This one took me a little while, because i had to rewrite some parts, take out others for next week, and all all that a little into a controversial topic towards the end, but you'll see: I'm not just a fire-starter, it's all in context! No heart attacks please :) So don't forget to drop me a comment, tell your friends, etc. I hope you all enjoy!

Cultural Note: When someone says "You put your foot into this", it's a reference to food, and it means that it is tasty. Just clearing up some confusion beforehand!

Chapter 36: I'm Not a Witch, But I Feel Like One

Gwen watched Bobbi flutter about the kitchen, putting the last bowls of food on the table, singing the whole way. Bobbi had prepared a feast of shrimp and grits, hoecakes, and fresh green beans with a sweet potato pie for dessert. She had prepared the meal especially for Gwen, wanting to give her friend a break from her constantly busy schedule, and have someone cater to her needs, if only for a couple of hours. She had told Elliot and her brother to go do something for a few hours, play in traffic if they had to, but she didn't want them within a mile radius of the house. It was "girl time".

"Bobbi, thank you so much, this all looks so good," Gwen could tell that her brother's girlfriend had taken so much time and care into preparing some of Gwen's favorites, and if the heavenly aromas were any indication of the taste; Gwen was sure she would have to be rolled out of Bobbi's house.

"Now, don't you dare be shy girl, I want you to eat!" Bobbi said with a bright smile, pouring Gwen a tall and cold glass of sweet tea. She loved having guests over, and she had been bouncing around all day, excited to spend a precious few hours with her new girlfriend. "Go on and take some more of them hoecakes; I reckon you'll keep that pretty little figure of yours still."

Gwen obeyed, unable to say 'no' in the face of Bobbi's cheer. "Oh mercy, you really put your foot in this Bobbi!" Gwen said after she took a large bite of the grits.

"You like it?" Bobbi nearly sang. "Well, go on girl: have some more!"

Gwen looked down at her full plate, wondering how she was going to eat all of the food Bobbi insisted she have.

Bobbi finally sat down across from Gwen at the small round table, folding her legs and setting a napkin in her lap. "So Gwen, how's work been goin'? Anymore crazy fits from that witch?"

Gwen giggled; word had run through town like wildfire that Morgana was fiddling with magic. Gwen would have been worried for her former friend had she thought any of the gossip was remotely valid, so instead she just laughed at the latest and increasingly ridiculous claims "She aint a witch, Bobbi."

"Girlfriend, I know she aint, but it's still funny as hell! She kinda looks like one though, don't she? With that long black hair and that pale skin? Girlfriend needs a tan," Bobbi said in all seriousness.

"She's just a little spoiled—everyone is just spreading gossip 'cause they're bored. She aint in cahoots with the devil, and we don't need to bathe her in holy water, or nothin'."

Bobbi shook her head, taking a moment to swallow some of her shrimp and grits. "If she's as bad as you say, girl, I would've been fired from that place a long time ago. I wouldn't care if she was the damn queen of England; I aint her slave, and there's no way in hell she could talk down to me like that. I'd teach her some manners."

Gwen giggled, politely covering her mouth. "I'm not as bold as you Bobbi."

"Well, at least you got that gorgeous hunk of a man to look at all day long! How's he doing?"

"Arthur?"

"Are there any other super models running 'round that house?" Bobbi asked sarcastically.

"Arthur's fine, I suppose, I wouldn't really know."

"Fixed up that cashmere suit for him, did you?"

"Yeah, it's good as new," Gwen replied with a simple shrug. And it was true.

"Mhmmm..." Bobbi's fork moved around her plate, but she didn't pick anything else up.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, oh it's nothin'." Bobbi sat quietly, looking down at her food. "I was just thinkin', and stop me if I'm bein' a 'Nosy Nelly'..."

"Okay…"

"Well, there's this pretty little white girl I know through my brother, and I think that her and Arthur should really meet. I feel like they would really hit it off. Would you mind hooking that up?"

Gwen had to remind herself how to swallow without choking. "I…uhmm…sure, I'm not sure it's really appropriate though."

Bobbi's chin rose slightly at Gwen's delayed and unsure response. "Well, he aint with anyone, is he? I'd hate to be a home wrecker."

"Yes—I mean no!"

"Well which one is it, girl?"

"I'm not too sure, but I reckon he's single…"

"Ah, good!" Bobbi said clasping her hands together with a content grin. She sighed happily at the prospect. "They'll make the cutest little couple, and she'll be happy as a clam when I tell her."

Gwen just nodded, hoping the conversation would take a different turn. "That's nice."

There were a few moment of silence, before they were sharply pierced by the sound of Bobbi's fork slamming against the table so hard that it bounced, and the suddenly crazed girl pointed a finger directly at Gwen, grinning from ear to ear. "I knew it! By golly, I knew it! Girl, you can't lie for nothin'!"

Gwen looked up at Bobbi, with wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth. Suddenly her throat felt dry and her tongue heavy. A mere "Huh?" was all she could muster.

"Oh, don't you 'huh' me!" Bobbi said with a sassy snap. She gave her nervous guest a once over, before tapping her chin in contemplation. "I must admit: y'all put on a mighty good show, but you can't fool me girlfriend; I'm an expert on men and relationships. I saw the anxious way y'all looked at each other— like two teenagers who had been walked in on by their mama."

"Bobbi!"

"Mmhmm, and you don't even deny it?" Bobbi reclined slightly, taking a sip of her drink as she smiled. "You know, not to be crass, but I've heard stories…but I've never actually known a gal who's been with a white fella. Girl…you sure know how to pick 'em, though. I aint mad at ya!" Bobbi said with a boisterous laugh.

