by Joyce Magnin
"What?" Greta said. "You want us to run clear around them bases two or three times? I can't run that much. I'm nursing baby Ruth and I guarantee I will be leaking like a sieve by the time I make it to second base. Can't have these breasts flopping up and down all around the bases." She hoisted her burgeoning breasts in the air. I made a mental note to check with someone about what to do with the breasts of a nursing mother who wanted to play softball.
"Okay, you sit out, Greta, but the rest of you get going." I tried a more assertive voice. I heard some grumbling, in particular from Gwendolyn, who said, "When we gonna get to hit the ball? I want to hit the ball. Been wanting to hit something for about ten years now." Then she snuffed back tears.
I watched them run. Clara and Francine knew what they were doing. Marlabeth started off in the wrong direction, but Clara grabbed her hand. "This way, Marlabeth. You run the bases this way. First, second, third, home."
Ginger had already been around the bases four times before the rest of the team made their second lap. She stood next to me, huffing and puffing, with a little bit of glistening sweat on her face. "That was invigorating, Charlotte. Got my heart pumping."
The team straggled onto home plate, most of them falling to their knees and gasping for oxygen. Clara, Frankie, and Greta were the only ones standing. I had my work cut out for me, and with only three weeks before our first game, my own trepidation swelled. We would have to step up practice to at least twice a week.
"I want you ladies to run whenever you can. Run through Paradise. Jogging is popular right now, everybody's doing it."
They laughed at me.
I ignored them. "Okay, let's try some batting practice."
"Edwina and Thomasina, you two head out into the outfield. Everyone else stay near the dugout."
Gwendolyn laughed. "Dugout. It ain't no dugout. It's a bench."
"It's still called a dugout," I said. "Now do what I said."
Greta ran over to Fleur de Lee to check on the baby. I heard Fleur de Lee say, "She's doing just fine, Miz Lundy. Only made a few little cooing noises."
Edwina and Thomasina stood stock-still for a second or two and then played rock, paper, scissors, with Thomasina getting right field. Wasn't sure if that made her the winner or the loser.
"Do I get to hit the ball now?" Gwendolyn said. "I want to hit a home run. I'm gonna hit that dang blame ball clear out of the park and halfway to Philadelphia." I wondered whose head she wanted to hit with that bat.
I gave out some pointers on having a proper stance and how to swing at the ball. "Now, believe it or not, it is not that hard to hit a moving object. Just time your swing correctly and BAM! It's outta here!" I got a little excited.
Clara had a nice stance and could hit with no trouble. Same for Greta and Ginger. I finally let Gwendolyn up to bat, and she looked like she was ready to rip the casing off the ball. I pitched a nice, five-foot arc and watched the ball come down right in her strike zone. She swung hard! Missed.
"Gol-dern it. Stinking, rotten ball. I'll hit ya this time."
I pitched. She swung, and another miss. This time she banged the bat on the ground. "Dagnabbit."
Clara moved close to her and helped her with her grip."Stay low on the bat, Gwendolyn. You're gripping too high. Wait until you feel it, then swing."
"Feel what, Clara? The ball hitting my head?"
"No. When you feel it's right. Keep your eye on the ball. You'll see it."
That was when I knew I had a champion on my team. Clara knew about softball.
Gwendolyn nodded and adjusted her batting helmet. Then she ripped it off her head. "I think I'll see the ball better without that dang fool thing blocking my view." She kicked it toward the on-deck circle where Marlabeth was taking practice swings, though she looked more like a whirling dervish.
I pitched. She swung. And bam! The ball went soaring over my head like a cannon shot.
"Run," hollered the team. "Run to first base, Gwendolyn."
She took off down the first base line and I don't remember ever seeing more determination in a base runner before. She tagged first base and took off toward second. Meanwhile Edwina and Thomasina, who were in the outfield, were still running after the ball. Gwendolyn rounded second as Edwina kicked the ball further into the field.
"You moron," Thomasina hollered. "Go get the ball."
