by Joyce Magnin
28
I invited Rose, Asa, and Ginger for dinner, hoping that the three of them would provide a buffer between me and my mother. I was not about to tell her about Fergus's threats, but she had a way of weaseling information out of me, which was probably why I was such a lousy secret keeper. Once, she got me to spill the beans when I discovered quite by accident that our neighbor Nathan Frye was having an affair with our other neighbor Chili Culpepper. It turned out ugly.
After Mother and I unpacked her clothes and placed them neatly in the drawers and on hangers, she set about rearranging the room to suit her taste. She placed the striped chair away from the window, saying she didn't care for too much sunlight and preferred the lamp while reading. Then she took out her own towels and arranged them in my bathroom. "I just like my yellow towels, Charlotte. All yellow, all the same."
Then she wandered into my kitchen carrying Tweety like Diogenes carried a lamp. I stood there frozen, waiting for her to rearrange my pots and pans and dishes, but fortunately she didn't. "You do have tea, Charlotte. If not, I brought along some Earl Grey." She put Tweety on the counter.
"I do, Mother. Tetley."
She waved it away. "Tetley. You mean in bags?"
"Yes. It's good."
"No, no. I like the loose leaf. I'll just get my infuser."
I turned the fire on under the kettle and finished peeling the potatoes I had started before she returned with a canister of tea, a dainty little tea cup with four-leaf clovers all around it, and a funny-looking tea ball.
She dangled it in front of me. "Do you remember this? I got it from the mayor of San Francisco during a buying trip."
"I remember, Mother."
"Delightful man. But not as delightful as your father." She clutched her chest and swooned just a tad. "I do miss that man." She sat at the table.
My father had been dead ten years.
"I invited some friends for dinner. I hope you don't mind," I said.
"No, no. Your friends are my friends."
I opened the oven door and checked my meat loaf.
"What is that, dear? A meatloaf? What is that all over it?"
"Walnuts. It's encrusted with chopped walnuts. My own recipe."
"Walnuts? Good heavens, I knew I should have sent you to cooking school. Or is that something that Herman conjured up for you to make? It sounds just wacky enough."
I ignored her and prepared broccoli. Truth was that Herman liked my walnut-encrusted meatloaf, especially around Christmastime when I made it with cranberries.
Ginger arrived first. I stood at the door looking at her for a minute before inviting her inside. In that short amount of time my mind filtered through all the possible insults my mother could muster, and all I could do was shake my head.
"Come on in, Ginger. Face my . . . I mean, meet my mother."
Lillian brought her tea into the living room. She towered over Ginger by almost four feet. Lillian DeSalle was a tall woman, nearly five feet eleven inches. She always said it made being a woman in a man's world easier. I could imagine what she would think of Ginger.
Ginger reached up her hand. "Pleased to meet you."
"Well, hello there, little gir—"
"Mother," I said, "this is Ginger Rodgers. She's on the team."
"And I'm thirty-two years old," she said. "No relation to the dancer, and I am pleased to meet you, anyway."
My mother shook her hand, nearly elevating Ginger off the floor like she was pumping a car jack. "Oh, that's right. The midget shortstop."
My heart stopped. Maybe Ginger didn't hear.
Ginger hopped up on the sofa. "Meatloaf, Charlotte? Smells good."
"Yep. Walnut-encrusted meatloaf with mashed potatoes and broccoli."
"Yum," Ginger said. "Sounds great."
My mother and Ginger continued to stare at each other in a most unnerving way. I searched my brain for something to say, something that would break the Mexican standoff. Mercifully, Asa and Rose arrived.
"Thank goodness," I said when I heard the knock.
"What did you say, dear?" Lillian asked.
"Nothing, Mother."
"She's just glad the other guests are here," Ginger said."Maybe you'll stop staring at me."
Lillian turned her head toward the door. "Well, let your dinner guests in, Charlotte."
"Hello," I said. "Come on in. Meet my mother."
Rose, wearing that heavy sweater again, went in first."Lillian," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
My mother didn't stand, but offered Rose her hand.
