Why did Ellen feel compelled to help the old lady with the oversized bag? The handles broke, spilling the nearly ruined groceries onto the pavement, as if gathered from the nearest dustbin, and Ellen, cursing under her breath, scrambled to collect them. This little act of kindness made her late for work.
Her excessive compassion always got her into situations like this. If she saw someone barely conscious on a bench, she would rush over to help, just in case they were in serious trouble. Even the strong smell of alcohol wouldn’t stop her from calling for emergency services. The paramedics would arrive, only to exclaim that the person was merely drunk, questioning why they’d been called. The police often had to shepherd the man, barely able to drag his feet, to the station, giving her sidelong glances. Wouldn’t he have staggered off the bench eventually on his own?
Ellen was inherently kind. Although behind her back, people would call her “crazy” and tap their fingers to their temples. She had given her apartment to her stepfather after her mother passed away, mostly due to his negligence. He never worked, while her mother juggled jobs and cleaned staircases, eventually pushing herself too hard. But Ellen pitied him. An elderly man, unlikely to find housing. And she? She was young and could earn her keep. Neighbors nearly forced her to retain a claim to the place instead of just gifting it away.
Ellen decided to move to the city. There, she could find both work and rent a place. Her savings were enough for a room in a shared flat. At first, she cleaned floors in a supermarket, but her salary barely covered the room rent. Though there were perks. Sometimes expired goods were divided up, giving her a little extra, so she didn’t starve. However, clothes wore out quickly, no matter how often she washed them, not to mention footwear. She was always buying glue for her shoes.
She decided to become a housekeeper, but with no experience, she was initially turned down until one careless agency took her on a trial basis. Her first client was an elderly lady, sweet as a daisy but with a commanding voice: “The tea isn’t brewed properly, the bathroom isn’t cleaned well, the dishes are greasy…” Thus began her working life. But Ellen was Ellen. She constantly apologized, redoing her work rather than slamming the door shut. It seemed they always sent her to demanding clients like bored pensioners who just needed someone to vent their frustrations on.
However, on the day she was late, nobody reprimanded her. Instead, they urgently sent her to another client, who was bedridden because the previous employee had quit. Upon arrival, Ellen was shocked at how shameless people could be, thinking that just because someone couldn’t get up and see the state of their apartment, it was acceptable to leave it in such a mess.
Mrs. Evelyn was surprised when Ellen gently changed her dirty sheets, dressed her in fresh pajamas, and tended a small bed sore. Evelyn lay there smiling as she heard Ellen clatter around, vacuuming and dusting. Only when everything shone and the smell of something delicious filled the house did Ellen settle down, bringing Evelyn a hearty bowl of soup with dumplings and a cup of fragrant tea on a special tray.
“I thought you might appreciate some homemade soup,” Ellen said thoughtfully. “All you seem to have are packaging from ready meals. You eat up. Then I’ll wash the dishes and leave. That’s it for today.”
Evelyn enjoyed her meal and asked Ellen to stay for a chat, intrigued by this lively girl and her future plans. She wanted company too since the previous caretaker, named Sarah, would drop in for half an hour, throw her a reheated meal, and dash off. Ellen candidly shared her life story.
“Isn’t it tough, cleaning other people’s places every day and dealing with nagging complaints?” Evelyn inquired. “Is that what you always wanted to do?”
“Oh, Mrs. Evelyn, I dreamed of many things: being a singer or a ballerina. But I have no voice, and my legs are too short. No choir or dance club took me in. When my mom was sick, I wanted to become a doctor. But fate had other plans. I barely completed high school since I worked at the same time. I worked at Mr. Ahmed’s kiosk. He praised my diligence and sometimes gave bonuses because I always kept the counter clean and only accepted fresh fruits, unlike other suppliers, who’d try to sneak in spoiled ones. But now there’s hardly time to dream. I run like a hamster on a wheel. After work, I return to the shared flat. There’s the ever-dirty corridor, unclean toilet, no toilet paper again. I tidy it all up and crash into bed. Once, you won’t believe it, I dozed off, toilet brush in hand,” she laughed cheerfully.
Evelyn smiled, charmed by Ellen’s spirited demeanor.
“Would you like to work only for me? I’ll sort it out with your agency. I keep ending up with all sorts of caretakers. Some steal; others rush through tasks, eager to return to their families. When I first became bedridden, I hired a live-in girl. She seemed fine initially. But once settled, she’d vanish to clubs at night while I needed medication on schedule. She’d return reeking of alcohol, half-heartedly tend to me, then declare she was off to bed, promising to set everything right when she woke.”
“I put up with it for a month and warned her of dismissal. Her solution was to invite her suitors over, thinking since I was bedridden, I was also deaf. Eventually, I let her go. Now, I sift through agencies, hoping to find the right fit. I’m not alone. I have a son and a grandson, but they live abroad with stable careers and help financially. They visit, but rarely. I’ve been bedridden for five years now, having slipped on icy stairs. The doctors thought I might sit one day, but no such luck. Would you consider moving in?” Evelyn asked with a hopeful smile.
