Jean Thesman

“Your uncle hits your aunt?” I asked. “Does she hit him back?”
“No, of course not,” Grandpa interrupted, “and that’s why he hits her again. If she’d haul off and knock him over the outhouse once or twice, he’d learn better. Mike Webster was behind the door when the brains were passed out, but he could remember a lump on the skull if you gave him one that was big enough.”
Mama was signaling me with her eyebrows, but I ignored her. “Why does your uncle Mike hit his wife?” I asked Hank.
Hank stuffed a large piece of meat in his mouth and chewed. I waited. “Well?” I asked, unable to contain my impatience.
“Rachel,” Mama said, warning me, her hands fluttering.
“He hits her because he hits everybody,” Hank said finally.
“She ought to hit him back,” I said. “Hard.”
Mama raised her gaze to the ceiling. “That wouldn’t solve anything, Rachel. She’d be as bad as he is, then.”
Grandpa and I exchanged a meaningful glance. We weren’t passive sufferers like Mama. “If I hit him, it would solve things,” I said, and Grandpa shouted with laughter.
“That’s the Chance in you talking,” he said, delighted.”
― Jean Thesman, Rachel Chance

“Abel," the chief shouted, "if you don't quit this letter writing, I'm going to have to take serious steps."
"Off the end of the old dock, I hope," Grandpa replied as he slammed the door in the chief's face.”
― Jean Thesman, Rachel Chance