“I know I ain’t the only one that wonders,” Lady Mae said defiantly.

“Arbuckle been saying things to you, hasn’t he?”

“You know how he is.”

Her mother sighed loudly, but there was concern in the edges of her eyes. “What’s he been saying now?”

“Nothing in particular.” Lady Mae looked at the ground, tucking her bottom lip underneath her teeth.

“Lady Mae, you go on and tell me directly.”

“I reckon he thinks atonements aren’t always the right way to do things.”

“And he’s said as much?”

“Aye.”

“Lady Mae,” her mother said slowly. “You best be careful. Arbuckle is a good boy, especially considering his sorry excuse for a pa, but them Deputies abide by the law and, specifically, that law. They lay down the terms and we accept them, simple as that. And if they hear of anyone—even Arbuckle—suggesting that they got it all backward, he’ll be strung up on the scaffold like anyone else. Won’t matter what lot he’s got here. The Deputies will just go and find someone else to take his place.”

“But they can’t do that. It’s an inheritance.”

“And who’s going to stop them?”

Lady Mae did not have an answer, and so she looked straight ahead at the horizon, wishing for the rain to come and wash them all away.

* * *

Later that evening after they had supped and cleaned and readied themselves for sleep, Lady Mae and her mother sat in the living room, each with a settlement-approved book in hand. Lady Mae was reading one that Arbuckle had given her; though he was older he often loaned Lady Mae books he thought she might be interested in. Something new for you to think about, he’d say. Sometimes the books were thin stories of children on adventures beyond the settlements that dotted their region, in imaginary places full of life and wonder. Other times they were philosophical in nature, ruminating on some kind of long-held belief or law. And though she was not interested in all the books he gave her, she devoured those as well because they were from him, read by his eyes, given to her by his hands.

“Lady Mae,” her mother said. She lowered her book to her lap, but did not take her eyes from it.

“Yes?”

“What else Arbuckle been saying about atonements?”

Lady Mae closed her book, keeping one finger on the page. She looked up to the ceiling as she thought of the words Arbuckle had whispered over her kitchen table during lessons. She could tell her mother anything, had always told her everything. But he’d been heretical, and she didn’t want her mother to put an end to the lessons.

“Just says things like they don’t work—says it ain’t never stopped his pa.”

“Well, that’s true. But he’s just one resident.”

“Says maybe residents ought to learn how to forgive and forget to begin with, that them Deputies need to help more. Maybe then residents wouldn’t get so desperate and go and do things they’ll regret.”