Charlotte Figg Takes Over Paradise (13 page)

"Listen, Charlotte," she said, "your pies are good and all, scrumptious, in fact, but you'd be baking all the time and I'm not even sure it's legal to sell pies out of a trailer home, you know?"

Another bubble burst. "I guess you're right. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea." My heart sank into my shoes. "Maybe we simply can't afford to be a team."

"Now, I won't hear any of that," Ginger said. "We can still be a team. We'll just get out there and play and see what happens."

I twisted my mouth and chewed on that a second. "No, Ginger. These women need to be a real team, playing real games and winning and losing and—"

"Then you'll find a sponsor," Rose said. She opened a jar of pink cream and slathered some on her arms and rubbed it in. "I've always found that when you really need something, I mean really need something, it has a way of coming around."

H
azel Crenshaw was in her front yard the next morning tending to her bird feeders. She wore a cape the color of a concord grape and a lavender felt hat with a peacock feather sticking out of it. A long, wooly scarf was wrapped around her neck. I saw her when I let Lucky out for his morning routine. That poor maple tree had been getting the worst of it all spring long.

"Lucky," I called. "Maybe you need to find another place to pee. That poor tree is getting drowned." But he only smiled.

I thought I saw Hazel look my way, but she was so covered up I couldn't really be sure. The air was still unseasonably cool. She looked like a big, purple, wooly sheep ripe for the sheering. So just to be certain, I moved down the walkway a little, pretending to check my lights along the way. I looked again and sure enough I saw Hazel wave. She appeared to be waving me over to her side of the street.

My first thought was that my imagination had gotten the best of me on account of all the stress with the team. I waved back and she waved me on, this time with a bit more assertiveness."You stay here, Lucky."

I crept slowly across the street, looking all around. For some reason I didn't want anyone to notice me. Hazel Crenshaw had a mystique about her. I couldn't for all the tea in China figure out why she wanted me.

"Hello," I called.

She beckoned me closer. The closer I got, the easier it was to see that she was old and hunched over, and I believed that cape of hers was a feeble attempt to hide a dowager's hump the size of bowling ball.

Hazel grabbed a cane with a carved goose head on the top and started toward her door. It was a little like being beckoned into a cottage by a witch.

My goodness gracious, but the inside of her trailer defied the outside. The first thing that struck me was the overpowering smell of orange blossoms. She had some of the finest, prettiest furniture I had ever seen, all of it real wood, all of it antique, probably older than she and covered in a quarter inch of dust that itched my nose. I spied a large, tricolored cat resting on the sofa with a wide Cheshire grin.

"Don't mind Smiley," Hazel said. "You aren't allergic, are you?"

"No, I'm not allergic. I like kitty cats."

"Good, good," she said as she unwrapped herself. I helped with her cape and hung it on a solid oak coatrack carved with tiny, intricate flowers and stems and buds. I got a good look at her hump. I tried not to notice, but it was pretty pronounced.

I sneezed.

She hobbled her way to a large chair. "You're sure you're not allergic?"

"I'm sure."

"Then it's the dust." She plopped down and giggled. "You might have to help me out of this chair," she said. "Some days it takes me five minutes or more. Osteoporosis, you know." She craned her already crooked neck closer to the hump.

"Oh, I . . . I hadn't noticed."

"Don't lie, child."

"Sorry."

She coughed once, and it seemed to hurt. "Make sure you drink your milk."

"Can I get you something to drink? A glass of water or milk?"

"Water would be nice. I could drink a whole cow and it won't help me now, and while you're in the kitchen will you put the kettle on? A nice cup of tea would suit me fine, child."

As I made my way to her kitchen, I regretted not bringing her a pie. I made a mental note to bring Hazel Crenshaw a deep-dish Dutch apple sometime soon.

Hazel's trailer was about twice the size of mine. Her kitchen was almost as big as the one I left back home. She had cabinets and drawers and places to hang pots and pans and even a tall double-door pantry that made me envious. I suspected it would be full of canned vegetables, cat food, pasta, and probably the tea bags I was looking for. So I pulled open the doors, and what I saw surprised me so much I busted out laughing. She had not stuffed the shelves chock-full of food stuffs. No, Hazel had stuffed it with hats. Floor-to-ceiling hats. Hats with feathers, wide brims, fruits, veils, no veils, you name it, she had a hat to match it. I shut the doors thinking it might help contain my laughter. It didn't.

