Ellie's Advice (sweet romance)

by Roelke, Alice M.

  "What a pleasant surprise. Do come in?" She realized she'd asked instead of sounding certain, so now she scooped up the pups, held them in her arms, and moved out of his way so he could enter the apartment.

  Mrs. Jansen's door was open and one of her eyes just visible, watching with avid curiosity and a judgmental attitude. Ellie ignored her, standing tall, and waited for her brother to enter. With a doubtful glance at the dogs in her arms, wagging their tails and trying to reach out to sniff or taste the newcomer (or both), he stepped gingerly over the threshold, watching carefully where he stepped.

  "It's all right. They're paper trained. Here, I'll put them in my bedroom and we can talk without distraction."

  "Thank you." His distaste for the small, noisy creatures was obvious.

  She returned a moment later, the puppies safely ensconced with a square of paper, a water bowl, and an old shoe to chew on. It was old now; it hadn't been before they got hold of it last week and tore off half the sole.

  "Water? Coffee?" she offered, smiling affectionately at her older brother. He would never change; he would always be incredibly proper and somewhat over-concerned about status, but she loved him dearly.

  "No thank you. I came to talk to you." He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat without ado.

  Ellie liked this, sitting with her brother in an informal situation. It reminded her of when they were children, when her brother was a little less starchy. They used to sit in the kitchen at her aunt's, waiting for the cook to finish baking some treat for them. They must have been spoiled dreadfully as children, and yet she didn't remember it that way; she remembered feeling loved. Dear, apple-pie faced Mrs. Smith with her soft, wrinkled hands and voluminous white aprons that a small child could hide under like a tent. She'd been very kind to Ellie and Augustus.

  She'd died before the children reached their teens, and Ellie remembered missing her dreadfully during those days consumed with the awfulness of spots on her face, frizzy hair and too many freckles, not to mention the confusion of noticing boys mixed with the heartbreak of never being noticed back.

  How she'd longed to hide her face in those comforting aprons then and have Mrs. Smith smooth back her hair and promise everything would be okay, as if she had simply skinned her knee again or not been allowed to go to the fair. A sand tart or a slice of pie had been Mrs. Smith's other remedies for sorrow, and they had always felt surprisingly effective to a young Ellie.

  "What did you want to talk about?" She took the seat opposite her brother and smiled at him affectionately. "It's always nice to see you, but you clearly have something on your mind."

  "Ahem. I do." He cleared his throat. "It's about this man you've been seeing."

  "Yes?" She couldn't help smiling a little at the thought of Shel.

  "Mr. Sheldon Silverberg. Yes." He spoke the name with distaste, as though he didn't like it on his lips. "He works for a newspaper."

  "I write a column for it," she said helpfully, waiting with sparkling eyes for what came next. She couldn't even dread it. Though knew she'd be irritated by his words, at the same time she want to laugh. Oh, the old Ellie would have felt put-upon and tearful at being treated like a child. But not the new Ellie; not the woman she was becoming. That woman didn't care two cents if her family disapproved of Shel. At least not if it was for some foolish reason like not coming from a wealthy family.

  Shel was the son of immigrants, and an immigrant himself; he and his family had come over to American from Germany when he was eight, a few years before the war. He'd shown her pictures of his family back then, with their awkward fashions and serious faces, trying their best to look American and not managing it yet. These days Shel spoke perfect English. He had learned the language with the ease of the young, though he'd suffered through years as a schoolboy with the taunts and harassment for his accent, for his religion, and, after America entered the War, for being German. His first name wasn't noticeably German — he'd been named for a beloved English relative — but everyone at his school had known his heritage.

  It didn't matter to bullies that he would've been killed in Germany. Ellie and Shel never talked about the fact that many of his relatives had been. Except for the once; he'd taken out a picture of himself and his extended family, taken when he was just six in short pants with his knobby knees sticking out, smiling happily at a wedding photographer. A boy whose face and knees mirrored his, only an inch taller, had his arm around Shel and was also smiling at the camera. Behind them ranged a large family of children and adults, cousins and brothers and sisters all together for a large wedding. Most of them were no longer living.

