Ella of All-of-a-Kind Family Read online

  “I’m not her manager. She’s just my cousin,” Nathan explained. “I live here in Albany. He’d have to contact her folks in New York.”

  The stranger copied down Ella’s address and phone number. “Well, you’ll be hearing from him,” he promised. “You were swell, young lady. Good luck.”

  Clapping his derby on his head, he turned on his heel and was gone.

  Startled by the unexpected development, Ella could only look to Nathan and ask, “What do you think?”

  Nathan put up a restraining hand. “You mustn’t put too much stock in this kind of offer. If he calls, okay. If not, don’t let it bother you.”

  “Oh Nathan, I feel as if I were in a dream.… I hope I never wake up!”

  6

  Charlie Meets Elijah

  Ella sat curled up in a big armchair downstairs in the Healy flat.

  “You know, Grace,” she mused, “it’s only two weeks since I came home from Albany and already the whole thing seems like something that never really happened.”

  “It’s always that way when you go off somewhere and then return home,” Grace responded.

  Ella heaved a sigh of content. “It’s so heavenly peaceful down here. I love my family—every single one of them—but sometimes it gets so noisy in our apartment, you can’t hear yourself think. Honestly, sometimes I almost wish I were an only child, like you.”

  Grace shook her head vigorously. “Oh no you don’t. You can’t possibly imagine how lonely it can be. I think big families are great. I’d trade with you anytime. When I get married, I want to be knee-deep in children.” Her eyes met Ella’s and she laughed a little. “Here I am talking about marriage and no one’s even asked me yet.”

  Ella looked at her sympathetically. “Have you any idea when Bill’s coming home?” she asked. “After all, the war ended about six months ago.”

  “His last letter said soon. I had hoped it would be by Easter. I even bought a whole new Easter outfit. I keep thinking how wonderful it would be—the four of us, you and Jules, Bill and me—all together again.” Her shoulders lifted helplessly. “But I guess we’ll just have to wait.”

  She turned toward Ella with an appealing gesture. “When I think of seeing Bill again, I am so overwhelmed with happiness, I can hardly bear it.…” Her voice trailed off.

  Sweet, lovely Grace, reflected Ella, with her vision of the future so simple and clear—marriage, love, children and Bill. No yearning for something more, the way it is with me. Does it mean that I love Jules any the less? Or is it that I am incapable of loving anyone completely as Grace does? That man in Albany. He didn’t promise anything. But still I can’t help keep thinking about it and hoping his friend will call.

  “Ella,” Grace called her back to the here and now, “don’t you just love Easter? It comes at the nicest time of the year.”

  Ella nodded. “Just like Passover. Which reminds me, Mama said to be sure and invite you to our Seder. Will you come?”

  “I’d love to.”

  It was late afternoon on the eve of Passover. The house looked particularly clean and tidy. As was customary, all the dishes and pots used during the rest of the year had been put away. Now the table was laid with the china and glassware reserved especially for use throughout the Passover week. The old morris chair, piled high with cushions, was moved to the head of the table. Tonight when the family celebrated the Seder service, Papa, dressed in his white ceremonial robe and skullcap embroidered in gold, would recline in the chair like a king. In like manner, Jews all over the world would celebrate their deliverance from the land of Egypt.

  Meanwhile in the kitchen, Charlie watched Papa lay out the symbolic foods on the large Seder plate.

  “Will Elijah come to our house again tonight, Papa?” he asked.

  “Certainly. Elijah comes to the Seder every year.”

  “Does he go to everybody’s house?”

  “Yes.”

  “All over the world?”

  “Yes, Charlie.”

  “But how can he get around so fast?”

  “Why, with four strokes of his mighty wings, Elijah can cover the whole world! No place is too far away for him.”

  Charlie mulled this over for a moment. Then he came out with “Papa, at the end of the Seder, when we open the door for Elijah to come in to drink the wine from his own cup, why can’t we see him?”

  “Because he makes himself invisible. But even so, we can feel that he is there and we’re glad he has come to bless our house and all the people in it.”

  Charlie still wasn’t satisfied. “But why does he make himself invisible?”