I lit the fire under the kettle and then filled two tall tumblers with cold water.

"Here you go," I said.

She took the glass and drank. "Water is good for the body and the soul."

"It is. I'll get your tea as soon as the kettle squeals."

I helped her place the glass on the table on a rattan coaster.

"You have a beautiful home, Hazel—may I call you Hazel?"

"Thank you, Charlotte."

"Is that your husband?" I asked, pointing to a picture of a man in military uniform on the table that held her glass.

"Mm hmm. That's my Birdy. Birdy Crenshaw. Dead twenty some years now."

"I'm sorry."

"Understand you recently lost your husband."

How did she know? "That's right." I felt my eyebrows rise."Just a couple of months ago."

"Been hard?"

I looked away from her. "Some days."

"Um. You have a story to tell, child."

The kettle squealed and I went off to make two cups of tea."I can run back to my place and get pie," I called. "Would you like pie, Hazel?"

"Pie," she squeaked. "Store-bought or homemade?"

"Homemade." I found a TV tray stacked with magazines. I put them on the floor and set the table near her. I placed her cup and saucer, a dainty set decorated with four-leaf clovers, on the tray.

"Thank you, child. Now go on. Run and bring Hazel a hunk of that pie."

"Back in a flash."

She smiled and winced at the same time, like smiling hurt her whole body.

I dashed out the door and nearly knocked into Asa.

"Hey, what are you doing over there?" he asked.

"She invited me." I shrugged.

"No kidding?"

"Mm. Weird, but she's a lovely woman, Asa. I think folks have her all wrong. She's lovely. Just lovely. Well, the hats in the kitchen pantry is weird, but still."

"She always yells at me," Asa said. "Orders me around like I'm five years old."

"She's been nothing but nice to me. Still don't know why she wanted to see me."

Asa shook his head. "I'm sure she'll let you know. Maybe Lucky's been tearing up her yard."

"Don't think so. Now look, I'm running for pie right now. Before her tea gets cold."

"Okay, Charlotte, I came by to tell you that the sod has been laid, and we're building the infield. But I need more money."

"For what?"

Asa laughed. "Everything."

I moved closer to my front door. "Listen, I don't want to leave Hazel too long. I'll give you a check. Just get what you need."

"Given any thought to uniforms and such?"

"Not yet. But I will. We'll get them. For now just concentrate on getting equipment. You know what to get? Bats, balls. And better get some gloves. They'll need to work them in pretty quickly."

I signed a check and handed it to him.

"A blank check?"

"Get what you can." I nabbed a pie off the kitchen table.

Asa folded the check with his one hand and slipped it into his pocket. "Studebaker will help. He says he knows just where to get everything."

"Good, good. Now I better get back to Hazel."

Asa shot me a look I didn't quite understand. Almost like he was worried or jealous or both. I made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Lucky joined me this time and settled himself down under a tree in Hazel's yard. His look said nothing more than, "I love you, Charlotte." Dogs are good that way. They know everything about you and never judge.

"Hazel," I called. "I'm back. I brought deep-dish apple. Hope you like apple."

No reply. My heart skipped a beat. I looked her way and there she was, sound asleep. Or at least I hoped she was sleeping. I crept close to her. "She okay, Smiley?"

He said nothing.

"Hazel," I said. I lightly touched her cheek and her eyes popped open like two window shades. She had the greenest eyes I had ever seen. A little cloudy perhaps from cataracts or medications or just old age. Still, they were two patches of bright outfield set against stormy clouds.

"I brought the pie. Hope you like apple."

"That's fine, child. Apple is fine. Good for my bowels, you know. Never get old, Charlotte. And if you do, pray you will always get yourself to and from the toilet. It all comes down to that, you know. The minute you can't get yourself to the pot is the minute they lock you into a nursing home. Thank the good Lord I can still—"

"I understand, Hazel. Let me get you a slice."

