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Chapter Ten: Reminder

"If we lose love and self-respect for each other, this is how we finally die."

~Maya Angelou

(IPOV)

"Scarlett!"

I jumped at the sound of Mother's voice, bumping my head on the open cabinet door. I groaned, rubbing my scalp, and then reached for the jar of cookies.

"Goodness, Scarlett, what has been going on with you lately?" Mother shook her head and sat down at the kitchen table, scribbling something on a sheet of paper.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I muttered, placing the chocolate chip cookies on a plate. Five, six … No, Lincoln eats like a horse… Nine, ten…

"You stay locked up in that room of yours for hours. And then today you've been up and down that flight of stairs more times than I can count. You eat more than Esme can cook … I'm just worried about you, honey. I know this move has been hard, but if you go out into town, perhaps you can make a few new friends."

I scoffed. Friends. Birmingham showed me all that it had to offer and it wasn't spectacularly pleasant. "I'm fine, Mother. Its summer, I'm supposed to be relaxing, remember?"

Mother sighed. "Okay, I won't say another word. I met some wonderful ladies at the tea room the other day. They'll be over in a little bit. Would you like to meet them?"

"No." I grabbed my plate and tried to escape from the kitchen.

Mother raised her eyebrow at my blunt answer. "Well, all right then. Just don't eat too many of those. You'll get sick."

I nodded and dashed out of the kitchen before she could say anything else. I arrived at the door of my bedroom as Jenks walked by me. He'd been walking on eggshells ever since that day Father hit him and he ducked his head down.

"Jenks."

He paused, turning around in a slow circle. "Yes, Miss Scarlett?"

"Would you, uh, like …" I couldn't find the words to ask him, so I just held out the plate. "Here. Have them all. I'm sure you don't get a chance to eat many sweets."

He stared at me, his eyes reflecting a broken man whose soul I'd had the awful pleasure in breaking. "I don't think I can eats those cookies, Miss Scarlett. Mr. Charles wouldn't like that too much."

"Are you refusing me, Jenks?"

"No, Miss Scarlett."

I pushed the plate closer to him and placed the entire dish in his shaking hands as he stood there, bewildered by my generosity. I'll just bring Lincoln a different snack later. I sighed. "Well, go on. Mother's friends are coming over. You better go help Esme with serving."

Jenks nodded, holding the cookies in his hands, and headed down the stairs. I unlocked my bedroom door and walked through, smiling. I was so distracted by what Lincoln was doing that I simply closed the door and tossed my key on the bed.

Lincoln sat crisscrossed on the floor, with his eyes closed and his hands in the air. His elbows were bent and he all of his fingers touched together.

I sat on the floor with him. "What are you doing?"

"Shh, I'm meditating." He hummed and I giggled.

"You look like a fool," I retorted and he opened one eye.

"And you look like a dying flower garden with that dress on, but you don't see me complaining now, do you?"

I pushed his chest and he laughed, relaxing his position. His eyes lit up every time I touched him these days, which was becoming more frequent. It all changed that one awful afternoon we snuck out into town. He was having a panic attack and it took everything in me just to hold his hand and comfort him.

I was sure I was going to have to scrub myself for hours, but then I didn't.

His hand felt warm in mine; nice, even. But then that lady in the ice cream shoppe …

I can't even describe what ran through my mind. One second we were waiting on our desserts and the next that lady was gushing over us holding hands.

I hated it.

I hated her for pointing it out.

I was angry because despite Lincoln's disguise, we would never be.

I would never be allowed to walk in a store with him and hold hands like any young couple would. It was a devastating thought. I was mad at myself for wanting something like that and even madder it would never be.

I didn't know which was worse.

Then I ran out of there, trying to escape my own mind, and ended up getting lost. Two black teenagers cornered me and if it weren't for a bystander coming to my aide, they would've had me too.

They would've done despicable things I couldn't even imagine.