Edwina took off toward the cornfield after the rolling ball.
"Run. Run." The team was jumping up and down by now."Run, Gwendolyn."
Edwina grabbed the ball. Frankie pulled on her glove and ran to home base, hoping to pick Gwendolyn off. Edwina threw with all her might, but the ball barely made it to second base.
Gwendolyn had scored the first Angels home run, much to the joy of the entire team. And I do believe that it was at that very moment that this motley group of Paradise trailerites became a team.
Yet as I watched them celebrate at home plate, I couldn't help but notice the hole in the team that was Rose. I threw my glove on the ground.
"You all play ball. I'll be back in a little while."
"Where you going?" Ginger called.
"We need a catcher." I marched off toward the woods.
If there was one thing I had learned since Herman dropped dead in my kitchen, it was that I had been putting up with too much guff. A person had to stand up for herself if she was ever going to win at softball, let alone life. I walked hard, making each step count as I thought about things. Rose had a right to her secrets, but she also had a responsibility to the team. After all, she prayed for me, prayed that I would find my way to Paradise. Starting the team was her idea in the first place, and for her to all of a sudden give up on the team was wrong. I was going to tell her she had no right. No right at all, scars, tattoos, and all.
I found Rose sitting in the giant hand like Humpty Dumpty waiting to fall.
"What in the heck are you doing up there, Rose?"
"Thinking."
"About what?" I put my hands on my hips and tapped my sneaker on the ground. "What gives you the right to sit up there in God's hand and think your life away? Is that what he's telling you to do?"
"Well, he ain't telling me to play softball, either, Charlotte."
"Is too. He is too telling you to play softball."
"Is not."
"Is too."
I had to jump up and down to see her. "Rose Tattoo, you are the most infuriating woman on God's green earth, well, next to my mother." I climbed into the palm. "You come down and join the team. Nobody cares two licks about your scars or your tattoos, and you don't have to tell a soul about them if you don't want. You understand? We'll find some way to hide them."
"But you told me to tell. You said I should because Jesus did."
"I know what I said, and what I said was wrong. Your scars and your tattoos are your business. But you can't just walk away from the team. It's a team, Rose. A real team. Hiding tattoos is one thing. Letting down the team is another."
And I meant what I said.
She looked toward the field. "It is a pretty field. So green and—"
"We need a catcher something fierce over there. I'm fairly certain the Angels are running amok without me over there. They're probably tearing up the field, chasing balls, and only heaven knows what Gwendolyn is doing, probably hitting anything she can. That woman has a violent streak. I got a . . . a mentally slow girl babysitting, a nursing mother with breasts leaking all over the place, and a midget who thinks she's Mickey Mantle. Now get down and come play. I can't leave them alone too long. Only God knows what can happen. For heaven's sake, Rose, Edwina shot the lock off the equipment shed. Now I got to get back to them."
I took a huge breath and blew it out my mouth. I had never spoken so forcefully in all my days. Never. "Please, Rose. I need you."
She didn't move.
That was when I saw crystal clear what she was doing."Rose Tattoo. You are a fraud. You've been sitting up here in the hand of God watching us practice. You want to pla
y same as everyone else."
"I've only been here for a minute. I just got up here. I was only curious and—"
"And you want to play. Come on. I need you to help me contain the women. It's like they've been let loose from prison over there."
It was close to noon by the time Rose and I made it back to Angel Field. Already the women were complaining about needing to get their kids home for lunch, but mostly they were glad to see Rose.
"Now, look," I said. "We still could use another half hour of practice." I looked into the distance and saw dark, bottomheavy clouds rolling toward us. "And before the rain starts."
Fleur de Lee had the children engaged in a game of ringaround-the-rosy and seemed to be doing a fine job, so I didn't worry about the children.
"Now who wants to hit?"
I should have just handed Gwendolyn the bat. "I do," she practically sang. "I love to hit that ball. Looks so pretty soaring out there over everyone's head and landing on that green, green grass."
