Ruby’s hand moved down the length of Lady Mae’s arm, and Lady Mae saw the four fingers wrapped in cloth, fingertips swollen, the heel of her wrist scraped and bruised.

“But the Deputies—” Lady Mae said.

“Ain’t none left,” Ruby said. “And seeing how there ain’t no one that’ll tell anyone, we’re going to aim to keep it that way.”

“But others could come—they could kill us.”

“Maybe,” said Edith’s father. “But there’s more of us than they’ll ever be of them. Stands to figure that what happened to those on the scaffold would likely happen to any sent our way.”

“It’s okay, Lady Mae,” said Ruby softly at her side. “Ain’t nothing going to get you now.”

* * *

In the weeks that followed, the residents showed Lady Mae many kindnesses. Ruby insisted that she recover in her care, and so she and Edith’s father had carried Lady Mae down the dusty, crescent road to Ruby’s shack and laid her on an old cot. As they went, residents had come out onto their porches, stepped into the road. They took their hats off and gently tilted their heads in her direction. Gone were the narrowed eyes, the aversion that balanced on their shoulders. She did not fully believe that the hatred had disappeared, but she hoped it was so.

Edith’s father, who had long done woodcraft, came one day with a prosthetic for Lady Mae. It was rare that such a thing was done; for although life was more difficult with fewer hands and feet, it was a permanent reminder of one’s atonement and part of the punishment.

When the old man handed her the delicately carved wooden leg, Lady Mae held it in her shaking hands. There on the bottom, just like she’d etched in her own shack so many years before, were a dark L and M, branded into the oak with irons. The sides of the leg were ornate with swirls of honeysuckle. The oak itself was pale but sturdy. It could take her up the hills and back onto the mountain. She sat there cradling the wooden leg until night fell trying to figure what to do. The residents would have her if she wanted, but would she ever really be free if she stayed? Everywhere she went, she’d see her mother, Arbuckle. The depot, even if it were old and run down and empty. The cannery. Where Arbuckle’s shack once was. The burn pile. The square. No—she needed to get away. She would go back up the mountain as she had planned, to Arbuckle’s shack where she could be near him forever. And though the residents had begged her not to, said you got a place now and nothing left up there, she would spend the rest of her days with Arbuckle’s ghost.

* * *

Three months after she killed Deputy Iverson, Lady Mae packed her satchel and struck out down the crescent road. It was early, and there were none about. She limped and hobbled like the other residents now, but she did not mind. As long as the earth was dry, she could move freely even if slowly. Her bag was full and heavy, and Ruby had promised to bring her supplies once a month. They did not wish her to go, but understood.