Newborn Rosalie is finally ready to go shopping. An excerpt from this chapter of 1933, Edward POV
Taking Rosalie to the symphony had succeeded in bringing her out of her depression. Now we had the opposite problem. She was constantly dreaming up social occasions she wanted us to try out, and Carlisle was having a difficult time deciding which ideas to approve. Not only was he concerned about her self-control, but there was also the risk of someone recognizing her.
We started out attending a few more outdoor evening events, all at least an hour's drive outside of Rochester and all in lower social circles than her old family and friends would be moving in. When those went well, we attended a high school play in Buffalo. It was a nerve-wracking experience for all of us; it was the first time we had brought her indoors with a crowd of humans, and everyone except Rosalie was tense throughout the entire performance.
But she passed the test with flying colors. To celebrate, Esme and I took her shopping for the first time. Rosalie made several smart comments about her "bodyguard," but she knew as well as I did that I would rather be anywhere else in the world other than shopping with her. We took her back to Buffalo and decided to shop only in small boutiques, avoiding the larger, more crowded shopping areas.
I soon regretted this decision. I had taken Esme before, but she had always been so efficient until now. Having a daughter seemed to be awakening some dormant female impulse to linger over everything.
The tedium was mind-boggling. How many pink blouses did one need to try on before making a purchase? Pink was pink, wasn't it? And how had Carlisle managed to get himself out of this trip?
By the seventh shop I refused to enter any more stores, stationing myself outside the door each time they entered. It wouldn't take me even a full second to reach Rosalie anyway, and I had had enough giggling to last me a lifetime. I decided then and there that if my miracle ever occurred and I were to marry someday, I would have to make sure that my bride was the type of woman who hated shopping.
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Edward was impressed, but also more than a little annoyed, when Rosalie showed an unusual amount of self-control for a newborn. Carlisle had always praised his self-control. But that self-control had taken a pretty big hit when he'd quit human blood two years ago. He still wasn't back to normal. Meanwhile here comes along a stuck-up sister he didn't ask for whose newborn self-control is inexplicably strong. He grinds his teeth just a bit every time Carlisle lavishly praises Rosalie's restraint.
But what Edward doesn't see is an upbringing in which Rosalie was trained, from a very young age, to be in absolute control of her body. Perfect posture at all times. Anxious checks in the mirror as often as possible. An arsenal of beauty products, uncomfortable clothing, and accessories. Ruthless control over her eating. A beautiful, sophisticated mask as strong as steel. Carefully practiced expressions, gestures, and phrases for countless situations.
Even Rosalie isn't aware of how many years she's trained for this. Her newborn control might not be magical, but it was hard won in a thousand battles that her omniscient brother will never understand.
Edward attends college for the first time, and it's all such a relief... all, that is, except for a certain classmate. An excerpt from this chapter of 1933, Edward POV.
The biochemistry lecture was fascinating. I was careful not to read ahead in my classes, as much as I wanted to; it was much more enjoyable to learn from the professor. Dr. Banner was an eccentric man with tufts of white hair and eyebrows poking out around his spectacles. He took an otherwise dry field of study and made it interesting.
English literature was next. This was the class where I usually let my mind wander, as I had already read most of the books we were discussing. A mechanical engineering lecture took place at the same time, as well as a music history course; both were near enough that I could easily focus my gift in that direction. I usually divided my attention between the two, my English professor never the wiser.
My only real problem with this class was Royce King, Jr. He was an arrogant, stupid young man who had already been expelled from Cornell after too much carousing. His rich parents had paid a considerable bribe in order for him to continue his education here. He was only taking a few classes at a time; his father was grooming him for his future in bank management in the afternoons. He wouldn't have been able to handle much of a course load, at any rate.
Royce's mind was so lecherous and asinine that I generally avoided it. Unfortunately, he didn't avoid me. He found my lack of social involvement amusing, and since he had no intention of listening to any of the lectures, he usually spent the hour joking with his cronies about me or harassing me directly. He was feeling mischievous today, and I groaned as I saw his plans to torment me later on during the class. Hoping to discourage him, I took a seat up near the front of the lecture hall.
