Marie Taylor, Ink

Her name was Eleanor and our two families had lived next door to each other in a small Pennsylvania town for as long as I could remember. She was perhaps 15 years older than me and there were few interests we had in common. She was a cheerful person with a kind heart and I liked her.

In later years I would see a resemblance in her to Ingrid Bergman, with her slightly tilted eyes, proud nose with finely chiseled nostrils and high Slavic cheekbones but even as a child I could see that she had a wonderful figure with full breasts, trim hips and lovely legs made for dancing.

The heady scent of her perfume was wonderful, and the soft swish of her chiffon dresses seemed to me the epitome of sophistication. She had wonderful taste in clothes and always saved her money to buy her going out dresses at one of the better ladies’ stores in our town.

Because our houses were so close, it was not unusual for Eleanor to rush over before a Saturday night date or Sunday afternoon drive in the country, for some last-minute help in dressing – a back zipper that was hard to reach or a jewelry clasp that wouldn’t close. She often requested my assistance to sign birthday cards for she never learned to read or write; in fact, I don’t think she even finished grade school.

Instead, Eleanor followed in her mother’s footsteps and by age 14 she worked as a daily housemaid – washing, scrubbing, sweeping and ironing – for some of the wealthier families in town. She learned whose husbands were straying, which ladies drank in the afternoon, what brides had early babies, and which women had to cover bruises with makeup.  These were the women whose taste she had imitated for her taste in clothing and style.

Eleanor was very much under the domination of her parents, particularly the forbidding father whose silence and cold demeanor also frightened me. Eleanor’s older sister, Pauline, had been the smart one, a favored child who had made a success of her life. She had married a local carpenter, had five children and after his early death worked in the high school cafeteria.

Since Pauline had provided the grandchildren necessary to carry on the family bloodline, Eleanor was told her duty was to stay home and care for her aging parents. But Eleanor longed for love and over the years had been courted by a few men who, for one reason or another, could not marry her, at least not right now.

I best remember a man named Paul who lived in a city 15 miles away. Every Sunday, without fail, he would pull up in front of the gray clapboard house, gifts in hand. He brought Eleanor two cartons of Kent cigarettes and a six pack of beer in brown paper bag. This was the time Eleanor had waited for all week long. Wearing a pretty dress, high heels and perfume, she and Paul would drive to one of the many private social clubs in the area.

Because Pennsylvania had Blue laws prohibiting the sale of liquor on Sunday. they would visit the Russian Club, the Italian Home, the Slovenian Society, the VFW or in the summer, drive to Shady Grove, an outdoor dance pavilion in the country. Although Paul did not dance himself, he would sit and watch as various men twirled Eleanor around the floor.

They dated for many years. Eleanor explained to me that they both had to care for their aging parents and had to wait to marry. Finally, Paul’s mother died but then it was his sister and her family who needed his help and attention.

For her patience, Paul promised Eleanor that she would be remembered in his will. Several years later, Paul died one night of a heart attack. There was no mention of Eleanor in his will; in fact, no one in Paul’s family knew she existed.

After her mother’s death, Eleanor continued to care for her father as she was supposed to do. Eventually, she ended up having to bathe him and change his diapers. When he too was finally gone, the older sister sold the family house, gave the proceeds to her children, and moved Eleanor out to a senior apartment in another town.