“Were it true?” Ruby asked.

With her back turned to the woman, Lady Mae felt as if she were on fire. If she said yes, then what kind of daughter was she? What kind of woman? She’d be just as guilty as the scar-faced Deputy, just as to blame as the others with their chains and torches and tall hats that fell from their heads after the first whip. If she said no: what then? Was it a trick devised by the Deputies—or worse, the residents? Were they waiting right outside the door for her to say it was all lies and she saw them and they took her life because?

“Just want to say, we was all grateful she spared that boy even if were only for a spell.”

If Lady Mae moved, if she spoke, what would come out of her? Would she pour herself onto the floor beneath the chair, float like ash up into the sky? She picked up the electrical box and held the black metal, which was heavy in her hands. The sides were smooth and cool, and she rubbed the tip of her thumb across the switch, the gauge, and back to the switch again.

“Aye. She was a good butcher,” said Lady Mae as she turned back toward Ruby. She tried to level her voice.

“I ain’t talking about that. Talking about what she had in her.” Ruby brought her hand to her chest, made a fist, and held it there. She lowered her chin and closed her eyes. Then she spoke again. “I reckon you got the same thing.”

Her mother had talked of what patients said while they were in the chair—had said she’d heard it all and that the residents would likely do anything to stave off the first atonement. Was that what Ruby was doing? Trying to draw out time so that she kept her finger for just a little more?

“Reckon it’s time to begin,” Lady Mae said.

“Aye. But listen here—we all know you got it, too. You just ain’t got no idea.”

“I’m gonna count to three.”

“Ain’t got no idea.”

“One, two—” and Lady Mae flipped the switch. Ruby shook and her mouth slacked and her eyelids parted revealing the whites of her eyes. Her fingers curled and twitched. Her feet floundered, stomping the floor and kicking wildly at the air. After five seconds, Lady Mae turned the box off. Ruby’s head hung down as they usually do after a surge, and Lady Mae took her wrist to check her vitals. Then she lifted her eyelids and checked her pupils, waiting for her focus to return. When she thought Ruby coherent enough she asked, “Shall we continue?”

Ruby nodded, but Lady Mae knew it was an involuntary gesture from the lingering electricity. She wanted Ruby to say no, but she couldn’t speak. She wanted Ruby to change her mind, but she couldn’t think, her brain muddled and dim.

8

Lady Mae was late meeting Arbuckle that day; the surges she had hoped would help with Ruby’s amputation were not enough to keep the woman still. Though the leather straps were pulled as taut as possible without cutting into her skin, the woman’s hand shook and twitched when the blade touched the fourth finger of her left hand. Her mouth opened instinctively as she tried to scream with the first incision, but the electricity had made her weak and her moans, guttural and low, betrayed her earlier demeanor. When it was all said and done, Ruby had looked at Lady Mae. Her eyes, suffering and unclear, had held to Lady Mae’s face as she cauterized the cut and then wrapped it in cloth. Ruby stared at her as if trying to see something lying deep down in Lady Mae’s bones. What she’d said about her mother, about her—her mother had told her as much. Someday you’ll know, she’d said.