I held Lincoln's hand twice, once while we ran and again at the top of the treehouse. It wasn't so bad, and each time got a little easier. I kept my distance some days though, 'cause he'd want to touch me which made my heart start beating real fast and, well … I couldn't cope with that.

Especially after yesterday.

He kissed me so hard I didn't ever think he'd stop. His tongue slipped inside my mouth and before I could decide if I liked it or not, I found myself hoping there was some other white girl out there who was being kissed by a Negro with as much affection as I was.

I glanced up and Lincoln was staring at me. I remembered the first time we'd met and I thought he was beautiful. He still was. In Virginia, I thought I'd seen it all. Young men that would want to court me in the hopes of someday taking my hand in marriage. Sons of politicians and men with power. And here was Lincoln, a yellow boy born from a white woman and a cotton-picker, and he was the one I wanted.

My own father would never allow such a thing to happen.

I was at a crossroads between being enraged and depressed.

I turned away from Lincoln's green eyes, fumbling with the carpet—anything to distract myself from him.

"What's your problem?"

His simple question made me explode. I yelled that I didn't want to be stuck there in that room. It was a lie. I just didn't know how to tell him I'd fallen for him, and that he was all I ever thought about.

"Stop acting like a pitiful colored, Lincoln," I snapped.

Don't say that, Scarlett!

Tell him. Tell him how you feel. Tell him you don't care about what other people think. That none of it matters when it comes to him.

So I did. I admitted I liked him, and even how humiliated I felt for doing so.

It just led to us arguing back and forth.

No, I didn't regret our kiss. I wished he would kiss me again. I wanted my heart to pound and thump and jump in my chest. I wanted his hands on me again and to feel his lips against mine.

The thought made me burst into uncontrollable tears. Lincoln had this irrational idea my father would accept him. What on earth would make him think a thing like that? He had no idea how the world worked. He was like a child in some ways, filled with delusions and hope I didn't understand.

I wiped my tears away when he stood up. "I got you a gift."

He ran to the window, pushed up the sill, and bent over to retrieve something. When he turned around, he smiled and walked over to kneel in front of me with a cheesy grin. "Scarlett Isabella Swan, will you be my girl?"

I sat silently in shock. He liked me? He wanted me to be his girl? I didn't know what to say.

I giggled at the brown bushel of dead grass. He made me laugh, he always did. I guess that part of his innocence I didn't mind so much. "Those are weeds, Lincoln."

After he made up some nonsense story about how he got his so-called lilies, I accepted them and he wrapped his arms around my waist. I hugged him tightly and I heard him whisper words beneath his breath.

He pulled away, but it was to give me a kiss. I smiled, pressing my mouth against his, thankful for him and the moments we got to share in our own little world.

And then suddenly, it wasn't.

"SCARLETT ISABELLA!"

I inhaled a sharp breath when I heard Mother's voice behind me.

The door! I didn't lock the door!

The scene happened in a blur. Esme was yelling, Mother was yelling, Jenks was pushed away and if I paid attention closely, I would've noticed he was trying to block Mother's view.

I panicked, scrambling and crouching myself in front of Lincoln protectively.

I could explain this, right?

His hair was buzzed short again. He could be mistaken for white. Sure, I'd get into trouble for having a boy in the house, but I couldn't explain a Negro's presence.

Think, Scarlett, I told myself. Say something intelligent. Make up an excuse.

Before I could rectify the situation, I heard Father downstairs.

"Renee? Scarlett? I'm home!"

I felt Lincoln tremble behind me and Mother turned to Esme. "This is your son? You allowed your son in my home with my daughter?"

Esme was too shocked to answer her as Father's heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. "Renee? Where are you? You wouldn't believe what nonsense happened today!"

I turned to Lincoln with fearful eyes. "Run, Lincoln! You have to run! He'll kill you! Please, please, please, go!"

He swallowed and I think there was enough anxiety and dread between us to fill up the entire room. He didn't budge, and it was like he thought he was the one who could protect me.

Father appeared at the door and everyone in the room became silent.

