Chapter Nine: Weeds

"Don't ever think I fell for you, or fell over you. I didn't fall in love, I rose in it."

~Toni Morrison

(EPOV)

"Why are we back outside again?"

Scarlett lay on her back holding the book over top of her, her curls spread over the treehouse floor. "Because Mother is insisting that I meet her new uppity friends and I don't want to. Now quit interrupting! I'm getting to the good part."

I wasn't complaining. It was cool outside, with darkened skies and the rain coming down, beating against the wooden planks as leaves blew against the window. We needed the July shower, a break from the scorching heat, and I was just happy to be in Scarlett's company. She was staring at the book, but my eyes were watching her.

She continued reading, giving a half-smile at certain parts while keeping the other half hidden. Maybe she kept it in her heart, but I wondered if I looked hard enough if I would find it in a pasture, growing amongst clovers and dandelions. She had this way of blooming even when there wasn't any sun and it seemed like the rain had been pouring all her life.

"Scarlett?"

She sighed dramatically and sat up, crossing her legs over one another and shutting the book without even folding the page over. "You aren't going to let me finish, are you?"

"I …"

I wanted to ask her a question, but I wrung my hands nervously, too afraid of what she'd say. Scarlett had this way of being brutally honest, but sometimes I wasn't so sure the truth was what I wanted to hear.

"Well? Spit it out already."

"How come you don't hold my hand anymore?" I rushed out in a low voice.

Scarlett's eyes widened and then she shifted uncomfortably.

There it was; the moment she'd tell me she was only trying to be nice that one time I was having a panic attack. Or that it was over two weeks ago and I shouldn't have thought anything of it. I waited for her to call me an ignorant colored boy who was lucky to be able to touch her at all.

Instead, her cheeks blushed and she looked like she wanted to shrink in to herself. "You can't just … It don't … and I—" Scarlett sputtered out her words, trying to think of a way to tell me off without cursing. "Because."

"'Cause why?"

She blew out an exasperated gasp of breath and she blew out other things too, like tingles and sparks that danced across my skin. "You're sheltered, Lincoln. You've got to understand society and its rules and having etiquette. You can't just think something and do it without considering the consequences."

I shrugged, not understanding what all of that had to do with holding hands. "Why not?"

"Because it isn't proper. You and me—we can't just, you know."

"It's my hair, isn't it? I shaved it all off again and now it'll never be!" I moaned like it was the end of the world. "I'll never get the pleasure of holding Miss Scarlett Isabella's hand ever again! Damn you short hair and society! Damn you to hell!"

Scarlett tried to hold back her laughter and failed. It burst out of her, like water from a bubbling well. It soothed my soul, hearing her laugh like that, and even more because it was for me.

"What if I didn't hold your hand?" I probed. "What if I just touched it?"

I wasn't giving up. Scarlett's eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?"

"Like this." I reached over and took her right hand, holding it outward. She flinched, but didn't take it back. I tickled my fingertips over her palm, tracing the lines on her fair skin. She shivered and her face turned all shades of red.

"And what was the purpose of that?" she asked breathlessly.

"Nothing," I answered, continuing to trace her skin lightly. Scarlett inched her way forward and the blanket beneath us shifted. "But don't you think—" I became distracted by a piece of paper peeking out from underneath the blanket and my fingertips halted. "What's that?"

Scarlett turned and hid the paper. "Just some old newspaper."

"Well, let me see it. Why do you have it up here?"

Scarlett begrudgingly pulled it out. Old my ass. The newspaper was dated from four days ago.

"Father isn't too keen on me reading articles like this, so I hid it."

The headline was in big, bold black letters that read, "ON THE MOVE!" with a picture of a white man on the front. I scanned the front page, reading out loud.

"As your President, I come forth on the issue of war and peace. We are fighting a war on the issue of African American rights. My country, the hour has passed on whether we can deny a man rights based on the color of his skin. This is an injustice we have failed to insure laid out by the Constitution of our forefathers. As we speak, civil rights activists are preparing for a march this August in Washington, D.C…" I trailed off as Scarlett snatched the paper from me. "What's he talking about?"

She swallowed, like she didn't want to explain. "Father said black leaders were rising to storm through the streets with millions of Negros to protest laws. And I quote, 'Whites are in power and not even a king would be able to change America.' Maybe he's right. About things changing, I mean."

I inhaled sharply.

"Don't you want me to be free, Scarlett? Don't you think that someone ought to be able to change people's minds so that I don't have to hide anymore? Don't you think that this," I grasped her hand and intertwined it with mine, "should be normal? That folks like you and me should be able to be friends without getting murdered? That I should be able to declare my feelings as if we were both one color?"

"Feelings?" Scarlett repeated.

I dropped our hands, but only to press my palms against her cheek. I cradled her jaw and brown eyes stared deeply into mine.

My thoughts ran the distance and back. They leapt over barriers divided by lines I knew I shouldn't cross. They flowed beyond Alabama's rolling plains and over savannahs marked by sweltering heat. They crept by rusty, old trucks and climbed the highest trees. And there, at the end, they stopped in the one place they always would.

Scarlett.

