* * *

Although she walked home from the depot quickly, Arbuckle was already waiting outside her door. As she crossed the road, she watched him fan himself with his hat. Even from far away, his straight nose, his shoulders that were broad and thick were familiar. She didn’t want him to see her so ragged and maimed, and so she kept her head down. It was no use, though; he would certainly notice her injuries, as he was no stranger to mistreatment himself. He knew the difference between the mark of a hoof and that of a fist.

“Afternoon,” Arbuckle called. “I was just wondering where—” He stopped short as she came into view. “Lady Mae!” he cried, straightening up quickly and putting his hat back on. “What happened?”

“It’s no bother.” She walked up the porch steps and past him to her door. “Just some kids. Ain’t nothing I can’t handle.”

She avoided his eyes and swung the door wide so that she was not in his way when he walked over the threshold. She kept the left side of her face turned away from him and tilted down toward the ground. It made no difference for as he walked into the cool, dark shack he stopped and brought his hand to her cheek. The touch—kind and without motive—was electric on her skin. She looked up at him, at his worried brown eyes that she knew wished her a different life, and held his stare as best she could.

“Let me at least tend to it,” he said. He had questions, questions he would never ask aloud. She knew what they were and had long practiced her answers to them, hoping that the right words would convince him that what her mother did—what she’d have to do in a year’s time—was necessary. That’s what the Deputies said. People needed to eat just as much as they needed to repent. Arbuckle’s gentle hand slid down her face to her chin and held it gingerly. He stared at her for a moment and then brushed his soft thumb across the crusted blood that had dripped down from her head onto her cheek. She looked away to her left and pushed his hand from her face, but before she did her fingers felt his warm skin. She could not help but let her tears fall.

“Want me to go after them?” he asked as he stood before her. “Because I will. I ain’t afraid of them. They nothing but kids.”

“I wouldn’t want you to risk it. Ain’t no way my mama could give you atonements. Just as well be me.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I wouldn’t do nothing but talk.”

“Talking’s just as likely to get you in the chair as anything else.”

“I ain’t afraid, heck, someone ought to be saying something.”

“And that someone shouldn’t be you, Arbuckle. What would my ma think? Might not let you come around anymore.”

“But Lady Mae, you know I don’t believe—”