"So nice to meet you, Rose. You're the artist, correct?"
"I am," Rose said. "But—"
"Now, don't be shy. Don't hide your light under a bushel the way Charlotte did."
Asa extended his left hand. I watched my mother notice the empty sleeve.
"Goodness gracious," she said. "What happened to your arm, young man?"
Asa laughed. "Now, that's refreshing. Most folks try to ignore it."
"A missing arm is hard to ignore even if you can't see it," Mother said.
"Kind of like little people," Ginger said. "We prefer to be called little people, not midgets."
"Now, I meant no offense, dear," Lillian said. "Kind of like little people. Some things are just too obvious to ignore."
I served dinner in the living room since my kitchen was so small. But it went well and everything turned out just right, if I said so myself. Even Mother had little to say, except that meatloaf was not her favorite food and, "Not what I would call an entrée suitable for a dinner party." She sneaked two or three bites to Lucky on the sly. He was most appreciative and enjoyed my meatloaf but left the nuts, as always.
"I mean, honestly, dear, I would love to know what went through your mind the day you decided to cover a perfectly good meatloaf with crushed walnuts."
The apple pie a la mode for dessert was a hit. Mother enjoyed ice cream. Even at her age she would eat ice cream every day if she could. The conversation drifted to the softball team, and my mother made her feelings quite clear.
"It makes no sense to me why my daughter left a perfectly nice home in the suburbs to come to a . . . a trailer land to play softball." She said this directly to Rose like I was not even in the room.
"Park," Asa said. "It's a trailer park. Not a trailer land."
"Oh, is that right?" Mother said. "Park seems a funny name for this kind of place. When I think of a park, I think of trees and grass and children on swings, not metal houses lined up like sardines."
"They call it park because folks park their homes here," I said.
Morning arrived with clear skies, a slight breeze, and the excitement of our first game. I woke early enough to enjoy a cup of coffee on the stoop before my mother woke. Hazel was already in her yard tending to the birds. She wore her purple shawl and a yellow knit hat.
"Morning," she called.
I raised my cup to her.
"Was that your mother I saw with all those bags?" Hazel was old, but she could holler like a woman who had been hollering out city windows her whole life.
I nodded and raised my cup again.
She waved me over.
I checked inside first and Mother was still asleep. I could hear her snore from the front door. Lucky and I walked across the street.
"Today's the big day," Hazel said. She poured seed into a red bowl and set it on a log.
"It is. We play the Thunder at seven this evening."
"A night game."
"They all are since most of the players and coaches have day jobs."
Hazel made her way to a row of birdhouses she had nailed to the fence rail. "I just know that Whistlesnook is coming back."
"I hope he does, Hazel."
She fiddled with a little door on one of her houses constructed to look like a forest cottage. "Dang fool things. Why do they put so much nonsense on them? It's cute and all, but that Whistlesnook is looking for food, not accommodations."
I laughed. "Hazel, I'd like you to
meet my mother. I could bring her by this morning."
"Oh, my, my, thanks, but not this morning; I'm feeling a little peaked. How long is she staying?"
"All summer."
"All summer? My, oh my, Charlotte, then we'll have plenty of time for a get-together."
"I better get back, Hazel. My mother will be awake soon."
"Just see to it that you beat the snot out of Vangarten's team."
"We will. Don't you worry. Are you coming to the game?"
She shook her head.
"Okay, I'll see you later." I would have tried to convince her to come but thought it might have been better that she didn't attend the first game. And maybe getting her out to the barbecue was all the excitement she wanted to handle for a while.
When I got back to the trailer, Mother was just coming out of her room.
"Morning," I said. "I made coffee."
"Charlotte," Mother said. "You'll have to get me a board."
"Aboard? Aboard what?"
"Not aboard a ship or anything. I mean a board, a piece of thin wood, for under that saggy mattress. My back feels all tight."
I smiled to myself. I knew what she meant.