  Papa smiled. “Well, that’s the way angels behave sometimes. Charlie, did you know that once, a long, long time ago, Elijah lived on earth?”

  Charlie’s eyes became round as marbles. “He did?”

  “Yes, he really did. In those days he was a prophet in the kingdom of Israel. Everyone loved him because he was so good and kind. He helped all the poor people and punished the wicked ones. When he died it was said that he went straight up to heaven in a fiery chariot.

  “But though Elijah now lives in heaven, he has never forgotten his people. He has come back to earth many times, performing miracles to protect someone in danger or to help someone in great trouble. There are lots and lots of stories about him.”

  “Could you tell me one, Papa?”

  “Well, one story tells how Elijah comes to the home of a poor man and his wife and asks for something to eat. They invite him in to share their food even though there is hardly enough for themselves. But the moment Elijah sits down at the table, lo and behold, lots of good things to eat suddenly appear!

  “The poor people are overcome with joy. Elijah smiles and is gone!

  “Later Elijah knocks on the gate of a rich man and begs for shelter. But the rich man is mean and selfish. ‘Go away!’ he says. ‘I have no room for beggars!’

  “Elijah turns away but he leaves behind a terrible misfortune. The rich man loses all his money!”

  “Didn’t they know it was Elijah?” Charlie asked.

  “No. All the legends say that no one ever recognizes Elijah. He always wears some kind of disguise.”

  “I wish I could see him.”

  “Who knows, Charlie? Maybe you will someday. Maybe you have seen him already, but you don’t know it.” Papa patted him on the head. “I remember another story about a boy like you who also wanted to see Elijah. Would you like to hear it?”

  “Oh yes!”

  “Well,” began Papa, “once there was a very famous rabbi. When this rabbi was still a young boy, he wanted to see Elijah the Prophet very much. So he begged his father to show Elijah to him.

  “The boy’s father said, If you study the Torah very hard, maybe then you will be worthy of seeing him.’

  “The boy studied hard, day and night. At the end of a year, he said to his father, ‘Papa, I did just what you told me. I’ve studied the Torah very hard, but still Elijah has not shown himself to me.’

  “So the boy’s father answered, ‘You are too impatient, my son. When Elijah thinks you really deserve it, he’ll show himself to you.’

  “One night, when the young boy was studying all alone in his father’s synagogue, an old man came in. His clothes were torn and dirty-looking, and held together with a rope tied around his middle. He was carrying a heavy sack on his back. His tired, wrinkled face was not very clean either. All in all, I can tell you, he wasn’t a very pleasant sight.

  “He didn’t say anything. He just plopped the sack down on the floor and slumped down beside it, right there in the synagogue!

  “This made the boy angry. ‘What do you mean settling yourself here?’ he yelled at the old man. ‘This is not an inn where you get a night’s lodging.’

  “ ‘I’m sorry,’ the stranger said. ‘I did not mean to dishonor the synagogue. But I’m so tired. Please, let me rest here for just a little while; then I’ll be off.’

  “ ‘No, you can’t stay
here!’ the boy shouted. ‘I’m sure my father wouldn’t like to have tramps coming in here with their dirty things.’

  “The poor old man sighed wearily. He staggered to his feet, picked up his heavy bundle and went away.

  “A little while later, the boy’s father returned to the synagogue. ‘Well, my son,’ he asked, ‘have you seen Elijah yet?’

  “The boy shook his head sadly. ‘No, father, I haven’t. All I saw was an old tramp with a sack on his back.’

  “ ‘Did you welcome him with the words Shalom aleichem [Peace be with you]?’ the father asked.

  “ ‘No, father, I didn’t,’ the boy replied.

  “ ‘Oh, my foolish son! Why didn’t you? Didn’t you know that that was Elijah?’ Sorrowfully he shook his head. ‘Alas, I’m afraid now it’s too late.’

  “From that day on, the young boy changed. He never failed to welcome anyone, no matter who he was, or how he looked. And Charlie,” Papa held up a warning finger, “you must do the same.”

