All characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. (Lucky her!) Hope you enjoy this one!

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The flickering lamplight cast long shadows on the bedroom wall. I was tired, so tired.

I pulled on the lock to the trunk at the foot of my bed, and pushed the top open. It was empty, as was to be expected. The sight of the trunk's bare bottom brought back the tears, and an even heavier weariness settled on my shoulders. Defeated, I slumped on the floor and wept.

My father would have been sad to see me like this, I knew. I imagined him hearing my wrenching sobs and rushing to my side, ready to ease my pain. But that was not to be, never again.

Losing both my parents within months of each other had been the most terrible blow I had suffered in all my eighteen years. We had moved west a while ago, following the promise of territory expansion. How my father had stumbled upon the small town of Forks for us to settle in, I couldn't understand. The town had been settled during the gold rush, but only a few decades later had been left to wither.

My father had been established as the town sheriff, much like the position he'd held when we lived back east. My parents and I had been a happy family, I their only and doted-upon daughter. My mother and I had followed my father willingly enough, safe in the belief that as long as we were together, nothing could go wrong. How sadly mistaken we were…

Lost in the memories, I forced myself to sit up, wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my dress. I leaned on the bedpost, drawing my knees close to my chest. I glanced about the room, and inevitably thoughts on the life I was about to leave rose unbidden in my mind.

My mother had become gravely ill, afflicted with a strange fever that had left few families untouched. My father and I had tried in vain to nurse her back to health, spending long nights in a fruitless vigil. In the end, she succumbed, leaving my father and myself to mourn her.

But he did not mourn long. Soon after we lost her, my father fell ill as well; his body seemed to burn twice as fiercely as my mother's. The town physician was burdened with other cases in Forks, yet he still found time to tend to my father. But there was nothing he could do. The fever ravaged through the town, and before three more days had passed since my father was bedridden, he passed away, leaving me all alone.

The thought of my father, recently buried in the town graveyard next to my mother brought fresh tears. They seemed to have no end. No amount of comfort from the other women in the town had been enough to stem their flow—all of us had suffered so. The wives and daughters of Forks had come to help me prepare for the burial, cleaning and cooking. It occurred to me that I should have done the same for them, and I told my friend Angela so. She shook her head gently, saying that I had lost nearly twice as much as most families, and no one would expect more from me.

My eyes continued to cast about the room, and finally settled on the books my father had given me for my last birthday. I couldn't forget those. With much effort I rose from the wooden floor and strode to the dresser, where I picked up the leather-bound books, hugging them tightly to myself.

I seemed to draw strength from them, and I lovingly set them in the corner of the trunk. Now that it wasn't completely empty, I felt better. I took a deep breath, and began taking clothes from the small armoire in the corner of the room. I packed dresses and petticoats into the trunk, as well as my boots for the coming winter. I did not have much, and soon the small trunk was full.

I left my room and walked into the kitchen. I spotted what I was after—our family Bible and pictures in leather frames. I nestled them on top of my cotton clothes, before shutting the lid on the trunk. I sat on the bed, purposeless, and stared morosely at my hands. All my previous strength had drained out of me.

I contemplated what tomorrow would bring. Dr. Cullen, the physician who had ministered to my parents, had arranged for me to live with Reverend Webber after my father's death. Rev. Webber and his wife had kindly agreed to take me in, despite his large family. To avoid being a great burden to them, I had obtained a position working at the local dry goods store in town. It was owned by the Newton family, and I would help them manage one of their counters.

It was not unheard of for women to work occasionally at these kinds of stores, and it was respectable employment. Although the Newtons' son, Michael, sometimes made me uncomfortable and we would be working in close proximity, I had to make the best of it.

I sighed, and curled on the bed, tucking my feet beneath me. I had spent far too much time sleeping the last few days, but any activity soon tired me. The sadness of my loss weighed heavily upon my heart.

"Bella… Bella…" My father's voice seemed to whisper to me. Before I could shed any more tears, I fell into a troubled sleep.

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Kind of boring, I know, but I have to set the stage for future drama. R&R please!