She placed her hand on the small of her back and limped toward the kitchen. "Think I'll sit in one of those straight backs for now."
I put a cup of coffee in front of her. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'll get Asa to bring you something."
"Asa?"
"The one-armed man."
"My goodness but this place is full of odd ducks. Already I counted a woman with tattoos. She's not hiding anything, not really. I saw them. Why in the heck any woman would want to disgrace her body like that is beyond me."
"You don't know her story."
"And then I meet a midget, a real-life midget, and a onearmed man. Charlotte. I think you lost your ever-lovin' mind. I think you blew a fuse."
I spent most of the morning trying to convince my mother that Paradise was not the loony bin she figured it to be and was getting pretty close to a breakthrough when Old Man Hawkins decided to make another mid-morning ride through Paradise shouting that the British were coming.
She ran to the window. "Holy cats, Charlotte! There is a man on a horse out there. With a gun!"
"He thinks he's Paul Revere, Mother. He's harmless."
Then I heard gunshots. Mother dropped to the floor. "Call the police, Charlotte. Call the police, or don't you have cops around here? Harmless, my eye. He's a crazy man."
Hawkins's ride did not last long. Asa and Rube took him and his horse home. It quieted down, but Mother was now on a mission to take me back to Cocoa Reef with her to live.
"You'll be safe there. Meet a nice retired gentleman, a man with sensibilities, refinement, and settle down. A man who knows how to treat a woman right. Not like that salesman you married—against my wishes, you know."
"Mother, I am fifty-one years old. Old enough to make my own choices for my own life. I am not interested in romance. Herman hasn't been gone for very long, you know."
"Fifty-one is still young enough to have your fires lit, Charlotte, or don't you care about that either?"
"Mother! If we're talking about what I think we're talking about, well, it's not your business. I am not interested in romance."
"Uh-huh." She opened a loaf of raisin toast. "Scramble me an egg, please."
"Fine. And then I have to get to the ball field and make sure things are ready for the game. We play our first regulation this evening."
"That's nice, dear."
"Would you like to come and watch?"
She put her hand on the small of her back and contorted into a painful-looking position. "Oh, I don't know. All that turbulence and then sleeping on that mattress was quite enough. I don't know if I could sit on hard bleachers. I imagine that's where the spectators will sit."
"We don't have bleachers, Mother. But someone will have an extra lawn chair, I'm sure."
"You mean one of those plastic folding things?" She waved the thought away. "I'd rather sit on hard bleachers."
Mother took her coffee and shuffled like she was a hundred and two, not seventy-two, all the way to the sofa. Lucky came in through his doggie door and leaped onto the couch next to her. Fortunately, she had just placed her cup on the end table.
"Lucky," I said, "you get down from there."
Mother grabbed onto his collar. "It's okay, Charlotte. He can stay." She patted his head. His tongue lolled out, and I swear he got the sneakiest gleam in his eye, like he had now become Grandmom's favorite boy. "It will be nice having him in Florida."
I felt my eyebrows arch. "Did you tell him you were taking him to Florida?"
She laughed. "Now, don't be silly. This dog does not understand human talk."
I was never quite so sure about that.
29
And so the time arrived for our game. The Angels had assembled, all wearing their bright new uniforms with the name Elsmere Elastic embroidered on the back.
Frankie was so pleased with hers that she modeled it for the team like she was Twiggy. "And see here," she said looking at her chest. "It says A-N-G-E-L-S." She spelled it out. "Angels. That's us."
Asa and Studebaker did a great job of chalking new lines and a batter's box. They even redrew the halo in the batter's circle. The grass was cut perfectly in a crisscross pattern, which gave it a real professional look. The boys had even set long purple benches along the sidelines. One for the Angels and one for the opposing team.
"You guys are amazing," I said.
"It was fun," Studebaker said. "Asa tells me you need someone to man the scoreboard."
I looked over at the monstrosity of a board standing over right field. "I do. I need someone to change numbers as the runs are scored."
"I can't," Asa said. "I'm coaching third base."
