Charlotte Figg Takes Over Paradise

by Joyce Magnin

"Now you're just sounding mysterious," Rose said.

  "But that's precisely the way God prefers to work," Thomasina said. "In mystery and might. Mystery and might."

  "Can you at least tell us who?" Rose asked.

  "Uh, yeah," Ginger said. "I mean we will have their name on our uniforms."

  "Elsmere Elastic is our sponsor." I stood straight and tall when I said it, hoping that if I locked my knees tight I wouldn't feel so many butterflies flitting around in my stomach.

  "Where the men work?" Ginger said.

  "Yep. Where the men work."

  "But how?" Asa said. "I can't imagine any of them going to their bosses and asking for such a favor."

  "That's not how it happened," I said.

  Edwina squinted at me like screwing up her eyes would help her read my mind or something.

  "That's all I'm going to say. I'm driving into town this afternoon, or maybe tomorrow—" I stretched my aching back, "goodness gracious but building a ball field is hard work—and I'll get the papers signed and ready to go."

  Their faces fell to a state of worriment, but I tried to buck them up. "Just accept the gift." But no one reacted the way I expected. Instead of joy and elation, I saw shock and even horror cross their faces.

  "I don't think the husbands are going to cotton to this," Thomasina said finally, revealing the heart of the matter. "They aren't about to mix work with their wives; you know what I mean?"

  I felt my forehead wrinkle. "Why would that matter?"

  "Well, think about it, Charlotte," she said. "The husbands are none too keen on the women playing softball in the first place, and now to have their employer, the largest employer in Shoops, sponsor them?"

  That was when I felt my own countenance fall. I thought they'd be whooping for joy. "I don't understand. I thought you'd be happy."

  "We are, sort of," Edwina said. "It's just that the men could get pretty riled and maybe keep their wives from playing."

  "They could try," Thomasina said. "They are not going to like this. No siree Bob, not one iota." She brushed her hand through her short blonde hair. "I can just hear our Pa. 'Tommy, he'd say, 'no good can from this. No good at all.' "

  "It won't happen like that," I said, and I started to walk off the field like I was just ejected from the game.

  "Charlotte," Rose called. "Don't be like that. You don't understand."

  "I can hardly believe it," I talked right out loud to myself the whole way home. "Go through all this trouble only to have them poop on it like it was—" Just my good fortune and timing because I had just that second felt my foot stomp on what was most likely a pile of dog poo, probably from a big dog.

  I emerged from the woods near the Wrinkel trailer with most of the mess scraped from my sneaker, but it still reeked. And speaking of reek, Fergus stood near his pickup. My stomach tightened. I suspected Hazel had already told him the news.

  "If you have anything to say about it, Fergus, just keep it to yourself. It's none of your dang blame business."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Don't play coy with me. You know perfectly—"

  Suzy appeared at the front door wearing a paisley scarf on her head and an A-line shift dress with absolutely no charm. She clutched her right arm like it was hurt.

  "You okay?" I called. I gave a quick glance to Fergus.

  "She's fine. Just running her into town is all."

  Still harboring frustration from my teammates' response to my good news and the irresponsible dog, I gave Fergus such a glare. A glare that let him know I was on to him. He backed off a step or two, and I walked away. I hid behind one of the large oaks and peeked in time to see Suzy, still holding her arm tight against her chest, climb into the truck with no help from her husband.

  17

  The Elsmere Elastic Factory seemed to spread out forever. I drove clear through Bright's Pond to the other side of Shoops, and then through a tall metal gate onto the main campus of Elsmere Elastic. I had never seen so many buildings scattered about with lights and stacks and garages and signs. The road wound around until I saw a sign that read: EMPLOYEES, with an arrow pointing to the right. And VISITORS, with an arrow pointing to the left. "Guess I'm a visitor," I said, and that gave me a nice feeling, like I was entering a friendly place.

  At the end of the road a nice young man standing in a little building with a red roof stopped me. He handed me a clipboard."Write your name on that line and who you are here to see on the line next to it."

  I wrote, "Charlotte Figg," and then, "Cash Vangarten," on the next.

