A/N: Sorry for the wait! Here's the third chapter, all ready and waiting for you, with special guest star Kevin Price! Thanks so much to everyone who's read it so far, I'm so excited to see it become so popular!

Remember, please review after you've read, and enjoy!

"If the White man who belongs to the chosen seed mixes his blood with the seed of Cain (those with dark skin), the penalty, under the law of God, is death on the spot. This will always be so."

– Brigham Young

1961

Arnold Cunningham's car isn't as nice as the one his parents had, but he makes do. He has a job now—a real job, with a company, though he's still working in the mail room rather than the big offices like he's sure his father would want him too. He makes enough that he can afford near-nightly trips out of his humdrum, typical home into what was once unfamiliar territory, and enough that he can have a ring, however small, sitting in his pocket just in case.

When he pulls up, as silent as someone in an automobile can be, to her front door and sits, shaking, in the driver's seat, all he can think is she is perfect, she is beauty, she is she is she is. And he's proven right when she walks out of the front door, wearing a brand-new dress (brand-new to him only—it was one she had made herself, deft as she was at sewing) with her hair tied high on her head in a ponytail. She clutches a small, worn purse, her heels clicking gently on the wooden steps as she walks towards him, glancing about. He leans over and quickly opens the door from the inside, though the shifter sticks into his stomach as he does so—it's worth it so she can get in his car with ease.

So they can leave, find somewhere they can be alone together, somewhere to hold hands and just talk. As he starts up the car, Arnold glances over at her and feels his cheeks go pink—his hands tighten on the steering wheel as she leans a bit closer, pressing a swift, perfect kiss to his cheek. Their drive is quiet, as it always is, he too afraid to speak, she too comforted by his mere presence there to break the silence. It isn't long before they pull off into an empty lot, cleared of trees, making way for a development of some sort—and he wonders if he might buy a house there some day, when he's making money and the ring in his pocket fits on the finger of a certain girl. As they pull to a stop, Nadine laughs, her fingers creeping towards his.

"Hello, Mister Cunningham," she says teasingly, a smile on her lips—full, thick, sweet lips, lips he wants to feel against his own again. So, instead of postponing it, he shakes a little and leans towards her. When she closes the gap, he feels his heart lift and all his indecision melts away—they should go out this time.

Parting, he reaches up and touches her face, a thick, slightly-damp palm pressed to her cheek for an instant before he pulls it back, bashful again. "H-Hullo…Nadine. Uh, no, no, dangit, um—M-Miss Hutchison…?"

With another laugh, soft and just the slightest bit seductive, she moves in for another kiss and receives an enthusiastic one almost immediately. His hands go to her hair, careful not to disturb it too much, just running along it to feel it beneath his fingers. She holds his shoulders, scooting closer across the seat towards him until their knees brush against each other. He gasps a bit as he pulls back, as he always does, because he's still not used to having limbs touch without shame.

"Arnold." She grips his leg, eyes fiery as she leans in conspiratorially close. "Arnold, maybe…we could go somewhere?"

His throat tightens, and he shifts away—he's almost pressed against the door of the car. It had occurred to him only moments before, but now, faced so clearly with the idea of actually taking her – her, beautiful, flawless, perfect her, colored her – somewhere where other people might see them, his heart suddenly feels as if it's been torn in two, so he just squeaks weakly and tries to figure out how best to word his response.

"Uh…Nadine I don't know i-if that's a good idea or not I mean you're a colored a-and I'm—" It all comes out in a blur, spilling from his lips with seemingly no way to stop it. She stares at him, though, and his words slow to a trickle. "Uh."

"You—You don't want to—"

"No, no, I do wanna, uh…but…we can't, Nadine, I don't wanna get in trouble, I don't…want you to get into trouble, th-that'd be—d'you know what they do to—to— when—"

She swallows, looking away from him for a moment. She does know. She does know, and she just doesn't want to think about it. "Fine. Yes. Okay." With a laboured sigh, she leans her head on his shoulder—when he squirms, she refuses to move, because they aren't in danger here.

With the slightest groan, he leans his cheek against her temple and lets his hands drop onto the seat, though one ends up in the girl's lap—he tries to tug it back, but she holds it there, insistent. "Nadine!" He bites his lip, glancing around at their remote surroundings. "I-I don't think we should, uhnh—"

"Arnold. I love you." It comes out choked, tears starting to well in her eyes. He notices and yelps, leaning in to kiss her again—she stops him, though, pulling away. "I love you, and…and I don't care what happens, as long as we—"

"Wait!" he shouts, holding her face as he remembers the small lump in his pocket. It's been practically burning a hole through the fabric, though it's only now that he truly recalls what it's there for. His fingers dip in and start to try and catch it, small as it is – he thought of how thin and delicate her fingers are, how slim and breakable they appear, as he bought it and now even as he holds it again – so that when he pulls it free, she can see the tiniest sparkle it gives off. "N-Nadine, I—"

She gasps, hands going to her mouth and eyes open wide. "You—oh, my Lord—A-Arnold, this is…is this really…"

"Yeah, hehnh, uhm, I-I—I…oh, jeez louise— I-I love you too. I—I love you more than anything, Nadine! More than m-my—than everything, I-I don't know how to say it, b-but—but I don't ever wanna leave you. Ever! So…s-so, even though we can't, uh…get…married…" He takes her hand with his own and pretends he's not shaking like a leaf, though his tremors make it hard for him to slip the ring onto her finger. "I wanted to…heh, m-maybe pretend, uh, like we're going to!"