  He had never spoken of it again, but seeing him look at the picture, and especially his cousin's face, she'd known what he was thinking, in that peculiar way they seemed to have developed of reading one another's thoughts. He was thinking that it was sheer luck he'd survived and not Manny.

  And she, heaven help her, was so glad it had been him. A wicked thought, perhaps, but an honest one. So many had died. Ellie was so grateful Shel hadn't been among them. Imagining a life without Shel was like imagining a life without oxygen. Suppose she had never met him, and continued on in the same old, boring, confining life, living according to her aunt's rules even now?

  It was an intolerable thought. And so she'd touched his arm gently, waiting while he thought and grieved. And he'd put the picture away after a moment, and they'd talked of other things, quietly and a bit sadly, until some of the memories had slid back into the past.

  "I don't think you should be seeing him," said Augustus ponderously, tapping one of his large, fleshy hands on the table. "He's not at all our sort. The man has no money and no standing in society. He could well be a fortune hunter."

  "He isn't, though," she assured Augustus, smiling affectionately at him, waiting him out but not giving him an inch.

  "Well, he could be," insisted Augustus.

  "I don't see how," said Ellie softly. "He hasn't asked me to marry him. He also hasn't asked me for any money, or even hinted."

  "Well." Her brother puffed up like an outraged fish. "All this time he spends with you, and he doesn't even ask you to marry him!"

  She couldn't help laughing a little. "Either he's a cad or a gold digger, is that it, brother dear?" She reached across and patted him on the arm. "I'm glad you care about me. And it's nice to have a visit from you for any reason. But please don't think you can tell me what to do in this case, Auggie. I am, you know, a grown woman. And I will continue to see Sheldon as long as he is willing to see me."

  "Alone, in your apartment! Taking walks in the park at all hours! Going to movies…!" He gave her an offended look, as if to say he'd thought better of her than such wild behavior.

  "Yes," said Ellie. "Though Mrs. Fine is usually here, I never send him away if she isn't. The puppies can be our chaperones, you know." She smiled at him mischievously. "We simply can't get up to mischief with them always distracting us!"

  His cheeks reddened with two bright spots. "I never thought that you were—"

  "Good," she interrupted ruthlessly, "because I haven't." She regarded him with sad affection. "You know, Auggie, I do love you, but you should go and soak your head! You have a family, a wife and two children. You have a full, busy life, a useful life with friends and business to take care of, and a family that loves you. This is the first time I've seen you in months. I'm not healthy enough to do half as much as you, I don't feel comfortable mixing in society, and I've never had a family of my own. I'm nearly thirty, Auggie. And I may be alone for the rest of my life. If so, I can't imagine a better way to spend this time than visiting with my dear Mr. Silverberg. And if not — if he wants to marry me eventually — then I shall most certainly say yes."

  It was with some satisfaction that she noticed she had, for the first time, rendered her brother completely speechless.

  Chapter nine

  Shel ran his fingers back through his already-messy curls. Over and over it again he went, but never did he seem
to reach a decision.

  He had known Miss Eleanor Goldman for several months now. Had worked with her, laughed with her, and begun to raise two dogs together. Never in that time had he doubted his affection for her. It was growing almost painful to be near her without expression that affection.

  And yet still he held back.

  Ellie was not like Judith, and never would be. He had known that before he'd seen her more than a few times. There was simply no way a woman could change that greatly in a whole lifetime of trying. No, he was not afraid of marrying her and ending up in another cage; he longed to marry her, more than he had longed for anything, even his current job when he was just starting out, slaving in the trenches of the paper, pounding the pavement, getting all the worst jobs because his boss didn't like Jewish men.

