The Peach Seed by Anita Gail Jones EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Anita Gail Jones
- Language: English
- Genre: Romance Literary Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Albany.
A southern city running on country fuel.
Divided east to west by the Flint River, this corner of southwest Georgia
is graced with majestic pecan groves and wildflower carpets buffered by
blue skies; a region where flip sides coalesce, modern and antebellum, old
growth and new wood. A place of long, deep pain, still refusing
forgiveness; and yet propelled by joys and triumphs. In many ways, even in
2012, life here was the same as it was fifty years ago: a patchwork of
citizens—from farmers and businesspeople to college students—going
about their days as any other, separate and unequal.
Fletcher Dukes lived a few miles south of town in a widening-in-theroad called Putney. His property has been in their family since before he
was born, back when a Black man wasn’t likely to own a paltry lot, let
alone seven acres.
Fletcher’s single-story brick house sat on three acres. A long driveway
shot like a red clay ruler, straight from Sumac Road into Fletcher’s front
yard. If you parked a line of cars bumper to bumper, Car #1 would touch his
front porch, and Car #10, his mailbox.
His property’s back section faced north and included a four-acre pine
forest stretching out eastwardly in an L-shape, and wrapping around a large
meadow where two rusting cars and a pickup had become fixtures. Kudzu
mushroomed through windshields, and dog fennel hugged flat tires.
It was unseasonably hot for March. Engulfed by diesel fumes, Fletcher
paused, his body jiggling to the old tractor’s rhythm. He used a crisp, white
handkerchief to wipe sweat from his neck, then swerved in a wide turn, and
maneuvered around each vehicle to mow down what was left of weeds.
Tractor parked, he paused in his seat. If he closed his eyes, hot wind
blowing through pines could be waves breaking on a beach somewhere.
He
had time for a shower before picking up his elder sister, Olga, who lived
across town, for their weekly grocery run.
A little while later, Fletcher pulled his Ford Fairlane into Piggly Wiggly’s
parking lot, grumbling to Olga about a red Volvo wagon hitched to a UHaul trailer and parked across three spaces.
“Now whoever this is from Michigan ought to park this rig out on the
edge and leave these good spaces up front for local folk.”
Olga, who was slowly losing her sight, said, “We got our handicap
space no matter what.”
Ordinarily she would have more to say about northern license plates,
but as she adjusted to blindness, she had become more and more quiet. Her
reticence continued as a pink-faced man joined them, walking toward the
front doors.
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