Page 7 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
“What exactly do you do, dear? I can tell you come from good stock—we always recognize our own kind,” Ruth said matter-of-factly. “But I gather you’re involved in more than charity luncheons and society galas?”
From anyone else, the comment might have seemed insufferably elitist, but Ruth delivered it with such straightforward charm that Faith couldn’t take offense.
“I’m a therapist,” Faith explained, relaxing slightly. “I closed my private practice a few years ago. Now I host a radio show in the evenings and host a weekly podcast. I’ll probably start seeing patients again once I have the house renovated with a proper office space.”
“The Dr. Hartwell?” Ruth’s eyes widened with recognition. “I’m a huge fan. I listen to your program every night. You give such sensible advice, and I adore how you don’t coddle those doormats and wishy-washy callers who want you to magically fix their problems without any effort on their part. Most people don’t have the sense that God gave a turnip.”
“A love doctor, huh?” Jake’s deep voice sent an involuntary shiver down Faith’s spine. She’d thought he’d already left to begin his inspection. “This should be interesting.” He flashed those devastating dimples, winked, and sauntered away, whistling as he carefully navigated the hazardous flooring. “Just in case, listen for my cries of distress if I fall through somewhere,” he called over his shoulder.
Faith exhaled slowly, willing her heart to resume its normal rhythm. Those dimples were dangerous weapons. She’d always had a weakness for dimples, but this attraction was the last thing she needed. In her experience, men became either intimidated or overly curious once they discovered her profession. They inevitably assumed she possessed some mystical insight into relationships—or worse, that she was some sort of romantic goddess.
The bitter irony wasn’t lost on Faith. For someone who counseled others on matters of the heart, her own romantic history remained her greatest vulnerability. After Steve, she’d kept relationships at arm’s length, finding it easier to analyze love than to risk experiencing it again firsthand.
Maybe it was time to reinvent herself. To become the confident, worldly woman everyone assumed she must be. She turned back to Ruth, pushing thoughts of Jake and his dimples aside.
“So, tell me everything about this infamous house,” Faith said, moving to the ice chest she’d been using as a makeshift refrigerator. “I wish I had something nicer to offer you than sodas and crackers.”
“I’ll have a soda,” Ruth said with a mischievous glint in her eye. “It’ll drive Jake crazy.” Faith instantly recognized where Jake had inherited his playful streak.
“I don’t want to cause trouble between you two,” Faith said, arranging some cookies on a paper plate and retrieving two cans from the ice chest. She wished she at least had proper glasses to serve her guest.
“Nonsense. Jake’s a softy at heart. Besides, I’m old enough to do as I please,” Ruth declared. “I could pass away at any moment, you know.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Faith laughed.
“That’s the truth,” Ruth agreed, accepting the soda with a nod of thanks. “I’ve outlived six husbands, and not one of them could keep pace with me. It’s unfortunate that men are such delicate creatures.”
Faith settled across from Ruth at the folding card table. “I wonder why the Realtor didn’t mention this place’s colorful history.”
“He probably thought it would be another strike against a property already facing significant challenges,” Ruth said, gesturing to the sagging ceiling. “It’s not exactly in its prime.”
“Actually, I would have bought it even faster had I known,” Faith admitted. The thought of restoring not just a house but a piece of history filled her with unexpected excitement.
Ruth placed a soft, age-spotted hand over Faith’s. Despite their delicate appearance, Faith could feel the strength in those fingers. “More young women should be like you,” she said with approval. “You remind me a bit of myself, though a little more uptight. We’ll have to work on that—I excel at being a bad influence.”
Faith’s mouth fell open at the “uptight” comment, but Ruth didn’t seem the least bit concerned about potential offense.
“Margaret and Myrtle Shelley established a high-class establishment right after World War II ended in 1945,” Ruth began, her voice taking on a storyteller’s cadence. “Both had lost their husbands in the war, and I suppose they decided their prospects for remarriage were slim. They opened this place and simply called it Shelley’s. And my goodness, did they do a thriving business.”
Ruth’s eyes softened, taking on a faraway look that spoke of cherished memories—moments filled with youth and joy.
“When the authorities started cracking down on such establishments in the 1950s, they cleverly transformed the business. They converted the basement into a private club, and the place became one of the most exclusive social venues in the region. I was barely seventeen when I first visited, newly married to Jake’s grandfather and greener than spring grass. The Shelley sisters were significantly older by then, but still formidable women.”
A wistful smile curved Ruth’s lips as she sipped her forbidden soda. Faith felt as though she was witnessing something precious and intimate, a glimpse into a world long vanished.
“My Mitch was such a handsome man,” Ruth continued, her voice tender with remembrance. “A true gentleman. I felt like I’d stepped into a fairy tale the first time I saw him. He was worldly in ways I wasn’t, which I’ve always been thankful for, but once we exchanged vows, he was devoted to me until his dying day. I lost him in a military training accident. He was a test pilot—fearless and brilliant.”
Faith blinked away unexpected tears, her heart constricting. She couldn’t imagine experiencing such profound love and devastating loss in such a compressed time frame. Her own grief over Steve had been complicated by guilt and regret rather than love’s absence.
“Don’t look so sad, dear,” Ruth said kindly. “We had five wonderful years together and brought two beautiful children into the world. I see him every time I look at Jake—it makes the memories sweeter somehow. And I’ve been blessed with many more adventures since then.”
Faith found herself in awe of this remarkable woman who had faced life with such courage and openness. What must it have been like to marry so young yet embrace life so fully? Faith had spent thirty years constructing protective walls, careful never to risk too much or feel too deeply.
“You understand, someone of my social standing would have faced severe consequences had my parents discovered I was frequenting a house of ill repute,” Ruth continued. “They would have disowned me without hesitation if I’d brought scandal to the family name. But my husband managed the details, and I learned to play cards, enjoy good cocktails, and keep my husband thoroughly captivated so he never had reason to visit the upper floors where the Shelley sisters still conducted their original business. It was the worst-kept secret in town. Probably because the sheriff and mayor were both clients.”
“That’s incredible,” Faith said, genuinely impressed. “Your secrets are safe with me.”
“It hardly matters anymore,” Ruth chuckled. “My parents have been dead near forty years now and all my friends keep dying too. It’s darned inconvenient to get old, let me tell you.”
