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Harvest Moon

It seems that danger is as constant as the clouds of Forks, hanging over the Cullens, just waiting to rain. It always seems to come when times seem the happiest. With it now pouring down upon them with full force, driving a wedge in the tight-knit family, will the Cullens be able to maintain their bonds and triumph once again? Renesmee's P.o.V. REVIEWS are greatly appreciated!! =]


1. My Jacob

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1106   Review this Chapter

I could hear the rumble of Jacob’s steady breathing—feel the warmth as if he was right next to me—while he slumbered in the once-flowerbed just beneath my window. The soil there was permanently barren—the sprouts that once grew there had long tired of being consistently squashed under Jacob’s corpulence, night after night for the past two years.

I was old enough now to understand the ties that bound him to me, and me, him. I was old enough to know that he wasn’t just my best friend. Over the years, he had been everything I could ever need. He was the first one to hold me when I was sad or afraid, the first to laugh at my jokes, the most intent listener when I had a story to tell—and he would forever be the only one I would ever need. He was my Jacob.

In spite of that, My Jacob had been the cause of a disagreement—a rare occurrence—between my parents and I one afternoon two years ago while Jacob was out running with Leah and Seth.

"Dad, honestly. Why can’t Jacob just keep sleeping on the couch in the living room?" I had whined.

"It is complicated, love," my dad said, forcing a soft smile. "Your mother and I have talked about it. Jacob can stay here as long as he wants during the day. It would just be inappropriate for him to continue sleeping here."

"Mom?" I searched my mother’s alabaster face for some sign that she could be swayed to take my side.

"I’m sorry, sweetheart, but your father is right. He may be a little old fashioned," she broke her gaze from mine to smile tenderly at him, "but it’s for the best. Until you’re ready. You know we all love Jacob. It’s just..."

"What? What is it?" I demanded.

"Renesmee," my father’s tone was serious now, but still gentle. "There are just some things that...well...you’re growing up and...er..." He winced.

It was awkward watching him stumble over his words. But then I realization washed over me as I remembered the only thing that had ever made my father act so strangely—the only thing that ever stripped my father of his ability to speak coherently. I blushed as I remembered my father’s aimless stuttering a few months ago during a hunting trip.

We had just happened upon a herd of deer when a doe to my left cried out in agony, a sweet and bloody smell radiating from her as she crumpled to the ground and a dark, wet mound formed just under her tail. My father and I had stood in silence as she licked her new faun and caressed its face with her own.

Smiling, I had pressed my hand to his cheek and showed him the memory of my own birth, then replayed the images of the doe’s labor.

"How does it work? Where do children come from?" I asked aloud.

My hand slid from his cheek as he transformed into a stuttering mess—the same stuttering mess that he had been during the argument.

Jacob, like me, had thought it was ridiculous. He had tried to convince them over and over that he didn’t see me "that way".

"Yet," my parents had said in perfect harmony.

Jacob had rolled his eyes but agreed with them. True, they had banned him from sleeping in the same house as me, but they hadn’t said anything about him sleeping just fifteen feet away from me, outside my window. I had always wondered how he kept this thought from my father’s "sight".

Even now, I wondered why I had not thought to argue that Aunt Alice and Uncle Jasper, Aunt Rose and Uncle Emmett, and even my own parents had gotten to live together when they were sort of my age.

Jacob’s loud snore that would’ve put a diesel truck to shame tore me from my flashbacks. But a new thought entered my mind. I would turn seven (but have the fully matured body of a seventeen-year-old) in the morning. Even though I was sure his words were meant to reassure my parents, it had always felt like I agreed with them too. Until now. Could it be possible that Jacob still didn’t think of me "that way"? Suddenly, I realized that the possibility of this was unsettling—it made me...sad.

I slid out from under my blanket and crossed to the window. I crossed my arms on the sill and looked directly down upon his sleeping face. I watched him and couldn’t help but smile as he grumbled and snored.

"Nessie?" his eyes flew open and gazed into mine, so alert it was as if he hadn’t just been in his near-comatose state. "Is something wrong?" he asked, pushing himself up onto his knees, making his face level with mine.

Why was I just now realizing how beautiful his long black hair was against his russet skin? His broad chest straining against his gray T-shirt? The woodsy smell that swirled around me as he took my face in his hands?

"What is it?" his eyebrows raised in worry. I looked away, feeling the warmth not from his hands flood my cheeks.

He bowed to recapture my gaze, his hands still fixed on either side of my face.

I didn’t know what words to use that would say how confused I felt, so I placed my hand on his face. Images of my father kissing my mother’s jaw just below her ear, Uncle Emmett’s hands laced through Aunt Rose’s hair as they sat on the sofa watching a football game, the way Uncle Jasper always looked at Aunt Alice as if she held the sun in the palms of her hands. Then I showed him us, myself laying on my bed, him on the soil outside my window. I showed him himself telling my parents that he didn’t see me "that way".

His retracted his hands from my face and fell cross-legged upon one of the surviving patches of grass.

I looked down at him, pensive in the glow of my bedroom lamp that made a dim yellow square around him.

"Don’t ever doubt how I feel about you, Renesmee. It just has to be this way for now, until you’re ready. Until we’re ready." He steadied himself upon his knees again and craned his neck to kiss my forehead. He smiled at me and ran his fingers through my copper curls, and his eyes seemed to sparkle as if he knew something I didn’t.

"Oh, and," he looked past me into my room. I looked over my shoulder to follow his gaze to the clock on my night stand. It was a minute past midnight. "Happy Birthday."