pickles (fiction)

She was a wide woman, blessed in the hip department. She couldn't keep a job over to the cotton mill 'cause the other ladies complained about her taking up too much space in the narrow aisles. Even her best friend, Euna Lee, turned on her ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry, Pickles," Euna Lee said sadly, "but it's embarrassing for people to try to get around you. You can't blame them."

Pickles didn't blame those other people. She did blame Euna Lee, though. A person ought to be able to count on a best friend to take up for 'em.

It all worked out for the best. Her Mama cleaned house for Mrs. Brock, wife of the assistant pastor at First Baptist. The big church at the center of Murrayville needed help in their nursery. Pickles had helped raise seven brothers and sisters, so she was called down to the big church on Wednesday to speak to the education director.

Two days later she was assisting in the 2's on Mondays through Fridays and in Infants on Sundays. Turns out her wide hips were just right for tending to babies. And although it took her a while to get used to being around fancier folks than could be found at her own tiny Pentacostal church out on River Road, she eventually felt at home at the big white church she'd only ever studied from a distance.

Euna Lee accused her of being stuck up when Pickles showed no interest in going to the dances at the VFW. But Pickles was still smarting over how easily Euna Mae had joined the other mill workers in calling for her to leave. A person ought to be able to count on a best friend to take up for 'em.

Besides, Pickles was being courted by Jimmy Davis, the maintenance man at First Baptist who had lost his wife to cancer less than a year ago. Jimmy and Pickles ate their sandwiches together nearly every day now. He was going to ask her to marry him, she felt sure. Men don't like being alone and most widowers didn't stay widowers for long. Everybody in the church said they were real cute together.