I caressed her silky skin bravely with my thumb, and the sound of hummingbirds' wings fluttered in my ear, deafening my common sense. I knew she had these morals and values, and maybe I ought to have considered them, but I didn't.

Instead, I leaned forward and kissed Scarlett Isabella Swan so hard she didn't even have time to scream "Negro" at me. Her lips tasted like Ma's lemonade, sweet and good and everything I'd ever imagined.

I waited for her to slap me. I waited for her to scream and yell and push me out into the rain until every bone in my colored body was broken.

But she didn't.

She kissed me back.

It was awkward at first, us trying to figure out how the whole thing worked.

And then I got the hang of it.

My fingers lingered near the nape of her neck and she shivered, despite the fact that it wasn't the least bit cold. Her lips were warm and gentle and I was needy, like I'd been waiting all my life for this moment. I suppose I had been, because something came all around and through me. I slipped my tongue inside her mouth and before she could decide if she liked it or not, I finally pulled back for air.

Her mouth opened and closed in shock and her fingertips touched her trembling lips. I knew she had a million things running through her mind, but I didn't want her to overthink or regret our kiss.

So I did what any colored boy would who kissed a white girl at the top of a tree would do—I snuggled down and laid my head in her lap, passing her the heavy book.

She gazed at me in shock, still deciding if she should say something or escape from the treehouse as quickly as possible.

"Go on," I said, looking upward. "Those words aren't going to read themselves, you know."

"But—"

"Chapter 11," I reminded her. "Really, Scarlett, I'm quite ashamed. One kiss from a black boy and you're already losing it. I knew I was good, but wow."

She hit me on the head with the book and just before she started reading, I saw her lips curve into that beautiful smile.

.

.

.

"You're in an awfully good mood," Ma commented after dinner. Pa and I sat lazily in the living room, rubbing our full stomachs.

"It's the chicken dumplings you made," Pa responded. "That son of mine will smile any day of the week for chicken."

"Pa!" I laughed, stretching out on the sofa. "I'm happy. Aren't I allowed to be that?"

"Reminds me of how you used to look honey," Ma grinned, snuggling under Pa's arm. "Remember that? It was the first time you told me you loved me. We were hiding behind my father's shed and Carlisle here handed me a bouquet of weeds and confessed he was going to marry me!"

"Hey now!" Pa interjected. "Those were lily flowers. I picked them myself."

"They were weeds, Carlisle," Ma laughed. "And dead ones at that. I couldn't help but love you after that."

"Wait," I said, propping myself up. "You confessed that you loved her? How'd you know?"

"Well," Pa began, scratching his chin, "I knew it 'cause I couldn't stop thinking about her. And she made me nervous, that's for sure. But I mostly knew 'cause any time I wasn't with her, I missed her. Love's got this way of hiding inside of you. But when it's real, it can't be hidden. It'll show itself whether you're ready or not."

I thought about Pa's words. Is that what this was? Did I love Scarlett? Is that why I dreamed about her all the time? Or why I couldn't stop thinking about her pretty brown eyes? Or why all I wanted to do was hold her in my arms?

I wasn't sure, but that's what it sounded like.

I wondered if she loved me back.

I didn't think so, or know if she ever could, but she was slowly coming around. I didn't try to kiss her again, but deep down inside, I didn't think she would mind one bit.

"Did you tell Ma as soon as you knew, Pa? I mean, as soon as you figured out you loved her, did you tell her right away?"

Pa shook his head, smiling. "Nope. I had to wait to consider if your Ma's love was worth dying for. It's hard now, but it was even harder then. I didn't know if your grandpa Lincoln was going to kill me."

Ma laughed. "What are you talking about? Father loved you!"

"Yeah, but I didn't know that! I thought all white folks was bad. Turns out they weren't and Lincoln accepted me as one of his own. Even married us, though it won't official to the state of Alabama."

"So you think whites will ever approve of mixed marriages?" I wanted to know if the laws were reformed if Scarlett's father would ever approve. I didn't know anything about the man, but if he was anything like my grandpa, it meant I'd get a chance with Scarlett.

"Of course. The heart can do mighty things, Son," Pa sighed. "All it takes is courage and just a few flowers."

"Weeds, Carlisle," Ma interjected. "They were weeds."

They argued back and forth that evening and though I went to sleep with no idea of who was right, I did discover something about myself: I realized I was falling for Scarlett. And when I finally laid my head down to rest, I wondered if she'd ever allow me to kiss her a second time.

I sure hoped so.

.

.

.

She was doing it again. I'd spent 16 years of my life hiding, but Scarlett had her own way of disappearing.

She shifted several inches away from me nervously, and refused to utter more than a few words. She pretended to be interested in the loose thread of her carpeted floor and turned to the side when I attempted to speak. But most of all, she wouldn't even look at me. I didn't know what I did wrong.

"What's your problem?" I finally asked. "You've been leaving the room all day for no reason and you're barely speaking to me."

"Nothing's the problem!" she snapped. "Maybe I'm just tired of you coming over every single day. Maybe I'm tired of sitting around here, playing cards and reading this dumb book. Just 'cause you can't go out doesn't mean I can't!"

