Welcome to Tale of Years: 1950!

I think I can speak for all of us when I say this is the one I've been the most excited about. And in terms of length, complexity, and drama, this is going to be *the big one*. The final coming-together of the entire Cullen family is the natural climax to the series, and it will also be the climax for Edward in terms of identity crisis and emotional development.

I said in my series intro (on my profile) that each family member has taught Edward something new, so I want to officially announce here that Alice will be teaching him to trust, and Jasper will be teaching him to forgive himself.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Before you read on, I would recommend reading the "Awakening, "Finally!" and "Hope" Outtakes (labeled years 1920 and 1948) now, if you haven't yet. These show what Alice and Jasper have been up to lately, so they're not necessary but they do give a fuller picture. I would save the "Arrival" outtakes for later on. (I have notes included later in 1950 of when to read them)

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight Saga and its universe. No profit is made here and no offense intended.

Prologue

August 1948

I sat in the lobby between Carlisle and Esme, nervously tapping my fingers on my lap as we waited for the Dean's secretary to call us in. Carlisle nudged my shoulder, and gave me an encouraging smile.

Relax, son. You're going to be fine.

I nodded, but my fingers refused to stop tapping until Esme reached over and laid her hand on mine, sending me her own mental encouragement.

You can do this. You're ready.

I swallowed, but allowed my left hand to relax as Esme continued to rub it with her thumb. My right hand was clutching a brown folder, filled with the lies and forgeries that told the story of why Dartmouth Medical School would be lucky to have me.

It was the most elaborate cover story we had ever composed. According to the papers, we had been in Sweden for the past six years while Carlisle, himself a rising young star in the medical field, finished school and completed his final residency at St. Eriks Ögonjukhus. I was a child prodigy- only eighteen, and already a graduate, Summa Cum Laude, of Stockholm University. I had majored in Chemistry with an emphasis on Pre-Med, and now that we were back in America, I was eager to follow in my adopted father's footsteps by attending an Ivy League medical school.

It was an old trick that Carlisle had used before. Schools and employers were much less likely to look into your past if you peppered your references with prestigious, foreign-sounding names. And dressing like you were filthy rich didn't hurt, either; the outfit Esme was wearing today had cost more than Carlisle's first automobile. And we really had been to Sweden, back in '45; just long enough to steal some Stockholm University letterhead, and to brush up on our Swedish in case we were ever challenged. During our travels, Carlisle had made it a habit to collect letterhead from various places that we visited; we never knew when we might need a new cover story. I even had a couple of references with real addresses: Garrett Shoemaker, who had been my priest during my youth in Boston, and Liam O'Neill, an Oxford-educated Irishman who had been my tutor in Sweden. It was doubtful that either vampire would ever check the post office boxes that we had signed them up for, but it was a nice touch, nonetheless.

But despite our preparation, I was still nervous. For one thing, I knew it wasn't standard procedure for the Dean of Students to interview applicants to the Medical School. Why had he asked to meet with us today? I had been closely observing the Dean's thoughts over the past twenty minutes, though I had yet to hear him think about me, in particular. All we knew was that he had "taken an interest" in my application, and wanted to meet me in person.

But the real reason for my anxiety was that I had been preparing for this moment for ten years. I had half-heartedly aimed for medical school in the past, back in the early thirties- though that had really been for Carlisle's sake, not mine. I hadn't really given much thought back then to whether or not I would be capable of getting through such a program, in terms of blood exposure. My education had been interrupted so often during the thirties that it really hadn't mattered.

But I was ready now. Ever since Eleazar's breakthrough in '40, medical school had become a real possibility, instead of just a dream. In the past ten years, I had achieved success after success with the blood challenges, to the point where I was now the one preparing the blood, and standing right beside it as it warmed. I still experienced thirst each time-more than I liked- but Carlisle had finally pronounced me ready for medical school, earlier this year. It would be some time before I would be required to be around real, bleeding patients, though- Dartmouth was in a bit of a downswing, and its students had little access to real patient care. There was still time to tighten my control even further. During the next few months, Carlisle would begin slowly exposing me to the smell of fresh blood at Cottage Hospital, the rural clinic where he had just begun working.

We had, in fact, picked Dartmouth precisely because of the lack of clinical training here. The medical school had stopped offering a full M.D. program back in 1914, after a review board declared the rural location too remote to offer enough patient interaction for the students. But the school was still Ivy League, still growing, and still quite prestigious, by any count. Students attended DMS for two years for their pre-clinical instruction, and then were farmed out to other schools and hospitals for the remainder of their tenure. If all went well, I would receive my certificate of completion in 1950, ready to finish my M.D. at any one of the schools nearby.