  Charlie dug his hands into his pockets and walked slowly to his room. The picture of the old man plodding along with a heavy sack on his back kept reappearing before him. There was something very familiar about it. What was it?

  Then, like a dart of lightning, it came to him! Of course! Grabbing his jacket, he slipped out through the parlor door so quietly, no one noticed his going.

  The sun had set. The guests were already assembled around the table. To the right of Papa’s throne, were Uncle Hyman, Aunt Lena, Tanta, and Grace. To the left sat Aunt Fanny and Uncle Joe and Ruthie—looking a little less like a plucked chicken, now that her hair had grown out a little. All the other chairs were occupied by the family—all, that is, except one.

  “Where’s Charlie? All day long he could hardly wait for the Seder to begin,” Papa cried, annoyed. “Now where is he?”

  “Charlie! Charlie!” the sisters called, running through the house searching everywhere—under beds, inside closets, behind the piano, and even out in the hall. No Charlie anywhere!

  “He may have gone downstairs,” Henny suggested. “I’ll go look.”

  “We didn’t see him when we came,” Aunt Lena declared.

  “We didn’t see him either,” Aunt Fanny added. “Tsk, tsk! What could have happened to the child?”

  “Could he have gone to your house, Grace?” Mama asked, by now a bit worried.

  Grace hurried toward the door. “I’ll see.”

  In a few minutes both she and Henny were back. No Charlie!

  “Could he have gone to a friend’s house?” Ella offered.

  Mama shook her head. “Tonight?”

  “Where could he be?” everyone wondered out loud.

  Papa was completely baffled. “He was in the kitchen with me just a little while ago. I was telling him a story. How was it no one saw him go?”

  “We were all so busy with last-minute things, no one paid any attention,” Sarah put in.

  “Tonight of all nights!” Papa’s voice rose angrily.

  Aunt Lena signaled to Mama. “Why don’t you call up one of his friends anyway?” she urged.

  “Yes. Yes, I will.” Mama started for the phone.

  Precisely at that moment, the kitchen door was heard opening.

  “Charlie?” Mama called out hopefully.

  “Papa, Papa!” Charlie’s voice sounded all excited.

  “Charlie, where were you?” Papa cried. “Just when we are to begin the …” Papa’s unfinished sentence hung in midair. Charlie was not alone. Behind him trailed a short, stocky man with graying hair, a mass of curls tumbling over his forehead. He was dressed in a faded brown shirt and baggy trousers held together by a rope tied around his middle. It was Tony, the iceman!

  Taking hold of Tony’s hand, Charlie propelled him gently forward. “See, Papa,” he announced triumphantly, his face radiant with happiness, “I brought Elijah!”

  Speechless, everyone eyed the unexpected guest. Finally, Aunt Fanny found her voice. “What kind of Elijah is this?” she tittered. “Tony, the iceman?”

  “Could be,” Tanta said. “After all, Elijah always carried a bundle on his back. And with Tony, it’s always a sack of coal in the winter or a big block of ice in the summer.”

  Grins appeared on all the faces, but Papa shook his head disapprovingly. At once the grins disappeared.

  “Excuse me,” Tony said hastily, “your little Charlie, he tells me it is Seder night and I must come upstairs with him and drink the wine. I could not say no to the little boy. So I come.”

  Papa nodded and pointed to the wine bottle. “Help yourself, Tony.”

  Tony picked up the glass nearest him already filled.

  “No, no Elijah,” Charlie bounced up and down. “You have to drink from your own cup!”

  Tony mussed the boy’s hair. “That’s all right, Charlie. This’ll do fine.” Without further ado, he drained the glass.

  “Well, I thank you. The wine, it is good—very good. Now I must go. I still have some ice to deliver. Good night and a happy holiday to all of you.”

  As the door closed behind Tony, the glow faded from Charlie’s face. Mournfully he looked at Elijah’s cup on the table. He turned to Papa. “He didn’t drink from his cup. I guess maybe it wasn’t Elijah after all.”

  Papa put his arm around Charlie and drew him close.

  “Well Charlie, we’ll never know, will we? Maybe he didn’t want to be recognized. Come, my son, take your place and let the Seder begin.”

