The small hand now gripping mine—the hand that once gripped a hoe handle just as hard—is damp enough to wet the glove that covers it, and its nails dig into the back of my hand like knife points. Leaning close to Mom’s ear, I whisper, “The judge will be here any minute. Then Shad will give his opening statement. It’ll be tough to listen to, but Quentin will make up whatever ground we lose as soon as Shad sits down.”

“Penn,” she whispers, “I know people on that jury. Third from the left, second row, that’s Edna Campbell. And the man two seats down from her. He worked at a service station I used to patronize. He was always rude. And—my God, that black woman on the other end, first row . . . she used to cook for Margaret Corwin over in Glenwood, at parties.”

“Mom, that’s how it is in small towns. Take a piece of advice: Try not to think about the jury. Don’t even look at them. You’ll drive yourself crazy analyzing every twitch and raised eyebrow, and in the end all you’ll do is miss half the testimony.”

“But your father’s fate is in their hands!” she hisses with urgency.

“Yes and no. It’s Quentin and Shad who’ll determine Dad’s fate, far more than those twelve people. And Dad himself, maybe. So save yourself the aggravation.”

Mom doesn’t answer, but her grip tightens another notch, and my hand begins to go numb. As I try to ignore the pain—and wonder whether I can take my own advice—it hits me just how historic this trial really is. Natchez has a distinguished judicial history: the first bar association in the entire United States was founded here in 1821. Most recently the Justice Department decided to relocate a federal district court to Natchez, which over two hundred years ago was the capital of the Mississippi Territory. Between those two historic benchmarks lie several notable trials, some of which are best forgotten. But my father’s trial is certain to be remembered for more than the matter at issue before the bar. A trial in which not only the judge but also both principal attorneys are black is as rare as snow in Mississippi—rarer, in fact, since it actually snows in Natchez every couple of years. Black district attorneys are thin on the ground in my state. Since each judicial district has only one DA, whereas many districts have multiple judges, gerrymandering has carved out a significant number of “black” posts, making black judges quite common.