Isabelle and Alexander, Rebecca Anderson [nonfiction book recommendations .TXT] 📗

gave her instructions on how to carry on for the evening, as well as a notice of what she should watch for in Alexander’s responses, and then let himself out.

Isabelle returned to the parlor, where she took the chair the doctor vacated and placed her own hand on Alexander’s head before she curled her feet beneath her and allowed sleep to overtake her.

Isabelle awoke in the dark parlor with a vicious pain in her neck.

As she sat up from the chair, she sought for the sound that had awakened her. The fire’s embers glowed feebly, telling her it was quite late, as there had been a comfortable blaze when she’d closed her eyes. She rubbed her neck as her eyes adjusted and looked over at the still form of Alexander. Only when the sound hit her ears again did she realize that she’d heard him moan.

She flew from the chair and knelt beside him, grasping his still-unresponsive hand in hers. “Alexander?” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”

Barely daring to believe what she was seeing, she watched his eyes flutter open.

She smiled and held his hand between hers. Not knowing what to expect, she was nonetheless shocked and saddened to see a look of unmistakable fear come over him. Eyes widening, he looked as though he thought she had hurt him, and that she might again.

Perhaps, she thought, he is simply disoriented.

“There’s been an accident,” she whispered. “You were thrown from your horse, landing among some boulders in the field.” Hearing his shallow breathing and watching his eyes flit from side to side, she realized that this was too much for him to bear only seconds after waking. When the frightened, anxious look did not leave his eyes, she let go of his hand and backed away.

“I’ll call for Doctor Kelley,” she said. As she watched, the fear was replaced with something else. Not comfort, exactly, but something resembling peacefulness.

Of course, the idea of the doctor would be more appealing than the company of a woman he barely knew, particularly when he had no reason to trust her in a matter of health. She rang the bell for Yeardley and stood in the corner of the room, watching Alexander. He neither moved nor spoke. After a few seconds, his eyes closed again.

Yeardley came to the door, hastily tying the rope belt of an ancient-looking dressing gown. “Ma’am?” he managed, clearly still shaking away the clouds of sleep.

“He’s awakened,” Isabelle said. “Can you go for the ­doctor?”

“Oh, thank God,” he said. “Of course. Right away, ma’am.”

Alexander did not open his eyes again in the intermi­nable minutes between Yeardley’s departure and Doctor Kelley’s entrance. Isabelle dared not light a lamp or move closer to Alexander, fearing to see that look of terror if he reopened his eyes. When at last the doctor arrived, Isabelle met him with a mixture of relief and anxiety. Alexander had not even shifted since she called for the doctor. Could she have dreamed his waking? Was it possible it had not happened at all?

But she thought she could not have dreamed that look in his eyes. Not even in a nightmare. When he looked at her, horror had overtaken him.

“He opened his eyes,” she whispered to the doctor. “Then he closed them again.” She felt the unhelpfulness of such a statement, but she wasn’t sure how else to contribute. Doctor Kelley patted her arm as he passed her on his way to Alexander.

“Did he speak?” the doctor asked over his shoulder. “Move at all?”

“No, neither. He made a sound that suggested discomfort, but he didn’t attempt to roll over or sit up.” She immediately felt foolish for using phrases that sounded like tricks one would teach a dog.

Doctor Kelley nodded and knelt beside the couch, his knees creaking as they bent. Isabelle was reminded that the doctor was likely far older than he appeared.

“Alec, my boy,” he said, leaning close to his patient’s ear. “You performed a mighty fine trick opening your eyes for the lovely Mrs. Osgood. You’ve thrown your wee household into quite a state, waking in the middle of the night. Suppose you do that again now I’m here to see it.”

His voice, gentle and paternal, carried vast emotion. Isabelle felt she was trespassing on an intensely personal moment between the two men, and she would have left the room could she bear to step away from what was happening or what might soon happen. The doctor lifted Alexander’s hand and let it rest gently again on the soft cotton blanket.

“Come now, Alec,” Doctor Kelley murmured. “Rouse yourself, lad. You’ll not want to be overlooking any of this excitement, considering how much you’ve already missed.”

Isabelle carried a taper from its holder and lit the lamp nearest the door, then stepped closer, waiting to see the doctor’s efforts pay out. He continued to speak gently, tenderly, and after a few minutes that felt eternal, Alexander let out another quiet groan.

“Ah, I hear you, boy,” Doctor Kelley said, placing a hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “And now I’d like to see those eyes open. Don’t you think you could do that?”

Now that she was standing nearer the men, she could tell that Doctor Kelley was moving his hands from Alexander’s wrists to chest to neck, and she assumed he was ascertaining the patient’s heartbeat.

Open your eyes, Alexander, Isabelle thought. Please. Des­perate to know she hadn’t imagined him waking, while simultaneously desperate to believe he hadn’t been driven to terror by the sight of her face, she felt herself tearing in two. Wishing she could run, but not daring to step away from his side, she wrapped her arms around herself. She realized she was rocking softly side to side.

“Doctor, is there something I ought to be doing?” she whispered.

Without taking his eyes off his patient, Doctor Kelley responded in the same gentle voice with which he was imploring Alexander to wake up. “I’d not be averse to your offering a prayer.”

Isabelle’s arms tightened around herself.