And if the scarf boy happened to be a fifth-year boy? She'd forfeit him, too.
She was sorry about that. But Sober was grown. Much better for him to ride the slave carts than for the babies they'd have if they buttoned. He was a big man. He'd have to look after himself.
Sober wove by her for a third time. She glanced up, mouthed the words, "I'm sorry," and turned her back on him.
A gasp went up from the crowd and for the first time in her life, the incessant dripping of the trees faded from her consciousness. She searched for the familiar sound, but couldn't hear it above the moanings and the groanings of the people.
Someone shrieked—probably Goodwoman Marsh.
Repentance heard her father's voice rise above the din, "It's a mistake, a mistake. She doesn't understand. It's a mistake, a mistake." He kept repeating himself, the words churning in place like a cart wheel stuck in mud.
"No, Father," Repentance whispered toward the fire, "repeating a thing over and over does not make it so."
"Why have you done this?" Sober leaned over her, livid. "You are cursed. And now you have cursed me! When did I ever wrong you?"
She offered another prayer, this time asking Providence to let her faint. She couldn't bear their anger. Never mind that she didn't make the rules. Never mind that Providence put them in a swampy hole and forgot them. Never mind that the overlords enslaved them. Never mind all that. With Providence they were content and with the overlords they were resigned, but with Repentance they were angry. Come the morrow, when what she'd done had fully sunk in, she'd be the most hated person in the swamp. They'd all blame her for any sorrow that came their way for the next ten years.
Comfort, her sister, was crying. Wailing.
A weeping and a wailing.
Her mother she did not hear. She was humming to herself, no doubt.
Strong arms lifted her from behind. One of the overlord slavers set her on her feet and prodded her toward the waiting slave cart. Beside her, Sober stumbled, going down on one knee. The slaver grabbed a handful of hair and dragged him up.
Goodwoman Marsh grabbed their captor. "You cannot take him. I've given two sons already. He's all I have left."
The man's fist made a cracking noise as it connected with her face.
Repentance's legs went weak at the awful sound.
Wisdom Marsh hit the ground and lay still. Maybe alive. Maybe dead.
Repentance went numb. Did she kill Goodwoman Marsh?
Sober dove toward his mother.
Repentance twisted against the overlord. His grip tightened. "I've changed my mind," she said. Her words melted, unheard, into the chaos. She tried again, "I want to stay here."
The overlord lifted her and threw her into the slave cart.
Goodman Marsh squatted on one side of his fallen button mate, with Sober on the other side.
One of the overlords pointed his dragon stick toward the sky and pressed the ignition. A fountain of fire, six feet tall, whooshed from the stick, followed by a loud boom.
Repentance threw herself flat in the bed of the cart, and covered her head with her arms. When the echo from the explosion subsided, the world was silent.
"As Providence is my witness, I am on the edge of hauling you all away for rioters." The slaver spoke loudly enough to be heard, but softly enough to let them know that he was in complete control. "There are three more couples waiting to be buttoned. Proceed with order or forfeit them to me."
Repentance peered over the edge of the cart. Without a whisper of complaint, the people pushed themselves off the ground, brushed dirt from their sleeves and stomachs, and faced the remaining button girls. The overlord aimed his dragon stick at Sober's face.
Sober, keeping his gaze on his mother, climbed into the cart.
A drumbeat began. In front of the fire, three rumpled button girls sat, angry tears cutting tracks down their dirty cheeks. Wrathful Mudflat stepped from behind the fire, streaming an ochre scarf.
Repentance scooted close to the overlord who stood next to the cart. "I want to change my mind," she whispered. "Please, may I change my mind?" She had made a mistake. Her mother had always told her that she'd come to no good end if she couldn't learn to be content with her place in the world.
She'd finally done it. She'd come to no good end.
She'd thought through what would happen when she refused Sober, but the reality was so much worse than the way she'd imagined it. "I change my mind," she said a little more loudly.
Sober turned his attention away from his mother. Repentance couldn't see his expression in the dim light, but she could feel him looking at her.
He stood and moved toward her end of the cart. "She wants to change her mind," he said. "She was afraid. She knows better now." Standing in the cart, he towered over the slaver on the ground.
The man pointed his dragon stick at Sober. "Sit!"
He sat. "She wants to button."
The slaver swung the butt end of the dragon stick out, catching Sober on the side of his face. He landed in the bed of the cart like a clubbed catfish.
"Too late," the slaver said to Sober's unmoving body, his cold, pale eyes full of disgust. "She made her choice."
That button ceremony concluded more quickly than any Repentance had been to. The girls grabbed hold of the scarves right away, as if desperate to be buttoned before their scarf boys could change their minds. Less than half an hour later, the crowd dispersed, women keening, men cursing, and Comfort sobbing like a weanling. Wisdom Marsh groaned as
