Chapter Two

A Relic Heirloom of the Past

A/N Hi, guys! Gah, sorry for the late update! More into the story there will be some Spanish words and some Latino history put in here along other things! I admit that this chapter is a bit slow but shows Florence on the type of person she can really be when the situation calls for it. Please don't be offended on the some of the things on here, that's why it's rated M for a reason... And special thanks to my followers here! Please follow and review! I love criticism, ya'll! You should follow me on my tumblr at Somerandumb-writer! I write oneshots there!

Chester-Grey: I will be continuing this story and I'm a sucker for these types of stories as well! Thanks for your lovely comment by the way, it means a lot! And hopefully my future chapters will be as well written as the first chapter! Please enjoy this chapter!

Rasha007: Yo! You do not sound pushy at all! The pushier the better in my case. And I whole-heartedly believe that Lawless is a kickass movie! I love the Bondurant brothers as well, especially Forrest, man. I am glad that you like my story! Enjoy!

Florence's stale eyes stared at the golden pearl hair pin that was passed down from many generations of her mother's side. Although the idea of marriage and commitment frightens her, she knew deep down that she will never get to use the pin. She felt dishonorable of it and that had saddened into her depths. It was like an invincible hand crushing the very beating of her heart, it was ready to be ripped out of her.

Florence sat on her mismatched quilted bed, going through old things that her mother left her with. As she dug further into the decaying abyss of rusted objects, and dried rose petals, beneath it all she found an old photo. A slow, tremulous sob wheezed from her inflamed throat, and the silent tears fell drop after drop. She tried to control her running nose, smearing the waters on her sleeve. It's been more than some years since the last time she had seen the face of the woman who gave birth to her.

And now she can barely remember her mothers face.

Florence's small thumbs rubbed over the black and white photo, getting rid of the unnecessary grime that was smeared over. If she stared any harder, her eyes would probably burn holes through the photos. Her mother, her Madre, her spirit was perhaps the strongest memory that Florence had of her. And what a shame, she felt that she didn't inherit that. Florence's umber head tilted to a side, observing every detail that her mother portrayed.

Maria Amelie used to walk on this very Earth many years ago. She had shorter and more volumed hair than Florence. Her nose was long and broad and the skin that cover the very skeleton of her frame was tanned with deep pours. The woman was smaller than average height which mattered not since her waxen smile compensated that. She may seem shy, she may seem timid, but Maria was none of the sort. Maria, bless her heart, was a respectful woman who wasn't scandalous, but would run her smart mouth if something and someone bothered her or her family. She was the overprotective mother bear of the family and she had an alpha to help with the cubs. Even the alpha male backed down from his mates roar.

And now, Maria is gone. The only memory of her was the spirit and the children she left behind, more so, her replica, Florence.

But how could anyone say that? Florence felt if anything, she was the exact opposite of her mother. Florence is timid, is shy, she couldn't start a fight even if she wanted to. Hell, that didn't stop her family from training her how to be a damn soldier. Unlike her mother, Florence wasn't petite. She had womanly curves that a man would be pleased to grab them, sure she was pudgy but it didn't really matter to her since she has no one. People saw and thought of her as a ghost, some have seen her and some haven't. The some that saw her or even her family knew that they were different. See, they were a bit tanner than the regular folk that were born and bred there. Maria had the darkest set of brown hair that anyone's seen, her accent a bit different. Here in the County of Franklin, not many persons take too kindly towards people who were a bit-different.

Still, that didn't stop her father from marrying the most beautiful woman alive, the one who made him feel alive. He didn't give a hoot or a holler if she was from a different race. The two met in their early teens, married in their early teens and even had kids in their early teens. And no regrets had came since. Florence's father, Ernest Kenneth Whyte was a white man of german decent, he didn't speak the language as his mother and her father before her did. His height was lingering, Ernest's eyes were hazel with specks of orange and yellow surrounding his pupils.

For a man his current age, Ernest was considered healthy and quite the handsome man, his jaw was still a bit squared and a smudge of extra fat had befallen on them. Every older woman, every widower in the small town wanted Ernest to be with them, even the younger dames. He was a hard laborer who wanted best for his family and loved them as best as he could which was his all. He was grateful for the four lives that Maria gave birth to, he was grateful for the life she lived with him even though it wasn't the easiest.

Ernest tried his damned hardest to teach his kids the very best in life. He grew up in a family of soldiers, a family of fighters- a family of survivalists. They were all very educated, very enthusiastic about learning more, to be more. And their knowledge was now passed down to his very children who knew more about surviving and fighting more than anything.

In Florence's memory, her mother wore the many floral dresses that she had going to church every Sunday whose pastor had health issues and yet he conducted. Florence disliked going to a Sunday school it wasn't because she thought it useless, it was because she felt unworthy of setting her foot in their holy cave. She loved running through the mud and forest, she loved wearing pants and loose shirts. She was free, she was happy.