"I didn't pick him, Bobbi."

"Oh, so he went after you then?" Bobbi asked, raising a brow in amusement; she would surely relish every detail of the affair.

"No, it just sorta…happened," Gwen wasn't exactly sure how to explain the intricacies which were her relationship with Arthur.

"These things don't just 'sorta happen'; one of y'all must've gone in for the kill. Girl, how'd you even get close to him?"

"What do you mean? I work at the estate." Gwen found the question to be incredibly daft, and Bobbi's eagerness slightly unnerved her.

"So he's done this with other maids before? You know, I wouldn't be surprised; all white guys want them a taste of some brown sugar, don't they?"

Gwen cringed at the analogy, still finding herself too dumbfounded to speak, and Bobbi was all too happy to fill in the silence.

"I mean, I knew he had a way with the ladies, and plenty would line the block for him on a hot August day, but damn…"

"No! He's not like that!" Gwen covered her face with her hands, realizing just how inept she was at explaining.

Bobbi continued despite Gwen's obvious flustered state. "He's got a long rap sheet for bein' a lady-killer, don't he? And no offense, but I'm surprised he even gave you the time of day when he's got all those white hoochies running after him. Just look at Vivian Remington: I work at their house, and everyone knows that she's been chasing after that boy and she's got all the goods." Bobbi was quiet for a moment, as she wondered where exactly she should draw the line with the intimacy of her questions…she was never much for decorum anyhow. "So then, I'm curious as a cat: what's the arrangement y'all have got going?"

Gwen was surprised that Bobbi had finally finished rambling, only to confuse her even more. "Sorry? Arrangement…?"

"Look, we're both grown here," Bobbi scoffed rolling her large eyes. "I don't gotta spell it out, now do I? You can tell me."

"Uhm, there is no arrangement; at least I don't think so."

Bobbi set her drink down, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Of course there's an arrangement, there's always one with men like that. It's really simple: you give, he takes." Bobbi was able to suppress her boisterous curiosity for a moment, to make more serious inquiries. "I'm not here to judge you Gwen, don't you dare think that for a single moment. I understand girlfriend: we've all gotta do what we've gotta do, and I'm sure you have your reasons. It aint easy out there for working women like us. And sometimes, when the landlord is knockin' on your door for the rent you wish you had, the electricity has just been cut off, and your car is fixing to throw itself in the junkyard, we gotta get a little…creative, sometimes do things we don't want to. And I've been there…Lord in heaven knows I've been there," Bobbi said sympathetically. She reached over, resting her hand on Gwen's, which was slightly trembling. "Oh, you poor thing, you can tell me and take a load off. I know you don't have any one to talk to, and I'm a good listener who's been through a few things."

Gwen's eyes widened in astonishment as she began to grasp the gist of Bobbi's insinuations. She knew that everyone would automatically assume what Bobbi had—and the sad thing was that they were friends. "Whoa ho ho, Bobbi it's not like that. Oh dear God, I would never do that—become his 'kept' woman."

"We don't have to call it that if you don't want to."

"Bobbi, it's not like that at all!"

"So you keep saying. So tell me: what's it like, then?"

"We're…in love." Gwen hoped that would be the end of the unwanted conversation.

Bobbi's head moved to the side in skepticism, before she emitted a small laugh; a byproduct of nervousness rather than joy. "Wait, you're serious?" Bobbi didn't find anything remotely comical about the situation, but laughing even harder seemed to be here reflex. "So y'all use the 'four letter word', huh? Now I really don't understand. It aint supposed to work like that…"

"Bobbi, there's no arrangement because our relationship—I'm not his mistress. We got to know each other, and it turned romantic after a while. I was never pressured: by circumstance or by him, I pay my own rent just fine. Arthur tries to buy me things, and he has to force me to take them because I don't want everyone to assume what you have. Lord have mercy, I'm still a virgin! I would never do anything like that, especially for money."

Bobbi's large brown eyes widened with each word, and her mind was totally unable to grapple with their meaning. "Tarnation…this don't make any sense. And you're sure that we're talking 'bout the same man? Arthur Pendragon; the guy who made skirt-chasing an Olympic sport?"

Gwen could only nod. "He wasn't as bad as everyone says."

"Do you hear yourself?"

"He's slept with nine women—not that that's a good thing, because he's ashamed of it, but he hasn't deflowered every girl in sight like folks make it sound. I hate it to hear people talk about him like that; like they know him because they've heard some rumors. It makes me sad that Arthur has such a bad reputation, but he's different now."

"Nine…huh…I thought we would be talkin' double digits…" Bobbi listened at Gwen's inflection with each word and her tone, which authenticated her heartfelt words: this was no act, and it certainly wasn't some affair for convenience which she had assumed. No, there was something more going on, and it was like nothing she'd ever heard first hand.

"Wheew, you're gonna have to start from the beginning on this one, because this is definitely...weird." Bobbi lifted her right hand, and put it over her heart. "I swear on the Good Book, my lips are forever sealed and I'll go to the grave with this."

