Blood in the Delta
Silas Blackwood sat in the mud on the porch of the crumbling Blackwood Plantation and watched the Mississippi River flow by.It was 1955, and the Mississippi smelled different than any river Silas had ever known. It smelled of rotting cotton and muddy water and something deeper and older—the smell of a land that had been worked too hard and broken too many times and was now slowly, silently,...
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