He stared. A long look at Esme, in particular. Once at Jenks. Once at Lincoln. Three seconds for me.

"Jenks," he said calmly. "You have the rest of the day off. Go."

Jenks seemed like he didn't want to move a muscle. Father pointed into the hallway. "Now."

"Yes, Mr. Charles."

He backed away, apologizing to me with his eyes. It wasn't his fault. It was mine. All mine. I did this.

Father removed his suit jacket, quietly walking over to the bed and draping it over my comforter. He glanced at the abandoned key, then picked it up. He sat down, crossing one leg and twisting the key in his hands.

"Renee," he began, "I had the strangest thing happen today. I received a call from a gentleman named Smith. Quite nice fellow, used to be a resident in Birmingham. He told me he owned a business now in Georgia and he wanted to make a deal for one of my factories. One thing led to another and he told me how much he missed Birmingham and one person in particular."

Father rubbed his thumb over the key, his eyes glazed over. "He told me he used to have a housekeeper he was very fond of. I don't suppose you know who that was?"

Mother peeled her eyes away from me to tilt her head. "Didn't Esme work for the Smiths?"

"You'd be correct dear. And he told me something quite particular, something I didn't know. Our housekeeper—the one I've been paying with my hard earned money—is fucking her a Negro man."

My eyes widened at Father's foul language. It seemed as if Lincoln stopped breathing. I reached behind me, holding his hand.

"So that's why I'm home early. I came to tell you no worker of mine is going to be a colored lover and to fire her immediately. Imagine my surprise when I walk into my house to see a boy that looks just like her cowering behind my daughter."

Esme started crying and Father snapped. "Shut the hell up! You thought you could hide this from me?"

He stood up, marching to Esme and grabbing her by her collar. She shook her head, sobbing as he released her and she stumbled.

"Charles!" Mother stretched out her hand to stop him and Father walked over to her. He whispered something in her ear and her bottom lip trembled. She shook her head and he pointed to the door. "Now, Renee, or I swear, I will do to you what I'm going to do to this Negro!"

Mother walked backwards, stumbling over her own two feet. She finally left down the hall and I heard a door slam shut.

How could she? My mind ran rapid, trying to decide whether to tell her off or try and get Lincoln out of there. I knew I should do the later, but I didn't know how he could get away. Father would have no hesitation in shooting him. He had several guns, as most men did, and he wouldn't blink an eye on shooting Esme or Lincoln, depending on who he got to first.

"Father … don't do this," I begged. "He's white too, just like you and I. It's not his fault. He's very kind and he likes me for me and he's the only friend I have here. Please."

"Friend?" Father spit out the word like an expletive. "Scarlett, there's no such thing as Negro friends. You're either white or the shit beneath my shoe. You can't be both. You're young and you've got a lot to learn."

He walked towards us and I gripped Lincoln's hand tighter.

"Boy, if I were you, I'd go of my daughter right now. She can't help you. You're going to suffer, so you might as well do it with whatever colored dignity you've got left."

"Don't!" I screamed. "Don't you lay a hand on him!"

"Scarlett, I'm warning you!"

I didn't move an inch and Father, in his demented behavior, stormed towards Esme and grabbed her by the throat. He squeezed, lifting her up until her feet dangled off the ground.

"Scarlett. Just do as he says." Lincoln slid his hand out of mine and bravely rose to his feet. "Sir, I did this. My mother didn't even know I was here."

"The piece of shit has dignity after all," Father sneered, letting go. Esme wheezed through her tears, coughing as she tried to take a breath. "I respect that boy. It doesn't change a thing, but I respect you admitting when you're wrong."

"I didn't say I was wrong, Mr. Swan."

Father halted and I shook my head. No, Lincoln. Be quiet! You don't know what you're saying. Just hush already!

But he kept talking.

"I've lived my entire life being hidden, not knowing what's out there. And then I met Scarlett. She's the most beautiful person I've ever met. She's gotten to know me, to care for me when the rest of the world sees nothing but my skin. And I love her. I know you don't approve, but if you'll give me the chance, you'll see I will treat her like the princess she is."

