I ran into the church and had never been met with a more peaceful atmosphere in my life. None of the foulness that I’d had a whiff of this afternoon could ever enter here.
“Appalachian crafts are a myth; he was buying a porch quilt.”
“Arabella Raine, come to Daddy and see this tree. It’s sprouting Elvis instead of fruit!”
(Just another Appalachian novel, to keep Dee Cyrus Henderson satisfied) Prologue It is 1986 and the flat ground along Route 60, which will someday be Mill Creek… Read more “Sugarpool”