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

She immediately felt the unfairness of her last words. There had been two times, possibly three, when Alexander had made her feel as though her satisfaction mattered to him.

Isabelle felt her anger drain out of her as she sat, exhausted, on a small stone wall. Over the course of the next few minutes, she began again to hear birdsong, which made her laugh as she realized that she’d most likely frightened the birds away for a time. She looked at her muddy shoes, her filthy stockings. As she stared down at her feet, she saw a small, ginger-colored face peer out from a hole beneath the wall. A fox, tentative but determined, put her nose, then her head, then her front legs out into the weak autumn sunshine.

“Hello,” Isabelle whispered. “Sorry if I disturbed you.” The fox, never taking her eyes from Isabelle’s face, crept out of her den and turned in a compact circle. Tucking her legs beneath her, she sat in the grass and watched Isabelle.

“You’re brave,” she whispered to the fox. “Not many people I know are as brave as you. I’ve frightened off many a creature larger than you. And today I’ve been particularly indelicate and indecorous.”

The fox continued to watch her, and she kept talking. “I am not always so badly behaved,” she said. “Generally, I do what’s expected of me. It’s been a bit of a week, to tell you the truth.”

The fox’s head dipped toward the ground and Isabelle laughed. “Do you know,” she said, “I believe you’re listening to me.”

The fox tilted her head without looking away.

“Of course, you aren’t actually, but neither is anyone else, so if it’s all the same to you, I’ll continue to sit here on this wall and pretend we’re dear friends.”

The fox did not appear to object.

“Oh, how kind of you to ask,” Isabelle said. “We’ve been married for two months now, but it doesn’t seem a day over a thousand years.”

She paused and tugged at the shoulder of her shawl, which had slipped down around her elbow. Resettling her hands, she continued her one-sided conversation with the fox. “No, no, not unkind. Simply disinterested. If I am being generous, I’ll call it ‘busy’ and smile graciously.” She demonstrated such a smile. The fox continued to watch her.

She nodded as though in response to a question. “Oh, yes. Very handsome. Perhaps you’ve seen him. Rides these fields on a horse named Goblin. Until very recently.” Isabelle surprised herself; she hadn’t thought it would be so easy to talk about Alexander’s condition, even obliquely.

“He’s chilly, perhaps some would say, but the right woman will melt his heart. I thought I could be that woman, fox. Is that not the height of arrogance?”

She gave the animal a chance to answer. It did not oblige.

“I am not terrible to look at either, fox. I don’t know if you’re aware, but the standards of human feminine beauty throw a wide enough net to include even me.” She looked at her filthy legs dangling a few inches from the ground. “Perhaps you’ll have to trust me on this. But Alexander—yes, his name is Alexander—is perfectly nice to look at. Lovely blue eyes and fashionable hair. Very symmetrical in his features, you know. As one should be.”

She thought of the times he’d gazed at her, his face relaxed into a gentle smile, moments precious in that they were so rare. “He has a nice smile when he chooses to uncage it. His charm, though, might be one of those traits one uncovers as one knows a husband for a very long time.”

Looking at the fox, she said, “Well, I’ll tell you. Although I am his wife, it seems he’s married to his mill. He owns a mill, have I told you that? Yes, thank you. It’s a charming enterprise, as far as I’ve heard, but I’ve never been invited inside. Apparently, it is full of cotton dust and ancient, creaky looms. He produces quality cloth and blankets and oversees every element of production himself.”

She shook her head. “No, he has a business manager who could do that. Mr. Kenworthy. He’s a gentle and lovely man. He also has a manufacturing manager who I imagine paces the floors between the looms all day until he arrives at our house at dinnertime nearly every evening.”

This was, Isabelle thought, a very patient fox. “Mills and cotton and looms hold very little interest for you, I imagine. But human nature, of course, is fascinating to every creature. A single descriptor? Well, I say, fox, that is an interesting question. Above all things, Mr. Osgood is careful.”

She nodded and continued. “His clothing is impeccable. Very clean for a man who works among oily machines. His public behavior likewise cannot be faulted. He presents himself flawlessly. That is not to suggest he has no personal faults. No, fox, I’m afraid he has a failing or two. For instance, he dares not laugh when I am funny, as though someone were watching to catch him out. And in case it’s not apparent, little fox, I’m often funny. Amusing. Many have said so over the years.”

Years. The thought of years made the exhaustion of the past week settle again over Isabelle. She shook her head. “Perhaps in a few years Alexander will grow into laughing. To be fair, he is more likely to smile here in the country than he is in the city.”

A thought occurred to her. “Or at least he was, until he opened his eyes after his fall and saw me. Now he is far more careful not to look at me.”

She shifted on the wall, and the fox’s ears pricked up. “He is careful with his affections, as well. One wouldn’t want to appear zealous.” Remembering the history the doctor shared with her, Isabelle thought of Alexander’s upbringing and decided to treat his unromantic nature with more patience than she had in the past. “In all, fox, Mr. Osgood is a decent, hardworking man. However, marriage