Charlotte Figg Takes Over Paradise

by Joyce Magnin

  I had heard enough. If they were willing to handle it, it was fine by me. But where in the heck would they get a grill big enough to accommodate a whole hog? Edwina scratched under her John Deere cap. "Course we'll have hamburgers on the grill, but hot dogs might be a bit of a . . . a . . . "

  "Redundancy," Thomasina said.

  I shook my head and walked away. Thomasina was an odd combination of intellect and farm-girl tomboy.

  As had become my habit when I made my journeys around Paradise, the Wrinkel trailer was my last stop. I noticed that Fergus's truck was missing. I hurried right up to the door and knocked.

  Suzy pulled open the door.

  "Suzy," I said. "I came to invite you to the barbecue this afternoon. The whole park is turning out. We're even roasting a pig and everything—baked beans, burgers, the whole shootin' match." I tried to make my voice as cheery as I could, but I was nervous. "And I'm going to make some pies, and Greta said something about a corn boil. It's shaping up to be a grand time. Just a grand time."

  Suzy looked around like she was expecting Fergus at any second. "Thank you, Charlotte, but I don't think—"

  "Nonsense. You just come. Don't you worry about Fergus. You need to just tell him, Suzy. Just tell him what you're doing. I did it. I once told my Herman, 'Herman, I don't care what you say, I am changing my hairstyle,' and I went right out that morning to the Sit and Curl and came back with the world's most embarrassing perm—they were all the rage a couple of years ago—but that wasn't the point—"

  "I can't, Charlotte." She started to close the door. But I stuck my foot inside. Something I learned from Herman. "Just put your foot in the door and they can't slam it on your face," he said.

  "Please, Suzy. It's just a barbecue. To celebrate summer and the softball team."

  She nodded. "But I ain't on the team." She turned her profile to me and I saw a fresh bruise on her cheek.

  "Is that why? You have a bruise?"

  She nodded once, closed her eyes, and I saw her pain. Not just the physical pain, but what was deep down, invisible to the rest of the world. The soul damage that Fergus had done. I took a deep breath and silently asked God for courage.

  "When did that happen?"

  "Last night. He only hit me once last night and then stopped. It was like a miracle when he stopped this time. I thought maybe it was God's hand that stopped his. I know Rose has been praying."

  "Oh, Suzy. But he shouldn't even be doing it even one time. Now, you come to the party, okay?"

  "I don't want folks looking at me. And, besides, Fergus won't allow it."

  "Who is going to look at you?"

  "Everybody. All of them folks out there, Charlotte. They'll see what I'm hiding."

  I mumbled and then said it right out loud. "You and Rose."

  "What? I don't understand. What about Rose?"

  "Rose has . . . her scars." A pang of guilt swept over my chest for giving away another secret. But like I said, I was no champion at secret keeping.

  "She keeps them covered up. She was in a fire and—"

  "But the fire wasn't her fault, I'm sure. So why would she be ashamed?"

  "Exactly, Suzy. It wasn't her fault."

  Suzy looked at her feet. "What about Fergus?"

  "He wouldn't dare touch you if you go."

  "What about later? After."

  I swallowed. "I'm sorry. I guess I keep hoping—"

  Lucky alerted us to Fergus's truck pulling into the drive. He didn't even bother to park it in its proper spot. He must have thrown it into park with force because the Ford lurched forward and back a couple of times before he jumped out.

  "You best go, Charlotte," Suzy said.

  "What are you doing here?" Fergus slammed the truck door."Got a problem with your trailer?"

  "No, no. Nothing like that. I came to invite Suzy . . . and you . . . to the barbecue this afternoon."

  "Barbecue? We aren't interested in that." He turned his attention to Suzy, and it made me queasy. "Get on inside now, Honey Buns. Go on." Suzy started to close the door, but I still had my foot in the way. And then I dropped the grenade I had been hanging onto. "I'm sure Hazel Crenshaw would love to see you and your pretty wife this afternoon. You know what I mean, Fergus? Unless of course you want me to tell the whole park your little—"

  His eyes grew about as wide as half dollars. "Never mind that."

