Chapter Three: Revealed
"Once exposed, a secret loses all its power."
~ Ann Aguirre
(IPOV)
"…And do you know what he said to me, Mother? No. That black fool told me no, that he wasn't serving me vodka in my orange juice!" I winced as my mother, Renee Swan, removed pink rollers from my mahogany and brunette hair. The curls bounced back into place as I complained about Jenks, our incompetent butler.
"They would have never said such a thing in Alexandria!" I continued ranting, staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror. Mother nodded empathetically at my criticism of coloreds in the South. I missed Virginia, where they had respect at least. And I missed my friends, the air, and our nice home. Everything in Birmingham was dry and boring. I hated it already.
"You've got to be patient, Scarlett," Mother said, her brown eyes staring into mine. "It's his first week."
"You're not going to do anything?" I asked incredulously.
"I will," she assured me. "But I've got bigger matters to worry about. I'm interviewing housekeepers today and the movers have yet to unpack all of the boxes."
"Fine," I muttered, dabbing a light pale pink lipstick across my lips. "But this is not over."
Mother tied a ribbon in my hair and I stood up, brushing down the pleats of my floral dress. The sunlight pierced through my large but sparse bedroom. Most of my belongings had yet to be unpacked, and stacks of boxes sat untouched in the corner. I stared longingly at my best friend Angela's photo. We were together from birth on up, for 16 long years, before my selfish father and his booming factory business ripped us apart. He was going to have to spend a lot of money to earn my forgiveness.
Mother kissed me on the cheek, smelling of her expensive lilac perfume, and left me by myself. Since it was summer, school was not in session and I'd be lucky if I met any friends in that horrid town. Well, they'd be lucky if they met me. Anyone who had the pleasure of meeting Scarlett Isabella Swan was the fortunate one, indeed.
Slipping on my heels, I walked out of my room and down the grand staircase. Jenks was waiting at the bottom and I scowled at him. The old man had to be at least 100, and he had already dirtied and wrinkled the formal black uniform Mother bought for him. His dark skin and gray hair stood out against the once prim, white shirt.
Typical darkie, I thought. So damn ungrateful.
"Jenks!" I said in a high-pitched voice, snapping my fingers. "Vodka in a glass of orange juice, now! Tell me no again and Father will beat your ass until it bleeds!"
"Y-yes, Miss Scarlett." Jenks stuttered and scampered off towards the kitchen. The stairs led directly to one of the formal living rooms and each floor was made of marble. I followed behind him but turned left to the dining room, where I sat in one of the chairs. A breakfast feast had been laid out and I immediately reached for the fruit salad. Besides Mother's footsteps in the foyer, the house was quiet. Father left early every morning to supervise his factories and we had yet to hire outside workers for the lawn and pool.
I chewed in silence until the doorbell rang. Mother squealed and clapped her hands, dashing into the dining room.
"How do I look?" She touched her bun timidly, but not a single hair was out of place.
"Perfect as always," I complimented her. She nodded and rushed towards the front door just as Jenks brought me my drink on a silver tray. I took a sip as he remained still, unmoving.
"Well, don't just stand there," I scolded him with a flick of my wrist. "Go be nosy. Tell me what that begging Negro at the door looks like."
I had to hand it to him. No matter how much I berated him or his kind, Jenks never batted an eye. Father said it was because Jenks knew where he belonged. Blacks knew their place and if they valued their lives, they kept quiet. Jenks must have wanted to live, considering how old he was.
Jenks peeked around the corner and I heard a female voice in the background.
"Well?" I hissed.
"She's white," Jenks whispered, looking surprised.
"White? You're lying!" I dropped my fork on my plate and shooed him to the side so I could peek around the corner. Sure enough, that house Negro was telling the truth.
Seated across from Mother was a woman about her age, dressed in a worn dress and scuffed shoes. She had blonde hair and green eyes and her knee bounced nervously. Why on earth would someone like me want to do a black's job?
"Do you know her?" I asked, making sure to keep my voice low.
"Looks familiar, Miss Scarlett. I believe she worked for the neighboring family I did 'fore they moved."
I scoffed. "Why is she working at all? Doesn't her husband have a job?"
Jenks swallowed, glancing away. I could tell by his body language he was hiding something.
"Jenks."
Jenks cleared his throat. "Her husband works, I reckon. But he's, uh …"
"He's what? Poor? Disabled? Sick in the head?"
Jenks paused and something flickered in his eyes. "Poor, Miss Scarlett. He's poor."
"Oh." Jenks suddenly acted as if he had errands to do, walking away while I stared at the unfortunate woman talking to Mother. I made my way quietly to the window that faced the front entrance of our driveway. There was a rusty truck sitting there, sticking out amongst the greenery and fancy estates. I thought nothing of it, but there was a slight movement in the bed of the truck.
Pausing, I gazed harder, but it must have been my imagination.
I turned to finish my breakfast, and there it was again. There was definitely something in her truck.
A dog, perhaps? Why would she leave her animal in this heat? I wasn't too fond of animals, but I wasn't one to let them suffer either.
"Scarlett? Scarlett Isabella?" Mother called my name and I sighed, taking my time as my heels clicked against the floor. The blonde woman turned towards me as Mother made the introductions.
"Esme Masen, this is my lovely daughter, Scarlett. Her hair was as red as could be the day she was born."
I blushed as Esme held out her hand. I shook it lightly. Even though she was white, she was considered the help, and she would receive no greater respect than that.
"Pleasure to meet you, Esme. Can you do hair? And iron clothes? I prefer my garments to be pressed. And I will need assistance getting dressed in the morning. I hate to ruin my nails."