The rest of her cabinets were chock-full of some of the finest china and porcelain I had ever seen. Some of it looked like it was fresh from the Ming Dynasty. I chose two small plates ringed with rosebuds. I pulled two sterling silver forks from the drawer. Imagine using sterling for everyday. There was a lesson to be learned.

"Here you go, Hazel. Apple pie."

She blinked.

I sat on the sofa with Smiley and my pie.

Hazel chewed. "Mm-mm-mm. Why, Charlotte Figg, this is the best pie I have ever et. I mean it, child. You could sell this."

"Funny you should say that. I've been thinking I might need to."

"Need to?" She swallowed and then sipped tea.

"To raise money for the softball team I was trying to get together around here."

She put her hand up as if to stop me. "I heard there was a little trouble in Paradise."

"Trouble?"

"That's why I called you over here."

I swallowed. "But it's not trouble. The team is perfectly—"

"Hush. I got more to say."

I moved forward on the sofa an inch or so. "Is there a problem, Hazel, because if there is I can't possibly see what you can have against the team."

"I said hush."

My mother taught me to respect my elders, so I settled back and gave Smiley a scratch behind the ear. It didn't matter one iota if this woman liked the notion of a Paradise softball team. There was no way she could stop it, and why should she care? It wouldn't bother her in the least.

"I heard you were looking for a sponsor?"

My heart sped up and I all of a sudden noticed how warm it was in her trailer. "Yes, we are? Is it warm in here?"

"Open the jalousie, Charlotte."

I reached behind and cranked the slatted window open."Old-timey," I said. "I like them."

Hazel laughed. "Everything in here is old-timey. Even Smiley. Turned seventeen just the other day."

"Wow, that's old for a cat."

"Eighty-two is old for a human. But I'm sharp as a tack." She tuned out for a second and seemed to be searching for words."Sometimes I can't remember the day I was born. Could be August. Could be September. All I know for sure is it was the year 1892." She squinted like she was trying to see more clearly. "I think."

I shook my head and marveled. Eighteen ninety-two? My goodness gracious. My head filled with a million questions, but I was more interested to hear what she had to say.

"I'm sorry, Hazel. But I am really curious to know why you called me over here."

She finished her tea and set the cup down with a shaky hand that clattered the china.

"You're looking for a sponsor."

"I am, but how can you—"

"I want to sponsor your team, Charlotte."

Now, I will admit that I was totally incredulous. I thought the woman's trolley had slipped its track. How in tarnation could she ever sponsor our team unless she sold off all her antiques, and I didn't think there was any chance of that happening. And besides the notion was just plain stupid.

"I don't understand, Hazel. How can—"

"Course you don't. You won't let me finish talking."

"Sorry." I scrunched back into the soft sofa.

"I can and I will if you want. Elsmere Elastic will look fine on your uniforms, don't you think?"

"Elsmere Elastic? You mean the factory where the men work? But how?"

"I own the factory," Hazel said. "Elsmere was my dead husband. Birdy's not his real name. No mama in her right mind would name a son Birdy. Nope. That there is Elsmere Crenshaw."

"How come you call him Birdy?"

"He liked birds. No big deal, huh?"

"Elsmere is a fine name."

"Now listen, child, only Fergus Wrinkel knows I own the plant. I also own Paradise. Never mind all those rumors you hear about me. Except the one about Birdy's death at the plant when he got thwacked in the head by a piece of elastic that slipped off its roller. Ironic, huh?"

I cringed. "You mean, it hit him that hard?"

"Elastic is powerful stuff, Charlotte. Folks don't realize how strong it is, and it was a pretty wide roll that slipped its gears. Hit him right upside the head." She touched her temple with the tips of three fingers. "Threw him clear across the floor."

"I'm sorry, Hazel. It must have been awful."

She pursed her thin lips as tears formed in her eyes. "You'd think you'd get over death. But you don't, not really. Grief is a strange bedfellow. Always there."

I looked around the trailer in an effort to squash my own feelings. "You have some nice things."

"Birdy took good care of me."

"But I thought Fergus owned this park."