The Story of Esme
How it began. How it happened. How it ended and how it was revived. A look into the life of Esme Cullen.
This is my first attempt at writing more than just a short story. I have always loved Esme and she is one of my favorite characters in Twilight so i jus thad to tell her story the way I've imagined it.
6. Chapter 6
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After receiving my promotion, people began to say I seemed infinitely happier. And I was. I mean, I still missed Emma and I still would have loved to go to California but at the same time, I had found my calling with the orphaned children of Isaiah Jacobson’s. I grew to love them more than anything else. Though I had not given birth to a child or become a mother yet, I discovered what it meant to be a parent just by teaching the children what they needed to know and nurturing their young minds with love and compassion. But that wasn’t all I learned. I learned how I could advocate for these children just by using my new appointment as head of the Education department. Though I had always loved teaching the children, we had barely enough books to supply half the classes and many of the books were in poor condition or outdated.
So one of my first proposals under my title was to try to get the Board, as we all called it, to approve an increase in funding for books, pencils, paper, and a new chalkboard for the single classroom that the orphanage had. I set up my case with a simple explanation as to why we needed these things; I didn’t use any fancy tactics. Just the truth and my fervent passion for not only teaching but also for my love for my pupils. The Board approved all requests, increasing our budget over thirty percent and offering to have a chalkboard installed the following week. As it turns out, I was a natural at the art of persuasion. But the most important thing was that it made not only the kids feel better with new supplies…I felt better as well.
Though I worked in the city, I still lived at home with my mother and father since Theo had gone off to take a job in New York City. My mother had stopped her attempts to find me a nice rich boy to marry months before when I had first taken the job, realizing that it was a futile effort that needed to happen naturally. She still prayed, however, for me to find a husband like all of my other friends. It kind of defeated the purpose of trying to let it happen naturally but she considered God a part of nature so she didn’t feel bad. After all, I was almost twenty and, she hoped, I would find someone sooner or later. She had always wanted it sooner though, despite the fact that it might not turn out to happen that way.
For the next year and a half, I taught the children and that was my life. There was nothing else I did that would have any substance other than molding the minds of youngsters like the children there. I grew close to them all but I had a few that I considered extra special, though not my favorites, as they were all my favorites. I tried to make learning a fun thing for them and got as creative as possible. And I taught them things that weren’t exactly academic as well. Things like manners, respect, honesty, and humility along with many other virtues that were needed for everyday life. Things I had to learn the hard way.
A few days after my twenty-first birthday, class finished up early so I left sooner than usual. Not wanting to deal with my parents in the heat wave we were receiving, I decided to walk around for a bit in the city and enjoy the afternoon. I wandered into a variety of shops selling things from clothes to books to beauty products that promise longer hair in twenty-four hours and perfume that would attract any man on the planet. Being the intelligent girl that I was, I decided upon browsing the bookstore, Betsy’s Book Barn, a shop that barely looked like a barn at all but had an intriguing selection of books.
When I walked in, I caught a glance at myself in the mirror, seeing my gaunt reflection from weeks of working and disheveled hair that could use an extra pin or two to hold the messy bun on my head in place. I realized how I had matured since I was a child. How I had grown into a woman of substance from an unruly child of defiance. I was my own person now and nothing would hinder my progress in life.
I bought a few fictitious books by Edith Wharton as well as some brochures on the fight of the suffragettes in America, which I would have to keep out of reach of my parents. By the time I arrived home, I knew something was amiss because I could see the flickering of our good candles on the kitchen table through the window and I could smell my mother’s famous pork roast, cooking slowly in the oven. What’s going on now? I asked myself in a whisper as I opened the door to our home.
Immediately I was bombarded by my mother who apparently had seen me coming up the road.
“Where have you been, Esme?” she demanded, practically dragging me upstairs to my bedroom. “Look at you. You look like you’ve just walked five miles in the mud.”
“I did just walk five miles in the mud, mother,” I said, looking at her like she was crazy while she scoured my closet, throwing dressed out onto my bed as if in a fit of rage. She stopped and poked her head out from the other side of the closet door.
“Oh, right. I forgot about that,” she mumbled before going back to her work.
“What are you doing, mother? What is going on?” I finally asked when she gave no explanation as to her severely erratic behavior. Holding out my best red cotton dress and my favorite light blue one, she lifted each one up.
“Which one do you want to put on?” she asked as if nothing was wrong about this picture. “I kind of like the—“ I cut her off.
“You didn’t answer my question. What is going on? Why are you picking out my clothes? Why are you making a nice dinner like this? What is with you tonight?” I pressed, hands on my hips in as assertive a position I could manage.
You know that look that a kid gets when they have been caught in a lie or have been caught keeping information from their parents? Yeah, well that is exactly what my mother looked like right then and there. She wouldn’t meet my eyes and her head hung a little low. Both of these were signs that she had done something that I wouldn’t have liked and I think I had an idea as to what that thing might be.
“I invited a few people over for dinner tonight and I just want you to look nice for them,” she explained quietly, folding her rejected dresses and returning them to the closet.
As I rubbed my temples in frustration, I closed my eyes and sighed loudly.
“What people, mother?” I demanded, feeling my patience diminishing.
She didn’t stop putting my clothes away, an obvious attempt to not have to look at my facial expression. I didn’t blame her for not wanting to see how irritated I was getting. She continued on, like a little bee in its hive, not even looking up when she finally spoke.
“Only Robert Evenson and his family. And they should be here any moment,” she said, finally looking me straight in the eyes. What nerve.
“Oh. Fantastic. Thanks for telling me in advance so I could at least mentally prepare myself to have to deal with pointless small talk and endless questions about my possible husbands…or lack thereof,” I scoffed as I slipped the light blue dress over my head, letting it slip over my figure like liquid. At least I’d look nice during the impending torture of the coming dinner.
My mother scowled at me as I rolled my eyes in exasperation.
“Esme Anne Platt, you will not be rude to these people. I won’t have it. You are twenty-one years old and you will act like an adult rather than the usual child you are,” she stated in her usual patronizing tone.
“Mother, if you are looking for an example of the overgrown child you are talking about, maybe you should look at Theo, not me,” I retorted, narrowing my gaze at her. She was about to slap me across the face for defaming her prized son when there was the loud sound of a car horn coming to our end of the lane. It was the first time I was thankful that the Evenson’s were coming to visit us.
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