Garden Place was dying. Not dramatically, not with a bang or a fire...

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2026-05-05 07:04:45 -

Garden Place was dying. Not dramatically, not with a bang or a fire or a flood. It was dying the way all old things in the Mississippi Delta die—slowly, quietly, and with a dignity that no one was around to witness.

The cotton fields had been flooded for three years. The house, once grand and white-columned, was now gray and sagging, its paint peeling like sunburned skin. The porch steps had collapsed inward, and the front door hung from a single hinge that groaned every time the wind blew. Silas Graham stood on the porch and watched the swamp creep closer. It was always closer. Every year, the water rose...

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