  The man looked at the clipboard and then at me. "Mr. Vangarten? Is he expecting you?"

  A red blush started at my waist and traveled up to my neck and cheeks. I hadn't thought to make an appointment. Herman always figured that kind of stuff out. He would have said, "Make sure you call first, Charlotte. He might not be in. He might be busy." But my mind didn't think like that.

  "Well, I don't know if he's expecting me or not. Hazel Crenshaw just told me to come see him."

  "Who?"

  "Hazel Crenshaw. Can I go see him?"

  His back straightened. "Just a minute."

  The fellow made a quick phone call. "Follow this road to the end until you come to a big old building. Go on inside and wind around through the corridors until you come to a set of double doors. Go through them doors and up the stairs. It might be noisy in there. Once you get to the top of the stairs, go through the gray door. Mr. Vangarten's office is on the left. You'll see it." He put a yellow tag under my windshield wiper.

  "Thank you." I hoped I would remember all his instructions.

  A yellow and white gate, the kind at railroad crossings, lifted and I drove through. I wondered if elastic was really ALL they made here. If ever a place looked like it housed some secret government projects, Elsmere was it.

  I found the building easy enough and parked in a space marked VISITORS. I went inside and walked for about a mile down one corridor and around a corner into another and finally found the double doors. Once inside the sound nearly deafened me. All manner of whirrs and clanks and highpitched sounds assaulted my ears, and I thought it was funny that elastic, generally so quiet and springy, was so darn loud to make. I walked about another half-mile and found the metal stairwell and made a mental note to ask Hazel why this place didn't have an elevator.

  The walk tired me, but I figured it was good exercise for softball. When I reached the top, I waited to catch my breath and then pushed open the door, thankful the sound lessened.

  A woman behind a little metal desk with a single daisy in a bud vase greeted me.

  "I'd like to see Mr. Vangarten, please," I said.

  "Name?"

  "My name is Charlotte Figg."

  She eyed me up and down and then picked up a phone receiver and pushed a red button. "Mr. Vangarten. There's a Charlotte Figg here to see you." I had to chuckle on account of I wondered how many Charlotte Figgs there were in the world.

  "Excuse me," the woman said. "Mr. Vangarten would like to know who you are with."

  I looked around. "I'm not with anyone, but maybe you could tell him I'm the woman from the Pink Lady last Sunday."

  Her eyebrows rose. "Really." Then she spoke into the phone."She says you know her from the Pink Lady."

  A few seconds later she ushered me into Cash Vangarten's musty-smelling office. The walls were covered with bulletin boards tacked with papers and charts. One long and tall window overlooked the plant work area. I couldn't help but look a minute at the people down below in white uniforms and red hardhats scrambling around as giant machines made miles and miles of elastic. There was probably enough elastic down there to make several billion bra straps and even more underwear bands. My goodness gracious, I would have never thought the world could use that much elastic.

  His large desk was cluttered with files and folders and miscellaneous papers and books. A coffee cup with the words "Best Grandpop" caught my attention.

  Cash was dresse
d in a dark suit with a pale blue shirt that day and looked far different and smelled far different from the man I met at the restaurant. Aqua Velva. I knew because it was my favorite men's cologne. I asked Herman to switch from Old Spice but he refused. "The lady customers like it," he said."And the customer is always right." I gave him Aqua Velva for Christmas, but he never used it. I didn't mention this before, but I asked that nice Frank Gideon if he would sprinkle a little on Herman in his casket.

  Mr. Vangarten offered me a chair in front of his desk. I sat with my purse on my lap.

  "So, what can I do for you, Charlotte?" He sat behind his desk looking very official.

  "Hazel Crenshaw sent me."

  His head jerked back and he coughed. "Hazel Crenshaw? How do you know Hazel?"

  I took a breath. "There's no need to be secretive. She told me everything. She lives right nearby me at the Paradise Trailer Park."

  He leaned on his desk with his arms crossed. "I see. So why did she send you to see me?"

  "Now, Mr. Vangarten, don't go getting yourself all worked up when I say this. She said you might get a bit miffed, but—" I had to take another breath because my nerves got the best of me. I started to shake a little, and for the first time since Herman died, I wished he hadn't.

