He was so very brave, she'd thought that day he waded in to save the puppies, and she thought it still. He was brave in little, quiet ways every day, and she could never forget his gentle generosity of spirit toward her, and toward the world.
She loved how their minds and hearts had begun to work in symphony about the letters. How he shared her grief and concern over the most difficult. Letters from grieving parents who didn't know how to go on after the loss of their only child. Letters from young people who saw nothing to live for in this bleak world with the atom bomb hanging over everyone's heads. Letters from people who had cause for great regret in their lives and knew no way to make it right.
She and Shel did their best for these letters. They often discussed these choices together, wanting to give a voice to the hurting people who wrote without filling the column with nothing but pain. And they rejoiced in the letters from people her advice helped, or who wrote in for less painful reasons.
It had begun to feel more like a calling than a job. Though, to be honest, Ellie very much enjoyed having an official job doing this. It might be a nominal fee, but it was one she earned, and that was such a good feeling.
But sometimes she worried about the job. Suppose Shel only spent so much time with her because of it? He seemed to have an endless capacity for patience. But she hoped he wasn't tolerating her, or being kind.
When they were together, she could never doubt his sincerity and affection, his honest, simple enjoyment in her company, the mutuality of their feelings for one another. But alone at night in her empty bed doubts assailed her. She was a lonely spinster, and he was a vibrant, available gentleman who would be a good match for any woman.
A woman who might be able to bear him children, for instance.
Oh, she tried not to think about that, but despite her bold words to her brother, it was always there, in the back of her mind. As much as he cared for the puppies, they would never be a true substitute for children. She already knew, from a few brief, quiet conversations they'd had, that he and his previous wife had never had children. He sounded so sad when he talked about it that it made Ellie's heart ache.
How could she even think of keeping him from having children? Because her heart would likely never be strong enough, and her doctor had told her more than once she couldn't handle the strain, would be unlikely to carry a healthy baby to full term, and mustn't try.
"If you marry, you must not get pregnant," he had told her more than once. The words had mattered little, when marriage hadn't seemed an option. But now, with a man she loved dearly, how could she take that possibility away from him — cut him off from having children he would adore? The beautiful, curly-headed children who would look just like him, bright eyed, energetic, gentle and curious about life.
In those moments, she knew she couldn't blame him if he never asked her to marry him. Sometimes she even found herself hoping he wouldn't ask. Because she knew she'd never have the courage to tell him no and be lonely for the rest of her life without him. No matter how selfish that made her.
Chapter ten
Dear Lovelorn Bachelor,
I have talked to many older people, and I have experienced enough in my own life as well to know that people more often regret allowing fear to keep them from taking risks than they regret the well-considered risks they took.
On your deathbed, will you be more likely to regret not asking the woman you love to marry you and living your life alone, or will you regret marrying her and facing the censure together? I believe that two people who marry for love, going in with their eyes open, can weather storms much more easily than lonely people can by themselves.
At any rate, it would be wiser to ask the woman you feel this way about instead of me, and then the two of you can decide your future together. It would certainly be better to know her opinion than mine.
Sincerely,
Ellie
Shel read the answer over again twice more. He couldn't help chuckling. Okay, did she know or didn't she? Either way, she had skewered him properly. There was nothing more to be said; either he let fear guide him, or they could try to live a life of happiness together.
Would he let the rival papers and a few cruel people determine his future, or would he and Ellie make that future instead, holding their heads up, weathering the first few uncomfortable months? They could surely do it.
If she wanted to. That was perhaps a bigger 'if' than he liked to think, coxcomb that he was.
It was all very well and good to say she would likely marry him if he asked, but they'd never talked about it. He was almost certain he'd read the same regard in her gaze that he held for her. Almost — that was the problem, wasn't it? He'd never been terribly good with women. Look at the woman he'd married thinking they'd fall in love and lead a good life together. That hadn't worked out at all.
He could still not believe Ellie would ever change; he knew her heart, and it was a good one. But he could certainly be mistaken about her feelings for him, couldn't she? Oh, she would be terribly kind, if she wasn't interested in him that way, if to her it was only friendship. (And that 'only' had meant such a great deal to him.)
No. He firmed his shoulders. Even if she turned him down, he needed to ask. If she was interested in him, he needed to ask before he lost his courage and convinced himself he wasn't good enough. It didn't really matter if he was good enough, if they loved one another. And if he waited too long, perhaps she really would find another man. She acted as though she was an old maid, but as far as he could see, Ellie was in the prime of life. Any man would be lucky — more than lucky — to have her for his wife.
She didn't talk about herself a great deal, but from the things she had shared, he'd learned about her poor health growing up, the smothering of her aunt, and a few fortune hunters who'd made her wary of trusting men who showed interest in her romantically. If not for those three twisted cords of fate, he didn't think she'd have stayed single for nearly so long. Why, she would probably already be married long since, and he might never have met her.
