She had been out on the fields since dawn. The morning sun rising into the soporific sky.
She was always the first to arise. It was her secret ritual. She awoke when giants were still asleep, and she was free to roam out into the fields to her heart's content. She spent those early hours of dawn, sweetly tending to her animals.
She carefully brushed the horses and made sure they were well fed. Even during the harsh cold winter she patiently tended to the ones that were newly born; helping them drink large quantities of milk and made sure they were kept warm throughout the night. She fed the chickens and watched through mirth lighted eyes as they came running towards her; they pecked, flew, and most of the time chased her around the fields as the mischievous side of her loved to tease.
She was alone most of the time, and there were moments when she did feel quite alone, but the moment she was out there. She was in a world within her own. This was her secret garden in which she only posessed the key.
It was early September, on a saturday morning. The day bright and clear with the sun's rays blindingly bright. The air was crisp and fresh, the scent of grass and country air permeating her olfactory.
She had spent the first half of dawn tending to her animals and the second half cleaning the house and painstakingly waxing the floorboards of the living room and stairs. She spent those long hours scrubbing coarsely against the wooden floor with her ragged cloth. The end result was a well cleaned and well waxed floor that was glimmering with a sheen.
A smile touched her lips, content with her hard work, as she finished the last stair. She wiped the sweat that had formed on her forehead as the warm sun penetrated the upstair's window.
Her days were mostly consisted of school and chores, but she didn't quite care. Nothing much quite bothered her.
She carried within herself what most people seemed to lack; an inner happiness that glowed through her warm brown eyes. She was viviacious and full of life and it showed in every aspect of her being. In those days, what people considered a good day, consisted of long hours in the kitchen and even longer hours in your next door neighbour's front porch.
Pouring tea and serving cakes as they catch up on the latest gossip. Social calls were taken very seriously. Etiquette and class was your one-way ticket rise to, societyas they would call it. A perfect husband and a well furnished home was considered the epitome of a perfect life.
But that was farfrom what she wanted her life to be.
She sat there quietly eating her scrambled eggs. She looked around at the breakfast table, her father had his nose buried in the newspaper and her mother was busy fumbling with the kitchen cupboards.
"Esme, dear, you should wash up after eating, we're visiting Mrs. Robinson later this afternoon." Her mother's mellifluous voice cutting through the silence.
She swore her stomach dropped at the name of Mrs. Robinson. She was never a complainer, but good gracious, the never ending hours of her mother and that gallurous woman talking endlessly would just drive her mad. And those embaressing suitors she would get introduced to in the process, she felt like a transparent vase for display as people pressed their faces on the glass window. A shudder went through her.
"Did you hear anything I said?" Her mother asked, with a raised eyebrow.
She swallowed hard. Food suddenly loosing it's taste. "Yes, mother." she replied, looking down.
After breakfast, she took a glance at the grandfather clock in the living room, she sighed in relief. It had just only turned 7. She went upstairs and headed straight for the bathroom. She would do as her mother say, but at least she would get to do it in her own sweet time.
She undressed and stopped as she noticed the hole that was in her dress. Then she remembered that it had gotten caught in the chicken wire earlier that day. Mother's going to kill me. She quickly folded the dress and placed it on top of the toilet seat, Esme decided that she would sew it herself, or at least try to. Her sewing was a catastrophe waiting to happen.
The water was blessedly warm, as the the jets of water gently traveled through her body. She stood there deep in thought, she was supposed to do something today. What was it?She tapped her fingers lightly on her bottom lip.
She could feel a frisson of excitement as she quickly turned off the shower. She peeked out into the hallway and gingerly tiptoed out of the bathroom and into her room as fast as she could. Thankfully only slipping once halfway there. She was still dripping wet as she dried her hair with the towel. She rummaged through her closet as she began tossing dresses onto the floor. She picked the one with the simplest design. She hated dresses with too much frills, they got in the way when she would run; besides it was in her favorite shade of blue. She sat at her dresser and stared at her reflection. She squinted her eyes and made a funny face, she laughed in amusement, but when she looked at her hair, she sighed. Her curls were out of control as she helplessly tried to brush it.
As she finished, she decided to look at herself more seriously this time. She made it a habit in the beginning as she was reaching adolescence to avoid staring at the mirror; she had too many friends who made a big fuss of what was wrong in their reflection, and she didn't want to be a part of that kind of mentality. So she decided to simply not look. Besides there are more important things, than vanity. But still her curiosity got the better of her.
Her cheeks were a vivid shade of light pink from all that outdoor sun, her eyes a clear shade of brown. She had a lovely heart-shaped face with a delicate widow's peak on her forehead. She looked, but felt a sense of inadequacy. She felt like her face posessed a charachteristic that she did not. But she had no time to linger on the thought as the grandfather clock struck 10. She quickly grabbed her book and bolted out of her room and down the stairs.
She was filled with a surge of vigour as she ran out of the house.
Her hair flying wildly with the wind as her legs sailed swiftly across the fields; a beautiful vision of youth to behold as she ran gracefully into the nearby forest.
She stopped and leaned against a tree as she took a breath, she looked up at the sky and noticed that storm clouds were closing in.