  7

  A Lucky Break

  Returning home from work one evening, Ella was greeted by a beaming Mama with “There was a telephone call for you today!”

  “Yes?”

  “The friend of that man you met in Albany,” Mama replied. “He said they’re auditioning tomorrow morning, and if you’re interested, you’re to be there at ten o’clock sharp. You’re to ask for a Mr. Trent. Here! I wrote down the address.”

  Mama’s words caused an instant commotion among the girls. They surrounded Ella, all demanding to be heard.

  “Are you really going to go?” “Will it be a real show on Broadway?” “Of course you’re taking Mama!” “Can we go along?” “Will they make you a star?”

  Ella covered her ears. “Please, everybody, don’t all pounce on me at once! Give me a chance to think!”

  For a brief moment, all was quiet. Then practical Sarah spoke up. “Ella, what about your job?”

  “That’s easy. She’ll just take the day off,” Henny declared. “A chance like this comes only once in a lifetime!”

  There followed a spirited discussion as to what Ella should wear, how she should act, what she should sing. What she should say. Through it all, Ella was silent, her mind tossing back and forth on waves of elation and panic. It kept right on tossing a good part of the night.

  Morning finally came. As usual, Papa set off for work and the children were dispatched to school. But for Ella it was an extra-special morning. With painstaking care, she groomed herself for the audition. She chose her best dress, a simple maroon wool with a white collar crossed demurely in front. A black hat with maroon facing topped off the costume.

  Looking at her, Mama was infinitely touched. My firstborn, she thought, young and eager. God grant she realizes her desire.

  On her part, Ella was admiring her mother’s still youthful figure dressed up in her best—her braid-trimmed frock. I’m so proud Mama looks so nice.

  Arm in arm, mother and daughter left the house and walked the few blocks to the subway station.

  The time seemed to drag along ever so slowly as the train rattled its way downtown. Then at long last they were in the heart of magical Times Square.

  Armed with their precious slip of paper, they soon found themselves standing before an old brownstone building. Up several flights of wooden stairs they climbed, to the third floor.

  From inside a succession of closed glass-paneled doors, streamed a bedlam of sound—pianos thumping, banjos strumming, and sudden sn
atches of song reverberating down the length of the corridor. Ella knocked on the door marked Foster Music Co.

  “We might as well go in,” Mama said after a few minutes of waiting. “Nobody can hear us in all this racket.”

  Timidly Ella turned the doorknob.

  They entered a fairly large room, rather bare-looking. In one corner stood an upright piano piled high with sheet music. A man in shirt sleeves, a cigarette dangling from his lips, was tinkling the keys, his eyes intent on some music before him. Beside the piano, a thin longish-legged individual, wearing a cap tipped toward his nose, teetered on the hind legs of a cane chair. Near one of the long windows overlooking the street, a short, somewhat stocky man and a group of pretty girls were chatting and laughing familiarly. No one paid any attention to the newcomers.

  For a few moments, Ella and Mama looked around uncertainly. Then Ella approached the group at the window.

  “Mr. Trent?” she ventured.

  The man turned. “Yep. I’m Mr. Trent,” he said, glancing down at her. “What is it, little girl?”

  Now all the girls were staring at her. Hastily, Ella introduced herself and Mama. “Your friend heard me sing in Albany.”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah.” He motioned toward the piano player. “Just tell him what you want to sing and give him the key.”

  “I brought my music with me,” Ella began. “Can I …”

  “Sure, kid,” he replied, his tone indifferent.

  Ella unrolled her music. “It’s ‘The Flower Song’ from Faust. Is that all right?”

  Mr. Trent raised a quizzical eyebrow. Out of the corner of her eye, Ella could see some of the girls exchanging amused glances. Is there something wrong with my choice? she wondered. It’s gay and charming. And I can sing it well. Her head lifted resolutely.

  Mr. Trent pulled out a chair for Mama, then waved his hand matter-of-factly to Ella. “Okay, kid, let’s hear it.”

  The pianist struck the opening chords and Ella started to sing. As her voice resounded through the room, she suddenly became aware of how quiet everyone had grown.