Newly widowed Charlotte Figg purchases a double-wide trailer sight unseen and moves to the Paradise Trailer Park with her dog, Lucky. Unfortunately, neither the trailer nor Paradise are what Charlotte expected. Her trailer is a ramshackle old place in need of major repair, and the people of Paradise are harboring more secrets than Bayer has aspirin. Charlotte’s new friend Rose Tattoo learns that Charlotte played softball and convinces her to rally the women of Paradise into a team. Reluctant at first, Charlotte warms to the notion and is soon coaching the Paradise Angels. Meanwhile, Charlotte discovers that the manager of Paradise, Fergus Wrinkel, abuses his wife, Suzy. Charlotte sets out to find a way to save Suzy from Fergus and in the process comes to a difficult realization about her own painful marriage. Joyce Magnin is the author of several books, including The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow , named one of the "Top 5 Best Christian Fiction Books of 2009" by Library Journal . Her short fiction pieces and articles have been published in such magazines as Relief Journal, Parents Express, Sunday Digest , and Highlights for Children . A member of the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writers Fellowship, Joyce is a frequent workshop leader at various writer s conferences and women s church groups. She has three children and one grandson, and is mom to a neurotic parakeet who lives with her in Havertown, Pennsylvania. Charlotte Figg Takes Over Paradise A Novel of Bright's Pond By Joyce Magnin Abingdon Press Copyright © 2010 The United Methodist Publishing House All right reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4267-0766-7 Chapter One Redemption comes to people in many ways. —Rose Tattoo Rewriting the rules of Paradise did not come easy. But it did come, and I even managed to have a little fun along the way—fun with a few dollops of sadness, grief, and police activity tossed into the mix. It all started one icy January morning in 1974 when my husband, Herman, shuffled into the kitchen, sat in his chair, opened the Philadelphia Inquirer with a sharp flick of his wrists, and blustered. It was a horsy kind of sound that emanated from deep within his bowels, rose through his stomach and up into his throat, and came out through his lips. "World's coming to an end, Charlotte." The world had been coming to an end for twenty-three of the twenty-six years we had been married. It was right after the price of porterhouse steak climbed to ninety-five cents a pound that Herman had this epiphany. "Look here, Charlotte." Herman snapped his paper. "You know the end is coming when a man can't afford a good steak without taking out a second mortgage." "That's nonsense," I said as I refilled his cup. "The world is not coming to an end just because of the price of steak." But I should have known better than to say anything because Herman began announcing the imminent demise of life on Earth as we know it on a daily basis. That way I was certain no one could say Herman didn't see it coming. But the only world that ended was his. A massive brain hemorrhage knocked Herman to the floor like a two-hundred-pound sack of russets. I was busy in the powder room at the time and only heard a loud thud. There wasn't much a fifty-one-year-old, slightly arthritic woman with only a smattering of first-aid skills could do in that situation. So I rested Herman's large and balding head in my lap and wept while I waited for the ambulance. It seemed the right thing to do. "I didn't actually see Herman fall," I told the driver. "But I heard a loud bang—no—more like a big thud, duller than a bang. I thought at first a hollow tree limb had fallen in the backyard. But ..." I snuffed a tear, "it was Herman." * * * Unfortunately, it never occurred to Herman that he would ever actually die. I think Herman always figured he'd be around for the rapture and get taken up into heaven in a blink of an eye. As a result, Herman made no provision for his death that I knew about. I searched high and low for papers, anything that would give me a clue about what I was to do now. I didn't even know where to bury him, let alone how to pay for it. So after they took his body to the Gideon Funeral Home, I sat on the sofa and sobbed like a lost child for almost two hours until I decided I had no choice but to figure out what to do next. I rooted through drawers and boxes hoping to find an answer. At about nine o'clock that night I discovered a wrinkled life insurance policy with the Fuller Brush Company tucked away in the bottom of his samples bag. Herman was a Fuller Brush salesman, so I suppose it was the most reasonable place for him to keep the document. I doubt he ever read it. This had been the first time I ever went through his beloved samples bag. I felt a little criminal. He protected it like it held nuclear secrets. At least his funeral would be paid for and there would even be some cash left over for me to live on. I didn't have a ca