Charlotte Figg Takes Over Paradise (11 page)

Lucky and I walked together, well, mostly. He liked to run off ahead and sniff things out first.

"You're starting a load of trouble," Charlie Lundy, Greta's husband, said after I asked him to deliver my message. "She's got housework to do and meals to cook. That's how come all us men went to your place that day, to warn you."

Charlie was a horse of a man with thick arms and a nearly square nose. It wasn't until Greta came to the door and pushed him out of the way that I felt better.

"Go on, Charlie," she said with a shoulder hit to his waist."Finish your dinner."

"Dinner?" I said. "The last thing I want to do is interrupt dinner. I thought it was late enough. I'm—"

She stopped me. "Don't let Charlie bother you. He had to pull a little OT at the plant and he's a mite gruff is all."

"So you can make the meeting tomorrow, my place, ten o'clock in the morning."

"Pie?"

"Plenty of it."

Greta smiled. "I'll be there."

But then Charlie bellowed from the kitchen and Greta closed the door.

That was pretty much how it went, and by eight-thirty I had everyone geared up for the meeting. Marlabeth Pilkey was last on my list. She lived close to the Wrinkels. When I saw the Wrinkel's trailer, a lump like oatmeal formed in my throat. I had to fight the urge to bang on the door and demand that Suzy come out. I can't even say why I got so flustered that night. I just stood there in the dark under the glow of a single street lamp as the smell of mold and pine and creek water filled the air and indignation rose in my belly.

I think I hoped to hear something, a fight, raised voices, anything that would give me a right, at least in my mind, to knock on the door. But it was stone cold quiet, eerie quiet. Not a peep came from their trailer. I only saw one small light in the window. It was sad, really. Sad because I envisioned Suzy sitting inside trying desperately to keep to herself, maybe knitting, maybe reading, maybe folding laundry with one eye on what she was doing and the other on Fergus. Waiting, waiting for him to start yelling or swinging.

That was something I knew all too well. Except it never occurred to me that I was unhappy. I thought sitting by myself at night reading, watching the TV, or baking pie with a knot the size of a Winesap apple in my stomach was normal married life. But since Herman died and I'd been living in Paradise, I'd started to feel the knot loosen.

Lucky whimpered and nudged my knee. I shushed him because I didn't want Fergus to hear us and come outside. "We should just go home, boy. We'll get Suzy out somehow."

I lingered a second and saw the kitchen curtain open at the side. I saw Suzy's eyes; even in the dark I recognized them.

R
ose and Ginger came by early the next morning. Rose was wrapped in her heavy brown sweater and Ginger was mostly hidden inside a deep blue parka. The weather had turned chilly. Rose said it was not unusual for the mountains in spring, but we were all a tad dismayed thinking that spring might have changed her mind.

"Can't believe how cold it is," Rose said. She kept her sweater on and reached for the coffeepot. "A cold front moved in over the mountains, probably bring rain later."

"Heavens to Betsy," I said. "A lot of rain? What will it do to the field? Probably turn it into a huge mud hole."

"No, no," Ginger said. She hopped onto a kitchen chair— the one with the thick book. "The dirt will get wet, but it won't wash away, least, not all of it. Besides, I saw Asa headed out that way earlier. Probably try to cover some of it."

I poured half-and-half into my coffee. I always used real cream or half-and-half in coffee. It's what makes the difference between a good, thinking cup of coffee and something you drink to jumpstart your heart. "Hope they have a tarp big enough."

"That boy has everything," Rose said. "Ever look inside that garage of his? My, my, but it's chock full of every machine, gadget, tool, auto part, and piece of wood a person could ever need. I think Asa could build his own city."

I felt a little better, but still nursed a worry. I wouldn't feel a hundred percent worry-free until the field was finished and we had proper tarps to protect the infield.

By ten o'clock we had cups and saucers and pie set up buffet-style for the team and waited for the women to arrive.

"Oh, I do hope they come," I said. "They'll come won't they, Rose?"

"Sure," she said. "Just relax. You have notes for everything you need to say?"

I grabbed my note pad from the kitchen counter. "I do. I put down my thoughts and I am not concerned about anything except the sponsor."

"Sponsor?" Ginger said. "You mean someone to take on the team and buy the uniforms and pay the fees in exchange for advertising?"

"That's right. Back in my day, Burrell's Deli sponsored The Clifton Canaries. Marty and Freda Burrell ran this little deli on High Street. My mama would buy all our groceries there, including the best fresh turkeys for Thanksgiving."

Ginger laughed. "Probably got the turkeys from us."

I squinted. "What?"

