What the Mud Remembered
The Blackwood estate sat on a hill above the Mississippi River, and from the front porch you could see the water moving—brown and slow and indifferent to the fact that a family had once built its entire identity on the land between the hill and the river. Now the house belonged to my uncle, the man they called Big Daddy, and to me. His name was Silas Blackwood but everyone called him Big Daddy...
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