The bayou does not forgive. It does not forget. It simply waits, patient as peat and hungry as the water itself, for men to make their bargains and pay their debts.
Jedediah Thibodeaux arrived in the Louisiana bayou on a Tuesday in June, 1927, with nothing but a suitcase and a name that had gotten him in trouble in New Orleans. He was twenty-seven, which in the bayou made him feel like an old man. He had seen too much, done too much, and survived too much. The city had taken his reputation and most of his savings, and it had left something in his chest...
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