Gwen sighed, nodding her agreement; she knew Bobbi could be trusted, and she may even have some advice too. "Well, I guess it all started one day when I was running late for work at Cid's Diner…"

Gwen had never told the story of her and Arthur's convoluted journey in entirety before, and she was surprised to hear how long and elaborate it was. Yet, she told Bobbi everything. She was met with large sparkling eyes which remained unmoved from her gaze as Bobbi continued to shovel shrimp and grits into her mouth, listening to each glorious word intently. Bobbi laughed at some parts, rolled her eyes at others, and let out more 'aww's in one sitting than Gwen had ever heard before. She was extremely vocal throughout the entire story, contributing things like:

"Y'all met at a diner? Shoot I never met me any good men when I worked as a waitress!—Damn, he does sound like a spoiled brat; you should've told him off then!—Lorenzo or Arthur…and you're sure you can't have both of 'em, girl?...Oh he left…and he didn't say anything to you, and you still haven't heard from him…well forget him then!—You know, if a guy gets drunk over you, it means he really likes you: it's a compliment—Aww, he's so romantic, aint he? I always liked a man who knew how to show his soft side—Elliot acted like an animal; he should've had more sense than that. I'm ashamed of him."

And by the end, Bobbi Jones was completely convinced, and Arthur's advocate all the way. "Girl, I need to order me an Arthur! Shoot, just get me the catalogue!" They both laughed hysterically at that comment.

But it was when Gwen was detailing Arthur's proposal the day before, that Bobbi absolutely lost all composure she had been struggling maintain. Gwen was bracing herself for her new friend to run laps around the kitchen or spring up in dance and song.

"Girl, he's so sweet…shoot, I don't care if he's white; you're so lucky. And all this time I thought he was a good-for-nothing-fast-talking whore and king of the rascals…no offense," Bobbi explained with a grin. "So race and all that stuff was never a problem for y'all? I mean if you look at it…you're like exact opposites."

"Only in appearance."

"But that's what counts out here."

"I mean—it was in issue in the beginning, and I'm sure it'll never totally go away. At first, when he expressed…interest, I thought he was just…" Gwen didn't even want to say it. "I thought he was just, curious. You know what I mean."

Bobbi let out a whistle. "I sure do, and suspicion aint always a bad thing, you know."

"But then we got to talking, and I realized that we had a lot in common. And I was struck by how willing he was to listen to me, like he really cared what I had to say. Then I found myself opening up to him, telling things which I only told friends and then some things which I hadn't told anyone. And he never judged me, he just listened, and it's hard to find someone like that—colored or not. When I realized how attracted I was to him… I felt so ashamed, Bobbi…so dirty."

"Oh girlfriend, I understand. It's how you been raised; it aint your fault."

"And one day I realized that I was going to work because of Arthur: I would savor any glimpse I got of him, my heart would have to take an elevator back to my chest any time he looked at me with those deep blue eyes—oh, when Arthur looks at you, it's like he looks into your soul and you're the only person he cares about in that moment. It scared me at first, because I felt so naked and vulnerable, but now I see the passion behind his eyes, and I can tell how much he loves me. You only look at someone like that if you're in love."

Bobbi set her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her hand as she watched Gwen's smile widen with each word she used to describe Arthur. "Girl…you got it bad. What'd that white boy do to you?"

"He was just himself, it was enough. I wish people actually took the time to get to know him. But everyone is either too afraid, or they're trying to get to his wallet first. That's why until me, his only real friend was Merlin."

"When you talk about him Gwen, it sounds like poetry." There was a moment of silence for the first time in ten minutes at the small table, before Bobbi sat up straight with a sudden alertness. "Gwen, do you got the engagement ring with you now?"

"Yes!" Gwen said already standing from the table.

"Well what are you waiting for? I'm dying here: whip it out!"

Gwen walked to the couch where she had flung her jacket over the side. In the inner breast pocket, she kept her ring secure and she took it out and handed it to Bobbi who nearly snatched it from her grasp in excitement.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…" Bobbi gasped, looking down at the most beautiful piece of jewelry she had ever held, or seen, for that matter. "It's stunning. You could buy you a new house with this! And them blue sapphires? Girl, he's got taste."

"I just wish I could wear it."

Bobbi begrudgingly gave the ring back to Gwen. "So what are y'all gonna do now? The law in the state forbids coloreds and whites from getting' married—you'll go to the slammer; it's happened before."

Gwen nodded sadly. "We know Bobbi, and we won't get married here, but we're just not sure yet. Remember what I told you about the lawyer?"

Bobbi nodded; she remembered. "But the sheriff can't lock y'all up for being engaged, can he?"

Gwen's eyebrows furrowed, for she never thought of the possibility. "I don't think so…marriage is different, I guess. But Arthur had a lunch set up for me at Merlin's house, and we talked for hours about all of this. He's so excited, it's like he forgets that our worlds are gonna come crashing down and people we don't even know will hate us. But he assured me that he doesn't care, that he'd turn his back to everything he has now if only it meant that me and him had a fight chance." Gwen looked away, casting her gaze to her feet, smiling as she blushed. "And I believe every word, and I'm with him a hundred percent. I think of Daddy; how sad his worn and tired face will be, and how our neighbors and church will whisper for months, but I gotta start living me own life, and I won't apologize for it. What Arthur and I have is beautiful and rare, and I'm not fixing to throw it away because of some cowards in white sheets, or gossiping church ladies in tweeds and big ol' hats."

Bobbi had tried to keep the tears at bay throughout Gwen's brief monologue, but as she reflected upon her powerful words, her fragile emotional shell broke and a single tear fell from each eye. "Sorry, don't mind me; I'm just a poor sucker for love stories. Just listening to how much he respects you—when every other man like him doesn't—it j-j-just gets to me," Bobbi wanted to kill herself for hiccupping, but she couldn't help it. She just wanted a small taste of what Gwen had, and she didn't care with whom.

