“Morning, Winona,” the Deputy said. He leaned forward on his elbows, his thick, dark beard reaching nearly to the bench.

“Morning, Deputy Daniels,” her mother said.

“What have we got here?” He looked Lady Mae in the eyes, and though she wanted to, she didn’t look away. She knew who he was—knew all the Deputies by name and reputation. Deputy Daniels, though, had the strongest taste for justice of the four Deputies in Settlement Five.

“My daughter. She’s putting in.”

“That so?” He held his stare to Lady Mae, even when her mother was speaking.

Her mother nudged Lady Mae with her elbow. “Go on, now.”

“Yes, sir,” said Lady Mae.

“And what’s the charge?”

“They did this.” She pointed to her face. “Pushed me down. Kicked me in the head. And in the back.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“The Thompson boys, Edith Cummings—she was there. Balthazar Jones. Those were the worst.”

“That all?”

“There were others, but they stayed up by the shacks.”

“And no one sought to help you?”

“No.”

“Were they provoked?”

“No.”

Deputy Daniels raised his eyebrows at this, and though Lady Mae was young, she was old enough to know that the provocation had been happening for years. Every single time one of their parents came home with just a little less than they had left with, the children took one step closer to the loathing that would soon, if not already so, engulf their small bodies. The mutilations of their parents or other townsfolk were most children’s first memories, and so although she did not provoke them—had never provoked anyone in any way—she did not need to. Their desire to descend on her like monsters was nearly innate.

“Were you able to defend yourself in any way?”

The strength, the power had unfurled like silk inside of her when she was down on the ground the day before. The seething in her bones had felt good, comfortable and strong, as though it had been there her entire life, and she was only just now realizing what she could do with it. But she hadn’t been able to hold on to it. There in the courtroom she felt not bold nor brave, but a shame that burned hotter than the sun. It had been just a flash—that strength in the dust. And now it was gone.

“I told them to stop, but there were too many I reckon.”

“And you swear by this testimony?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Very well. How many atonements do you ask for?”

Lady Mae had thought about it as she lay in the darkness the night before, her face throbbing and her body sore. Whatever she asked for they’d get—all of them, each one she named. After all, who was it besides the victim to measure the extent of the crime? And guilty looked all kind of ways. Still, rarely was the full allotment of twenty atonements assigned; residents feared retribution, as if they knew someday they, too, would do harm. Everyone wanted a sympathetic reputation, so when the time came that they were themselves charged with a crime, their victims would show mercy. It was unspoken, but was just as good as law. Part of her had wanted to give the children twenty each—thirty, forty if she could. That would keep them from hurting her physically. But there were other ways to harm, and she knew them well.