I raised my eyebrow at her voice, but pressed on anyways. "I didn't say you had to sit with me all day. I'm used to it. If you want to leave, then leave."

"Fine," she huffed, crossing her arms. "Maybe I will."

But Scarlett didn't move a muscle and I wasn't so sure if her expression was as angry as it was sad. "Are you upset with me? Did I do something wrong?"

"Stop acting like a pitiful colored, Lincoln," she said spitefully. "Not everything is about you."

There she was berating me again, trying to make me feel awful. I think it was a defense mechanism, like she had to protect herself from actually feeling. Feeling what, I wasn't sure, but I did know she was upset about the previous day.

"Do you regret our kiss?" I asked.

"Shhh! Are you trying to get me caught?"

"Scarlett. Just answer the damn question."

I didn't curse too often, but to actually say those words to her caused a reaction I wasn't prepared for. I expected her to yell or to call me a skunk, but instead her eyes turned red, filled with shame I could never take away.

"We can't do this, Lincoln. We can't! It isn't right," she cried. "I stayed up all night thinking. And you know what I was thinking about? Alice. Alice said I had a crush on you and I told her to hush her mouth 'cause I could never be fond of a colored boy."

The weight of her words dropped like a stone in my stomach. They were heavy and debilitating, making me feel like less of a person. It wasn't that I hadn't heard her be harsh before, but now she was saying it directly to me and it hurt more than anything those boys said to me in town.

"You don't have to like me," I said quietly.

She wiped her eyes and glanced down. "That's the problem, Lincoln. I … I do like you. I like you more than any white girl should ever like a Negro. And I'm ashamed of it. I kept thinking over and over what Father would say. He'd disown me, Lincoln, just for considering such a thing. It's wrong. Everything about us is improper."

Those few sentences caused my heart to leap, and then it was crushed in the matter of a few seconds. Maybe she was right and folks like us were never meant to be together. But maybe she was wrong; maybe there were people like my Ma and Pa who overcame anything.

I leaned over, taking her hand in mine and stroking her silky skin with the pad of my thumb. "If you like me then why are you so angry?"

"Because," she whispered, "Father will kill you, Lincoln. I don't mean rough you up and slap you around. I mean he will hang you with a rope, beat you, and watch you bleed until you breathe your last breath. He doesn't care. That's just how he is."

I had never met the infamous Mr. Swan, but I wondered if he'd reconsider if he got to know me. He wasn't like those roughnecks in the alley, right? He was a grown man, dignified with money and everything. He'd have to listen to me, even for Scarlett's sake. My Ma and Pa would be angry at me for revealing myself, but I'd do anything to be with Scarlett.

"He wouldn't try to be reasonable?" I questioned. "Not even for you and what you wanted?"

"No," she cried, wiping her eyes. "He's not like Alice and her family. He's cruel. You don't even want to know how he treats Jenks. I've seen the scars on his hands and around his neck … I can't have that happen to you. I can't."

"Okay," I reassured her. "We don't have to say nothing. We can remain a secret, for now. But just know, my Pa's going to one of those rallies this weekend and I think it might do some good. I'll be legal before you know it and you'll be proud to walk around with me on your arm. We'd make a fine couple, I think."

She smiled beneath wet eyelashes and she touched my hand tenderly as I reached out to caress her cheek. I remembered something, standing up while she looked at me in surprise. "Where are you going?"

"I forgot," I told her. "I got you a gift."

I rushed towards the window and opened it, pulling my surprise from the balcony floor. I turned around, beaming as I dropped to one knee. I held out the bouquet, offering it to her. "Scarlett Isabella Swan, will you be my girl?"

She giggled and sniffled through her tears. "Those are weeds, Lincoln."

"Oh no," I said dramatically. "I climbed the highest mountain and crawled through the lowest valley. These, sweet Scarlett, are not weeds. They're lilies. Only the best for the prettiest girl in the world."

"Well in that case, I guess I have to say yes. You sure do know how to flatter me, Mister Lincoln."

Scarlett accepted the brown, withering plants as I wrapped my arms around her. I whispered to the heavens that I loved her and even though she didn't hear me, maybe I'd be brave enough to one day tell her the truth.

I pulled back, kissing her lips as the door swung open.

"SCARLETT ISABELLA!"

My girl, the one I'd been waiting for my entire life for, gasped and turned around. She finally noticed the door she forgot to lock and the key left haphazardly on the bed. A woman in a fancy dress and brunette colored hair stood at the open doorway, her eyes aghast at the scene before her.

A black man in uniform attire stood beside the woman. Jenks, I presumed, tried to block us, but Scarlett's mother shoved him out of the way.

I was worried for Scarlett, but the yelling and commotion caused one more person to enter the room, one I was not prepared for.

Ma screamed my name and dropped the dust feather from her hand.

Scarlett trembled in my arms and despite the shrieking from all the females in the room, there was one sound I heard above the others.

It was a male's voice, strong and full of authority that made me almost vomit with fear.

"Renee? Scarlett?" I heard the shuffling of keys and the loud thump of a heavy briefcase hitting the floor.

"I'm home."