  No, he must find a way to ask Ellie to marry him, and soon. But every time he thought it, he thought of her face as she accepted him — shining, bright, happy — because she seemed, for some incomprehensible reason, no more immune to him than he was to her. He had no doubt of her fondness for him, of their mutual caring for each other. And yet he had said nothing. Every time he wanted to tell her how he longed for her, to ask her the question that would change both their lives irrevocably, he was once again stuck on the simple facts of life.

  He was a newspaper man at heart and always would be; he had no difficulty in finding out the facts about one Eleanor Goldman.

  Simply put, she came from one of the wealthiest Jewish families in the state, possibly the whole country. She'd been sickly for most of her life and never attended an expensive private school, but she had always been, and would always be wealthy.

  That wouldn't change when — if — they married. She would always have more money than he did, and he wouldn't begrudge her a dime of it, if it helped provide what she needed beyond what he could. Nice new clothes, help for around the house, and any medical treatment she might need if her illness acted up.

  Her heart had always been weak, leaving her prone to infections and shortness of breath. Dizziness had been a frequent complaint when she was younger. She'd grown healthier as she aged, she told him earnestly, and their walks were good for her, not too tiring. But sometimes he wondered. Perhaps she pushed herself too hard simply to spend time with him. He tried to be sensitive to her, to go back or stop and rest if she looked winded or pale, and this usually helped. But overall, he saw no reason she shouldn't live for many more years yet, and those were all years they could spend together.

  No, there was no reason not to marry Ellie. No reason at all — if she would have him.

  But the difference in their positions were substantial. She would be a laughingstock among her set for marrying so far beneath her. Her family would not approve. And there would no doubt be ugly cartoons in rival newspapers, cartoons that drew them as cruel caricatures of themselves. Ugly gossip articles would appear in the local rags, lampooned her wonderful column as nothing more than nepotism, saying she'd been hired because the editor had taken a shine to her beauty or her money.

  The shy, private woman who lived simply and stayed away from most social events, despite being raised to them, would become the center of attention in the worst possible ways.

  She would be laughed at and called a fool, someone who was being married for her money, and not for the real love they shared. An eccentric, foolish woman who fell for the doubtful charms of a poor immigrant. The truth wouldn't matter in this case; he knew that very well. And he knew the rival papers which had grown to hate him for the mild success he'd helped steer his paper to — and hate her for her interesting column that drew more readers daily — would stoop to anything to mock and belittle the couple, if they married.

  The future looked so bleak sometimes. He ran his hands back through his hair. I can't let her go. He was honest with himself about that; and he would never ask her to live with him in any way but honestly, never want to keep their love a secret or have an affair instead of getting married. He respected her too much for that, and himself as well. He mustn't let ugliness spoil their happiness; and yet when it came down to it, every time, he drew back from asking the question.

  If he asked Ellie to marry him, she would say yes. And then she would discover the seven kinds of hell the press could create, when ruthless newspapermen drew a target on someone's back and blew both barrels at them, holding nothing back.

  There was one person whose advice he could always trust, always rely upon. He'd grown to trust her as he trusted himself. Yet in this situation, he couldn't possibly ask her.

  And so, in desperation, he reached for a plain white piece of paper, without the newspaper's heading, and a cheap blue pen, and began to write in capital letters to disguise his handwriting. He wrote slowly, careful not to reveal his hand in the lettering, and pausing often to think of wording. Sometimes, he forgot he was writing with a pen and licked the end of it, as if it was a pencil. Twice he got ink on his hand, once on his sleeve as he tapped the pen restlessly; but always he continued on until he reached the end.

  Dear Ask Ellie,

  I am a poor man who has fallen in love with a rich woman. I do not believe our difference in situation matters to her, but I know the world will laugh if we get married. I cannot imagine my life without my beautiful "Laura." I don't want to live the rest of my life without her. And yet I cannot ask her and doom her to being a laughingstock. Please give me some advice so I can find peace about this. I do not have anyone I can ask. My family feels that this match would be a mistake also.

