“The law is the law.” She spoke quietly, tempering the anger behind her eyes. She still would not look at her daughter. Her mother had a tell, too, and it was palpable, thick like mud. “And everyone is taught what those laws look like. The courtroom is sacred, and anyone who demeans it must be punished. That is what the law says.”

“But she was upset. I get upset, too.”

“And you control it, don’t you? Don’t let it get out of hand, don’t let it get away from you. Someone like Edith—well, best to take care of it now.”

“But what if that were me?”

“That weren’t you and it’d never be you.”

“But what if it was?”

Her mother did not reply; instead she took another mouthful of beans and eggs and glanced up at her daughter, who was listening closely for what she knew lay just beneath her mother’s surface, the thing that neither could speak of.

“I want you to come with me when I set out this morning. We’ll stop by Arbuckle’s. Want to tell him myself what I expect.”

“He’s coming here this afternoon. I’ll tell him.”

Her mother raised her eyebrows. “I know you’re embarrassed. Thinking I treat you like a child, no doubt.”

“I don’t need no escort.” Lady Mae pushed her plate away and crossed her arms.

“Yes, you do. You want a limp like mine?” Her mother stuck her leg out from underneath the table. “Or worse?”

“But now they know that they’ll get in trouble.”

“Don’t mean it’ll stop them. All it takes is one.” She patted her thigh through her skirt. “Took two years before I could walk on my own again.”

“But Ma, I don’t—”

“Enough, Lady Mae. We’re setting out for Arbuckle’s together and that’s that.”

* * *

Arbuckle’s shack was the same as Lady Mae’s as all shacks were built from a rudimentary design aimed to give the residents shelter but not comfort. She and her mother had done what they might to make their own as cozy as they could, but beyond the old sofa and her great-grandmother’s quilt, there was nothing much to distinguish their home from anyone else’s. Arbuckle’s porch was clean, but that was only because he took great pains to keep it that way. His father embarrassed him, but the drunkard was his father nonetheless, and Arbuckle spent a good deal of his life trying to please him.

Her mother knocked. There was a holler and a slamming of a door, footsteps, and the door opened. Arbuckle’s father appeared, and from where Lady Mae stood behind her mother, she could see his unshaven face and dark circles under his eyes. His hair, matted and greasy, stuck to his forehead. He brought his hand to his face, his fingers healed at the knuckles, and rubbed his chin.

“What’d you want?” His voice was hoarse from the homemade cigars, the tobacco of which he grew along the side of their shack.