  "Well?" said Vangarten.

  "You remember how we talked at the Pink Lady about me wanting to start a softball team and you gave me all the nice information, told me what I needed and where to go and who to talk to and what forms and—"

  "Yes, yes, I remember, but what does this have to do with Hazel Crenshaw?"

  "I'm getting to that, if you'd only give me a minute to get it all out."

  "Women," he said. "Have to get yourselves all wound up before you can spill it." Then his eyes caught mine and he smiled. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Figg. Lots of headaches today." He nodded toward the giant window.

  "She said you would sign sponsorship papers for my team. Elsmere Elastic is sponsoring the Paradise Angels."

  He practically leaped out of his chair. "What the H—"

  "Heck, Mr. Vangarten. I hope you weren't planning on swearing at me. Hazel is my new friend and all."

  He sat back down with a thud. "No, I just don't believe it."

  "She said you would have some trouble with this."

  "Um." He searched his desk and finally grabbed the mug. Took a sip and made a face. "I hate cold coffee." He buzzed his phone, and in a second the woman I met earlier was at his door. "Get me another cup of coffee and whatever Mrs. Figg would like."

  "Nothing for me, honey. Except, well, unless you have a Tab?"

  "Certainly."

  "So anyway, Mr. Vangarten, I have the papers right here in my bag, and since today is the last day to get them filed so we can play in the summer league, I'd appreciate it—"

  The secretary returned with a steaming mug of coffee—this one had a picture of big old bass on it—and a Tab in a glass with ice for me.

  "Thank you," I said.

  Vangarten didn't even acknowledge her. I cleared my throat.

  He looked up. "Thank you, Claudia."

  She smiled at me. I smiled at her.

  I pulled the papers out of my bag and placed them on his desk. "I stopped off at the League office—didn't know it was some guy's garage—but anyhoo, he was so sweet and—"

  "Fine, Mrs. Figg."

  Cash Vangarten signed the sponsorship papers, with a little too much flourish, if you ask me, and even crossed his "t" with a line about an inch longer than it needed. His hostility was evident.

  "Thank you," I said as I shoved the papers into my bag and stood.

  He grunted.

  I padded softly to the door and was just about to turn the knob when, "Mrs. Figg," he called. I turned around. "Your team? Are they any good?"

  I nodded, even though I truthfully didn't know if the Angels could play or not. "Yes, Mr. Vangarten. Championship caliber, if I do say so myself." It wasn't actually a lie. They were champions, every single one of them. They just didn't know it yet.

  "That's good," said Vangarten. "My team stinks. Worst in the league."

  "Maybe that's why Hazel won't sponsor you."

  He fiddled with a pen on his desk. "Yep, that's the reason, I'm sure."

  "Good-bye, Mr. Vangarten, and thank you very much."

  "Good day, Mrs. Figg."

  The secretary sat at her desk sharpening a pencil.

  "I don't get it," I said. "He doesn't seem like the type to take an interest in women's softball."

  Claudia smiled wide. "He has no choice, Mrs. Figg—"

  "Call me Charlotte."

  "Let's just say he's doing time for some nasty undertakings a couple of years ago. Either he coaches the niece's team or he loses his job."

  "You mean Hazel Crenshaw's niece?"

  "Mm hmm, I do. Seems Mr. Vangarten got into some trouble a little while ago and, well, coaching the Thunder is his punishment."

  "No fooling. Imagine that. What did he—"

  The phone buzzer rang. "I better go see what he wants," Claudia said.

  The sun was nearly set behind the mountains by the time I pulled into Paradise. Some low, black clouds had moved in and it looked like rain. I drove past the Wrinkel trailer, always alert for something—noise, Suzy, anything—but all I saw was a closed-up, unfriendly trailer.

  Lucky was sure glad to see me. He skittered right into my knees when I pushed open the door. "How are you, boy?" I gave him a good scratch behind his ears. Then I let him outside. Poor guy must have had to go something awful, and I was very proud that he didn't wet my floors. "Remind me to ask Asa about that doggie door."