  "Well, I'm sure the others would like to know who really owns this place and who is pulling your strings." I walked away from the trailer and stood behind Fergus. I could still see Suzy at the door.

  Fergus kicked at some gravel and then spun around and stared daggers at me. "We'll come to your stupid little barbecue. But only for a few minutes, and just to make Hazel happy."

  "Fine," I said. I glanced over his shoulder at Suzy and gave her the thumbs-up sign. She melted back inside the trailer.

  Lucky bounded over and leaped up to my waist. I gave him a scratch behind the ears. "See you later, Mr. Wrinkel."

  He made some kind of noise and headed into the trailer. I hoped with all my heart that he wouldn't lay a hand on Suzy. I was afraid I had put her in a bad situation. But he wouldn't dare make another mark on her now. Not for the whole park to see. Not for Hazel Crenshaw to see—even though I had not invited her yet and wasn't at all certain she would even come.

  I started up the hill and found Rose tending to the petunias near the Giant Hand of God.

  "Hey," I called. "Did you hear?"

  "I did. What gave you the idea to throw a barbecue? Everyone is talking about it."

  "Just came to me like any old idea, I suppose. We have a lot to celebrate. It's summer for one and The Angels are about to play their first game and Suzy took a major step outside, asking me to make pie for Fergus."

  Rose got to her feet and dropped the small trowel she was using and hugged me. "I knew you were part of God's plan for Paradise. I just knew it. You woke them up, Charlotte. You got Paradise buzzing. Just look around."

  And that was when I noticed that people were out and about. Carla yanked lawn chairs from her old, rusted-out shed. Gwendolyn and her husband set up a picnic table that came from I don't know where. Asa and Jake Pilkey raised a ratty old Stars and Stripes up the flag pole. The flag probably should have been burned, but it waved proudly over Paradise.

  "Oh, my goodness gracious, Rose. It's really happening." I took Rose's hand. "And you. You took that heavy sweater off. That's reason enough to celebrate."

  "I was just too hot," she said and then smiled.

  "Right. And get this. I blackmailed Fergus into coming and bringing Suzy. Blackmailed. I guess that's the right word."

  "You what?"

  I nodded and looked up at the hand. "I did. I told him if he didn't come I'd tell the whole park his little secret that he is nothing more than Hazel Crenshaw's gofer."

  "Gofer?"

  "You know, besides the weasel that he is, Hazel makes him go fer this and go fer that. Gofer. Herman taught me that."

  I felt tears in the corners of my eyes as that nasty grief rose in my chest. Some words just trigger it for me, and all I can do is let it happen. The only difference is now I can shut it down easier. I can make it wait for a more opportune time.

  "I was on my way to Hazel's. Think she'll come out for the barbecue?"

  Rose shook her head. "You know her better than anyone around here. Think I'll go back to my trailer and make up a batch of potato salad. Can't have a barbecue without it."

  "Sounds good. I think we're going to have enough food for an army," I said. "A whole army."

  "Hope I can remember the recipe. It's been a while since I made it last."

  I nearly bubbled over with delight, but I couldn't help it. I put both my hands on Rose's shoulders. "You'll remember. Like you always say, you can do all things through Christ."

  Rose's eyes glistened. "Why, Charlotte Figg, I do believe God has got his hand on you."

  Lucky and I approached Hazel's trailer. It seemed quiet
er than usual. Almost spooky. But then again, it was still early and I thought she was a late sleeper. But then again, a woman that age, not taking the medicine her doctor prescribed, well, that could spell just about anything.

  I rapped on her door and even jangled the wind chimes, five little brass sparrows all in a row. And then I waited and waited. I was just about to bust in, thinking that the poor old bird had fallen asleep last night and never woke up when the door creaked open.

  "Charlotte," she said. Her voice still morning raspy. "Come in. Come in, child."

  She wore a purple bathrobe that had seen better days and a pair of pink slippers that resembled flamingoes. And with no hat on her head, this was the first time I saw her hair, long and silver. Not gray, silver.

  "Thank you, Hazel."

  "Coffee," she said.

  "No, thanks. I already had three cups this morning."

  "No, not for you. Make me some coffee. Put the pot on."

  "Oh, sure."