Unless — an awful thought occurred to him — unless she had come to see him for the job as a married woman, and he'd still felt this way about her. The torture that would have been made his shudder. It had been difficult being married to a woman who never loved him. It would be just as difficult knowing he could never love the woman he'd fallen for from that first moment.
It had been a helpless slide into regard and softer feelings, the heady rush of love he'd thought was something only teenagers and songwriters believed in. It had come as a surprise to him, a grown man with a busy life and no romantic delusions whatsoever. But a welcome surprise, as well. She brought color and warmth into his world, and he could never regret knowing her — whether she loved him or not.
So deciding, he lifted his hat, straightened his jacket, and headed out the door, walking swiftly so he couldn't change his mind.
*
He knocked at her apartment, taking his hat off and raking his fingers back through his hair.
Ellie answered the door, and the puppies rushed out to greet him, barking wildly, their ears flying as they pounced on his feet and leaped around him.
"Hello." He looked up at her as he bent to scratch their ears. She stood in the doorway, smiling down at him. She reached out for his hat.
Behind them, the door cracked open to the apartment across the hall, and he could hear Mrs. Jansen's angry little gasp of delight at the evils of these two. He schooled a smile, and stepped inside before he spoke to Ellie further.
As usual, he wanted to kiss her when he saw her, the only appropriate greeting for that sweet, pretty face. He'd been surprised when he overheard some of the men talking about her one time. She occasionally still came to the newspaper office, though not as frequently now that he got to see her almost every day.
It wasn't an insult exactly; the men had said she dressed well, and it made up for her face. What's wrong with her face? he'd wanted to ask. Fortunately sanity h
ad prevailed, and he'd said nothing; the last thing he needed was to start more rumors about them.
He hadn't exactly kept their friendship a secret, with his frequent visits, the shared puppies, and their long walks in the park together. Some people no doubt laughed or joked about this already. But he would not subject her to criticism by acting as though he had a right to get angry on her behalf, as if he owned her. She deserved more respect from him than that — at least until he actually did have some claim to defend her honor.
But really, the man hadn't said anything rude about her, just implied that her face wasn't as pretty as the rest of her. What was wrong with her face, though? True, Ellie was rather pale, and her eyes seemed too large in her face sometimes when she was stressed or exhausted, and her nose was perhaps not as fashionably short and snub as an actress's, but he found her face perfectly charming. Every part of it worked together to make the whole enchanting. Most of all he loved her expressive eyes, and how her whole face could show the intensity of whatever she was feeling, or be as placid as a lake on a calm day. She cared so much. That was one of the things he loved about her; she was calm, quiet, thoughtful, and wise, but she also held a deep well of compassion in her heart.
Answering letters was clearly not just a job for her. He loved discussing letters with her, putting their heads together to think about these things. Most of the time she'd already written responses to the letters by the time he read them, but she still enjoyed talking with him about their contents. Sometimes, though, she waited to answer to think more on the subject — and to ask his input. He couldn't help being flattered and pleased that she cared what he thought. Together, they usually found something appropriate to say, though he thought her own answers were often just as good or better.
She received far too many letters now to possibly answer them all, at least in the paper. But when letters included a self-addressed stamped envelope and asked for a private answer, she took the time to do this. Ellie spent a great deal of effort on the column and never seemed to resent the time spent.
They had already agreed that she would accept the salary Leo Hastings had been earning before he quit. He knew it wasn't much for as many hours as she devoted to the work, but he was also certain money wasn't her main motivation. It seemed to mean a great deal to Ellie to be able to help people, to try to make the world a slightly better place.
"Can we take a walk without the dogs today?" he asked, even as he scooped one of the pups up into his arms and turned it over, holding the small dog in his arms so he could rub its tummy.
She bent to pick up the other one now, and cradled it as if it was a baby, rubbing its ears gently with her slim, pale fingers. These fingers held a surprisingly strength from all her time on the typewriter drafting replies to letters from strangers.
They faced one another over the dogs, in the sudden silence of the small apartment.
She could afford to get a much bigger place, he knew. That she did not made him feel he had some chance. Since she didn't care overmuch for the trappings of wealth, perhaps she wouldn't mind marrying a man like Shel, even knowing he would never earn as much money as she had.
The dogs had fallen silent, their eyes closing happily with the attention, and quietness filled the spaces in the apartment. They looked at one another, the way they so often did. Even though it had only been months, he felt as though he'd known her far longer. He felt as though he'd known her for most of his life and couldn't bear to spend the rest of it without her, in whatever capacity she would allow — wife, friend, or at the very least coworker.
"I would like that," she said softly. "Let me call Leah to come and puppy-sit." So saying, she moved away to the telephone.
While they waited for Leah to arrive, they sat down and had a cup of coffee, going over a few letters together. The quiet conversation engrossed them both, so that when the knock came, they looked at one another blankly for a moment, and then laughed. Ellie rose to answer the door, smoothing down her dress. It was a pretty, fashionable, flower-print dress, all long lines and pleats and excellent tailoring. He knew less than nothing about women's fashion, he was simply aware that Ellie never looked less than perfectly groomed. Her flawless elegance didn't come cheap, he knew that. But she never acted as if it was a big deal, even if one of the puppies ruined her dress.