I looked at Studebaker. "There will be pie in it for you."
"Pie. You mean something besides Full Moon Pie?"
I nodded. "Dutch apple with raisins."
"Okay, why not?"
I sent the Angels out on the field to toss a ball around and take some batting practice. "But just have fun. Don't get tired. Don't forget, the Thunder stink."
Rose stayed with me and helped me organize everything else that needed organizing. We set extra bats against the cyclone fence that separated the field from the onlookers, put water jugs out, and orange slices and pumpkin seeds. I always liked to have orange slices and pumpkin seeds available to the team.
At six-thirty I saw a red school bus drive onto the Frost property.
"Here they come," I said. And I waved the Angels in. We all stood there and watched the Thunder get off the bus. It was not we expected.
I counted twenty players, twenty huge and husky players in pale blue uniforms. And last, but certainly not least, Cash Vangarten, also wearing a uniform.
"We've been duped."
The Angels gathered around, and we all stood there with our mouths open, including Asa and Studebaker. "I don't believe it," I said as they marched across the field like Hannibal's army across the Alps. I made eye contact with Vangarten. He smiled most nastily.
I clapped my hands and gathered my team. "Okay, Angels. Stop looking like you've already been beaten. So what if they're big?"
"Big," said Greta. "They're Amazons. They're bigger than Amazons. They're whatever comes after Amazons in the food chain, Charlotte."
"Okay, so what if they're extra-large Amazons? It doesn't mean they can play ball; probably trip over their huge, clown feet. We can take them. Just remember the fundamentals. Nothing fancy. No hotdogging, no unnecessary risks. Just hit and catch and throw. We'll do okay."
On the outside I tried to give a pep talk, but inside I shook like the last leaf of autumn on the last oak in the forest. I spied Ginger, who looked like she had met her doom.
"And Ginger," I said. "You be extra careful. Last thing I need is a flat midget—excuse me, little person—I have to scrape off the field."
"Don't
worry, Charlotte. I can run right through their legs if I have to, you know."
"We can do this!" shouted Clara. She put her hand in the circle. Greta put her hand on top of Clara's, and so on until we were all in.
"All for one," shouted Ginger, who stood in the middle under the stack of hands. We had used her head as a hand stand, so to speak.
"Knock 'em dead!" Frankie hollered.
"Let's do this," Rose said. "But first—"
And then she lifted her hands to heaven and prayed."Almighty God, we need your mercy today. This team is large, Lord God, very large and strong. But we can go against this army. We might be a motley crew of Davids facing a team of Goliaths, but with your help and strength we can come out victorious."
"And don't let them kill any of us," said Marlabeth. "Especially Ginger Rodgers."
Just as she said those words, I had an image of their large third baseman rolling over Ginger like a boulder.
The fans started to gather. They came with lawn chairs and blankets, coolers and picnic baskets. I was both delighted and scared to death. Here was Paradise all ready to watch their Angels win, when all I could think about was how in the world I would find enough gauze and tape to patch them all up. I thought maybe I should send the children home to roll bandages.
Fleur de Lee arrived with Jaster. I waved. I didn't think it was possible, but she appeared even more pregnant than just yesterday. She waddled like a duck to a waiting lawn chair, plopped down, and rested her hands on her belly. Jaster stood right next to her like a sentry.
"I better go speak to Fleur de Lee, Charlotte," Marlabeth said. "She looks awfully uncomfortable."
"Okay, go ahead, but get right back. We need to take the field in just a minute or two."
I looked around for my mother. I didn't see her, but I didn't really expect her. She was home making plans with Lucky to move us down to Florida.
"Okay, Angels," I called. "Take the field."
I strolled over to the Thunder's side thinking I'd shake Vangarten's hand in a display of good sportsmanship, but about halfway there I saw a couple of his players snicker and point at Ginger. She was in position at shortstop. I looked them square in the eye, shook my head, and went back to my side, but not before I heard someone say, "They got to be kidding. They got a midget on their team. This ain't the peewee league."
