“One.”

Her mother had wanted more, but Lady Mae pleaded. If she gave any more, it’d just be worse next time. And while her mother insisted that there might not be a next time, not after charging them, Lady Mae doubted that. For as long as there were butchers, there’d be residents to hate them. And as long as people lived, there’d be lawbreaking and retribution. Her mother spoke of it, her mother’s mother had, too.

“Sentencing will proceed at eleven o’clock tomorrow. Dismissed.”

* * *

Lady Mae’s mother shuffled her out of the room and down the long hall toward the exit. By this time, other residents had lined up and were waiting to be called into the courtroom. They stared out of the corners of their eyes as Lady Mae and her mother walked by, curled their lips and showed their teeth. But none spoke. The butcher and her daughter had attended an inquest, and it was anyone’s guess who the perpetrator was. Though many despised and insulted them, most stayed away. But it was that berth, that purposeful distance, that stung the most.

They descended the courthouse steps, and Lady Mae saw that the square was dotted with residents doing their morning chores. Some scrubbed the scaffold, others carried parcels and crates of goods. It was just another day. As Lady Mae and her mother walked along the cracked crescent road, her mother, congenial and forthright, said good morning to each resident. Each one replied, a methodical greeting empty of conviction. The residents spoke only when spoken to; there were no other offertory gestures or words of goodwill. The shopkeepers had their doors propped open and stood on their porches, talking. But as Lady Mae and her mother passed by, they would hush and still. Lady Mae heard the ends of what they said, though, saw them avert their eyes as she and her mother approached.

Once they were beyond the square, Lady Mae hooked her arm around her mother’s.

“Ma?”

“Yes?”

“What’ll the sentencing be like?”

Her mother squeezed her daughter’s arm. “The other children will be there. They’ll take the stand, speak for themselves just like anyone else.”

“What if they lie?”

“My girl. You’ve been hurt badly, and I do not believe Deputy Daniels thinks you are telling lies.” Her mother pulled Lady Mae’s hand up toward her chest and held it there as they walked, bending her head down and kissing her daughter’s knuckles.

“What if it gets worse?”

“It ain’t going to get any worse than this.”

But that did not soothe Lady Mae, whose fears were inexplicable and deep. She wanted to tell her mother that it could be worse—it could always be worse—but she did not wish to worry her, and so instead she looked at her mother and gave a small smile, one that she knew would not fool her. They hate me, Mama.

As they walked, Lady Mae looked up at the wisps of clouds, at the birds that were circling high above. They dipped and dove and called to one another across the hot summer sky. Her mother took out a handkerchief and blotted her forehead and the back of her neck. Their skirts dragged in the dust.