It was perfect. Not only did Dartmouth's current problems ensure that I wouldn't be much exposed to blood, but it also worked perfectly with my inability to age. It might be noticed, over the span of a four-year medical degree and the residencies that followed, that I never aged past my child-prodigy appearance. But with a new set of peers halfway through, it was conceivable that I could make it all the way through to my M.D. without having to uproot the family.

And after that? Only time would tell. This was only my first attempt, after all, and I hadn't even been accepted to the program yet. Carlisle had truly enjoyed himself this summer, helping me prepare my application and the necessary forgeries, alongside his own. He had, of course, been to medical school several times himself, though not since he had changed me. I had enjoyed sharing in the memories that our project brought up in his mind- some dating back even to the Renaissance. But our crowning achievement had been my entrance essay, and the diagnosis of hemophilia which had inspired it.

We had used the hemophilia ruse before, back in '31. I had still been readjusting to the vegetarian diet and human interaction at the time. Carlisle had wanted me to be excused from Physical Education classes, in which my peers were most likely to injure themselves and test my control, which was shaky at best back then.

But this time around, the diagnosis was a must. Even in these first two years of med school, we would be practicing on each other: blood pressure cuffs, injections, scraping cell samples, drawing blood- and I simply wouldn't be able to avoid them all. And even if I had Carlisle's level of control, which I didn't, my own impenetrable skin would make it impossible, not to mention dangerous, for me to participate. So Carlisle had, once again, drawn up the necessary papers to prove my childhood diagnosis of hemophilia. It would be a shame for whoever had the misfortune of being my lab partner, but that was their problem.

It had been Esme's idea to have my entrance essay center around my struggles as a hemophiliac. We invented a childhood car accident in which I had almost died from blood loss, and the months of recovery that had led to my interest in becoming a doctor, myself. To make it even more of a tearjerker, we decided that the accident would be the same one in which my biological parents were killed. Carlisle had been the young, friendly, pre-med student who had noticed my plight and decided to adopt me. His new wife, Esme, had taken to the idea at once, coming to visit me in the hospital. According to the essay, it had been the look of awe and admiration in Esme's face, as she gazed at her new husband, that had gotten me thinking about a career in medicine. The story got even better after that: as my hemophilia complicated my recovery from the near-death experience, Esme had begun homeschooling me. This was how my studies had begun to accelerate, getting me into Stockholm University at the tender age of fifteen. With my brilliant I.Q. and the encouragement of my new parents, I had whizzed through University in three years, more determined than ever to become a physician.

So there it was: an entire life, riddled with tragedy and inspiration, down on paper. I just hoped the Dean of Students was a gullible man.

"Dr. and Mrs. Cullen? The Dean will see you now."

All three of us stood and headed into the office. The Dean was a jolly-looking, heavyset fellow in his mid-fifties who motioned us in with a wave of his meaty hand and gestured to the three chairs opposite his desk. He lumbered out of his own chair with a wheeze, shaking hands with all of us and grumbling about the climate in Sweden having ruined our circulation.

"So, Mr. Cullen," he said as he landed back in his chair, "I've been looking over your papers, and it seems that you have your heart set on being a Dartmouth man."

"Yes, sir," I answered politely, offering him my folder.

He waved it away, and I was impressed- and dismayed- to see his photographic memory flipping through everything he had already read about me. His relaxed, disheveled appearance hid a mind that was obviously quite brilliant. This was usually a bad sign, in our case. Intelligent people had a tendency to question things.

"Must admit," he said after a deep breath, "I've never had an eighteen-year-old sitting in this office before. Quite remarkable. You really think you're ready for this, son?"

I leaned forward in my chair with a smile, trying to strike a balance between bashful innocence and confidence. "I think so, sir. I realize I may be a little younger than most of your applicants, but I've prepared myself as best I can, and I've overcome challenges before."

"Yes, hemophilia, isn't it? I must say, I'm a bit surprised. Most hemophiliacs I've treated have quite a fear of doctors. Never saw one want to become one."

I nodded. "I'd say that I've developed a healthy fear of needles, at least. But I've had some very positive role models in the physicians that I've dealt with in the past, my father included."

Carlisle discreetly kicked my foot under the chair. Bring it down a notch, Edward. You sound like you're forty-five years old.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I was forty-five years old; forty-seven, actually. Still, he had a point.

"I guess I was afraid of doctors when I was little," I continued, trying to lighten up my vocabulary. "It wasn't until after the accident that I got over my fear. I learned a lot just by being in the hospital for so long, and I began to admire the doctors who had worked so hard to save my life."

"And that's when you met Dr. Cullen," the Dean put in, looking at Carlisle with a mixture of admiration and suspicion. They almost look the same age. Quite odd.

"I was hardly a doctor at the time," Carlisle said, putting on a youthful smile. "I was a senior at UMass, and studying Biology, Pre-Med. It was quite the fortunate accident that brought Edward and I together; I was shadowing a physician in a local hospital as part of my senior project, and Edward's case ended up being the one that my mentor suggested that I use as my case study. I guess you could say that the more I got to know him, the harder it was to imagine him being alone in the world- he was eleven years old, and I knew that older children tend to have difficulty being adopted. And he was such a good young man, and so promising, that I couldn't bear to just walk away and leave him."

Esme chimed in for the first time, her warm voice instantly drawing the Dean's attention. "So Carlisle told me his idea, and brought me in to meet him. You see, we had just gotten married, and we already knew that I could never have children. So we were planning to adopt at some point anyway, and as soon as I met Edward, I just knew it was the right thing to do. Of course, we had no way of knowing at the time that my father was about to have his stroke, but moving to Sweden ended up giving both my husband and my son even more opportunities."

Carlisle and Esme shared a sweet look while the Dean shook his head. Incredible. Adopting an eleven-year old at age twenty-two. Moving across the ocean to take care of your father-in-law. Do these things really happen? He cleared his throat, staring at Esme's diamond necklace and fantasizing about Carlisle's net worth. "I suppose you'll be expecting some special allowances for the hemophilia. For starters, we'd make sure that you're in a group of three for your labs, so that your partners will be able to practice on each other when it comes to sharp objects."

"Blood pressure cuffs as well, if you don't mind," Carlisle added. "Edward's arms were covered in bruises when I first met him in the hospital. And even his wrists, from nurses checking his pulse."

Clever.

"Of course, of course," the Dean agreed, turning a sharp eye toward me. "But this doesn't excuse you from working on your lab partners, Cullen. I'll not have a med student who's afraid to touch a needle or a scalpel, just because he's afraid of cutting himself."

I smiled and nodded, covering the very real fear that the thought of using a scalpel brought me. "Of course not, sir. I don't want any special accommodations, other than being spared the risk of injury to myself."

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes boring into my own as though I were a microscope slide. His condition isn't the problem-it's his youth. I'd hate to waste our time-and his- when he really isn't ready. Being a kid genius doesn't make one mature enough to chase after an M.D. And kids like this tend to be a little too arrogant for their own good. Not sure I want that around.

I kept my hopeful smile on, my heart sinking as he continued thinking of reasons why having a "kid genius" in the ranks was a bad idea. We had known it was a risk using such a young age; but we had done it anyway, hoping for a longer stay, and an uninterrupted education for once. But none of that mattered if I couldn't even get in. Fortunately, the Dean's eyes drifted back to Esme's diamond necklace again.

But having a parent like Dr. Cullen- well, just imagine if he became a trustee someday! And the kid does seem mature, as well as intelligent. This might be just the sort of thing our school needs to get us out of this slump- Dartmouth on the cutting edge again, full of bright young stars. Yes. The Board is going to eat this up, if I spin it the right way. And they'll love his essay.

He heaved himself out of his chair and extended his hand, which I eagerly took.

"Welcome to Dartmouth, Mr. Cullen."

.

.

.

A month later, I was sitting in my first Gross Anatomy lecture, waiting for the professor to arrive. There were 107 of us, but I was sitting on the fringes, with Nick Lawrence on one side and William Cummings on the other. We had all, on the list posted on the door of the lecture hall, learned who our assigned partners were, both for dissection lab and for the labs in the classes that would follow. I was explaining to Nick and William the reason why we had been assigned as a group of three, instead of two.

"So, you could bleed to death, just from accidentally cutting yourself?" Nick asked in awe.

I smiled patiently. "It's unlikely that I would really die this close to a hospital, but yes, that's the idea. This way, when it's time for practice with needles and such, you two will be able to work on each other, and I'll just work on you two."

"Seems like a risky profession for someone who's afraid of sharp objects," William said blandly. It was quite clear from his thoughts that he thought I was a spoiled sissy.

"I'm not afraid of sharp objects," I said, with slightly less patience than before. "I just have to be careful, is all." Of course, the real risk was one of them cutting themselves in front of me. I had confidence in my new level of control, but if blood was to flow unexpectedly- from a slash wound, no less- I wouldn't want to bet on the results. At least I had done a few dissection labs before, back in '31, and I hadn't killed anyone then.

"Anyway," I continued, "it was actually my hemophilia that got me interested in medicine. I'm thinking about going into research. Maybe I'll be the one to cure hemophilia someday." This was, by far, the funniest part of my cover story: a vampire, aiming for a career in hematology. Carlisle had cautioned me not to share this "dream" with my professors, lest one of them kindly get me an internship in a hematology lab. But I would enjoy my little joke for now.

"I want to be the doctor for the Cardinals," said Nick, who was from Chicago.

"I want to go into Orthopedics, too," said William. "I was in the Naval Reserve during the War, and I saw too many of my buddies come back with missing parts. Made me want to learn how to save some legs, if I can."

Nick snorted. "Well, for the next four months, you'll be cutting parts off, you know?"

William rolled his eyes. "Funny. What about you, Cullen? Were you over there?"

Nick shoved him. "Dope. He's a bleeder, remember? They'd never let him in the military."

William blushed over to me apologetically. "Oh… right. Sorry. That must have been awful, not being able to go." Poor guy. I'll bet every one of his friends went.

I almost mouthed off about being too young at the time, but decided against it. For some reason, I seemed to actually be making a good impression, and pointing out my "kid genius" status probably wasn't the way to go. So for once, I went with the truth.

"You have no idea," I sighed. "I wanted more than anything to be a soldier, and to serve my country. I dreamed about nothing else, during the War."

William nodded in approval and I hid my smile, thinking that reminiscing about one World War was as good as another. I was about to ask Nick if he had enlisted, as well, when the professor finally walked in.

"Good morning," he said briskly, opening his notes as soon as he touched the podium. "Before we begin, I'd like to give you all the standard welcome that all med students receive. I want you to look to the person at your left, and then the one at your right. Memorize those faces."

Nick, William and I looked at each other dutifully.

The professor's face was grave. "By the time you lot reach your certificate, one of those faces will be gone. You all chose a lofty goal, coming here, and some of you aren't going to make it. Having said that, I applaud your choice. Some of you are older than others, and some are younger. Some of you are already husbands, fathers. And many of you have already risked your lives to serve our country. But all of you have embarked on a journey that, if you can make it, will be the most rewarding path you could have walked: you'll be saving lives. Let's begin."

As we opened our textbooks, Nick, William, and I glanced at each other again, silently wishing each other luck. William and Nick were secretly hoping that our little group of three would beat the odds; they were both already worried about me, thinking I was delicate and sickly. I certainly looked the part, what with my pallor and half-thirsty eyes.

I was just hoping I wouldn't accidentally kill either of them this afternoon, when the professor armed us with our scalpels.

.

.

.

As I drove home that evening, stinking of cadaver, the professor's words were still echoing in my mind. You have embarked on a journey that, if you can make it, will be the most rewarding path you could have walked: you'll be saving lives. A lofty goal, to be sure. Would I be able to reach it? Would I be able, after my two years, to begin caring for real patients? Would I be ever be able to work as a real physician, with my youthful appearance? Would my control prove to be enough, when the time came to risk my patient's lives with my presence?

I had worked so hard to get to this point that I actually hadn't given much thought to the final goal the professor had mentioned. Saving human lives, indeed. I had certainly taken enough human lives. I winced as the familiar faces flashed before my eyes, their transparent looks of accusation dotting the windshield. But for once, instead of drowning myself in guilt and memory, I mentally waved my tormentors away and smiled in defiance. If I really could make it to the "saving lives" part, as the professor had said, my journey would hold a lot more meaning than he suspected: I could finally begin to atone for my sins, one life at a time. Debt repaid.

I caught Carlisle wondering sometimes if I had forgiven myself yet. He was afraid to ask, and to be honest, I would have been afraid to answer; most likely, my answer would be no. But as I pulled up to the house and saw Esme running out to greet her med student proudly, my defiant smile turned into one of hope.

No one could know the future. But if the future I had begun today was achieved, it was possible that atonement could become more than a topic for debate; it could become a reality.

Just as a note of interest, William Cummings really was a DMS semi-M.D. grad in 1950, and his War story is true. (except that he became an anesthesiologist in the end. And by the way, his wife's name was Alice :)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the prologue. The next chapter will bring us to the early spring of 1950, in which much of the story will take place. Please take a moment to review and let me know what you think. It's you readers, with your reviews, ideas, conversations and encouragement, who make this project so fun!