Gwen blinked, watching Bobbi literally shed tears at her and Arthur's journey.

"I mean, it's the small things. From buying you some dumb book, to noticing what your shampoo smells like, and calling you 'Guinevere' because he thinks your name is as beautiful as you are."

Gwen began to become uncomfortable, as she wondered if perhaps she had unwittingly unleashed some of Bobbi's past demons. Her mind fumbled for the appropriate and consoling words to say in such a situation, but her mind was running slower than molasses.

"And the fact that he waited for you—he said he'd wait for you until marriage—" Bobbi's tears began to flow more freely at the last detail. "Nobody's ever cared about me that much," Bobbi whispered; it was her turn to cover her face now.

"Ahh, no no, don't do that," Gwen said gently, pulling one of Bobbi's hands back to the table, rubbing it affectionately.

Bobbi was thankful for the sweet, reassuring silence and Gwen's maternal presence as she sniffled a couple of times. "Look at me, I'm just a hot mess; a big ol' baby."

"Oh, it's alright…let it out."

Bobbi looked at Gwen through glassy eyes. "I'll help you Gwen, if y'all need help with anything just ask, okay?'

"Thanks Bobbi, you don't know how much that means to me. You're one of the few friends that I have."

Bobbi nodded. "Yeah, same here."

Stella slammed down the ten-pound bag of flour on the countertop, causing a couple of her colleagues to jump back, and white particles to floutat about the air. The angry woman addressed the six maids she had gathered in the kitchen; the remaining few who had yet to hear her lecture she made sure to give the entire staff that day.

"Now, if I hear another peep 'bout witchcraft or voodoo or any of that mess, you'll be scurrying outta here faster than a squirrel from a hound: am I clear?"

A harmony of "yes ma'am" resounded throughout the kitchen.

"Aint no one in this house is into the voodoo, so y'all have nothing to worry about. But I reckon that y'all have more sense than that fool girl Doris did. Hardly here a week and she's running with her tail between her legs because Marge got her all worked up, afraid that Morgana would put a hex on her," Stella said more to herself, still surprised that she was again searching for a new staff member because Marge had scared the last one away. Her life became me unbelievable each day. What next?

Five of the six maids snickered at the detail, but Gwen remained silent, only toying with her apron.

"Y'all, there aint nothin' funny 'bout none of this!" All laughter immediately ceased, and Stella had each woman's full attention yet again. "Mister Uther has come down on us, saying that he will publically make an example of anyone who makes more accusations, or approaches Ms. Morgana with this witchcraft nonsense. And I can't say that I blame him! But he doesn't know who scared the black off of Doris, so y'all need to keep Marge's name out of your mouths."

Each maid agreed that she wouldn't utter another word on the subject.

Stella looked about the room, gauging the reaction of each employee, before she was finally satisfied. "Y'all get gone and scatter; we gotta finish setting up for supper."

No one had to be told twice: the maids quickly dispersed, but Gwen hung back because she was on kitchen duty as usual.

"Marge and Alice: y'all come back in," Stella leaned into the hallway to call the two maids she had dismissed. Stella gave Marge one last look shaking her head. "You went too far this time Marge, too far."

Marge picked up a dish of mashed potatoes as she shrugged. "I didn't reckon it would be such a big deal, and I thought it made sense!"

"Well it sure made sense to Doris, seen as she was gone the next day."

"That aint my fault," Marge countered, walking into the dining room with Alice and Gwen close behind.

"Well whose fault is it then?" Gwen asked.

"Doris shouldn't have gone to Morgana, begging not to be cursed like a maniac. No, y'all can't put the blame on me for that!"

Alice leaned over to set down the bowl of rolls which had just come out of the kitchen. "I knew something was off with that girl the moment I met her—there was something shifty 'bout her—but I didn't know she was flat out crazy. I mean hell, you gotta be crazy to take anything Marge says seriously!" Alice cackled at her own joke.

"Hush y'all, I think I hear the family comin'," Gwen whispered quickly, and the other two maids quieted.

The three maids quickly turned to retreat back to the kitchen, when Alice placed a comforting hand on Gwen's shoulder. "Gwen girl, are you okay, sugar?" Alice looked at how Gwen was clutching her stomach with concern. Since the beginning of the week, Gwen had been having sporadic headaches and nausea, and had nearly thrown up yesterday. The poor girl needed a day off.

Gwen tried not to look as queasy as she felt. She was sure that she was coming down with some sort of bug, but she wasn't sure which. She tried her best not to complain, though. "Ah, thanks for askin'. But you know that headache I had earlier?"

Alice nodded; she remembered.

"I took some medicine for it, but I reckon it and my stomach aren't friends."

"Let me know if it gets worse, 'cause then I'm takin' you home."

"Yes ma'am I will. But I'm sure it'll pass."

Gwen staggered back into the kitchen, as the Pendragons and their two guests filed into the dining room.

"Oh, nonsense! Vivian, Merlin: you two are welcome here any night. It wouldn't be a proper dinner without you two; you're like family," Uther insisted as the four young people followed behind him, taking their respective places around the long table, and Uther at the head. "Besides, when I'm surrounded by you youngsters, I don't feel as old as I really am!"

Everyone gave a half-hearted laugh; the kind offered as a reflex to a joke which isn't all that funny, but it would be rude to do otherwise.