Royce and his three favorites entered just as the professor was beginning her lecture. She frowned at their tardiness and gestured with her hand toward the front row, which was empty except for me. Wonderful.
Royce took the place next to me, flopping down in the seat and purposely slamming his arm into mine as he did so. I recoiled enough so that he wouldn't feel the granite hardness of my arm, answering his idiotic sneer with a glare of my own. He was quiet for most of the lecture, at least. But near the end of class, we were instructed to discuss the third chapter of Pride and Prejudice with those students nearest us. I had no intention of discussing anything with Royce and left him to his friends. They were congratulating him on his recent engagement to one of the local girls. I strained to focus my attention on the music lecture as their minds descended to an especially distasteful level; they were teasing him about his upcoming wedding night.
"Enough of this," Royce said haughtily to his fellows in an especially poor imitation of a British accent. "We're supposed to be discussing Austen. Take, for example, the icy unfriendliness of one Mr. Darcy. He seems quite familiar, don't you agree?" They all snickered, peeking over at me. I rolled my eyes at their juvenile attempts to rile me and picked up my book, pretending to read.
"Now that you mention it, he does," answered another one of them loudly. "When a man spends his time reading women's novels, I suppose he would turn out like Mr. Darcy. Cold, pretentious, and completely unaware of what to do with a woman."
Royce guffawed at this and grabbed my book out of my hands. "Boys, let's see if Darcy can give Edward a few pointers," he joked as he flipped through the pages. I gritted my teeth and turned on him with just the right amount of danger in my eyes. I was careful to keep my lips closed—it wouldn't do to scare them too much.
Royce's laughter died out when he saw my expression. He carelessly tossed the book back onto my desk. Creep.
I smiled to myself. Royce had no idea how lucky he was that we hadn't met three years ago. He was exactly the sort of man that I would have hunted down. Although I saw no evidence that he had committed a serious crime yet, I could tell what direction he was heading in. I had voiced my concern to Carlisle about a similar student last semester, but he had advised me to stay out of it.
"Remember, Edward. Remember where playing God got you before."
That was enough to silence me on the subject, though I pitied the poor girl who was doomed to marry Royce King. I just hoped she knew what she was getting into.
The new details in Midnight Sun re: Rosalie talking to Carlisle before she takes her revenge on Royce and Co... that's a real editing dilemma since I have a different storyline in Tale of Years: 1933. BUT can I just say how much I love the new detail that Edward overheard her plans and tattled to Carlisle?
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Edward: Carliiiiiisle Rosalie is thinking about becoming a serial killer
Rosalie: Snitches get stitches I hate you!
Esme: Edward, sweetie, you're the best and brightest of us all but you're not one to preach about not becoming a serial killer.
Carlisle (tired): No more serial killers in this Christian household, please.
Rosalie: Anyway Carlisle can you advise me on the best way to torture and kill them without spilling any blood?
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(An excerpt from the final chapter of 1933. I rewrote this last year to match up with the new canon in Midnight Sun. Edward, Carlisle, and Esme have just figured out that Rosalie has gone to take her revenge and are rushing to find her. Edward POV)
We needn't have hurried. Royce and his parents were having a peaceful evening at home, as it turned out. There wasn't a trace of Rosalie's scent, rain notwithstanding.
"We should check the four other homes," Carlisle said.
"Three," I corrected. "One of them—John—was from out of town. He's been staying with Percy, or at least he was before."
"Percy, then."
Percy's family lived on the other side of town. We had to make a wide detour around the city limits to avoid being seen; we were surely a sight now that we were completely waterlogged, Esme especially. But we found exactly what we'd found at Royce's house: a family spending a quiet evening at home with their out-of-town guest. Percy's parents were thinking how tiresome John was, but they were remembering their promise to keep an eye on him while his parents were in Europe. A rumbling growl sounded in my chest when I saw John's suntanned face in Percy's line of vision. I couldn't be sure from Rosalie's fragmented memories, but I'd gotten the distinct impression that he had been the ringleader that night. Royce was too much of a coward to—
"Nothing," Carlisle said, returning from a quick circuit around the property. "Let's move on."
