughing. But my face is numb and the world is wavering and darkness drifts like smoke across my field of vision, and the angel face above me is fierce and the pain claws at me as though I never escaped from the bear. And my laughter turns to sobs, and as the angel's face seems to float away from me the terror rises up and the pain flares and I scream again.
Oh, I don't want to die if you're not there angel-girl! Please don't leave me!
There is nothing.
Her lips on my forehead bring me back. The briefest touch, a featherlight brush against my skin bringing with it the smell of summer roses and sugar cookies and angel wings. A kiss, just like all the old fairy tales, to wake me up. I know she's right there, but I can't make my eyes open and I can't move my hands to reach for her. Even her words, I catch the music of her speech but can't grasp the meaning, and then she's answered by the deep, resonant tones of God and I know that it's all over.
Except it isn't.
Because the angel screams, and her fury is enough to make the whole world shake. Then God is there, the smell of books and Christmas trees and salvation surrounding me as he breathes over me. A prayer. Lord Jesus, holy and compassionate, forgive this woman for her sins. By dying you unlocked the gates of life for those who believe in you; do not let our sister be parted from you, by your glorious power give her light, joy and peace in heaven or on this earth, where you live and reign forever and ever, amen.
But there is no light, and no joy, and no peace.
Instead, there is only pain. Sharp, biting pains that kindle a great blaze that sweeps through me like a firestorm, leaving nothing but a brutal, raw agony that swallows me whole.
"What did you do? What's happening? Oh it hurts, it hurts so much…make it stop make it stop make STOP oh PLEASE…" I scream again, but the torment only intensifies and I realise with horror that I've got it all wrong. The angel might have brought me before God in heaven, but now I'm falling down to hell. "Oh, holy mother I'm sorry! God Almighty, I beg of you…please make it stop please make it stop…PLEASE!"
No one answers. No one comes to save me. There's only pain, and terror, and the everlasting flames of the damned.
I'm sorry.
But eternity passes and sometimes, even amongst the agony of the hellfire, there is the angel. Cool hands holding mine, the whispered melody of her words telling me that she's there, that it will end, that I will be all right, that she won't leave me, that she's sorry. Again and again, she tells me that she's sorry. And I want to tell her that she doesn't need to be, that even here in hell I know enough to be glad that my last moments on earth were looking at her beautiful face, but I can't form the words. All I can do is endure, and cling to her promise that it will end.
Eventually, aeons later…it does.
I think I'm imagining it at first. A coolness stealing over my limbs, beginning at fingertips and toes, chasing the flames before it and leaving me blessedly free of pain. The fire retreats to the centre of me, coalescing into a tighter ball of searing agony that consumes my heart and then explodes in a final burst of excruciating pain.
I open my eyes.
Where am I?
There's no conscious movement of my muscles. I simply want to be upright, aware of my surroundings, and a fraction of a second later I am. I press my back lightly against the wall behind me and take everything in.
It's some kind of dining room or library. The walls are papered in a light, geometric paper and lined with bookcases, some fronted by glass doors and all completely filled. There's a long oak table in the centre of the room that I realise was where I was lying as I burned, the matching chairs pushed carelessly away and a scatter of books and papers on the floor below. A grandfather clock against the far wall ticks away the seconds, and for a brief moment I am caught by the intricacies of its inner workings as the tiny cogs move.
Look at that, how delicate and precise. How have I never looked at something like that to see the perfection?
Then all thoughts of clocks and libraries flee my mind, because my gaze takes in the rest of the room and I see her.
Angel.
She's standing by the window, and everything else fades into insignificance as I stare at her. The image of her I held in my mind, caught as I lay dying on the riverbank, doesn't even come close to doing her justice. Looking at her now I can see the full spectrum of rich colours of gold and platinum and honey and white that make up her fall of blonde hair, the sculptured perfection of her cheekbones and chin, the perfectly kissable bow of her lips, see it all with so much clarity that it makes me ache. So beautiful.
But she stands like a statue, gazing back at me out of eyes the colour of moonshine whiskey, and I feel a stirring of unease. She's dressed very nicely, in a blue flowered dress that sets off the perfect pearl whiteness of her skin, but it isn't exactly what I would expect an angel to be wearing. Where are the robes? The harp? There are no wings or halo, and while this library seems to have everything you'd need a library to have I don't quite know why heaven would be a library at all. Shouldn't it be all clouds or perhaps fields or the solitary loveliness of the forest…and now that I think about it, I'm obviously not dead at all, not even close, so what the hell is going on here?
"Hello. Can you tell us your name?"
I force my eyes away from the angel, and realise that there are three other people standing over by the door. A boy with messy red hair, probably younger than me, is standing beside a woman with brown curls and a kind smile. A man, the one who just spoke to me, and I recognise the voice as the one I had thought was God.
Well, I guess not. God isn't going to be wearing lace up brogues and a wristwatch. And for all I went through the hellfire to get here, I don't suppose the devil is going to be wearing them either.
The boy laughs.
"I'm Carlisle Cullen," the man says, confirming my belief that he's not God, or Satan. "This is Esme, and Edward and Rosalie."
Rosalie. Soundlessly my lips form the word.
"What's your name?" Esme says gently. "You needn't be afraid. No one here is going to hurt you. I know everything must be feeling quite strange right now, but please know that you are quite all right."
I swallow hard against the burn in my throat, the only remnant left of the flames. "I'm…Eleanor, ma'am. Eleanor McCarty."
I fidget, pulling a little uneasily at the unfamiliar clothes I'm wearing. What happened to my overalls? This shirt is made of the softest cotton I've ever felt, and the skirt has the heavy feel of quality new fabric as it brushes against my legs. My feet are bare, and I curl my toes and feel the woodgrain of the boards under them. Everything feels too sharp, too clear, too intense…all my senses heightened far beyond anything I've experienced before. Eyesight, hearing, smell, touch…
"What IS this?"
"It's all right," Esme repeats.
"You're quite safe," Carlisle assures me. "Although there are quite a few things you need to know. What do you remember about coming here?"
"There was a bear…" I grope unconsciously at the front of me, remembering the way the heavy paw had struck and the claws had torn through clothing and into flesh. "He damn near tore me apart, but it's not…I don't understand! I thought I was dead, I thought you were an angel…but…am I dead? I mean, I feel pretty well alive, almost TOO much alive to be honest, it's like I'm in another dimension here because I can see…everything…and I can smell…oh, what is that? And you're….you're not an angel?"
The angel – Rosalie – gives me an enigmatic smile. "Far from it."
"Rosalie isn't an angel," Carlisle says, and I don't miss the quick and humorous face on the boy behind him as he says it. "But she did save you from a bear attack…in a manner of speaking."
Why won't he just get to the point? The burn in my throat is moving from irritating to painful, and whatever these strange people have to tell me I wish they'd just say it and get on with offering me a cup of tea or some milk to slake this burning thirst. Surely they'll do that much before I say my goodbyes and figure out where I am and how to get home? My Mama barely lets company get through the front door before she's loading them down with refreshments.
"You do need something to drink," Edward says. "But not tea or milk." He glances across at Carlisle. "She's very thirsty."
"I'm a doctor, and Rosalie brought you here in the hope that I might be able to do something for your injuries," Carlisle says. "But they were far too extensive for any medical assistance to be effective. We couldn't save your life – your human life – but we were able to…bring about a change for you. The same change we have all gone through. We are vampires, Eleanor, and in the past three days of burning that's what you've become too."
Say what now?