The Keeper of Blackwater Cemetery
The heat in Mississippi does not simply sit on you. It presses, heavy and wet, the way a hand presses on your shoulder when someone wants you to stay and talk. Silas Thornfield knew this heat. He had known it all his thirty-two years, ever since he was born in the big house on Blackwater Creek with its peeling white paint and its porch that sagged on the east side like a tired old man. The heat...
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