His care for her was most tenderly offered. His words and motions were the very definition of careful. He lifted her hands with a gentleness she equated with the touch of feathers or butterfly wings.
He rarely spoke, and Isabelle found herself wondering if she had dreamed his late-night words, his letters, his whispered pleadings. She longed to lift the lid upon her stationery box and discover if the letters she thought he had read from were, in fact, inside. But as she could hardly have held a pen with her hands bandaged so, she knew how foolish she would look in asking for the box to be brought.
After her bandages were changed and Doctor Kelley pronounced it a job well done, he asked them both if they could confer. Neither Isabelle nor Alexander were likely to deny Doctor Kelley anything, so the doctor took a seat across from Alexander’s chair. “There is much we could discuss,” he said, turning to Alexander to take control of the conversation.
Alexander looked from the doctor to Isabelle and back again. “There is,” he said in agreement.
Isabelle watched as Alexander brought his hands together, placing one atop the other. This simple gesture, probably done a thousand times a day by most people without a bit of notice, brought the tears back to Isabelle’s eyes. She wanted to point it out, to celebrate every muscle required to have brought about the small motion. She wanted to say, “Look at what you have done; you’ve clasped your hands!” but she understood better now Alexander’s responses to his incremental gains. Small victories did not balance out what he could not yet accomplish. She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall and remained quiet.
Alexander raised his eyes to hers. A flush of gladness filled her at the small attention. “I wish to speak to Doctor Kelley alone,” Alexander said, his serious voice suddenly taking her joy with it.
It had been a long time since he’d spoken so. Surely the bad days were balanced by many small encouraging moments, but Alexander’s formal tone brought back to the surface her every insecurity. Instinct forced her to remove herself. She stood. Took a step forward. Then stopped.
Isabelle stood in the middle of the parlor, hands swathed in clean cotton, and felt herself a stranger in this home—would it ever be her home?—when a deep understanding came clearly to her mind. She knew if she walked away at Alexander’s dismissal that she was agreeing to a lifetime of secondary significance.
Until now, that subordinate role had been sufficient. In fact, in her physical and mental exhaustion it had been all she could manage. Her occasional boldness, either in giving Alexander physical care or tiny moments of intimacy, brought her joy and satisfaction, but without consistent response from Alexander, she would be unable to maintain the efforts. She bowed to the expertise of the household staff, all of whom understood Alexander’s expectations. She cowered in the presence of Doctor Fredericks. She fled the room at the arrival of Nurse Margaret.
Unsure about the unfamiliar and unidentified boundaries of her still-new role as Mrs. Osgood, and then complicated again at Alexander’s injury, not to mention her own, she had sheepishly held back, tiptoeing around the home she had come to, for a time incapable of speaking out, making decisions, or altering customs. She had allowed herself to become invisible.
No longer.
This would simply not do. Isabelle had been sent away for the last time.
“No,” she said. Forcing her voice to carry a calm she did not feel, she said, “I understand that you would like to speak to the doctor alone, but I cannot allow it.” Her words surprised even herself, and she saw Alexander’s eyebrows rise in question. Never before had she made any sort of demand of her husband, never had she insisted on anything. Well should he be surprised. She reclaimed the seat next to Doctor Kelley, sitting in Alexander’s line of sight, placed her bandaged hands on her lap, and continued. “No decision you make affects you alone; therefore, you cannot decide crucial things in isolation.” Neither of the men spoke, so she continued. “All choices made about our family should be made by us together.”
Our family.
Seldom had these words crossed her mind. She’d thought of the two of them as sharing a home, but it was his home. She had taken his name and was supported by his business. For the first time, she spoke of them as a unit, an entity, a pair. She reached past her discomfort and fear of rejection for some proprietary ownership and found it suited her.
With Doctor Kelley looking on, she leaned forward a bit in her chair and said to her stunned husband, “Now, what would you like to discuss?”
Alexander looked from Isabelle to Doctor Kelley as if he was unsure how to proceed. After a moment, he said, “I believe it is time to move me to Manchester Royal Infirmary.”
Stifling the impulse to shout, “No!” and hurl a candlestick across the parlor, Isabelle folded her hands in her lap, held her opinion and her tongue, and looked to Doctor Kelley to handle this.
“For what reason?” the doctor asked, his voice measured and calm.
“For every reason,” Alexander answered, clearly struggling to echo a fraction of that calm. “I am a burden. I am not healing. I may never walk again. I cannot help my business function, and I am no kind of husband.” Reddening, he turned his face away from Isabelle and Doctor Kelley.
“It will be too difficult for Isabelle to recover from her injury,” he said, a scratch of emotion clawing through his words, “if she must work so hard to assist me. I cannot help Isabelle.”
A ripple of pleasure at hearing him say her name rose above her heartache.
“I may even be hindering her recovery. For a time, at least until she has regained her strength, I must go.” An echo of his newfound tenderness underscored his words, removing any blame from her. She could hear the guilt in his voice, the pain of having, even obliquely, allowed her to have been hurt.