It's only when he feels the slow ache in the back of his head that he realizes she's tackled him, her lips frantically pressing a "yes" against his neck, steadily heading upwards towards his mouth. He can only manage a quiet "oh" before they're kissing again, fast and desperate, as if it's their last night together. When they part again, Arnold laughs.

"Heh, uh, so…that's a yes, right?"

It had been a while since graduation, but Arnold had managed to keep in touch with his most unlikely friend—Kevin Price, the boy on the fast track to success, working as an assistant at the Utah State Legislature though he'd only been out of school for two years. It's on a lunch date that he next meets up with him, his palms still sweaty as the memory of his proposal floods back.

"Arnold? Are—gee, Arnold, are you okay? You look kinda…" He tilts his head to the side just slightly, and it's all Arnold can do not to be reminded of his girl – his fiancée, he realizes with a mixture of giddiness and heartache – until the man quirks his eyebrow. "Sweaty."

"Whaaaat, no! No, hah! No, uhnh, I-I'm just…sweating. A bit." He laughs, loud and awkward, hands tight on the edge of the table. He should be eating his sandwich, but he feels a bit too queasy to even try. "Hah, yeah, uh…wh-what were you saying?"

"Oh, I was just talking about this whole…movement that's starting up. It's ridiculous."

"Uh." The bottom drops out of his stomach, and he clears his throat. He has the oddest feeling he knows exactly what Kevin is talking about, and that he won't like it one bit. "What…what movement?"

Shaking his head, his friend looks vaguely excited—more time for him to talk, Arnold supposes. "The…well, I think it's called the civil rights movement. It's just—well, the Negros feel they aren't being treated fairly—can you believe that? They're just as free as we are to live with their own kind!" He sighs heavily, leaning back in his chair. "I've heard there are even people protesting in other states—can you believe that?"

Arnold can only just barely chuckle, trying to force thoughts of Nadine, her sweet grin and quick, soft hands, out of his head for the time being. It's not like he's forgotten that their relationship is frowned upon at best, though "illegal" is a far more likely descriptor, it's just that it cuts down to his heart and makes him reconsider his feelings for her. He's hurting more people than he would even be helping if he keeps it up. With an aching twinge, he takes a deep breath and tells himself not to think so hard—that's Kevin's job.

"Heh, uhnh, but—but don't you, uh, think that—that maybe they're kinda…not…wrong? I-I mean, uhnh, w-we could always…y'know. Let 'em, uh—"

"Arnold!" Kevin gives him a look that he's gotten quite used to seeing—exasperation mixed with haughtiness, because Arnold is an idiot and everyone he talks to isn't. It's a look that Nadine has never given him before in all the months they've known each other, and he feels bitter bile rise in his throat. "We can't give in. If we do, next they'll want to…to run for office! Can you imagine? A colored governor!"

"Well…o-okay, but…what about in the Church? We're s'posed to—to let everyone, uh, join, but—but if they can't take the—"

"Seed of Cain, Arnold, they're the seed of Cain—this is all basics, how could you not know this? Gosh, you'd think you're becoming a…a communist or something!" He sips at his glass of water, having finished his sandwich long ago. "Darn commies are going to be the downfall of this nation, trust me. It's bad enough that there's a Democrat in the White House…"

Arnold tunes him out, though, his cheeks flushed as he numbly takes a bite of his sandwich. It tastes like ash, but it's better than nothing. Kevin's mouth keeps flapping open and closed, and he wonders for a moment if it's better that he pretend to listen instead of blatantly ignore him as he's been trying to do. It's hard to muster up the effort, though, because as he talks, all Arnold can do is think of her—think of her, alone, without him—think of her in his arms as she was only a few days ago—think of both of them, together, walking hand in hand down the street openly, without fear.

"Arnold, I mean it, are you even listening to me?"

"I-I have a girlfriend!" is the first thing that comes out of his mouth in response, and he quickly turns bright red, trying to think of ways to disentangle himself from the trap he's stumbled into.

Kevin just blinks. "Uh. Right. As I was saying…"

Oh. Right. He's talking to Kevin. With a quieter, no less nervous laugh, he goes back to his sandwich and thanks Heavenly Father for making his friend so self-centered.