  I located a can of Maxwell House and rinsed out the percolator, measured enough coffee for five or six cups, and plugged it in. "There you go, Hazel. Can I get you anything else?"

  "Got some of that pecan pie you brought over the other day. It's in the fridge."

  I hurried and served her a slice on a pretty yellow dish. "I have some news."

  Hazel took the plate and sat in her rocker. "You know what I'm looking forward to?"

  I sat next to her on the sofa. "No, Hazel. What are you looking forward to?"

  "Peaches. I love peaches. Fresh. Right off the tree. There's an orchard not far from here."

  "I know. Asa brings me bushels of apples for pie. I'm looking forward to the late summer also. Apples get sweeter, peaches ripen. I'll make you a fresh peach pie. But we have a whole summer to get through and—"

  "Glory, child. I'll be counting the days. Rate I'm going, it could very well be my last peaches on earth."

  "Now, don't go talking nonsense, Hazel."

  "Oh, pshaw. I'm going to die. We all are. Or were you absent the day they taught that stuff in school?"

  "I know that, Hazel. I just don't want you making a, what's it called? A self-fulfilling prophecy."

  Hazel swallowed a bit of pie. "Well, aren't you all fancy talking?"

  "The percolator is slowing down. I'll get your coffee."

  After we chatted a few more minutes, I got back to the reason for my visit.

  "Hazel, I was beginning to tell you my news."

  "Oh, right, right. Go on. Spill it."

  "I came to invite you to the first annual Paradise barbecue this afternoon."

  "Barbecue? In Paradise? Have you been sipping cooking sherry, Charlotte?"

  "Nope. I'm serious. Everyone is coming. Looks like they're closing down the whole place to get ready. Grills are firing up, lawn chairs are getting set up in the street and I even saw two or three picnic tables. The Frost sisters even slaughtered a pig and are fixing to roast it."

  "My goodness. You don't mean it?"

  "I do."

  She sipped her coffee and smacked her lips. "Was this your idea?"

  I nodded and she smiled so hard her top partial plate slipped loose. She popped it back in place like it happened all the time.

  "I knew the day I laid eyes on you when you pulled that wonky-wheeled trailer onto your property and stood there looking at that bilious green eyesore. I knew when you didn't back down from that challenge that you'd pull Paradise together."

  I swallowed. "Please, Hazel. It's just a plain old barbecue. Now, how about it? How about you come out to the party? We're celebrating summer and the beginning of the softball season. All the Angels will be there."

  She shook her head. "I'm too old. Barbecues are for you youngsters."

  "Who says?"

  "I say." She shook her head and then finished off her pie."Sorry, Charlotte, but I'll just sit in my yard and watch from there."

  "It's not like there will be fireworks in the sky for you to see. You'll need to mosey down where the action is. And besides, the team sponsor should make an appearance, even if no one knows your secret identity."

  "No, no. Just bring me a plate of that roasted pork when it's ready. I'll be fine with my birdhouses."

  I took a breath. "Hazel, I need you to come."

  "Need?"

  "Mm-hmm."

  "What did you do, Charlotte? Did you tell them people about me?" Her face went marshmallow white.

  "No. Well, not everyone. Rose knows."

  Hazel nodded. "Figured you'd blab to someone."

  "Well, I couldn't help it, and she practically guessed anyway. She saw me come out of your trailer a couple of times."

  Hazel waved her hand at me. "Don't fret, child. Secret keeping can be a tough job."

  "Thank you, Hazel. Now, what do you say? Come to the party?"

  She clicked her tongue. "I don't know, Charlotte."

  "But I need you to come on account of Fergus and Suzy Wrinkel."

  "Fergus? What's he got to do with it?"

  "I can't tell you right now. Just please trust me and say you'll come. Even for a few minutes. Just show up. I'll find fresh peaches and make you a pie."

  "Will you serve it a la mode?"

  "You bet. Nice big plopper of vanilla ice cream on the side and—"

  "And don't put it on the side, child, just drop it right on top."

  24

  Now, I don't suppose there was any stranger sight than the one I saw when I left Hazel's that morning. Edwina and Thomasina hauled a dead pig down Mango Street.

  "How come you didn't put that thing in your truck?" I called.

  "Edwina couldn't get it running," Thomasina shouted.