Could he actually feel this was true? Isabelle felt her heart break. She wanted nothing more than to run to Alexander, fall at his knees, and tell him none of his concerns were warranted, but she knew there were truths there. Even discounting her own injuries, which she was certain were mild, his recovering functions, so remarkable to her, were, in fact, minor when compared to what he had lost.
Isabelle glanced at the doctor. He indicated with a minuscule motion of his head that she ought not answer yet.
The three of them sat in silence for several eternal minutes, each radiating pain and grief.
Finally, Alexander turned and looked at the doctor. The older man spoke. “A medical asylum may be a solution to one or more of your concerns,” he said.
“Exactly,” said Alexander. “For Isabelle’s comfort and healing.”
The doctor reached a hand over to pat Isabelle’s forearm. He must have heard her sharp intake of breath and seen her stiffen in her seat.
She was not succeeding in masking her emotions. She knew if she allowed herself to unleash the wave of tears behind her eyes, it would show she was overburdened.
Forcing her voice to sound calm, she said, “Can we agree for a moment to leave my healing out of this discussion? Will you allow me to express my wish not to be left alone?”
Alexander nodded.
Alexander nodded, and Isabelle watched his face. Was that a flicker of recognition that he’d moved his head in a different way than ever before? Until this moment, he’d been able to turn it only from side to side. In effect, to say only “no.” Now, with this tiny change, his body was opened to the chance to say yes. Isabelle wanted to leap from her seat and find that unbelieving Doctor Fredericks, bring him back into their home, and demand he watch Alexander nod.
She found no further words, and she turned to the doctor.
She was grateful for Doctor Kelley’s comforting hand. The doctor spoke to Alexander again. “Even without concern for Mrs. Osgood, some of your own interests would not be served by confinement.”
Alexander began to argue, but the doctor stopped him. “
Your recovered function is a very good sign,” he said. “And I am exceedingly grateful to see what you have managed to accomplish.”
At a sound of disbelief from Alexander, the doctor spoke a bit more loudly. “Is it possible you will not recover fully? It is certainly possible. I fear it is likely. But,” the doctor stood and stepped closer to Alexander, “your life can be full of joy and significance from this chair.”
Alexander shook his head as if to argue, but the doctor continued. “You have made much progress since you’ve been back in the city. Doubtless it is less progress than you have wished, but it is progress notwithstanding. Can we give all credit for your improvement to Doctor Fredericks and his nursing staff? That is a question impossible for me to answer. I believe you and your wife will need to discuss it and come to a consensus.”
Discuss? Consensus? Those words would require more speaking to each other than Alexander and Isabelle usually attempted when both were awake and fully conscious. Isabelle felt the weight of alarm pressing on her. She reminded herself to put the fear aside, for she was no longer the woman who cowered in the corners.
Alexander glanced at Isabelle but returned his eyes to the doctor. “I believe you are right, and we will discuss it, even though I certainly cannot dismiss her injuries. But I believe you must have an opinion of the asylum idea, and I want to hear it. I value your judgment, sir.”
Doctor Kelley laughed quietly. “You know me well. I generally do have an opinion. But, it seems, so does your wife. I do not want my view to cloud your discussion. Shall I leave you together to speak?”
Now Isabelle interrupted. “Doctor, I don’t believe your leaving is necessary. I do, in fact, have an opinion as well, and I do not mind expressing it while you are in the room.” She filled her lungs with air, looked at Alexander, and said, “As you insist on placing more emphasis on my healing than your own, I shall say only that your tender attention on my behalf is better, thousands of times better, than any care I can imagine. Your nearness brings strength to my wounds and allows me desire to heal. As far as your healing goes, I do not see that any of the improvement you experience is directly related to Nurse Margaret’s soulless ministrations, and I do not like Doctor Fredericks.”
In the silence following her pronouncement, Isabelle wondered if she had been unwise. Perhaps she should have been more delicate. Perhaps she had offended Doctor Kelley, who’d so kindly recommended the pioneering therapies of Doctor Fredericks. Perhaps—her contemplations were cut off by an unexpected sound: masculine laughter. Both Alexander and Doctor Kelley were laughing.
“When you say you have an opinion, my dear,” Doctor Kelley said, “you mean it.”
Alexander looked at Isabelle, an arch in his eyebrow reflecting his former look of casual confidence that surely made all the young women working at the mill swoon. His partial smile brought a flush to Isabelle’s cheek. “While you are boldly speaking your mind,” he said, “is there anything else you would like to say?”
Would she ever have another chance like this? The presence of Doctor Kelley made her feel far braver than she would feel were she alone with Alexander.
She nodded. “In fact, there is. I should like to say that you are remarkable.”
The look of surprise on Alexander’s face told her that this was not what he had expected to hear.
She continued. “The pain and agony you’ve gone through in the past months is more than I, more than anyone, could begin to imagine.”
She saw him look away and worried that he did not wish to hear what she felt compelled to say, but she had begun and knew she must carry on. “And now you desire to make a change.”
Sitting still was impossible. She shifted closer to the edge of her chair. “I recognize that your incremental progress must be a constant frustration to you. Any shift in medical practice must feel like a hope at which you must grasp. You speak of entering an institution to aid your recovery, but I do not see that the kind of care Doctor Fredericks gives you is healing your body or assisting your heart.”
