Dear Preacher, Seeing it's The Lord's Day, I was hoping you'd say words. Some of us been troubled over that sharecropper who's squatting in that abandoned privy down the road from Edna's. Now I ain't got no objection to a body taking up caretaking duties in a place that nobody's signed on to keep dusted and all. I mean, somebody's got to do the dusting and carrying out the trash and keeping the doors working and the hinges oiled and jiggling the light switches when the power company lets the lines go dead. But, dang it, Preacher, it seems like if a body gives sharecroppers a nod as you pass along the road, they takes it into their heads that they can make right personal conversation about you, your people, and, well, you know what I mean. Preacher, I done tried to turn the other cheek, I done tried to be forbearing like my mammy and daddy taught us. It's trying, Preacher; it's trying. Pray for us Preacher, cause we surely do need it and you been to seminary. DeDe, going out to sweep up after last night's celebration and then sow her some cabbage and cauliflower seed for eating when Mama Nature relents and Fall comes to visit.