She walked a few meters into the forest and saw an extremely large tree. It was old and gnarled and seemed ancient, but the light that shone through the branches was just exquisite for reading. On an impulse, she placed the book in her mouth to hold it as she started to climb. It was extremely easy, the branches were large and strong and she made her way into the higher parts in no time. She made herself comfortable in one of the larger branches as she thumbed through the last chapters of the book she was reading. She had been reading Wuthering Heights that week.
She let out a sigh of content as she finished the last page, but her breath caught in her throat as she heard a familiar voice in the distance.
"Esme! Esme where are you? I need you to help me with the cakes."
Her mother called out to her but stopped as she looked up, she had found her daughter.
"What in heaven's name are you doing there!?" Her mother yelled,
Before Esme could reply, she fell backwards and landed on her knee.
"Get up! get up quickly, we're going to be late!"
She had started to get up when she felt her left knee snap.
Her mother was at her side instantly.
"What is it?" Her mother asked with a puzzled expression,
"Mama, Mama I think my leg is broken." Esme said in panic as the pain started to shoot throughout her body.
"My goodness, we have to get you back to the house, put your arm around me dear."
Her mother helped her as she limped her way out of the woods, their large victorian home in plain view.
She was on the couch, the pain was excruciating. She felt like her leg was about to explode.
"Hang on, sweetie. The Doctor's on his way."
Her father tried his best at a reassuring smile but failed as his thick brows furrowed in distress.
She could feel her leg swelling and throbbing, it felt like an ogre tearing at her muscles. She bit her lip to keep from screaming as tears gushed from the corner of her eyes.
She could hear someone had arrived at the door. But she was too engrossed in the pain to see who it was, all she could hear was her mother's voice,
"I see, so you will be taking over for Dr Peterson?"
She tried to listen to the conversation that was being held but the pain was too painful of a distraction,
"My daughter is in the living room, right this way please."
The afternoon sun had fully set. The living room seemed darker, despite the lamp that rested beside her on the wooden coffee table.
She was clutching her leg, whimpering in pain as she tried vainly to ease the pain when she saw him enter.
He was the image of beauty in it's perfection. Tall, lean but muscular. Blonde, his face seemed sculpted by the gods themselves, but his eyes.
She stared in disbelief.
She watched as he made his way towards her, an air of mystery around him.
He knelt in front of her, a gentle smile on his face.
"Your mother tells me you fell." His voice was soft, but clear. There was a slight trace of an accent.
All she could muster was a slack-jawed nod.
"May, I?" He asked, motioning to her leg.
"Yes." She replied, biting her lip to stop herself from screaming in pain.
He ran an expert hand over her leg, as he gently touched her knee.
She couldn't explain wether the pain had made her leg numb or wether it was going to her head, but his hands felt cold. They were gentle and yet. . .
She watched as he took out a white cloth and poured liquid over it.
He gently wiped the dirt off from her leg as he started to unwind some sort of bandage.
Their eyes met and her heart seemed to stop, only for a moment.
Was it the trick of the light? Or was his eyes the color of gold?
She seemed to loose track of what was happening as she found herself staring at him. His eyes were hooded as he worked on her leg; the colour of his irises, almost resembling the rising sun at dawn.
His hands were soft and gentle as he began to neatly wrap her leg in a cast.
He spoke to her, without looking up.
"That's a lovely book." He smiled as he nodded to what she was holding.
She could feel the blood rush to her cheeks, dying them a bright pink.
"What is your name?" He asked, as his gaze fixed onto her eyes.
She looked at him, his eyes clear as day.
"Esme, my name is Esme." She replied rather hoarsely. The pain making her feel weak yet her eyes glowed with curiosity.
"That's a beautiful name." He replied, smiling once more.
"My name is, Carlisle."
She quietly said the name in her head, as an unbidden smile formed on her lips.
"Esme, I'm going to give you an injection. It is to help with the pain, it won't hurt I promise." He said reassuringly.
She nodded, staring up at him as he stood up.
He took out a vial and a syringe.
She swallowed hard as she felt a sting go through her skin, she closed her eyes.
She could hear soft laughter, she could see the amusment in his eyes as she took a peek with one eye.
"I promised, it wouldn't hurt." He said, "Your leg will be just fine, within a week or so."
He touched her cheek lightly as he smiled.
She was beginning to feel sleepy. She watched as he exited the room; he had dropped something on the way out. She stretched out a hand and picked it up, and held it close to her face. It looked like a handkerchief. She could smell his perfume faintly on it as a smile lit her face. She quickly hid it in her pocket.
Her vision was slowly blurring as she slipped into unconciousness. She tried to stay awake, she wanted to thank him but she was slowly fading into slumber.
A/N: Hey guys! I'm back with a new fanfic, I know some of you have been requesting a sequel to Barefoot In the Dark and don't worry I shall get to work on it soon, but first things first, I really wanted to do a Carlisle/Esme fic so here it is! I hope you like it and please review, they make me smile and feel warm and fuzzy :) and story suggestions are welcome :D cheers!
I do NOT own anything.