Isabelle found her hands twisting the skirts she wore, kneading the fabric into knots. She released the cloth. “Were it up to me, you would remain here, or we would remove to Wellsgate, and I would be your nurse. I know I am not currently qualified, but I can learn.”
She didn’t take her eyes from Alexander’s, and although he looked amazed, he did not attempt to interrupt. “I know, however, that it is not up to me. You must decide. You must be able to choose what kind of care you receive.”
Isabelle stood, walked the few steps across the room to Alexander’s chair, and knelt in front of him. She took his hands in her bandaged ones and, looking into his face, said, “I ask you to consider allowing me to provide that care. I ask you to choose me. I know our marriage was an arrangement that profited your mill, but I hope it can also profit your heart.”
She pressed his hands more tightly, hardly feeling the throb of pain radiating from her wounds. “I realize you have been attempting to shield me from the discomfort of our present situation. I understand now that when you send me away, it is for my protection. Please,” she said, a tremble in her voice, “do not send me away any longer. Allow me to be here with you.”
She looked down at their clasped hands and then back up at Alexander’s face. “Were it my decision to make, I would be your nurse. I would be your wife. I would be your friend. I ask you to allow me to be all of these.”
She felt his fingers tighten on her own, filling her with hope.
Alexander spoke in a whisper. “Can you mean it? Can you be willing?”
“It is,” she said, a tear spilling from her eye, “my greatest wish.”
Alexander closed his eyes, smiled, and released a breath that sounded as though it had unfettered and released all his collected agony. “This is not the life I promised to you,” he said.
“But it is the one I choose.”
“Isabelle,” he whispered, and she shivered at hearing her name in his voice. “There is much I cannot do. For instance,” he said, now smiling at her, “I should very much like to hold you near and place a kiss upon your beautiful cheek.”
“That is a difficulty,” she said, “that I believe we can overcome.”
Leaning nearer his face, she allowed her blistered and burned cheek to meet his lips. With his tender kiss, she felt a pull toward him that she had never before experienced. She was drawn to be near him, body and heart and mind.
She pulled his hands to her own mouth and kissed his palm. It was not enough.
Upon her knees, she placed her bandage-covered hands upon his shoulders. She pulled herself upward to bring her mouth near his. She felt his breath catch as their gazes connected. Desire filled his eyes, granting a striking depth to his features she’d never before noticed. Every muscle, every nerve in her body ignited with the need to share this moment of connection with the man she had promised her life to. Had promised her love to.
Eyelids drifting closed, she let the world disappear but for where her skin met his. As she pressed her lips gently to his, she felt his response, sure and strong. When his hands caressed her hair, she felt a power bloom in her heart, her mind, her soul.
Pulling back to look into his eyes, she immediately knew a yearning for more. Leaning forward, she met Alexander’s lips once again. This time she broke away with a smile.
They stayed there, him in his chair and her kneeling before him, staring in wonder at each other’s open, eager, willing faces. She reached up and stroked his cheek, felt him turn his head into her bandaged hand.
Alexander’s burning gaze softened as he whispered, “There is so much more I cannot do. Cannot be. The unfairness of the future that stands before you . . .” he began.
Isabelle shook her head. “The future is before us. Both of us. Together. And,” she said, linking her arm with his, “if we can face it like this, we already have a stro
ng foundation.” She felt a catch in her throat. “Say you will stay. Say you believe we can be strong enough to cover each other’s imperfections.”
“I want to believe,” he said.
“That is enough,” she replied.
Doctor Kelley gently cleared his throat, and at the sound, they both looked to him. It had felt completely comfortable to share this intimate moment while he stood over them, protective and caring. His voice, choked with tears, held all the tenderness of the love he felt for Alexander. “My dears, it appears you have begun to arrive at a decision.” He stepped over to Isabelle and helped her to her feet. “It is precisely the direction I hoped you would take, and I wish to offer my services as long and as often as I can be useful.”
Leading Isabelle to sit in the chair beside Alexander, the doctor bowed over her hand. He raised his head and looked from one to the other. “I believe, however, that nothing I can do at present will be as worthwhile as taking my leave. I shall return in one hour, at which time we can begin to train our Isabelle to refine her nursing skills.”
Happy for Isabelle was the day she regained her dressing room by the evacuation of Nurse Margaret from the home. Doctor Kelley had made all the necessary arrangements with Doctor Fredericks, using his professional skill and his natural kindliness to excuse both the doctor and the nurse from their contracts without creating any offense.
Doctor Kelley took a room in town after graciously rejecting Isabelle’s offer of a place in Alexander’s dressing room. “A bit of professional distance is something I will need help in achieving,” he said. “I shall be nearby, but not to the eradication of your privacy.”
The new arrangement of their lives moved forward with very little disruption.
Early the next morning, upon waking in her parlor chair, she watched Alexander stretch his hands and bend his elbows in the candlelight, growing stronger before her watchful gaze.
“Am I dreaming?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” Alexander said, pushing on the wheel of his chair to come closer to her and gently wrapping her wrists in his fingers. “What do you imagine?”
Isabelle and Alexander Page 25