The fellowship hall of the Jordan’s Bend Evangelical Church was packed to the rafters. The aroma of fresh baked rolls, fried chicken and warm apple pie filled the air. Families dressed in their Sunday best chatted and laughed as the good reverend Bro. Eugene Dawson and his wife, Sarah, stood on the small stage on the end of the hall opposite the kitchen. They smiled and nodded as people passed by with their plates filled. It was a heart-warming sight for the married couple who had put their full devotion into growing the congregation of the largest of many churches in Jordan’s Bend.

Bro. Eugene and Sarah were opposites in the true sense of the word when it came to personalities. He was a tall man, mostly bald and stoic in demeanor, a teddy bear in stature, but an eagle in his principles and faith. Sarah, on the other hand, was bubbly, the “hostess with the mostest” at all church gatherings and she loved to play the piano. But when it came to faith, the thinnest of skin could not pass between them. Together, they were formidable. A veritable one-two punch of righteousness and humility.

Walt walked the three blocks from his office at the newspaper downtown and climbed the steps to the church’s fellowship hall. Earlier that morning, the first issue of the Common Man Gazette had hit the news stands. He figured the evening meal would be the perfect location to gauge reader feedback. He had learned that gatherings such as this one were good for catching up on gossip and, undoubtedly, a few unintentional news leads he could glean.

The metal door clanged shut as he entered the fellowship hall. Conversations stopped as every head at every table turned to see the man they had heard about from the Rotary Club meeting the day before and through the newspaper he had printed this very day. Even the children were quiet.

Walt stood tall. Shoulders back, returning each gaze as his eyes scanned the room. When he reached the final table, he winked. An audible gasp was heard from the far corner table.

“Ah, brother Walt. Welcome to our weekly church social.”, said the good reverend Bro. Eugene as he extended his hand.

“We are so happy to have you join us tonight! I am so happy to meet you!”, said sister Sarah as she walked past her husband’s hand to hug Walt.

“Thank you. I hope you don’t mind me showing up unannounced.”

“Nonsense.”, said Sarah. “Everyone here knows who you are!” She took a step back, gave Walt a good head-to-toe look over and smiled. “You look like you could use a good meal! I bet it has been too long since you had home cookin’. Am i right?”

“Well…..”

“You just come with me. I’ll get sisters Emma and Beatrice to fix you right up.” Sarah took hold of his elbow and escorted Walt across the room to the kitchen serving window. Along the way, folks stared and begin to whisper as the pair passed. Walt recognized a few familiar faces from the Rotary Club meeting, nodding to each as their eyes met.

By the time they reached the serving window, the noise had grown back to normal level.

“Emma! Beatrice! Ya’ll make sure our new friend, Walt…now what is your last name? Flicker?”

Walt smiled and said, “Fricker.”

“Oh, that’s right!”, Sarah said as she smiled, waved her hand in a playful gesture and looked hard into Walt’s eyes.

Turning back to the kitchen ladies, she said, “Now make sure he gets a good helping of everything. Make him up a box to go as well. He looks like he needs it!” A slight cackle came from this smallish figure of a woman. Walt knew she meant it in joking, but all he heard was the Wicked Witch of the West.

Walt thanked Emma and Beatrice for the heaping plate and the extra to take home. He found a seat at a table near the far exit and sat down, his chair making a screeching sound as it slid across the linoleum floor.

As he ate the best fried chicken, mashed potatoes and okra he ever had the pleasure to eat, he noticed a few men walking up to the good reverend across the room. He wondered what Bro. Eugene, banker Bitterman and Mayor Anderson were discussing. They turned to look his direction. Walt returned the gaze with a chicken leg salute and a wry smile.

Before long, the crowd began to thin, each thanking the Dawsons as they left. Walt had not heard any gossip or potential leads. If it hadn’t been for the meal, the night would have been a complete waste of time.

But then, Walt watched as Emma and Beatrice exited the door near his table. He grabbed his doggie bag and followed.

Emma and Beatrice were rather large women, both in their late 60s or early 70s. Their white curly hair reminded him of every greeting card at Christmas with an illustration of Mrs. Clause. He noticed their white shoes, just like the ones nurses wear.

They sat down at a nearby picnic table and moved in unison as they placed their purses on the benches beside them, untied their aprons and spread them on the wood before them. This was clearly a ritual, thought Walt, one that is repeated after each social.

“May I join you?”, asked Walt.

“Sure.”, they responded. “We don’t mind…if you don’t mind.”

Walt tilted his head, squinted his eyes just the tiniest bit. “Mind what?”

Then, again in unison, Emma and Beatrice reached in their purses and placed a small box on their aprons. As if choreographed, they reached into their mouths and pulled out a full set of dentures in one hand, flicked open the boxes with the other and placed their dental work inside.

They looked up at Walt and smiled fully toothless smiles.

Walt couldn’t believe what he had just seen, but also couldn’t help himself and smiled back. It was the first genuinely human act he had seen in the last few days in Jordan’s Bend.

“So, that’s what you meant when you said ‘if you don’t mind’?”, he asked.

Emma and Beatrice didn’t answered, but each put one finger into the air, as if to say “wait, there’s more”. And…there was.

They pulled a can of snuff from their purses, pulled off the lid and put a pinch between their bottom lip and their gum. Again, they looked at Walt and smiled.

He said, “Well, I don’t mind.” With that, the kitchen ladies pointed to a spot on the picnic bench and Walt sat down.

He learned that the women were, in fact, twins. Fraternal twins, but twins nonetheless. Their day jobs were as cooks at the nearby mental hospital. They lost their teeth as children due to some disease that they couldn’t pronounce nor remember. They learned to dip snuff from their grandmother, who carried a spittoon with her from room to room. She would sit on the porch and have the girls move it out into the yard to practice spitting longer distances, a contest of which came around each year at the county fair.

“We cook for folks when they have get-togethers, too. Ever’one from the receptionist at the bank all the way up the mayor hisself! We seen everybody’s house. You’d be su’prised what ya hear. Folks talk like we ain’t even there.”, said Emma. Beatrice added with a nod of her head and a slap of her hand on the table, “We done seen it all!”

They turned to spit in the flower bed behind them.

Sensing a story, Walt reached into his pocket. “Here’s my card. I’d sure love to talk with you ladies some more, maybe have you as our first guest on the ‘Fresh From the Oven’ feature. Would you like to be in the paper?”

“Hell yea!”. The sisters looked at each other, doing a primping motion to their hair. “How ’bout we come by after we get all the crazies fed for breakfast t’morrow?”

“I’ll be waiting for you”

“How ’bout we brang ya some biscuits and gravy!”

“I’ll have the coffee ready.” Walt said his goodbyes and walked back toward his office.

In the background, he could hear the laughter from Emma and Beatrice. “We gonna be famous!”

“Jackpot”, he thought to himself.

(To be continued)