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

Now, with these words, the doctor pointed her toward what would most likely be her new truth. She allowed her mind to fill with images of Alexander in total dependence upon her—and her lack of any skill or native virtue that would suit her to give such care. The doctor spoke of wheeled chairs—Bath chairs such as invalids used in the resort city—and mobile beds and specialized nurses and institutions for the permanently ill for several minutes before Isabelle again found her voice.

“Doctor Kelley, I thank you for the excellent care you’ve given Mr. Osgood in the last days.” She knew what she had to say, but the fear of sending the doctor away made the words difficult to produce. “I know you have many other medical obligations and responsibilities that have gone unheeded this past week, and I appreciate everything you’ve done here. The information you have given will indeed prove helpful, as I can only suppose. And I will heed your suggestions. But I have obligations and responsibilities, as well. I made a ­promise.”

She shifted in her chair and sat up taller. “I promised to care for him. In health and in sickness. This is my responsibility now. And I shall carry it out the best way I can.” She felt a sob choke her as she added, “As well as he’ll let me.”

Doctor Kelley rose from his seat and came around the table. Reaching again for Isabelle’s hands, he said, “I understand, and I honor you for your determination. You and Alec will discover the most suitable kind of care both for his needs and yours. You are capable, but you are not alone. Please understand that I will be only a short ride away for as long as you choose to keep him here in the country.”

She nodded in appreciation, but he was not finished. “And don’t think I didn’t understand the part about Alec allowing you to care for him. He’ll soften. I’ve seen him in many degrees of difficulty, and I know his heart. He will turn to you, but it may take more time now than you would like. You can believe me, my dear Mrs. Osgood,” he said, patting her hand, and for the first time, Isabelle felt that his calling her by Alexander’s name was more intimate as opposed to more formal. “I am a man who was never blessed with a child, but I feel rather as if I am mourning a future for my son.”

Isabelle returned the pressure of the doctor’s hands and said, “Then I promise you I will do what I can and seek your advice for questions of both his physical and emotional well-being. If you’re willing, you can help me get it right.”

Doctor Kelley leaned over and kissed Isabelle on the cheek, surprising her. “You’ll both learn to get it right,” he said and took his leave.

Determined to begin the day well, Isabelle brought a tray of tea and breakfast things into the parlor as the sun shone through the east window. The doctor had been gone only two hours, but as Isabelle sat in a chair at the parlor door, she felt every minute stretch into a hundred. From her vantage, she couldn’t see Alexander’s face, and without his ability to move, she’d only know he had awakened if he spoke. But with the morning sun falling onto the couch, she decided to fully enter the room.

She felt the tray shake in her hands, rattling the cups and dishes. She wished her nerves were more in control, but she appreciated the warning sound, like a cat’s bell, that let Alexander know she was coming.

She stepped into his line of vision and saw that his eyes were, indeed, open. “Good morning,” she said, a false note of cheerfulness in her voice. “I have some food here that the doctor thought you ought to try.”

Alexander’s eyes roamed the room for a moment. When he opened his mouth to speak, Isabelle was shocked at the weakness of his voice. “Where is Doctor Kelley?” he wheezed, more air than sound.

Isabelle seated herself near the couch and placed the tray on the small table. She forced a brave-looking smile. “He thought he should see to the rest of his patients, and he entrusted you to my care,” she said, her voice sounding loud in her ears. She added more softly, “Now, his instructions are simple: get as much of this food inside you as you can bear.”

The sound of his near-noiseless laugh, delivered with such derision, scratched at Isabelle’s heart. “And how,” he whispered, “do you intend to make that happen?”

Isabelle was surprised at the anger a whisper could carry.

She thought his anger might not be directed at her so much as at the situation. Even if that was untrue, it allowed her to say what she needed to say. “I’ll help.”

At her simple declaration, he closed his eyes. She spooned up a small mouthful of gruel sweetened with honey. “Here, try this,” she said, wishing for the first time that she had any experience feeding another person. How did one learn such a skill? Her hand trembled, and she feared that if he didn’t open his mouth to accept the food, she’d spill it on his chin.

She held the spoon close to his mouth as he continued to ignore her, his eyes closed. She wrestled against the desire to prod him, physically or emotionally. He hadn’t eaten in nearly a week. Surely eating anything was better than not eating at all. She waited, spoon at the ready.

Perhaps he expected her to relent before he did. She would not. With an exasperated sigh, he opened his lips to receive the offering. His scowl showed that at least his face had a bit more mobility than his body. After swallowing, he said, “What have you brought that isn’t invalid food?”

Glancing over at the tray, Isabelle saw that all the food was plain,