  "I told you the battery was dead last night," Edwina said.

  They looked so funny. Thomasina had the front end while Edwina lugged the back, which she dropped every couple of feet. Lucky caught a glimpse or a sniff of it and went tearing over and started puffing and snuffing all around it. I called him away, worried he might take a bite out of it. I didn't want him getting that raw pig disease—trichinosis. But he barked and followed it like it was a compact car.

  "Where are you going with it?" I called. But before they could answer, Old Man Hawkins was on them with his shotgun poised. I jumped behind a convenient oak.

  "Whatcha got there, soldiers?"

  "Uh-oh, must be fighting World War II," I whispered.

  "Got us a Nazi prisoner, sir," Edwina said without missing a step.

  Hawkins lowered his rifle. "Could be a medal in this for you," he said. "Carry on, men." Then he stood on his little makeshift porch and saluted as the pig went by.

  I hurried to catch up with them because I just had to know."Where are you taking it?"

  "Down to Asa's."

  "Asa?"

  "He's the only one that has a roasting barbecue. Scavenged it from the old Playtown Fair years ago—same place Rose got her hand. Must be six feet long."

  "Oh, now I understand."

  I stayed back and watched them lug our dinner down the street.

  "How long does something that big take to cook?" I hollered.

  "All day," they said. "All day. Course we'll slice it down the middle and spread it out like a butterfly on the grill, and that will hasten the roasting time," Thomasina said.

  I baked four pies before the festivities really got started— apple, cherry, lemon meringue, and one peach made from canned peaches, but I wouldn't tell Hazel. I would have made more, but I ran out of flour and apples and cinnamon. Not too often that I ran out of cinnamon. But I did that day, and I didn't use just any brand of cinnamon. I preferred Madagascar cinnamon that came in sticks and enjoyed scraping them and making rust-colored snow on my apples.

  My kitchen smelled like heaven. At least, it was heaven to me—spicy and sugary. The citrus from the lemon gave it a clean, summer smell. I covered all the pies in Saran Wrap and went to check on Rose and her potato salad.

  "Come in," she called after I rapped gentl
y on her door.

  Rose stood at her kitchen sink crying her eyes out.

  "What's wrong?" I put my hand on her shoulder.

  "Nothing."

  "But you're crying, Rose."

  "Onions. I'm crying from the onions. And once I got started, I couldn't stop."

  "Onions are like that," I said. "Great way to get a good cry going."

  She nodded and blubbered. I watched the tattoos on her arms and neck wiggle and dance as she burbled and sniffed.

  "You want to cry some more?"

  She nodded and kept crying.

  "Okay. I'll just wait over here."

  I noticed she had all the fixings for potato salad ready to go. Cooked potatoes, mayonnaise, celery, onions.

  "Looks like you're making good salad, Rose."

  She wiped her eyes on a dish towel. "The second batch of the day. My mama's recipe. Only one she ever gave me. Only one I know."

  Rose had never mentioned her mother before.

  "Is your mother still alive?"

  "No. She died when I was fifteen. Believe it or not, she passed away right after making potato salad for the church picnic. Now, isn't that a hoot? She just sat down and died. Doctor said it was the oddest thing he ever seen."

  I wrapped my arms around Rose. "Oh, dear, no wonder you want to cry."

  Rose cried and buried her face in my shoulder. "I'll get over it, but I don't think I can make the salad myself."

  "I'll help."

  Rose and I made enough salad to feed fifty people. She was fine once we got to mixing and never mentioned her mother again. I didn't bring it up either. The only problem was when I suggested we put a little pickle juice into the mix.

  "There is no way I am putting pickle juice in my mother's recipe, Charlotte. Besides, I hate pickles."

  "Fine. No pickle juice. But did I tell you about the pig?"

  Rose mixed the salad with a large spoon. "What pig?"

  "The Frost sisters slaughtered and butchered a hog for today's barbecue feast. Can you stand that? Imagine killing a hog."

  "Is that what I smell?" she asked.

  I opened her kitchen window a bit more. The aroma of roasting pig, sweet and savory, wafted into the kitchen. "It does smell good, Rose. But I still can't get over killing an animal like that."