Slowly, Uther's gaze drifted to Arthur and Vivian, and it took all of Uther Pendragon's might not to grin at the sight: his plan was moving along swimmingly. As he encouraged Vivian to come to the Pendragon Estate more and more, the lovely girl had become a permanent fixture in the home. And slowly, but ever so surely, the contempt which Arthur held toward Vivian and their relative awkwardness had dissipated, and the two were actually able to hold a civil conversation with one another. Uther could even detect a genuine laugh or smile from time to time, and perhaps a look of longing for the other. He knew his persistence would pay off.

Former enemies—check. Acquaintances—ha! They had already dated; check. Friends—check. Engaged couple to be married…Uther was a patient man, and he knew he would be able to harvest the fruit of his virtue soon. He could already envision the two at the altar, the new home which he would build for them, the grandkids—a set of twins would be nice…

"Uncle?"

Uther snapped out of his daze to find Morgana waving her hand in front of his face to pull him out of his oblivion. He found four expectant and curious gazes glued upon him, and he noticed that all of the food had been set on the table. How long had he daydreamed?

"Arthur, why don't you lead the prayer over the food tonight?" Uther offered, quickly recovering.

"I never say it."

"There's a first for everything."

Everyone bowed their heads on cue, as Arthur said the simple and customary prayer of thanksgiving over the bounty of food. "Amen," each person said in harmony.

As the food was passed around, Morgana voiced an objection towards her uncle. "Uncle Uther, as long as I've lived at the Estate, not once have I said the blessing over the food."

"Well of course not, you're a witch; remember?" Arthur chuckled, picking up a roll from the center of the table. The opportunity was too ripe not to pick!

"Oh, ha ha, you're very funny," Morgana said with a scowl, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked towards Merlin who too laughed, but much quieter. "And I'm not a witch."

"Not according to the maids," Arthur said with a grin.

"Oh, that's sweet, gossiping with the maids now, are we? How enterprising."

"Well, at least they're not afraid to talk to me."

"But you wouldn't put a curse over their families Arthur, would you?" Merlin asked, joining in on the fun.

"I'd have to borrow some spells from Morgana first!" Arthur swatted Merlin on the shoulder, his eyes closing in laughter.

"Enough!" Morgana bellowed much louder than she intended. "Hearing the maid's mindless chatter is enough, but then coming from you two! God, who even listens to such foolish things!" Morgana Pendragon was a lot of things, but witch, voodoo priestess—whatever her half-witted staff claimed—was not one of them.

"Morgana dear, calm down," Uther said quietly. "They're just teasing, darling."

"I will not calm down! I'm being called a witch in my own home, and everyone thinks it's a big joke! Look at Merlin!" Morgana pointed across the table at Merlin who was trying his hardest not to laugh, but his tight grin and squinted eyes gave it away. "He can hardly contain himself! Is that what I am? A big gag for everyone to mock?"

"Darling, no one's saying—"

"You're right, they're just calling me a witch instead!"

"Morgana, if it aint true, don't let it get to you," Vivian offered her advice to the conversation.

"Vivian, was that supposed to be a tidbit of helpful advice?" Morgana snarled.

Vivian immediately recoiled at Morgana's words. "I was just tryin' to help."

"Well don't. And Arthur, I swear: if you keep laughing I'm gonna come over there and—"

"Morgana, that is enough!" Uther bellowed, pushing away from the table. "Young lady, I don't know exactly what has been wrong with you lately, but I surely suggest that you fix it—quickly. Now, I will not tolerate any more of this behavior. I assure you, Arthur and Merlin will behave like proper gentlemen for the rest of the meal." Uther scooted closer to the table, content in his diffusion of the situation as his combative niece too sat, and tried to go about eating.

There was a minute of awkward silence, where the only sound filling the grand dining hall were the clinking of fine china with heavy silver-ware, and the movement of crystal glasses filled with wine. There was some small talk. "The weather is mighty nice, today. Reckon it'll be a nice spring.—Nearly finished with your college credits? I'm proud.—Work is all the same."

The state of quietness resumed, until Uther spoke, precluding with a dignified clearing of his throat. "I spoke with former Councilman Henry Tate this morning," Uther stated nonchalantly, as if he were reporting the morning's weather or a mundane trip to the grocery store.

All four youngsters paused, looking up to Uther for further detail on the scorned and rejected councilman—they even stopped chewing.

"Don't quit eating on my account!" Uther said with a nervous laugh.

"Well, is it true that they're in Syracuse?" Vivian asked.

"Did she and Raymond finally run away together, like we all figured they would?" Arthur offered his question to the mix too.

"Rumor had it that they were gonna try and get hitched after they found out she was pregnant—good luck with that!" Morgana said with a snort.

"But did Mary Tate really get knocked up by that colored guy? All we heard were rumors," Merlin added his own question to the pile.

"Oh, everyone, let's have just a little more tact, shall we?"

"Well…is it true then, Uncle?" Morgana asked Uther who had continued to dodge their inquiries.

Uther wiped the corners of his mouth with his linen napkin, the obvious sign that he was uncomfortable. Why had he even broached the subject? He should've continued talking about the weather. "The Tates have settled down nicely on their estate in Syracuse. Mrs. Tate is involved with the country club up there and is having a blast. The former Councilman is helping the mayor, and plans to run for some sort of local office in a couple of years, but he's already making important acquaintances. Mr. Tate told me that Mary has used her spare time to tend the stables, and has taken up horse-riding, isn't that nice? And a nice young man—the mayor's son—is courting her, and they're both very happy. Mr. Tate reckons the boy will ask for Mary's hand in marriage before the month is up. Isn't that nice?" Uther was met with four blank stares., and he sighed. "There was no mention of a baby, and I assume…everything just fell into place. Everyone can move on. The end." Uther went back to his food, but he felt a knot in his stomach. Oh God, he really should've kept his mouth shut, and let the awkward silence continue. This was far worse, now there would be more questions…questions he wasn't willing to answer.

