Lady Mae had never witnessed her mother conceding to the residents of whom she stood over and severed and electrocuted and cut. As she sat there watching her mother make a modest breakfast, Lady Mae wondered how much forgiveness her mother had demonstrated throughout her life. After all, she hadn’t ever accused anyone of anything that Lady Mae knew of—not even those that caused her mother’s limp, the scar on her upper lip, the permanent fear that held fast behind her eyes; she had taught her daughter that the world was out of her control but that which was in her heart was not.

“After all, weren’t always like this, now was it?”

Lady Mae had not ever heard her mother speak in that way; though she intellectually understood that life in Settlement Five and the Deputies and inheritances couldn’t have always been, she had no proof otherwise. Neither did her mother, who, just speaking the words weren’t always had committed blasphemy. Her mother was trying to warn her, and said, “I want you to be careful, Lady Mae. You’ve got to be watchful.” And so Lady Mae watched as she brought the two plates over to the table. As she sat down, her mother kept her eyes focused on her food, on her hands, on the napkin she had sewn herself—focused on everything but her daughter’s questioning eyes. Her mother’s suspicious words frightened Lady Mae, and the gray that followed pulled on her like quicksand.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind what I mean. What I’m saying is that I want Arbuckle to stick near you when I’m not around. Just until the inheritance has passed.”

“But ain’t nobody likes Arbuckle, neither.” She picked up her spoon and pushed the beans around her plate to cool them. “What’s he going to do?”

“Well, for starters he’s nearly six and a half feet tall. That’ll keep some away. And he’s had his own share of run-ins. I reckon he knows a thing or two that you don’t.”

“But I don’t want—”

“You don’t leave this house without one of us. Not until the inheritance has passed. Understand?”

Her mother picked up her own spoon and began to eat. But Lady Mae was not satisfied. “Ma?”

“Yes?” she asked as she brought a spoonful of the red beans to her mouth.

“Are they really—what will happen to Edith?” she asked and began to eat her own simple meal. “They ain’t really going to kill her, are they?” The beans were hot and meaty and burned her tongue.

Her mother scooped up more beans, and she held the spoon close to her lips and blew on them. Lady Mae had thought about the girl long into the night, seeing in the darkness over and over again the Deputies dragging her away. She had heard but had not seen anything other than the face of the girl’s mother and how it had twisted and caved in on itself as if it, too, were melting under flames.