By the next morning, word had spread down every red-clay road and through every hushed back porch: Ikrist Raya's got a big-city lawyer.
In the colored quarters, it was whispered with cautious hope — the mothers saying maybe it'll help, the fathers shaking their heads but holding the thought like a small coal they could warm their hands on for a minute.
But up at the mill yard, the same words twisted sharper, passed from mouth to mouth like a splinter under skin: They done brought in an outsider. Troublemaker. Don't know when to leave well enough alone.
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Elijah Carter sat at the Raya kitchen table again that morning, his sleeves rolled up, the table spread with every scrap of paper the family had saved — letters, dates, Ikrist's schoolwork. Anna sat across from him, smoothing Amie's hair when the child got too close to the ink and tears.
Caleb paced the floor like a caged animal. "They sayin' you just here to stir up trouble. You know that?" he said, voice tight.
Elijah didn't look up from his notes. "Good. Let them say it. Trouble is the only thing that makes folks in power pay attention."
Caleb stopped pacing. "Sheriff's not gonna like you pokin' around. He's mean as a bull and twice as dumb, but folks listen to him."
Elijah finally raised his.