Clara wrapped her arms around her waist as she approached what she knew must be the weeping wall. It was an eight-foot-high stone structure ending in dense woods and high reedy grass near the edge of the Mississippi River on one side and the beginning of what had once been the sugar crops on the other, now a tangle of overgrowth. The middle of the wall formed an open arch, barricaded by an iron gate. Wild roses spiraled through the bars, creating a thick tangle of green leaves, heavily thorned vines, and vibrant crimson flowers. There was something both lush and savage about it, and that
...more