  Sincerely,

  Lovelorn Bachelor

  There. He hoped that would be disguised well enough. And if part of him secretly hoped it would not be disguised from her at all, that she would know his heart in an instant if not his handwriting, well, that couldn't be helped, either.

  He folded the paper carefully, then unfolded it and read it again one last time before sealing it in an envelope and addressing it to Ask Ellie at the paper.

  He would drop it off in the mailbox on his way to see her, and it would arrive with all the rest of her post, the trickle, downpour, and deluge of letters addressed to the funny, thoughtful, and gently wise advice columnist who had taken the paper by storm.

  Her free time working for the paper had ended, and he'd hired her. There could be no doubt that hiring her was the best move the paper could make, and yet… he was clearly biased. But readership had risen, and there were many letters to her or about her column; it was clearly the right thing to do. But he couldn't help the sinking feeling that he had set them up for mockery.

  But what could he do? Send her to work for a rival paper just so there could be no hint of favoritism? She was the best thing that had happened to the paper in a while, as far as he was concerned. Nothing could change that, even his love for her.

  *

  Dear Ask Ellie,

  This is a letter in response to Terrified of Dentists. I wanted to share my own victory over this fear. All my life I was afraid of dentists since I had cavities drilled in the third grade. I refused to go unless the pain was blinding. Then last year, my grandson needed to go to the dentist but was too afraid. I promised to go with him and hold his hand. We went together, and seeing my grandson be so brave, and the kind way the dentist treated him (much better than in my day!) gave me the courage to get the work done that I needed. It was expensive, but I am no longer in pain. I never wanted to get false teeth, but it's the best thing I've done in years. I can chew without pain now, and best of all, I've conquered an old fear and helped my grandson conquer his before it gets that far.

  Sincerely,

  Loving My Dentures

  Ellie smile at the letter as she set it aside. This one could be printed, if Shel agreed, with no response from her. A couple of weeks ago, she'd answered a query from a young woman who was terrified of dentists, asking for help to get over that fear. Ellie suggested talking with someone about her fears, a trusted spiritual leader or family member, as well as asking around till she
could find a particularly good dentist who would be sensitive of her anxiety. Then she'd asked readers for their advice getting over a fear of dentists.

  Letters had come pouring in, both ones that sympathized with the young woman and messages from people who had overcome anxiety of their own. It appeared fear of dentists was nothing uncommon. They were printing several of the answers next week, with little Ellie needed to write in response, seeing so many had already offered differing opinions and advice, (including a dentist who had written in personally with his tips and advice for nervous patients).

  She and Shel like to pick out the letters and answers they would run ahead of time, running at least three or four a day, sometime more. It filled space in the paper, but Shel said it was helping drive sales, so he didn't begrudge the inches. Meanwhile, Leo Hastings had quit the paper in disgust and went to work for a rival.

  Ellie felt bad about that, but not bad that she no longer had to share space with the unsympathetic, faintly mocking columns Hastings had sometimes churned out. Sometimes the letters were all one could wish from an advice columnist, but other times they bordered on the painfully unkind and downright foolish. She'd begun to wonder if Mr. Hastings sometimes took to the bottle while he was writing Mrs. Lawrence's columns.

  Ellie still enjoyed reading and writing letters immensely. Except for one anti-Semitic letter that had slipped through, shouting ugly and obscene things at her in poorly-spelled words, she'd found the readership overall goodhearted and interesting.

  Since that letter, which had shaken her severely, correspondence had always arrived pre-opened; Shel went through them before giving them to her, though he never mentioned whether they'd gotten another such communication. It shook her that someone could write such cruel words in the hopes of frightening her. (It had worked). She was grateful for his protection from it, though she wondered sometimes how he could be brave enough to face such ugliness for her and never seem to mind at all.