"My daddy and his daddy before him were turkey farmers just down the road about sixty miles or so. Sold to nearly every grocer outside Philadelphia."

"Amazing," I said. "It is a small world. Who knew I'd be sharing pie with the daughter of the man who provided my Thanksgiving meal?" I lifted my cup to her. "Thank you very much. They were delicious."

Ginger pushed another slice of pie in front of me. "Our pleasure."

"Now back to our latest problem. Who can sponsor our team?"

I looked at Ginger. "Your family still have a turkey farm?"

"Nah. Sold it after Daddy died."

We sipped coffee and picked at pie silently until we saw the rest of the team making their way toward the trailer.

"They're here," I said. "Maybe one of them will have a thought."

After scattered and happy greetings the women gathered in the living area with coffee and pie. I let them jabber a few minutes. Only Greta brought a child—baby Ruth. A pretty little thing with a pug nose and bright eyes, she looked a bit like Bette Davis. Greta carried her in a basket that looked to be about a hundred years old, stuffed with soft, colorful quilts. A tiny blue bunny with brown button eyes, handmade from a terry towel, hunkered down in a corner of the basket, making the whole scene that much more lovely.

"Baby Ruth is adorable," I said. Then I swallowed like I always did when I saw a new baby. It brought back all those awful feelings of longing I lived with for never having been able to bear a child. "She seems quiet now. Did the colic go away?"

Greta laughed along with the other women. "Oh, colic never goes away. It just turns into something else, like teething, stomach virus—"

"And boyfriend problems when they turn twelve," Clara said.

Greta touched baby Ruth's cheek. "Marlabeth gave me one of her tea concoctions—"

"Lemon and ginger with a skosh of fennel," Marlabeth interrupted."Breast-fed babies eat the same thing as their mamas more or less, so I figured settling Greta's stomach would do the trick."

"And she told me to stop eating gassy foods like franks and beans."

"Now, girls," I said raising my hand. "This is all very interesting and I would love to hear more about Marlabeth's concoctions, but I think we should get to the topics at hand." I showed them my notepad. "We have three important items to discuss about our team."

"Go on, Charlotte," Ginger said. "You're the coach, after all."

"Thank you, Ginger. Well, first I want to tell you about a man I met—" and with that the women made oohs and ahs and even a whistle. I raised my hand again. "Not that kind of man."

They laughed, and then I told them about meeting Cash Vangarten.

"Do you think we can beat his team?" Carla asked.

"Sure," I said. "We're just as good as any team out there."

"I still wouldn't place any bets," Frankie said. "Just because our hearts are in the right place doesn't mean our bats will be."

"Or gloves," added Marlabeth. "That is what they call them things we wear on our hands. I don't have one of those, but I'm a size medium."

"Don't worry, Marlabeth," Rose said. "We'll get you a glove. One that fits nice and snug."

"That's all fine and dandy," I said. "But we need a team sponsor. Now, it's not mandatory, but it sure would help. It costs a bit of money to have a team—uniforms, equipment, league fees, and such. A rich or semirich benefactor would help."

Marlabeth raised her hand. "What's a team sponsor?"

I had to wonder how a woman so smart about herbs and plants could be so ignorant on just about everything else.

Ginger explained. As she did I realized that the Frost sisters were absent. I leaned toward Rose, who sat in Lucky's chair. She was the only one he allowed. Lucky sat near the door like a chivalrous knight.

"They might still show," Rose said. "But even if they don't, that's okay. They'll most likely abide by anything that's decided today."

I nodded. "Thank you, Rose. Now does anyone have a suggestion for a team sponsor?"

"What about Fergus Wrinkel?" hollered Frankie Felker.

The whole team nearly busted a gut over that one.

"Fergus?" I couldn't believe my ears. "You got to be kidding."

"Sure we are," Greta said. "Fergus would never go for it." She reached into the basket and took the baby Ruth to her breast.

And I sighed.

It never occurred to me that there would be a day in my life when I would feel jealous of a nursing mother. But there I sat in my own living area feeling about as green as a Christmas tree. Greta was all of twenty-five years old. Same age I was when I lost my first baby after trying for nearly six years. Oh, I know, like Dr. Halloway said, it might have been the good Lord's way of protecting me from a baby that wasn't quite right. But for a brief couple of minutes as Greta held her baby so close, so warm and satisfied, I wished the good Lord wasn't always so darn smart.

I busted out of my reverie when Rose poked me. "Charlotte, do you have any idea about a sponsor?"

"Well, I had thought about the Fuller Brush Company, but I scratched it off the list. I figured they'd think sponsoring a trailer park softball team would not fit their image."

"Makes sense," she said.

