“Is so true,” said Jonathan. “She was hiding behind Wilson’s place, and she called to us when she saw us. Said Lady Mae was on her way to town and—”

“They nothing but a bunch of liars! They threw ’em first!” Edith yelled and stood up. Her parents tried to pull her back down, tried to wrestle her into her seat, but she escaped their grasp.

“And you,” she screamed, rising up and leaping across the aisle. She grabbed Lady Mae’s hair and yanked it back as hard as she could. “Good for nothing, horrible—”

“Order, I say! Order!” Deputy Daniels yelled and stood, his gavel in hand.

Lady Mae reached around her head and tried to grab the girl by her forearms, but could not get Edith off her. “Mama!” she cried. “Mama!”

Her mother stood up, and with the palm of her hand shoved the girl on her forehead, pushing her off Lady Mae. Edith went sprawling to the floor where she crumpled and whimpered and clutched her own mother’s arm desperately.

“Deputy Parson!” cried Deputy Daniels. “Remove Miss Cummings from the courtroom immediately!”

Edith’s parents, who under law could not intervene, watched horrifically as Deputy Parson yanked the girl by the wrists and flipped her over onto her stomach. He put his knee into her back and his elbow around her throat. But he would not kill her. Having committed a crime in court, she would instead face persecution on the scaffold in the square. The outcry would be announced, the shops would close, and the town would fall silent as the residents gathered below the wooden platform to watch the girl burn.

Lady Mae heard the girl’s mother cry out once before she suppressed it. Could you have held your tongue, Mama? She stared, holding her hand to the back of her head, at the woman whose daughter was being dragged away flailing, screaming, clawing at the benches and the ankles of the residents who shook and kicked their feet as she grabbed at them, who looked away in disgust and fear as if an acknowledgment might also cost them their lives; she stared, without blinking, until her eyes dried and the cries ceased and the door slammed.

* * *

That evening as they supped, Lady Mae tried to build up the courage to ask what would happen to her mother. She had laid hands on Edith Cummings, and even the butcher wasn’t above punishment. She worried, and her mother saw the concern on her daughter’s face.

“Go on and eat up, Lady Mae.”

“I ain’t hungry.”

“I suppose you ain’t, but sitting there worrying ain’t gonna do you any good.”

Lady Mae pushed her plate away and crossed her arms. Underneath them she balled her fists, felt the knot below her ribs. If anything happened to her mother—she couldn’t think that way. But still the thoughts knocked between her ears: never leave and what would become and how would I. The voice was her own, the anxiety bottomless.