The Visitor Beneath the Oak
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it attacked. It came down in sheets, horizontal and furious, driven by a wind that seemed to carry the weight of a hundred Mississippi summers compressed into a single June afternoon. Abigail Beauregard stood at the edge of the cemetery, her black dress heavy with water, watching the dirt fall onto her grandfather's casket with the steady rhythm of a...
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