No one even blinked at Uther's report.

"Mary is…dating someone? A white fella?" Vivian asked hazily.

"No, Vivian, she's dating a Martian," Arthur snapped back with a roll of his eyes.

"But when she left, she was pregnant. Everyone knew it," Merlin said totally confused, returning to the main and most pressing question.

"Maybe she wasn't really. You know how rumors are…" Arthur tried to add a glimmer of hope to the ambiguous report.

"No, no, she was. I know for a fact," Vivian said without a second thought.

"Y'all, there are ways to…take care of these sort of things. Unwanted things…" Morgana said before chewing a bite of mashed potatoes. Everyone's eyes widened at her statement. "What? we're all thinking it, I just said it."

Uther felt like covering his eyes with one of his hands, so he wouldn't have to view the train wreck he had neglectfully created.

"Unwanted things?" Vivian asked, not liking where the conversation was turning.

Merlin took a sip of his wine, shaking his head. "Mary would never do that. Her family wouldn't let her."

"Oh, I'm sure her family would be all too glad," Arthur said with a scoff, taking a gulp of his own wine.

Vivian covered her mouth, looking around the table in horror. "Oh dear Lord, no! She could never—would never—but babies don't just up and disappear…" Vivian wrapped her arms around herself. "Oh sweet baby Jesus…I wish I never heard any of this…I don't want to hear no more!"

"Why do all of y'all sound so surprised? What would you do if you were stuck with a mulatto sucker, and you were from a prominent family? We're talkin' 'bout Mary Tate here: the beauty queen, the one who had fellas running in circles for her, who's daddy was on the city council, and mama ran the country club like a queen. She's not a piece of redneck white trash out in the country, where people don't care about these sorts of things. Anyhow, what would Mary Tate do with a half-breed baby?"

"Morgana, it aint no 'half breed'!" Vivian said, immediately disagreeing with her best friend. "And she would love the baby, that's what she would do, 'cause it was hers!"

Uther slinked farther into his seat, groaning as he did so.

"Maybe it was for the best," Morgana said in all seriousness. "I know it's terrible, but that baby wouldn't have had any kind of life. He would've had a bum for a daddy, and a mother who might have loved him, and a family who hated him. There are reasons these sorts of things don't happen, and the sad thing is that the baby was a casualty of his parent's frivolous affair. Don't get me wrong, it's sad that such a thing had to be done, but then again: it had to."

Everyone around the table was too shocked to respond.

"Morgana's right, everyone," Uther said, finally finding his voice. "Sometimes, certain liberties have to be taken in extraordinary situations. Now everyone can finally move on with their lives, and forget about this terrible and unnecessary mess. Raymond has a fresh start up in Chicago, far away from Mary and her new beau, who she can really make a life with and then start a real family. It's the proper order of things; this tawdry affair was just a hiccup. Yes, a terrible and ghastly hiccup which need not be repeated. Everyone can just…forget."

Arthur shook his head, swirling the wine in his glass with a grin. "Y'all two are really something else. No, people can't just forget, not normal healthy people, anyhow. And what you're saying is that colored people's lives are worth less than our own kind."

"No one is making that judgment, son. It's just…it's just—it's not how things are done." Uther stated loudly and clearly. "We have a certain way of conducting our society, making sure everyone is in their God given place. And when those lines are breached, mayhem like this erupts."

"I reckon I missed the memo when you were made God, Father, 'cause the way of 'doing things' was made by people like you."

"It's for the best. Mary's family wouldn't have been able to handle a mulatto baby. Their already tarnished reputation would have been totally destroyed. There is no room for a colored baby in that family, and that's just how things are. Colored belong with their own kind, and we ought to stick with our own as well. It's how things have been done since the beginning of time, and as far as I can see, it's gone pretty well."

"So we ought to do whatever it takes so we can go on being a superior unblemished race, is that it? Throw the baby out with the bath water?"

Everyone around the table physically cringed at the unintended pun.

"This never should have happened in the first place. Now everything is just erased," Uther tried to explain this to his son with calmness, but his anger was slowly mounting at each objection.

"Arthur, I fail to see the problem here," Morgana said shaking her head. "It was a necessary evil."

"But you wouldn't be saying that if the baby had been white; y'all would've been mortified. But now it's okay because the baby was a colored—mulatto—it's okay to get rid of them, because we don't want more of those 'half breeds' running around, isn't that right Morgana? Isn't that what you called it, a 'half breed', like it was some sort of mongrel?" Merlin asked, defending his friend, unable to remain silent for a moment longer.

Uther and Morgana physically winced at Merlin's sarcastic contribution. When had the Pendragon family dinners turned into all-out ideology debates versus the Northern Yankees and the Southern Dixies?

"Don't y'all dare put words into my mouth!" Morgana declared angrily. "I'm just trying to understand why you're so surprised. This sort of thing happens all the time; it's just that no one wants to talk about it."

Vivian looked down at her plate of food, her arms still wrapped around herself. "This all just makes me so sad."

Morgana looked at Vivian, who appeared to be on the brink of tears. "Well, the world can be a sad place."