“Of course! You need help. The curtains haven’t been washed, windows are dirty, and dust has gathered under the furniture,” Ellen began listing tasks.
“Alright, alright, Cinderella, that’s enough. You start working for me today. Go pack your things and move into the other room here. I’ll call your agency,” Evelyn laughed.
Ellen rushed off as Evelyn phoned the agency. The conversation was unpleasant; they tried hiking up the fee, labeling Ellen their best worker. Evelyn recalled Ellen’s wage complaints and burst out laughing.
“If she’s your best, why pay her peanuts and assign your toughest clients? Enough! She resigned effective immediately. I’ll handle her pay. And don’t mention a two-week notice unless you want tax trouble. I know people,” she threatened before hanging up.
So Ellen moved in with Evelyn, and soon breakfast included pancakes, cheese fritters, or buns, followed by mandatory washing, wiping, and tooth brushing while Ellen entertained Evelyn with amusing tales. Windows gleamed, and dirt vanished. Yet, Ellen’s energy meant she never truly settled down.
She visited the library, returning with piles of books and magazines.
“What’s all this for?” Evelyn laughed.
“It’s for you. Perhaps there’s some exercise guide that might help you sit. Later we can get a wheelchair, and I’ll take you outside. Fresh air, birds singing, much better than four walls,” Ellen envisioned excitedly.
Evelyn teared up.
“Ellen, even doctors couldn’t help, and you’re hoping exercises will work. Don’t stir my emotions. I know you mean well, but there’s likely no return for me.”
But Ellen’s persistence was far from over. Daily, she sat in Evelyn’s room, pouring over books and magazines, her lips moving silently. Highlighting intriguing parts with a pencil.
Eventually, Evelyn relented.
“What have you found? Show me.”
Ellen leapt up, retrieved a magazine from her stack, and handed it over joyously.
“I’ve found simple exercises. Regularly, several times a day, could help. But don’t worry, I’ll supervise. If you’re willing, that is.”
Evelyn sighed, “You won’t let me be, right?”
Ellen shook her head with a grin, “Then let’s try.”
It was arduous. Evelyn would alternate between tears, laughs, and empty threats of firing Ellen. Yet, slowly she adapted. The exercises grew more demanding, even as immediate results remained elusive.
Until one night, Evelyn hollered.
“Ellen! Come here!”
Ellen rushed in, alarmed.
“What hurts? Should I call someone?”
Evelyn hushed her worry.
“Stop fretting. Look, my big toe, it moves.”
Ellen shouted in joy, “Hooray!” but quickly quieted for the night.
“Do you still have the doctor’s number? Let’s call him in the morning,” she proposed excitedly, pacing about the room.
The doctor arrived. Ellen, too eager, was easier sent out. Later, she was beckoned back.
“You’ve done well, young lady,” came the doctor’s praising surprise. “Another surgery might be possible now. What do you think, Mrs. Evelyn?”
A radiant Evelyn answered, “Absolutely, Dr. Jacobs.”
For the surgery duration, Ellen waited in the hallway, helping others out of habit—handing someone their dropped cane or assisting the nurse.
When Dr. Jacobs emerged, Ellen inquired eagerly, “How is she?”
Taking off his cap, he replied, “Time will tell. Rehabilitation will be lengthy, given her age.”
“I’ll care for her every step!” Ellen vowed. “Thank you so much. May I hug you?”
“Go ahead,” Dr. Jacobs chuckled.
Ellen stood on tip-toe, kissing his stubbly cheek. During Evelyn’s hospital stay, Ellen was at her side, only fleetingly leaving to cook nourishing meals as prescribed.
“Is that your daughter or granddaughter caring so attentively?” inquired the ladies in the ward.
“No, she’s even better. She’s my caregiver, and quite an angel sent my way,” Evelyn proudly answered.
When Evelyn, in a special corset, first sat in the wheelchair, they embraced and cried tears of joy.
And when Evelyn’s son and grandson visited, her spirits soared.
“Now we can finally take you with us, mom,” declared her son.
The clatter of a dropped tray of pies followed, as Ellen, with tears in her eyes, rushed to her room.
“How could you, son,” Evelyn muttered reprovingly. “Ellen, stop crying. Come here.”
Fifteen minutes later, Ellen reappeared, with suitcase in hand.
“Should I leave now or tidy the broken dish?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Sit down!” commanded Evelyn.
“You’ve gone and packed already, silly. There’s paperwork to handle before leaving. I can’t manage without you. You’re coming with us for a short visit, and then we’re back.”
Ellen later married, not to Evelyn’s grandson but to a new neighbor. When Ellen struggled with a sticky door lock, he stepped in, suggesting a replacement before it deteriorated entirely. That’s how they met.
Evelyn was content; she not only shone as the wedding’s chief guest, charming the gentlemen despite her wheelchair, but, a year later, Ellen brought her a granddaughter though unrelated by blood. Ellen’s husband, Chris, often took the family to a cottage where they enjoyed fresh milk and berries plucked right from the garden since Ellen wouldn’t sit idle. What sort of country retreat would it be without fresh produce for the table?