"Yes," she said too eagerly. "Why, of course. I'm a seamstress as well as a housekeeper. I can cook as well and look after children too."
"I don't need looking after," I said rudely. "I'm 16 years old. I'm not a child!"
Esme's face turned pale. "Of course. I apologize. I meant for any little ones you might have, Mrs. Swan."
"Scarlett is our only daughter," Mother responded politely. "Quite the firecracker, but she gets it from her father, I suppose. Oh, and we have a butler, Jenks, who works here as well. He's as black as the night sky, and only been here a week, so if you see him doing anything out of order, you'll tell me immediately. I don't doubt he'd stick his hands in my jewelry box. We whites have to stick together."
Esme glanced down and nodded, but didn't say anything.
"Well, Esme, I think that means you have the job. Everything you've shown me looks legitimate. You'll get paid by the week and—"
"Do you have any pets?" I interrupted, looking out of the window suspiciously.
"No ma'am."
"Hmph."
Mother rolled her eyes at my irrelevant question and told Esme she'd give her a tour. I stalled until they left the room and then snuck out of the front door. Mother's luxury black car shined in the driveway, but Esme's vehicle stuck out like a sore thumb. I stepped cautiously down the steps of our white manor that had a wrap-around porch. The shrubbery was filled with colorful flowers that bloomed despite the sweltering heat. The closer I walked to the truck, the more sure I became that something was lurking in it.
A tarp covered the entire bed and it lay completely still. My heart pounded frantically in my chest. I hoped it wasn't a snake slithering around. I was petrified of those slimy things and the last thing I wanted was to get bit.
I took a deep breath.
Please don't let it be a snake.
I froze momentarily, debating if I should leave. I had a bad habit of sticking my nose where it didn't belong and it usually got me into trouble. On the other hand, if this Esme woman had secrets, it was my business and I'd be doing my parents a favor.
Gripping the heavy plastic in my hands, I tossed it backwards until it folded onto the other half.
And I gasped.
Crouched into the corner was a boy, his head tucked and his knees bent up to his chin. Bits of bark stuck to his ragged clothing and he wore no shoes, just dirty white socks. Since he protected his face I couldn't see his features, but his head was shaved completely bald.
His skin was the most unique shade I'd ever seen. He was white, but with a deep tan that must have come from Alabama's radiating sun.
He moved slightly, trembling because I'd discovered him.
"Who are you?" I asked, annoyed that he wouldn't just sit up already.
The boy said nothing and I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Since you won't speak, I suppose I should ask Esme Masen then."
"Wait." A timid, deep voice spoke beneath the covered limbs and a pair of eyes peeked between his arms. "Please don't. She doesn't know I'm here."
Slowly, the boy let down his arms and sat up, though still crouched down low. He had a strong jaw and facial features, but it was his eyes that stood out the most. They were green like Esme's—which meant he must have been kin—but more emerald in color.
They were mesmerizing.
I'd never thought this about a poor person before, but he was … beautiful.
He didn't seem like the fragile child he was at first glance, and I noticed how he purposely bent his body to make himself appear smaller. He had to be my age, or close to it.
"What's your name?" I asked him. "What are you doing hiding in here?"
He swallowed, as if it were taking all of his strength to answer me. I waited impatiently, tapping my heel against the pavement.
"Edward Lincoln Masen," he finally said.
"Well Edward Lincoln Masen, I suppose that's your mother in my house interviewing for a job," I told him, putting the pieces together. "But that doesn't explain why you're hiding outside like a criminal."
"Because I am one."
Dread crept into my chest as I wondered if he was an escapee from a prison across the state. Maybe Esme was hiding him. Maybe she was a criminal herself.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Before I could let my thoughts run wild, he spoke again. "Ma doesn't know I'm here. Please don't say anything."
His eyes pleaded more than his words ever could.
"Well that depends, Edward—"
"Lincoln," he interjected. "I go by Lincoln. It was my grandfather's name."
"All right, Lincoln. Tell me your crime and then I'll decide whether or not to rat you out."
"I—"
"Scarlett! Scarlett!" Mother waved from the front porch. "Come in honey! You need to taste Esme's lemonade! It's divine!"
I yelled back that I was coming. I worried that Mother might be concerned that I was hanging near Esme's truck, but she just turned around and shut the door without saying another word.
"I'm going in, Lincoln," I taunted him. "Confess what you did and why you're hiding."
"It's not my fault," he whispered.
I laughed out loud. That's exactly what a criminal would say. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead and he looked so scared. I almost felt bad for him.
"What did you do?" I repeated, exasperated that he was dragging this out.
"Nothing," he mouthed and tears slipped from his eyes. "I was born."
I don't know what made me do it, but my eyes lifted to the second story window where Jenks was staring at us from above.
I glanced at Jenks, then back at Lincoln's tanned skin, then back to Jenks again.
The curtain closed and my mouth suddenly felt dry.
Lincoln was …
Which meant Esme …
And Lincoln's father must have been like Jenks …
I almost threw up on the pavement. I almost ran inside and told Mother who she was hiring and what was in the back of the truck. I almost looked for Jenks and whipped him for lying to me and I almost exposed Lincoln exactly for who he was.
But I didn't.
Maybe it was because I had knowledge that gave me the upper hand or maybe it was because I felt pity. No, it definitely wasn't the latter. I felt no pity for Negroes, no matter how pale their skin was.
But I was curious.
I reached for the tarp and whispered to Lincoln, "Your mother got the job. Come with her tomorrow."
His eyes widened and I pulled the tarp over him as if he never existed.