So after a few more rounds of batting practice, I gathered the women together. Rose spoke before me. "I think it's only fitting we thank the one who made all this possible and—"
"But Asa run off to do chores with Fergus," Frankie Felker said.
"I was going to say," Rose continued, "and ask his almighty blessing on this field and—" she looked into my eyes with that sneaky smile of hers, "our team."
Frankie looked embarrassed and moved to the back of the group.
Rose raised her hands and prayed. She mentioned each woman by name and also Asa and even our mysterious sponsor. Then she said something that surprised me.
"And gracious Lord," she raised her hands higher, "If it be your will, let the Angels amount to something more, much more than softball. Something that will last and help us help Suzy Wrinkel."
As we all stood on the brand-new field, a sense of peace and calm enveloped me, like a soft, warm bathrobe.
"This is nice," Greta said. "I don't go in much for all that God talk and praying. Never works for me, but it sure does for Rose. She's got a pipeline to Heaven, don't she now."
"She sure does," Carla said. "Maybe we should make Rose our team captain."
Rose's eyes bugged out. "Captain? Sorry. Chaplain maybe, but captain? Not me."
Carla had brought up an excellent point. I never did name a team captain or give The Angels a chance to vote on it.
"Carla's right," I said. "We should have a team captain."
"Why?" Ginger asked. "How's that different from what you do, Charlotte?"
"The team captain takes care of other things and helps me keep you all happy and maybe even gives pep talks when I'm not around or when you need to talk without your coach, you know."
"Then it should be Rose," Frankie said.
But Rose kept shaking her head. "I can't. And I won't. So just count me out."
"Okay, okay." I raised my arms to quiet them and looked around at the team. Any one of them could have done it, except maybe Gwendolyn, who was so prone to crying fits I figured she'd just get everyone in a tizzy too often.
"Raise your hand," I said, "if you think you want to be captain."
Ginger, Frankie, and Clara raised their hands. I grabbed my pad and gave each member of the team a slip of paper. "Let's vote."
Two minutes later, Frankie Felker was voted in as Angels Team Captain. She stepped into the center of the circle and waved her cap. "Thank you, thank you. I will do my best to lead this team to VICTORY!"
Already she had gotten the team riled and whooping it up. And once they quieted down, the women spread out, grabbed their children, and set off through the woods chattering and laughing. It had been a good practice after all.
21
We practiced several more times that spring, and I'd like to say that the Angels were shaping up to be a pretty good team. But I couldn't. Marlabeth still had a habit of running the wrong direction; Ginger thought she was invisible and kept trying to steal bases, even though I told her that in softball there is no stealing; and Gwendolyn only cared about hitting the ball and couldn't catch a pop fly or a grounder if her life depended on it.
Rose was without a doubt the worst catcher I had ever seen. She couldn't throw the ball as far as second base, but she could hit. For some reason, every single time Rose got up to bat, she hit away, nearly out of the park. I think she enjoyed watching Edwina and Greta run around like Keystone Kops.
For the most part the husbands stayed well behaved. Rube and Charlie even came out to one of our late-day practices and pitched batting practice and even gave out some pointers on fielding.
"I got to tell you, Charlotte," Rube said. He towered over me like an oak over a sapling pine. "This is the motliest group of ball players I have ever seen."
"Then why don't you help?" Asa called. "Especially Rose. She's gonna lose every single game for us on pass balls if she don't learn to catch something. I gave her the biggest glove I could find and she still can't catch."
"Must have a hole in it," Rose hollered from home plate. "I keep putting it in the right place, but that dang ball just keeps going on past me."
Rube took his cap off and scratched his head a second."Well, don't rightly know what I can do, except . . . "
He stood behind Rose and asked Frankie to pitch a few. Rose caught one out of seven. "I see what you're doing. You have to keep your eyes open, Rose. If you keep closing your eyes when Frankie pitches, you'll never catch it. This is why there are no blind catchers in professional ball."
"But I can't help it. It's not like I am consciously closing my eyes. It just happens. It's a reaction I have when a large object is hurled at my face."