Same thing at Jerry's house. No trace of Rosalie's scent, everyone alive, no trace of terror in anyone's thoughts.
Lionel's house was out in the suburbs. Esme gasped with relief when we crossed Rosalie's scent trail a couple of miles out. It was faint because of the rain, but it was fresh. When we got close, we slowed down so we could move silently. Rosalie's thoughts were coming in loud and clear now. She was in Lionel's back yard, crouched behind a rhododendron.
"She's there, all right," I reported. I listened a bit more as we ran. "She's planning to kill him tonight. She's waiting for his parents to go to bed."
"Thank God," Carlisle sighed. "Thank God we got here in time."
Something odd was going on in Esme's mind, but I didn't have time to try and figure it out. We burst out of the treeline and surrounded Rosalie, who leaped back in surprise. For just a second she crouched down and bared her teeth, but then she stood back up. She was even more bedraggled than we were, but all three of us were enormously relieved to see her orange-gold eyes.
"You scared me to death," she hissed.
"You scared us to death," I said in a harsh whisper, glancing back at the house to make sure the humans weren't paying attention. "We thought you had been taken, or hurt, or… we thought you were dead! How could you just leave like that?"
"Because I knew you would try to stop me," she said. "That's why you're here, isn't it?"
"Did you hear a word I just said?" I was really getting angry now. "We've been out looking in the rain for two days! Carlisle was… Esme has been… do you have any idea what you've put this family through?!"
"That's enough, Edward," Esme said. She was about to cry. "Rosalie, we're just so relieved you're… oh, my Rose!" She zipped over and caught Rosalie in a crushing hug.
That finally had an effect. After a moment's panic that we might be trying to restrain her, Rosalie relaxed and wrapped her arms around Esme, too. "I'm sorry," she admitted. "I'm sorry I made you worry. I didn't exactly plan this. I wasn't even sure I was going to go through with it. But when Carlisle and Edward went to the hospital, and it was just you and me, and then the rain… Well, it just worked out like this."
"Come with us," Carlisle said. "Please, Rosalie. Let this end here."
"It'll be over soon," Rosalie said firmly. A massive crack of thunder sounded overhead to punctuate her resolve. Carlisle reached out a hand toward her shoulder, but she jerked away.
"That isn't what you said a few weeks ago," Rosalie said. "When Edward told you he had killed your human husband, you were glad. You were so relieved, don't you remember?"
Esme and I shared a guilty look, horrified at our role in bringing Rosalie to this moment. I'd thought she was farther away when Esme and I had had that conversation. I'd been so focused on Esme, but I still should have made sure…
"It's true that I was relieved," Esme said, looking uncomfortable. "I'd always wondered if Charles might be hurting someone else. I'd even had this silly worry that I might run into him again someday. And you're right, Rosalie, the knowledge that he's gone does bring me some comfort… I won't deny it even makes me glad. But that comfort will never be enough to justify what Edward did."
She looked up at me anxiously. You understand, don't you? I nodded for her to continue. "It's not worth it," she said to Rosalie. "No matter how much I benefitted from his death, or how much he deserved it, it's not worth seeing someone I love become a murderer. It's not worth the terrible guilt Edward suffered. We care about you, Rosalie, not—"
"This isn't murder," Rosalie said coldly. "It's justice. Do you think they're ever going to be arrested and tried for what they did? Do you think they'll never do something like that again to some other woman? Because I don't." She turned on Carlisle. "In fact, you made sure they would get away with it, didn't you? You took my body away from the crime scene and then you staged my idiotic 'accidental' death without even bothering to ask me first!"
Carlisle opened his mouth and shut it again. "I'm very sorry I did it that way, Rosalie. I had to do something so the police would stop looking… but you're right, I should have spoken with you first. Of course I should have. But this isn't the way either, killing them in cold blood. Don't you see you'd carry that with you forever?"
"It's better than carrying them forever," she said hotly. "I can't leave them alive, Carlisle. I won't. And you, of all people, have no right to stand in my way."
Carlisle's mind worked quickly, forming and discarding plans. Rosalie was practically buzzing with energy and anger; this would become physical any second now. We've got to get her away from this house, he thought frantically.
"Why?"