  It had been a good day. Now I just needed to turn the women of Paradise into ball players because suddenly it had become a real competition. How in the world was I going to do that? I wanted to knock the socks off of Vangarten and his team. I threw together a cherry crumb and then I stood on the front stoop ruminating and taking in the fresh smell of early spring.

  I tried not to wish Herman was there to see me with the Angels. I knew he wouldn't have cared. To Herman, life pretty much revolved around selling brushes and cleaning supplies door-to-door. And he was good at that. And everyone knew it. It didn't matter if I was good at anything—except baking pies—while we were married. But still I had this whisper of a desire that Herman see me do something besides crimp crust and vacuum, even if it was impossible this side of the Jordan.

  Lucky bounded back to me carrying a tennis ball. I took it from his slobbery mouth and tossed it down the street. I still had a pretty good throwing arm. Lucky sprinted after it like a proud gazelle on the African savannah. That was when I saw Hazel out by her bird feeders. She was bundled as usual, even though the air had been getting warmer. I waved. She waved me over. This time Lucky followed and I let him.

  "So you got the papers signed?" she asked.

  "I sure did. We're all set. Thank you, Hazel. And you were right, Cash Vangarten didn't seem too happy about it."

  "He never will. Let's just say we have a score to settle." She dumped seed into a container. "Could you slip this into the feeder, dear?"

  "To tell the truth, Hazel, his secretary kind of mentioned he had some trouble down the road and coaching is—"

  "Yep. He was out driving drunk one night about three years ago and somehow managed to drive his car onto my front lawn and take out all my prize-winning roses. The biggest Mr. Lincolns you'd ever see."

  I looked around. "You mean here? In Paradise? I don't see how—"

  Hazel laughed. "No, no, dear. I have a house, a brick house just down the road from Paradise, sits on sixteen acres with seventeen rooms. The place is much too large for me now, but I have people who keep after it. Someday I'll figure what to do with it." She took a breath and then put her finger to her lips."Shhh, over there." She pointed toward the top of a towering pine. "Rocking on the tree branch. It's a female whistlesnook. Don't see too many of them."

  I turned, but the bird must have flown off. "Whi
stlesnook?"

  "They're very rare."

  So rare I thought the whistlesnook only existed in Hazel's imagination.

  "She'll be back. I got some black sunflower seed and beef suet here. She'll be back for certain."

  "So you make Mr. Vangarten coach a softball team as punishment for killing your roses."

  "Mm-hmm." She practically sang. "I have a niece who I love with all my heart who liked to play ball, and well that's why I asked the judge to make him do time by coaching her team."

  "So she plays? What's her name?"

  Hazel took my arm. "Let's go inside, dear. My legs get awful sore. That whistlesnook will come back."

  Once inside, I helped Hazel with her cloak. She plopped into her rocker.

  "You were telling me about your niece."

  "Yes, yes, Vertabeth. She lives in Florida now. Married some rich man. Moved down there last year. She still plays softball though. But down there, of course."

  "So you don't get to see her much."

  "Not nearly enough. Just Christmastime now. I go down there for a couple of weeks to be with Vertabeth and Dan and the children now. I don't let on but I don't care for Dan much. Bit of a sissy, if you ask me."

  I smiled and felt the corners of my eyes crinkle with laughter. Hazel was a pip. "How many more years does he have to coach?"

  She slapped her knees again and laughed. "His sentence was up two years ago, but I make him do it if he wants to keep his job."

  "Why, Hazel Crenshaw, you are a card. Just a wild card."

  "Dearie, I could tell you stories. But right now I need to take a short nap. You go on now, keep our little secret and"— she grabbed my hand—"Beat the you-know-what out of Cash Vangarten's team, okay, dear?"

  I went back to my trailer feeling satisfied, happy, and a bit sneaky. Paradise was a place of secrets, and I was the keeper of them all.

  18

  That Sunday I decided to see what happened at Rose's church. When I woke up around 7 a.m., which is my usual time, an odd feeling burbled in my chest. Maybe because I had that song from Sunday school running through my mind: "Do Lord, O do Lord, O do remember me." I pulled on a pretty flowered dress, then slipped into real shoes but quickly took them off and went back to my usual Keds.