"Now, Rose," Frankie said. "Rube's right. You'll never catch a thing if you don't look for it. We give you that face mask for a reason, not just because it looks so nice." Then she giggled and went back to her pitcher's circle.
Rose crouched back down in her catcher's position. "It's getting hot." Rose still wore that heavy brown sweater that covered up her tattoos.
"It would also help if you took that sweater off," Frankie said.
"Go on, Rose," I said. "I've been telling you that for days. It's got to be hard to move in that thing."
Rose stood up and began to unbutton her sweater. I took a deep breath for her and held it as she released each one—six altogether.
"Go on, Rose," I said. "You know you're safe here."
She removed the sweater and exposed her scars and tattoos.
"Holy cannolies," Rube hollered. "What you got going on there, darlin'?" He reached out to touch her arm. But she pulled it away. "Looks like you just jumped off a stage at the Believe It or Not museum and—those are burn scars, woman. What the—"
Rose looked at me in horror as the rest of the team gathered around.
"I told you," she said. Tears glistened in her eyes. "Not everyone here knows about me."
"Most of us do," Frankie said. "I think they're beautiful. Why—why look at those pictures. I see Mary and Jesus and three crosses and what is that? A river?"
"The Jordan," Rose said. "It's where Jesus was baptized."
Ginger scooted into the middle. "I've been telling her all along that she is a walking work of art."
"Is this what her problem is?" Greta asked. "She's embarrassed about the tattoos and scars?"
"That's right," I said. "No one outside of Paradise has seen them."
Rose took my arm. She whispered, "No one except you and Asa knows the truth about the scars."
"Okay. I'll keep your secret."
Greta waved her hand. "Who cares, Rose? You be proud of them. They mean so much, you know."
"Don't you dare cover them up," Marlabeth said. "My goodness, woman, you got a whole art show on your arms. You just keep slathering on that cream I gave you to keep your skin smooth and supple."
Rose cried. She let the tears come that afternoon, surrounded by the Angels.
"Just one question," asked Marlabeth after a minute or two."What happ
ened that you have all those scars? Looks like burns to me."
"It was." Rose nodded and looked at her feet. "A fire."
A collective gasp went up in the small crowd. "Oh, my precious Lord," Frankie said. "You poor thing."
"Okay, okay," I said. "Let's get back to practice. Our first game is just three days away."
Everyone went back to their places. Frankie pitched to Ginger, and Rose caught the ball pretty much every time.
"Now, see," I heard Rube say. "If you keep your eyes open and take off the heavy stuff, it gets a lot easier."
A short while later I noticed the women were getting tired, their kids were getting cranky, and it was time to call it a day. Fleur de Lee had slowed down. She was waddling quite a bit. She waddled out onto the field and spoke with Marlabeth."You still have two weeks, maybe more," Marlabeth said. "First babies are always late."
"I don't know about that, Miss Marla. This baby is itching to get out into the real world."
Marlabeth touched her belly. "Two weeks, Fleur de Lee."
I blew my whistle and waved the team in for a short meeting along the third base line as Fleur de Lee made her way back to the children.
"Our first game is only three days away, and I think we're looking pretty good."
"Yes. Yes, you are," came a voice from out of the woods.
We all turned in that direction. Cash Vangarten traipsed onto the field.
"He's been spying on us, I bet," I whispered to Rose.
"Who is he?" she whispered back.
"Mr. Vangarten," I called. I moved toward him. "How long have you been here?"
"Long enough," he said. "And I got say," he snorted, "looks like the Thunder won't have a chance against you."
I introduced him. "This is Mr. Cash Vangarten. The man I told you about. The fella from the Pink Lady."
"He's our representative at Elsmere Elastic."
"I know who he is," Rube said. "He's the boss." Rube did not look thrilled to see him.
"And like I told you," I said, "Mr. Vangarten coaches the Shoops Thunder."
"So you are spying," Rose said. "You got no right—"