It took him a second to realize I had spoken. "What is it, Edward?"
"Why should we stop her?" I said. Esme gave me an uncertain smile and I pushed on. "She's right. These men aren't ever going to pay for what they did, and they're going to do it again someday. Rosalie has the right to avenge herself. It's not at all like what I did while I was away."
Carlisle frowned. "But—"
"And you've been plotting murder yourself," I said recklessly. "Just this week. We all have. I heard the very words in your mind just last night—our kind craves vengeance sometimes. We need it. If we were so ready to avenge Rosalie when we thought she was lost, why are we protecting these men now? They're not ours to destroy or to save. They're hers."
"I agree," Esme said. She gently laid a hand on Carlisle's arm. "It's not what I want for her either. And… maybe it isn't the right thing to do. But she has the right to do it." She took a deep breath. "She needs it."
Rosalie took a step back, surprised. "Thank you," she told Esme. "I didn't think you'd understand but… of course you do." And Edward… I don't know what to say. Thank you.
Carlisle hesitated, still looking down into Esme's eyes. Her expression carried an unusual confidence—a strength that was simply waiting for him to do the right thing. She didn't have to say the words; for all the times he'd pestered me to read her mind, he knew exactly what she was saying now. Esme hardly ever insisted—truly insisted—on anything, but this was going to be an exception.
"It's too dangerous," he protested. "Rosalie, you've demonstrated incredible self-control for one so young, but this… it's going to be a massacre. When you lose control, you'll kill their families too. And you'll put us all in danger. Surely you don't want that?"
"I won't lose control," Rosalie said. "I'm not going to drink their blood. I'll never want anyone's blood less than I want theirs."
"Of course not," Esme agreed.
"Then… you can't expose yourself to their blood," Carlisle said uncomfortably. "You won't be able to resist otherwise. There are… other ways."
The next few minutes were peculiar, to say the least. To think that we'd ever be lurking in someone's backyard as a family, calmly discussing the most bloodless, most discreet ways to murder someone, that Carlisle would be the one giving that advice… it was completely unreal. He absolutely insisted that she knock each of her victims out first—for the sake of mercy, but also for safety's sake. The discussion nearly erupted into an argument again when he also tried to insist that he stay with her the whole time, a condition Rosalie refused to accept.
"They're my responsibility," she said sharply. "Not yours. And not anyone else's," she added, looking at Esme and me. "I don't want anyone following me or standing a mile away listening"—this one was directed at me—"and I don't need anyone to! I will not lose control, and I'm going to be careful about other humans too."
Carlisle drew in a sharp breath, ready to argue about the word responsibility, but he decided against it. "Very well," he said at last. "But if you do run into any trouble, come get us immediately."
"I promise," she said. She gave all three of us a look of profound gratitude. It felt like she was saying goodbye.
"Rosalie… you'll come back?" I asked softly.
She nodded. "I'll see you in a few days."
"Days?" Carlisle said. "You can finish this in two hours. Why drag it out?"
Rosalie smoothed down the wrinkles in her dress and stood tall. "Because I want Royce to know I'm coming."
As part of my project to line up Tale of Years headcanon with Midnight Sun, I've completely rewritten the final chapter of the 1933 fic. This reflects the new canon details re: Edward overhearing Rosalie's plans to kill Royce and the discussion with Carlisle before she actually killed anyone. You can read the new chapter here:
FFN / AO3
I'm also beginning a new collection called Tale of Years: Deleted Scenes. I still want to preserve my original writing/headcanons as I replace a few things, and some readers have asked for that too, so this first "chapter" is the original version of that same 1933 chapter:
@edwardskhakipants requested a pic of the greenhouse that Edward built for Esme in 1933 (may it rest in peace). This is the closest thing I could find to what I was envisioning.
Picture a set of seed drawers and a little workspace-y shelf or two, and an iron frame/trim instead of the wood pictured above. Very cozy and full of light. The iron trellis is softened by Edward's last-minute inspiration when he started pinching the metal into random leaves and curliques and little twists:
On the far wall opposite the door he was going to put a little window birdhouse so that Esme could watch the birds at home without their being disturbed by her scent. Something like this:
