Chapter Text
1921
Carlisle had bought the Ashland estate at a bank auction. The previous owner was a widow with no local children who wanted the home; so, it was sold for practically nothing to a mysterious doctor and his even more mysterious ‘brother.’ Years of a family’s history were packed in the little farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Practically every possession the late woman owned was included with the property deed. Edward and Carlisle used most of the furniture and put the unnecessary pieces in storage. Storing them in the attic or in unused rooms. When Esme had moved in they took a few of the more feminine pieces out of storage, offering her claim over anything else she could find.
They had given Esme free reign of the home, she was free to enter any room, free to take anything. ‘What’s mine is yours,’ Carlisle had repeated like a morning prayer. She spent a lot of her free time that first year rummaging through the attic, the outdoor shed, the cellar. Until she learned the hard way cellars were still horrifying. She indexed the objects, organized the collection, and repurposed all she could. She pitied the late woman, her memories had been thrown to the wayside. Esme could not imagine everything she owned just tucked in an attic when she died, auctioned off at the courthouse steps because no one cared enough to keep anything. Until she realized her things probably didn’t have the decency to be auctioned off. They were either burned with the month’s trash or left to slowly deteriorate in that cold dark house. Maybe he used them as his punching bag, releasing his anger on the very idea of her. Fists clenched against figments of a being.
She was determined to revitalize and reuse everything she could. There was no reason the objects had to die with their previous owner. She hung curtains, set out vases, put throw pillows on the couches. She tried her skills in her own room first, the only thing left that was hers alone. She sewed curtains with old sheets she found, kept fresh flowers in antique pitchers, painted a mural of an Ohioan sunset on the blank wall. Edward mentally tracked the changes she made, he thought it was endearing. But he knew she needed to do them in secret, for whatever reason. He rarely dared to acknowledge the changes besides a passing “that looks nice.” One day Carlisle wandered into her room and was convinced he entered an alternate dimension. The awe that decked his face was permission enough to expand her talents to the rest of the house. She gradually returned the house to the home it once was.
The dollhouse was tucked in the back of the attic, guarded by a dozen cardboard boxes and covered in an old quilt. The house was a little over four feet tall. A grand Victorian manor of her wildest childhood fantasies. As a child she had loved her dollhouse, played with it for much longer than she would ever admit. As an only child living in the middle of farmland it was her own little world, a way to escape farm chores or her mother’s nagging. This dollhouse however was much grander than her childhood folding four room box. It had stained glass windows, a spire, intricately carved fireplaces. It was foolish but she felt sad for the little house. The tiny mansion was dilapidated and forgotten at the moment; but the years of love that had been poured into it were clear to see. She could imagine little hands that had made it into their own little world - the future little hands it had been saved for but never got to meet. She may not have been the previous owner’s intended audience but that was no reason the house could not be grand once more. She spent months restoring the little building. She hand painted ornate wallpaper. She replaced the broken windows. She sewed curtains, bed coverings, tablecloths out of the all clothes she had destroyed hunting. She made furniture out of spare wood around the yard. She made a little world in the tiny house, imagining the fictional family who occupied it, not a single element overlooked. When the boys were home she tucked the little house in the back of her closet, she did not even dare think of it in Edward’s presence. The little house was hers and hers alone. It felt selfish but it was her escape and she would not let it be sullied by their mockery. It was foolish; but, after the life she had, she felt entitled to a little guilt free foolishness.
One day she wished the boys a good day and safe travels and made her way back to her room in the empty house, greeted by a little white box on her bed. She took the piece of Carlisle’s stationary off the top of the little paper box, “A proper house needs proper residents,” Carlisle’s signature script read. “Edward helped!” was haphazardly scratched on the bottom of the page. She laughed as she unwrapped the box, the two had yet to get over the novelty of gift giving. She gently moved the tissue paper to reveal a family of little porcelain dolls. She had no idea how they had figured it out but was grateful nonetheless. She skipped to her closet to move the new family in.
“What are their names?” Edward asked as he waltzed into her room some hours later, Carlisle leaned against the frame behind him, silently waiting to be welcomed.
“No making fun of me,” she went to shove the dollhouse back into the closet.
“I’m not.” He bent down to pick up the ‘father’ doll, “you should name this one Edward.”
“Edward Junior?” She looked up at him smiling.
“It would technically have to be Edward Junior Junior,” Carlisle said as he took a seat next to his fiancee on the floor. “Edward the third I suppose.”
“See he looks like an Eddy,” Edward sat as he picked up the doll of a little boy dressed in his Sunday best, suspenders and all. “This one could be Edwinda,” he pointed to the ‘mother’ doll, “Edith? No. Edwina,” he adjusted the doll’s hat.
“I am sensing a theme,” Carlisle laughed as he reached a hand to the dollhouse. He glanced back to Esme, an eyebrow raised. She nodded and he delicately reached out to the house. “Es, this is incredible.” His eyes darted from the hand painted wallpaper to the hand embroidered tablecloths to the elaborate crown moulding she had carved. Every centimeter of the house was so painstakingly crafted.
“Edie,” Edward said as he placed the little girl doll at the kitchen table, he placed the cloth napkin in her lap before scotting her chair in.
“Edward Junior Junior married Edwina and had little Edie and Eddy?” Esme asked as he opened the green kitchen cabinets and placed miniature food Esme had sculpted in front of the girl.
“The Edwards family?” Carlisle grinned as he opened and closed one of the bedroom doors, marveling at the tiny hinges.
“There’s an idea,” Edward laughed as he moved out of the kitchen.
“What’s the dog's name? Eduardo?” Carlisle asked as moved the porcelain dog to sit on its bed next to the living room fireplace.
“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s Carl,” Edward laughed as he set Edward Jr. Jr. at the grand piano.
“These actually button!” Carlisle held a miniature blazer she had made out of a pair of his wrecked trousers. He hung the empty little hanger, made out of fishing wire, back in the coat closet.
“I am nothing if not thorough,” she smiled as the boys marveled at all the tiny details she had made.
“Look at the little pocket,” Carlisle said to himself as he cradled the little blazer in his hand.
“The lights turn on!” Edward exclaimed, seeing her thoughts. He looked around the house to find a way to turn on the lights, pressing at the tiny decorative switch she had made. She took the wire panel from the side of the house and flicked the lights on. Sure enough, the house was illuminated. Edward quickly closed Esme’s bedroom curtains so the tiny lights could shine.
“How?” Carlisle asked as he leaned in to inspect the grand chandelier she had made out of spare beads.
“Magic.” She rested her head on Carlisle’s shoulder as the three continued to explore the dollhouse.
When they later moved from Ashland the little dollhouse moved with them, giving her a sense of confidence to work on their new house. And her magic turned their and many other’s houses into homes for years to come.