She was Florence.

Leaving her eyes from the photo, tears dried from their pores, Florence sighed and set the photo down back into its dusty box and closed it, putting it back under her squeaky bed. Noticing that her brothers were done taking their nightly baths, Florence's hands grab the warm discolored towel that was hanging in front of the small fireplace. She left her wooden walled room as her legs took her towards the bathroom where the water was already warmed up for her in a white porcelain bathtub.

Florence's sore muscles contracted, moving around to remove her dirty and torn rags from her body. The tight shirt that constricted her breathing was now laying on the humid floors and finally after a long day of running with Jack and Cricket, and working with her manly family, she could conclusively breathe. The unexpected cool air snuck through the cracks of the walls hitting her skin. Goosebumps traveled everywhere, her light brown nipples erected slowly as she shivered a bit. Next, came off her dark ripped trousers and white cotton underwear, leaving them motionless on the floor as if they were her enemy.

She tip-toed into her bathtub, checking if the temperature was right. Being done so, she eased her body, reclining her back onto the bathtub. Florence's arms positioned to the sides of the tub as her body soaks in her tensed frame. At the time that her thoughts flew from her mind, the daydreaming began. She cupped one of her breasts, taking mind on how mountainous they were, they overflowed her small hands. With her eyes closed, she unsurely began to fondle her breasts, wondering in curiosity how would it feel to have a mans strong hands teasing her them or even taking a bite. Bewildered at her own flustered ideations, Florence sidestepped from them and tried continuing to take a normal bath.

Thereafter her bathe, she changed into her flannel sleepwear and then walked down the wooden staircase, finding her family bantering at each other while setting up the table. Aside from finding the pot of potato stew on the iron stove, the aged-stoned fireplace spewed a cackling noise merely burning the bright embers danced from the fiery wood in the air with grace, warming the home.

Her white bearded father rose from his seat to once and for all, serve his family their bowls of soup while his sons helped placing the plate of bread rolls and a pitcher of lemonade for Florence and their pitcher of moonshine. Leaving the sink from washing her hands, she gave a quick peck on her father's cheek in which he returned a chuckle. She sat down next to her oldest brother, Alcide who placed a roll on her plate to accompany her soup with. He gave a small smirk to his little sister in greeting while the second eldest, Clarence filled her glass with lemonade. Florence gave everyone a small and awkward smile, but continued to eat her food anyways.

Further into the supper, the brothers became more rowdier and louder, laughing at each other, with each other. Alcide slapped his knee as he clutched his stomach, snorting a giggle, "Poor ol' Sal always gave ya' a goddamn hard time 'cause you and your stupid ass won't stop disturbing poor Ida Marie."

Clement, the youngest of the brothers took a swig of his shine and grumbled, "Kiss my ass, Al." The two older brothers laughed even harder. At a fine and calm time like these, Florence really takes a good look at her family. Although everyone in town knew they were different and didn't much like different, they all knew and begrudgingly admit that the Whyte brothers were perhaps the most best looking men in town besides the Bondurants.

Many woman wait for the Whyte men to take their reins with their rugged looks and tall, muscly physique. Alcide had black wavy hair, his dark beard trimmed close to his jawline, and he also had expressive hazel eyes. Clarence had curly dirty blond hair and brown eyes that the gals in town melted for. And Clement with his shaggy brown hair, short sideburns, and dark green eyes. Apart from having handsome faces, it didn't help that they were respectful, hardworking men in which the fathers would force their daughters away. And Florence...Well, she was Florence. Unkempt, quite and a bit dull if anyone asked so.

But, everyone knew how they really were. The Whyte's were extremely protective of each other, they would die for each other and kill for each other. They were to be afraid of, no one wanted to be dead at their lethal ends.

The Bondurants are legendary. They were known to be invincible.

The Whytes are nightmares. They were known to be haunting.

And the people who dared to strife with them, didn't come back the same, or didn't come back at all. Suddenly, a large hand took ahold of her upper arm, waking her from her distraction. Her brother Clement furrowed his burly eyebrows and asked, "You alright?" At this, everyone was looking at her.

She retracted her arm as he let go. She nodded and replied, "Guess I'm a bit tired." Her fingers curled, intertwining with one another. Florence looked distractedly out the scratched windows.

"Our girl has been working her behind off," Ernest praised proudly. "She works too hard sometimes." He nudged his beaten grey cup at Clarence to serve him another pitch of shine.

"She ain't a Whyte is she doesn't," smiled Clarence, he grabbed his fathers cup, pouring in the alcohol and then returning it to him. "She fights better than the cowards in town."

Florence blushed slightly at their comments, taking it with pride.

"Where do you go when you're done with your chores anyways, Florence?" Alcide questioned, making himself more comfortable on the splintery chair. "We notice that you leave."