"Who else you got on your list?"

I looked at my writing pad. "No one," I said, looking up.

There was a collective sigh out of the group. It seemed no one had a thought about who could take on the responsibility. All of the husbands, except Marlabeth Pilkey's, worked at the elastic factory in Shoops. And all the women were one hundred percent sure the company would never go for it. I figured their blanket dismissal had more to do with not wanting to ask their husbands.

"Well, we need a sponsor," I said. "I can't afford it all by myself."

"Why not at least ask Fergus?" called Ginger, straining to be heard over the buzz of the comparatively Amazonian women near her. "I knew you would all laugh, but who knows, maybe he'd relish the notion to advertise Paradise. Still has three or four empty trailers scattered around."

"You're crazy, Ginger," Frankie said. "That S.O.B. would never sponsor us. Doesn't even sponsor his own wife, if you know what I mean."

The room grew suddenly and ferociously silent, as though a giant cat had been let out of a bag that no one wanted to feed.

I chose to gloss over the revelation myself after Rose tossed me a knowing glance.

Gwendolyn, who sat quietly this whole time, started to cry."We'll never find a sponsor. Never."

"Stop your yammering, Gwendolyn," Greta said. "I swear you're worse than a baby with the collywobbles sometimes."

Gwendolyn sniffed, but she stopped blubbering.

"Why don't we talk about a name for our team?" I said."Change the subject for a bit."

That was when Marlabeth Pilkey's hand shot up so fast and so straight I thought she had a spasm. "I've been thinking," she said with her arm still raised.

"You can lower your arm, Marlabeth," Frankie said. "You got the floor."

"Oh, sorry." She rested her arm in her lap. "I've been thinking up names all night long, lying in my bed thinking of names. Why, about a thousand of them came to mind. But the one I like best—are you ready for this?"

The women all said, "Yeah, Marlabeth."

"Well, now give it some time to soak in, but I like the name Paradise Tornados." She raised her index finger in the air and did a kind of swirly thing above her head and said, "Whoosh."

"Tornados?" Greta said. The baby lost her grip and Greta held her up for a burp. "Tornados. We are not Tornados. I was thinking something more like the Paradise Angels."

"Well, what in tarnation do Angels got to do with it?" Marlabeth said.

"What the heck reason do you have for wanting us to be called Tornados?" Greta countered.

Marlabeth bit into a piece of pie. "Simple. Trailer parks are always getting destroyed by tornados, right? Well, we'll just be the ones doing the destroying—of the other teams."

"Out west, maybe," Greta said. She returned Ruth to suckle."But we don't get tornados around here, so nobody will get it."

"How about Destroyers?" Clara said. "I like it."

"Destroyers?" Greta said. "That's the name of a roller derby team, not a softball team."

I put my hand up. "I think Tornados is an okay name."

"Yeah," Ginger said. "When I was little—"

"Was there ever a time you weren't?" Clara said with a chuckle.

"Okay, okay," Ginger said. "When I was young my father used to say I was a tornado the way I tore around the house."

Rose, who had been looking pretty solemn through the discussion said, "How come you want Angels, Greta?"

Greta smiled her appreciation. "I was thinking more about the word
paradise
and
paradise
is just another word for heaven and heaven has angels so. . . . "

"That's great," Rose said. "I vote for Angels."

Everyone but Marlabeth and Ginger agreed, so the majority ruled.

"Tornados will be our second choice if Angels is already taken," I said.

I wrote the name Paradise Angels on my pad with large letters. It looked nice. But I added the name Tornados under it, just in case.

It didn't take nearly as much discussion to choose our team colors. Marlabeth suggested purple and white and no one countered.

But that brought us back to the problem of a sponsor.

Greta looked at her watch. "Where did the time go? I have to get home and take a roast out of the freezer."

"But I didn't even talk about the new field or—"

"Have to wait," Clara said. "The school bus is coming down the road with the kindergartners."

They filed out and left me and Rose and Ginger with the chore of finding a team sponsor.

"You could ask Fergus," Ginger said. She looked around my trailer. "He sort of owes you."

Rose went into the kitchen carrying plates and cups balanced high. "Maybe you could ask," she called. "It might be a good idea in the long run."

I swallowed. "Why me? By myself? You guys come too."

"Not me," Rose said.

"I'll go." Ginger hopped off the couch.

My stomach twisted into a hundred knots. Knots that I thought had started to loosen. "Guess we have no other choice. But what if he refuses?"

"Then we'll think of something else. Maybe Asa knows someone," Ginger said.

I chewed the last of my cherry pie and contemplated the idea of Fergus Wrinkel sponsoring our women's softball team.