Vivian looked around the room during the pause, and she realized that the room was waiting for her to speak. She looked down at her plate, solemnly shaking her head. "All of this madness erupting lately: people's houses getting burned down, men being dragged outta their homes in the middle of the night, people running up North and then killing their own kin…" A few tears fell from the brim of Vivian's eyelids, but she didn't bother to wipe them away as she kept her head bowed. "We can't even be human to one another anymore; is that the proper order of things Mr. Uther?"

Uther diverted his gaze from Vivian.

"I reckon dogs have more compassion than us on a good day. Arthur and Merlin are right…we aint God, and we could at least try and understand one another. I'm not sayin' that we need to run into the streets, holding hands and singing 'Kumbaya' or nothin', but those streets don't got to be lined with blood, do they? We're supposed to be the master race, evolutionary superior in every realm to everyone, but we can hardly get along. What good evolution has done for us! And that's all I got to say."

Vivian's words quieted any fiery retorts or sarcastic wise-cracks which each remaining occupant was ready to blast, as they all looked at her as if she had eight heads. Never had they heard words so profound come from her, a girl whose conversations were either hysterical or superficial chit-chat about the latest fashion or the newest gossip. But she did always have a tender heart—a gentle soul—and no matter what type of fit she threw, or maneuvers she pulled to get her way, that could never be denied of her.

"Excuse me," Vivian said hardly above a whisper. "I don't feel too well, and I reckon I ought to get home." Vivian scooted away from the table and stood, grabbing her purse from behind her chair. Her eyes were turning pink, and she sniffled once, and no more. Nothing for dramatic effect, no frills, just candid emotion

As if on cue, the Pendragons and Merlin too stood, each expressing different levels of guilt on their ashen faces as Vivian promptly left the room. They each stood in silence, until they heard Vivian's car door shut, and Vivian tear out of the driveway like she was on a NASCAR race track down in Tuscaloosa.

Almost simultaneously Arthur and Morgana turned to one another, pointing and nearly yelling: "Are you happy now! What? It's not my fault—it's all yours!"

"You wrung her emotions like a wet dish cloth!" Morgana accused her cousin. "With all of your 'unblemished race' bullshit! No one even mentioned that until you opened your fat mouth!"

"My fat mouth? You're the one who wound her up with all of your 'half breed' and 'mulatto' talk! It aint my fault that she's a healthy human being with a heart," Arthur gave Morgana a disgusted once over. "Can't really say that much for you anymore."

Morgana took a step to her cousin. Had he not been physically larger and imposing, she was sure that she would've hit him in that very instant. "There's a difference between a bleeding heart, and a rational one!"

"Okay! Time out, enough!" Uther exclaimed, literally stepping in between the feuding cousins, and physically pushing them apart with his arms. Had he not known better, he would have expected blows. "This supper is finished. Both of y'all go to your rooms!"

Arthur took a step backward, holding up his hands. "I'm not staying here for another minute. Merlin, let's go."

Merlin looked mortified, as he felt Arthur nearly drag him out of the dining room. "Uhh, thank you for the dinner, Mr. Uther."

Uther turned to Morgana, but she had quickly spun around. "Save it Uncle, I'm going to my room."

"No, you wait a second young lady; I'm not through with you!"

Morgana paused at the doorway separating the dining room from the hall, where she gave her Uncle a look over her shoulder daring him to follow her. He didn't.

Uther stood in the middle of the room, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he closed his eyes tightly. His family which he so cherished seemed to be quickly unwinding, split by Arthur's radicalism and Morgana's more traditional views. The Pendragons had their own personal and messy Civil War reenactment, with he and Morgana cast as the diehard Confederates fighting for tradition and proper social order. Arthur and Merlin the meddling and idealistic Yankees who couldn't mind their own business and leave well enough alone, and Vivian Remington starred as the border states; unsure which side their allegiance lay.

From the corner of his eye, Uther could see some of the maids lingering in the kitchen. No doubt they all heard and perhaps enjoyed the free "dinner and a show", and were too afraid to come out and face his wrath. "Y'all can come out and clean up now. We're all done." Uther retreated to his study, accompanied by his burning Kentucky bourbon, and Cuban cigars.

Morgana trudged up the steps, absolutely seething in anger. How had her Uncle remained so calm, as he heard all of the things his beloved son was spouting out; trying to make her look like the villian! She and her Uncle were the only sane ones left of the bunch, it seemed. And Vivian! What on earth was that…words of wisdom from the mouth of babes? Morgana wasn't sure, but she didn't like it. Merlin and Arthur were beginning to indoctrinate her, and she appeared to be buying it hook, line, and sinker. She always was too emotional.

She reached the top step, before Morgana's fuming rage was interrupted by the sound of sickness. She neared one of the guest bathrooms where it was clear that someone was vomiting, followed by bursts of coughing. Morgana neared the door which was slightly ajar, pushing it open with her foot. She found Gwen on her knees, huddled over the toilet bowl, in the process coughing up a lung. Morgana had noticed that the maid had been sick all week, but she hadn't paid that much attention to her today.

"Gwen, are you okay?" Morgana stepped into the bathroom, eyeing the maid with caution as if she were a rabid animal—she wanted to appear calm, but really she didn't know how to approach her.

Gwen quickly turned around, some curls falling from her loose bun. "Oh, Miss Morgana," Gwen paused, fearing that she was ready to project again. But nothing came up, so she sat down, flushing the toilet and wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry. Something is wrong with my stomach. I'm not too sure," Gwen said out of breath.

Morgana eyed Gwen suspiciously. Not once had she seen the maid sick before. Out of duty and politeness she asked: "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Gwen kept her eyes shut, and shook her head. "No, thank you."

"I reckon you want some privacy, don't you?"