This could, of course, have been because she had the money to replace any amount of clothing, but he doubted it; she didn't always replace the things the puppies chewed on, at least not right away, and appeared not to mind wearing them a bit longer even with little tooth marks on the edges.
Judith would have thrown a fit if an animal had spoiled even one of her oldest dresses, and never forgiven the little beast. He didn't think Ellie would get worked up or angry even if the puppies piddled on her favorite thing. She would probably scold them ineffectually and clean up and try to mitigate the damage, then smile ruefully and eventually replace the item if she couldn't.
Being able to replace an object wouldn't have weighed with Judith, as he'd learned to his detriment the time he'd accidentally crushed one of her hats. She'd never let him forget it, even though he rushed out that day and bought the exact same one for her. That hadn't been right, either. Apparently she would've much rather picked out her own hat. He'd saved the receipt; she could've done back and done just that. (How pitiful he must have looked, taking a crushed hat into the hat shop, asking if they still had this one available!) But no, nothing would do but that she should wear it resentfully, reminding him with a glare or a few words every time, that this was his fault and would never be forgotten.
Ellie had laughed when the puppies chewed holes in one of her best white kid gloves. Laughed, and given them the other one to destroy as well. "There's no point in one glove," she'd said, rising and smoothing down her dress, smiling at the puppies' naughtiness. And in that moment he'd loved her with a fierce glad welling inside his chest. He had been obliged to turn away or he'd have caught her by the shoulders and kissed her, self-control or no.
And he had used a great deal of self-control these past months. Sometimes it seemed as though he had been using self-control for years around Ellie, far longer than he had ever actually known her.
She fetched her hat and gloves, he put on his hat again, and the two headed out together, walking sedately toward the park. He walked on the side next to the street, so if anyone was splashed by a passing truck it wouldn't be her.
It was a warm day with a light breeze making things more comfortable. The leaves and grasses were full and thick, strong-looking, a virile green that spoke of health and life. He enjoyed these walks with her, such peaceful moments in their days, even when the dogs barked ecstatically, running in circles, getting leashes tangled round the humans' legs.
But today his heart pounded. They were so comfortable and easy together, despite that need for self control. Would his question make things awkward between them? If she only saw him as a friend, would it be possible to continue their friendship in the same way? He'd be brokenhearted, but he would do anything not to lose her in his life. And if that meant being friends for the rest of their lives, never husband and wife, he could accept it; he didn't think he could handle it if she had no further use for him.
They reached the park and began to walk its well-loved, familiar paths. He saw her glance at him, no doubt wondering why he'd wanted to walk without the animals. Usually, taking the growing pups with them was a great source of joy and laughter between them. Today, they hadn't even spoken to one another since leaving the apartment, except about the surprising lack of traffic.
He realized he'd been so taken up with his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders and face. Was she worrying about something, or had his anxiety rubbed off on her? Or, worse, was she guessing what he wanted to ask and dreading it?
Gulping, heart in his throat, he knew he couldn't put it off any longer or he'd lose his nerve altogether. Shel had never been a particularly outgoing, well
-spoken man. All his energy had gone into becoming good at his job, and he'd often felt like he had to work twice as hard to get there as the naturally confident people he seemed to be surrounded by. Loud-mouthed, pushy men seemed to make natural reporters. He'd had to learn other ways to work, to overcome his quietness or use it to his advantage when possible. It turned out many people preferred talking to a soft-spoken reporter who listened carefully to their replies, waiting till they were finished speaking to ask for clarification. And so he had gone far after all. But now he felt himself longing for the confidence other men seemed to possess naturally. Perhaps he could have asked his question without so much effort, without feeling as though it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.
"Ellie," he said quietly, turning to her, taking his hat off and raking fingers back nervously through his hair. His breathing was ragged, felt too fast, and yet he felt as if he was holding his breath, tensed all through his body, all through his soul. Nothing would ever be the same again, no matter what happened next.
She looked up at his hand moving through his hair. She often watched when he gave in to this nervous or thoughtful gesture; he couldn't tell what she thought about it though. And he hadn't managed to break himself of the habit, because he never could stand on ceremony with Ellie. That was one of the best things about her; he could simply be himself without trying to figure out who she wanted him to pretend to be. He could simply be Shel.
And that was all he could do now, too.
"I'm sorry," said Shel quietly. "I hope you won't take offense. But I need to ask you something. I've grown… very fond of you, Ellie. Actually, I've been fond of you from the first, and my feelings for you have only increased. I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering if you would have said yes. I don't want to regret not asking on my deathbed." At these words, she startled, and her already round gaze grew rounder, her mouth opening in a surprised O.
He dropped to one knee, right in the middle of the path, regardless of anyone watching or any foot traffic he might be holding up. "Ellie, will you marry me?"
Ellie's Advice (sweet romance) Page 8