Spluttering she said, "A-a well, you know fishing or-or being at the forest." She stopped her yapping or else they would be even more suspicious. She scratched her head in embarrassment. Florence rose quickly from her seat, the chair made a loud screech, making the boys cringe at the noise. With a large gulp she bid everyone goodnight and went towards her room.

Before shutting her door she hears her brother Clement ask in wonder, "Do you think she has a boy waiting for her?"

"Shut the fuck up, Clem," Alcide growled in exasperation, giving Clement an annoyed look.


"It's 1932, and the Great Depression just began. Well, not really anyways most people in the states were already poor, life was already depressing as is. The people who've been born without the luxury of money and finery had no idea why people were complaining. They've been butt poor their whole lives, and suddenly the fucking Great Depression made a change?" Angrily spat an old man who was chewing Tobacco. "Most people that had been suffering, were already suffering for their whole lives. My daddy and his daddy before were already fucking poor as shit. Ain't no Great Depression gonna change how things really were if its already been there the whole time."

The man next to him nodded in sympathy. "I hear ya', Horace."

"And now many field jobs been taken by those fucking Beaners. Coming out from the other side as if they owned the place," Horace grumbled while he was eyeing the bottom of his empty cup. "I tell ya', Paul since when did us proud Americans let mother fucking colored people coming and take what's ours?"

Florence couldn't help but overhear their conversation and felt a bit in rage. They were so stupid and so ignorant as if they didn't see that everyone was the same. They bleed and they die. She was helping out Jack with the cooking in the kitchen and was angrily cutting the onions. Horace's order was coming up and she was the one making it. She stopped cutting and was looking around if the coast was clear without anyone watching her. Florence spat out the largest and gooiest spit in his food.

Served him right, she thought smugly. She walked to the idiot and left his food in front of him.

"Thank you, son," Horace said unfolding the napkin and setting it on his lap. Oh, if he knew that it was a goddamn Beaner who served his food. He took a good bite of his food, noticing it a weird taste but shrugged it off.

And he ate every bite.

She walked over back towards the counter top, grabbing a towel that was stashed behind it. Florence started to clean the pale blue top, rubbing off the red and brown dried up sauces. It was already closing time and Jack disruptively halted his washing. He turned around towards the oblivious teen picking up the mess and he suggested with such determination, "I'm gonna ask Forrest to take you with us to help make a run with our 'shine. Or to at least help and come watch making it with us."

Florence returned a questionable glance at Jack who seemed dead set on her going with them. She wiped the side of her face with her dirtied hands, feeling that a few pieces of her hair were slicking on the side of her face.

As Jack was going to say something else, a group of five men walked in the store. Florence saw that they were looking for trouble, they were stupid enough to walk into Bondurant territory. At the same time Howard and Forrest walked in looking at the strangers with a cold stone glare. Forrest's hands seem to snake towards the pockets of his beige cardigan and gruffly told Jack, "I think it's best to take the boy home now, Jack."

Jack quickly nodded and pushed Florence towards the entrance of the station, hoping to relive her of the trouble. But, a large hand grabbed her by the shoulder to stop her. When Florence looked up, it was one of the men that were giving a hard time to the Bondurants. The fat man that had his shirt buttoned up in the wrong places cocked his pistol. "If I woulda known better, I'd say you have a girl working around here," he mocked as he gave a pointed look at Florence. She had stopped breathing wondering if they actually noticed.

"Let him be. He got nothing to do with this!" Jack thundered.

"And what are you gonna do about it, you cocksucking hick?" That was about the last straw that Florence and everyone else had. A shot rang out, missing Forrest and Howard by an inch. Florence ducked as the man next to her tried to punch her, she bumped into one of their goons that was behind her. She saw a kitchen ax close to her and grabbed it without hesitation, swiftly slicing the man's hand off of its wrist. Blood gurgled out from its wounds as the man cried out in agony, holding on to his arm. The hand fell off unceremoniously onto the floor. There was a lanky man who was an easy shot, Florence threw the small ax that flew into his spinal flesh making him fall forwards. Howard shot two of them, meaning that there was one more left.

Forrest grabbed him by the collar and shoved him harshly onto the mint green walls. "Who sent you?" He growled, his cigar had not once fell from his mouth as he was fighting.

"A-ain't tellin' you sh-shit," he stammered out. Howard dug his sharp blade into the man's thigh. "Ah! Ah! I can't! I can't alright?! He gon' kill me if he found out I told you!"

"What I have in mind will be far worse," Forrest forewarned. He motioned at his brother to have Florence taken home. "Leave Rence at his abode. Got us some business to take care of."

As both Jack and Florence was as the entrance, Forrest had nodded at her in appreciation of her help.

She hated the pang that her stomach made. The flutters.

She was way in too deep with the Bondurants.

And unknowingly, she would only get deeper.

Especially when she knows that Forrest looks at her as if he knew she was hiding something.