Gwen nodded, even the slight movement aching her throbbing head.

"I hope you feel better," Morgana said already backing away. "Let me know if you want anything." Morgana cringed as she heard another coughing fit as she closed the door.

Morgana quickly retreated to her room where she spent about thirty minutes writing in her diary, and then another thirty going through her night time beauty regimen. The entire time she had an uneasy feeling. Gwen had progressively become sicker; Morgana would find her in the mornings sitting down because her head was aching, or explaining that she had a bad case of stomach cramps whenever Morgana bothered to ask. She pushed the thoughts to the periphery and fell asleep with the radio softly playing in the background.

Morgana sat towards the back of the stuffy room, crossing her legs uncomfortably as she looked around at the decorations. Tacky and colorful streamers hung from the wall, and there was a table overflowing with equally colorfully wrapped gifts. To the left of that was a buffet table with finger food, where a couple of people stood, happily munching away.

"I'm next!"

Morgana quickly turned and the excited outburst. Vivian?

"I want the new mama-to-be to open my present next," the blonde nearly bounced up from her seat, carrying a large box with a blue bow wrapped around it. She walked through a row of chairs until she reached Gwen, who sat in a chair in a long purple dress. Her stomach was large with motherhood, and Arthur sat so close to her, Morgana felt like she should move them apart so not to scandalize some of the children she saw scampering about the festive room.

"Oh Vivian dear, you've given us so much already! We couldn't possibly take anything else," Gwen said, eyeing the box thrust in her direction.

"Well, it aint for y'all!" Vivian said with a laugh. "It's for the twins, and seen as I don't know which I'm the godmother of yet, I figured I'd just get a little somethin' for the both of them."

Arthur took the gift on behalf of his wife. "Thanks Viv," he stood up, giving her a kiss on the cheek, and she patted him on the back in return.

"Well go on y'all, don't be shy. I saw it in the store, and I said to myself: 'Won't that just be darlin' on them twins?' Right then I knew it'd be the perfect gift for the baby shower!" Vivian was absolutely beside herself with glee.

Gwen blushed as she took the wrapped box from Arthur, turning it over in inspection. It was quite large.

One moment Morgana was watching a radiant Gwen and proud Arthur joyfully opening a gift meant for their children in a room full of smiling faces, when a sort of vertigo overtook Morgana and her eyes closed shut to try and stop the effects of the spinning room. When she felt it stop, she slowly opened her eyes, and found that her surroundings had completely changed. This room was not warm and crowded, but dank and barren, and the only source of light came from a single window, carved out of the stone walls.

"Hello?" Morgana asked quietly into the darkness. She stood, when she felt the tug of cast-iron chains against her wrist, rubbing her raw each time she moved. "Hello!" She screamed hysterically this time. She looked around, and realized she was in a small stone room with concrete flooring, lined with hay which was turning black with filth. She screamed as she saw a rat scurry before her, causing her to run her back into the stone-cobbled wall. She was undoubtedly in a dungeon; a small, dark, and stinking cell. "Uncle Uther?" Morgana called out in vain, standing to try and project her voice more, but the chains created more sores as she moved. " Arthur? Please, any one! Why am I here?"

Morgana sprung up with a start, her heart threatening to beat a hole through her rapidly moving chest as her light eyes darted about the dark, frantically looking for nothing in particular, as she put a hand to her forehead—she was drenched in sweat. She tried to control her breathing, rationalizing with herself as she threw her thick hair from her shoulders.

"It was just a dream, it doesn't mean anything." But then a tiny voice at the back of her head, a subconscious Morgana was trying so hard to squelch said: "But you have the gift of prophecy. Your dreams are always warnings, or foretelling the future. You have a gift."

Morgana stayed like that, sitting up ramrod straight in her bed, her chest moving a mile a minute, before she was able to calm down slightly. She slinked off of the bed, making her way to the dark bathroom.

Perhaps all this talk of babies was going to her head, and it so disturbed her that it transferred to her subconscious dream state. Morgana took this as a possibility, but as she splashed her face with cold water, a sinking feeling overtook her, causing her gut to drop like a block of concrete.

"I knew it was only a matter of time. Isn't this how it always ends with people like them? The girl gets pregnant to keep the guy, and he still takes off." Morgana put a hand on her wet forehead, fearing that she was about to swoon. "I'm surprised she didn't get pregnant sooner. I'm such an idiot, I should've know—she's had all the signs of morning sickness!" Morgana had taken an anatomy class last year, and knew that 'morning' sickness symptoms could really occur any time of the day.

Morgana began pacing her bathroom, speaking expressively with her hands as well as out loud. "Why couldn't Arthur just stick to his own? Now look! There was no evidence before; everything could've been wiped clean!" Morgana wasn't aware of the magnitude of her vibrating rage until she found herself picking up a soap-holder and throwing it across the room, relishing as it shattered into innumerable pieces. Just like her life was about to. "Syracuse, here we come!"

"No!" Morgana declared, looking at her reflection in the mirror. "I'm not gonna let some nigger baby ruin my life," she said trying to thwart the heart attack she felt approaching fast. "A bastard child will destroy our reputation…I bet this is what Gwen has waited for, something to secure Arthur and his money—an anchor baby. Oh God, they make me sick," Morgana felt like she would hurl at any moment. "Well, I'll be damned before that happens."

Morgana stood straight, looking into the mirror at her own reflection with a vengeance.

A/N: Long chapter (not very many scenes, but boy, were they long!) to make up for my absence. Hope you all liked! Can't wait for next week's!