Free Charlotte Figg Takes Over Paradise by Joyce Magnin

scared to death that I might have gotten myself wedged into a tight spot. It was all on me now to rally these women into a team. Women who, it was plain to see, needed and wanted to be rallied into something more than what life had pitched.
    It was the more part that scared me.

8
     
     
     
    T hat night I lay in bed thinking about the day and imagining what it would be like to be with this group of women on the softball field, running the bases, keeping Greta from pounding Gwendolyn into a fine powder, catching pop fly balls, hitting a home run—winning. But I also wrestled with a most intrusive thought—me sitting in Rose's giant hand of God—just sitting there like a lame duck waiting for whatever was going to happen to happen.
    But I supposed Rose would have said, "Don't worry, Charlotte. You're sitting in the safest seat in the universe." And she might have been right, but I couldn't help feeling a little shaken and worried about what I had done. Me, coaching a softball team, attempting to bring community where none existed and kind of half-expecting God to work out the details. I knew it was all I had to lean on—except Rose and Asa. Herman wasn't around to tell me what to do next.
    Bright and early the next morning after I let Lucky out to do his business and I made my pot of coffee and brushed my teeth, I went in search of something I thought might help inspire me. I pulled a small, red suitcase out from under my bed. I had not opened it in many years.
    Packed away inside, I found my old baseball glove, a cap, a softball, and a picture of the 1942 Clifton Canaries wearing our bright yellow uniforms with green lettering and numbers. I named every player on the team. I looked a bit brighter in the picture than I did now, skinnier of course and maybe even a touch taller. I stood next to Penny Wilcox, our catcher, and Verna Gottlieb, our second baseman. These people had been the most important people in my life for a while. Together we won over fifty-two games and three championships.
    I sat on the floor and lightly touched each face with the tip of my index finger.
    "Penny," I said. "Where are you now? Sally Miller, the pitcher with the crazy curve ball. Would you remember me?"
    The memories of these people rose and fell like a symphony. And that was when I saw the big picture. I wanted the women of Paradise to know what I knew. In the company of women, good women, there is home. There is love, understanding, and even salvation. All of these things had somehow gotten away from me. And maybe, if I was being honest with myself, I was looking for those things also.
    I placed the picture in its wobbly brown frame near the trophy. I had three trophies, but only two had survived the years. Too bad Herman never sold me any brass polish. It would certainly have come in handy. Instead, I breathed on the trophy in places and used a towel to shine it up.
    Rose came by right after I put the towel and my memories away.
    "I came by for pie," she said. "And I thought you could use some help."
    "Help?"
    "The team, Charlotte. You have a lot to decide." She noticed the picture on the table and picked it up. "Is this your old team? Which one are you? No, wait. Let me pick you out."
    "Here." She pointed to Sadie Lipshutz—left field.
    "Nope."
    I showed her where I stood.
    "You look like an entirely different person. You sure that's you?"
    I nodded and set the picture down.
    Rose sat with me at the kitchen table. I didn't feel much like talking. Rose was as enthusiastic as ever. But it didn't take long for her to catch on to my mood.
    "What's wrong?" She asked. "You look lower than a grasshopper's knee."
    "I guess I am a little sad today. Looking through old stuff, thinking about Herman."
    Rose smiled into my eyes. "I understand. Grief has a way of hanging on and rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune times, Sweetie." She patted my hand.
    "It does." I swiped a couple of tears away. We sipped coffee and ate pie silently until I