Miss Sally

Posted on July 7, 2014



“Anything more…you’d like?” I ventured timidly.

“Nope.” He pushed his chair away from the table and wiped his hands on his hankie. For a moment he eyed me, that half-scowl, half-grin distorting his dark, long-chinned features; then, without saying anything, he turned and left the house. From the doorway I saw him move with long, hunched strides toward the road that led past the farm.

“Goin’ off t’see his Mex’can gals, I reckon.”

I whirled around and blushed as though I’d been caught doing something sinful. “Wh-what?”

“He likes them hot little Mex’can gals.” Cousin Theo limped to the frontdoor just as he son rounded the bend and disappeared.

“Oh.” My ears tried not to accept the information Cousin Theo was giving me.

“That boy, he’s gonna get his throat cut some day, messin’ around like he does.” Cousin Theo shook his head. “Them Mex’cans ‘r dang’rous when they get jealous, I know for a fact.”


Cousin Theo nodded. His face, in profile, reminded me of a coyote. “He oughtta get himself a woman and settle down. Thirty-five’s too old to be runnin’ around like he does.”

Hastily I nodded, agreeing in hopes that Cousin Theo wouldn’t tell me anything more. I’d just that day discovered in Cousin Matty something to look up to and I didn’t want it torn down. I ducked away to finish whatever I’d been doing in the kitchen, then slipped out the back door and followed the path we’d taken that afternoon to the edge of the pasture.

Excerpted from the novel Miss Sally by Robert Joe Stout

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