I paused as tingles ran up and down my spine. I glanced up at Lincoln, my heart swelled with affection I couldn't explain. "You love me?"

"I do, Scarlett Swan. I love you like my pa loves my ma. I love you like lilies that look like weeds and swirled ice cream I've never had the pleasure of tasting. I may not be all white, but both sides of me love you just the same. And maybe you'll never return that love and I can live with that. But I thought you ought to know."

His words made tears fall from my eyes. I cried because maybe deep down, I'd loved him the whole time and didn't know it. Maybe I was too focused on hating his skin color that love slipped right through me, peeking out and I didn't even notice.

I smiled through my tears just as Father yelled out. "Like hell you do! Have you lost your damned mind?"

Father swung and punched Lincoln across the face. Lincoln stumbled backwards only for Father to grab him by the back of his neck. He dragged him across the pristine carpet and Esme and I both yelled out.

"You're going to know the repercussions of Negro love, Scarlett. You and that filthy housekeeper stay in this room and if I so much as think you've moved an inch, I will kill her right in front of you!"

He slammed the door behind him and I cried out.

"What's he doing?" Esme wept.

"Esme, he's going to kill him! We have to do something!"

I heard the sounds of kicking and yelling going down the stairs. There was a loud crash and more thumping. It stopped for a half a minute when Esme glanced out of the open window and screamed in horror.

I ran to the glass, watching as Father dragged Lincoln across the lawn with a large twine rope in his hand. Lincoln struggled, but Father was stronger. Lincoln's tan linen clothes were torn and I noticed the streaks of blood. Father finally reached a tree near the perimeter of our yard and he swung the rope over a low, thick branch.

He held Lincoln firmly as he tied a knot, looping it over Lincoln's head. He tugged on the end, tying the remainder at the base of the tree. He pulled until the tip of Lincoln's feet were kicking against the ground.

I screamed and beat against the sill. Lincoln grasped the rope, struggling to pull it away from his neck and trying to keep his balance at the same time.

Father wasn't going to just murder him, he was going to torture him.

Lincoln would fight and move and twist until he wouldn't be able to anymore.

I ran for the doorway, rotating on the brass handle.

It refused to open.

"Esme! Help me!"

She jerked and wrangled the knob with me, but the door didn't open. Father must have blocked us in somehow. We banged on the door until I finally gave up trying that exit.

I went to the open window and yelled out as Father turned around.

"You try leaving out that window, Scarlett, and I'll shoot his black ass dead!" Father flashed a revolver, dragged a chair out from the patio and sat down in it.

He stared as Lincoln huffed and jerked from the tree.

Lincoln was the one hanging, but I was sure my heart would give out first.

Nausea swelled through my stomach and remnants of whatever food I had eaten spewed from my parched mouth. My heart ruptured in my chest, exploding into fragmented pieces over and over again. I had no more tears to cry and my hands seemed to be damp with tears that refused to fall. There was a sort of pain bubbling inside of me, refusing to come out as I held it all inside.

I had known hatred, had tasted it on the tip of my tongue. I'd felt it for every colored I'd ever come into contact with, but now it was for the man who had given me life. But today, he was taking it too. It lingered outside in the blistering sun and my love connected to a boy who selflessly declared his devotion for me. I collapsed in a heap on my own bile, ignoring a sobbing Esme next to me.

I had no comfort to give her, no words that would ease her mind. I was too stuck in my own despair, my veins hardening like cement as I watched Lincoln turn colors no law could forbid. Grief overwhelmed me, surging through expelled breaths, as I let go of every ounce of hope I had left. It was a sneaky reminder that Lincoln never really had hope. He wasn't meant for this world. He was too good for it. That kind of pureness never really fit in Birmingham, not here and not with me.

And that was the problem with Edward Lincoln Masen.

He didn't belong anywhere.

Anywhere at all.