All the Boys Whistle When Delilah Walks By

By Sarah Rebecca Kelly

Smoky returned on leave after basic training, where he excelled. During a heavy backpack, muscle building training stunt, in the river, a small Indian trooper stumbled and fell over his head in the rushing waters. Smoky was strong enough to not only carry his own load, but he was able to reach down and pull up his companion. He drilled a hole in his medal, put it on a chain and gave the necklace to Delilah.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Rebecca Kelly
• Release date: Aug 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466144262

Sarah Rebecca Kelly

Award winning author, Sarah Rebecca Kelly, was born between old fashioned Kansas and the toughest part of Texas, in the Panhandle of Oklahoma. Her specialty is ‘no tears’ animal stories. She now lives in Arizona with her adorable husband, Jake, along with a loveable bunch of “mutts” and the smartest cats ever collected in one place. Sarah is known for her close relationship with Jesus and her children and many grandchildren revel in her special love.

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ALL THE BOYS WHISTLE WHEN DELILAH WALKS BY

Published by Sarah Rebecca Kelly on Smashwords

Copyright © 2002 by Sarah Rebecca Kelly

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Chapter 1

Delilah’s Uncle Guy owned Jukebox Lucky Seven, where she had been playing the piano ever since she was big enough to climb upon the piano stool. Once in a while just for the mischief of it, that crazy kid would break out with a wild, pounding of Perryville’s rugged, little church songs, Oh When the Saints Go Marching In! But mostly she stuck to what the beer drinkers liked, Pistol Packin’ Mama, I Didn’t Know the Gun was Loaded and Shotgun Boogy. Nobody thought much about the blond haired, barefoot child, born to play the piano, wearing a wash worn t-shirt and shorts. Delilah was simply part of the neighborhood. In her primary years, she swung on mulberry tree limbs, like any ordinary kid.

Mom Ava was the woman preacher who lived in an unpainted, two room shack; that was next door to another shack, with a white cross above the door, across a weedy path to the west of Blacky’s Garage and Service Station. At night after prayer meeting, she would slip out to the bar to drag her drunk husband home. He’d flop across the bed, listening to her playing hymns, on the guitar, to sooth his tortured soul; which strangely enough, he seemed to appreciate, because he had learned his lesson, not to over step that woman’s line of tolerance.

Neighborhood children often followed Mom Ava to gather around her chair while she sang Wayne to sleep. Once when she was hauling her drunk home, he started fussin’ like a three year old, and she dropped his sorry butt in a weed patch. She hissed angrily, I’m sick and tired of you pootin’ under my good quilt. Her lapse of profanity didn’t surprise the Sunday school kids at all.

Big Sally’s third daughter, Edie, lived with her grandmother, and she was quite a bit better off than Big Sally’s other children. In spite of being born of a lovers mistake, of which the infant’s father was a deadbeat dad. For the kids sake, Harold took their mother back; since