A New Cullen Sister

Chapter 67

"May I come in?" Carlisle's voice sounded at the door. Amelia glanced up from where she was sitting in the library. Emmett had dragged one of the couches over to the window for her and she was sitting in it, basking in the weak sunlight that managed to stream through.

"Sure," she welcomed, shifting up so that he could sit next to her. A soft tinkling noise sounded and suddenly Jemima burst into the room. She skidded to a halt, then backed up and took a running leap, landing on her owner's lap with a sigh. She squirmed until she was seated comfortably and huffed at Carlisle, before resting her head on Amelia's knee, "thank you for finding her, Dad."

"You're welcome. How did you come up with the name Jemima?" he queried in curiosity, watching the small dog drift off to sleep. It was rather a grand name to give such a small dog. He recalled once treating a boy around 5 years of age who had been responsible for naming his Dachshund. The poor dog had been given the highly imaginative name of Shorty. Another young patient of his, a little girl, had told him the tragic tale of how she had named her dog Mr Rainbow Leprechaun, and had been disgusted when Mr Rainbow Leprechaun had had a litter of puppies the following year. Both of the stories had made him roar with laughter at the time. Amelia had been two when she had been given Jemima and had given her a surprisingly mature name.

"My mom always used to read Beatrix Potter to me when I was younger before I went to bed," she explained.

"The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck," concluded Carlisle, imagining a toddler-sized Amelia being tucked into bed, eagerly listening to a bedtime story. It brought a smile to his face.

"Precisely," Amelia sighed, picking up the remote for the CD player in the library and turning the volume down so that she could converse with her father. Carlisle cocked his head slightly and listened to the music, recognition lighting up his features.

"The 1812 Overture?" he queried.

"Tchaikovsky and his canons," she quipped, "Only he would think that sticking seven canons into an overture is completely acceptable, even if it was the early 1800s at the time."

"Let's not forget the church bells," he chuckled wryly, recalling a time where he had listened to the very piece being played, with real canons being fired off. The church bells had been off beat but had still been an enjoyable evening of music.

"You've heard it before, haven't you?" Amelia stated.

"I may have, yes," his eyes twinkled.

"Let me guess, you attended the premier?"

"That I did."

"No way!" she squealed.

"I believe 'yes way' is the appropriate response to that phrase," mused Carlisle, "it was magnificent to witness."

"I'll bet!"

A gentle nudge alerted Amelia back to the present. She glanced down to see Jemima roll over in her sleep. She gingerly stood up and picked up her dog.

"I'm going to take her to my room," she explained, "she'll be comfortable in her bed."

Carlisle smiled and watched her go. Curiosity overtook him and he stood up, tiptoeing out of the library. He peered around Amelia's bedroom door, and watched her kneel down, placing her canine companion in her pink Scottie-themed dog bed and covering her with a blanket. She kissed her head gently, and whispered how she loved Jemima and had missed her greatly. She placed a chew toy next to her, and patted her head one last time.

"Enjoying yourself, Dad?" she whispered lowly so as not to disturb the sleeping terrier. She turned around and met his gaze head-on.

"How did you know?" Carlisle was gobsmacked that his daughter had noticed him.