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

“And his smile, when you could find it, would make a girl swoon.” Her face took on a serious expression as she faced Isabelle. “It was a hazard, I assure you.”

The other girl nodded. “One I was willing to risk. Still am, if I tell you the truth.”

“Aye, Grace, go on with you. The master is indeed the picture of a fine man, but he has a new little wife.”

“Oh no,” Isabelle said as she shook her head, hoping to stop this strange conversation.

The young woman called Grace said, “Oh, it’s too true. Someone from the Lakes, if the stories are right.” She made a deferential gesture with her hand and bobbed a curtsy to show a gently teasing reverence. “Hard to imagine anyone worthy to be Mrs. Osgood. Not mistaken, am I, Sarah?”

The other girl laughed, welcoming Isabelle in on the joke. “We must get back to work, and if it’s Mr. Connor you’re looking for, you’ll find him coming around to the spinning floor at the top of the hour.”

“And don’t forget what I told you about the sleeves,” Grace said, tugging at her uniform coat.

The clamor of the spinning floor rushed into the room as the girls let themselves out, and then the door closed the sound out again. Isabelle stood in the quiet and pondered the life these two women led. They must be within a few years of Isabelle’s age, but their experience was so different than her own. Maintaining employment, earning wages. It was foreign to Isabelle. Young women in her social circles not only had no need for such things, but they had not even any opportunity for them. If Isabelle had told her parents, before she’d married, that she wanted to secure a job so she could earn money, they’d have laughed, and then they’d have worried.

And that was not even to mention the way the workers had spoken about her husband. How mortified they’d have been if Isabelle had told them her name or in some other way shown them she was the “little wife” they’d mentioned.

At the same time, she felt proud. Not only that they’d found her husband handsome but that they also seemed to admire and respect him.

Her mind spun with such thoughts.

She returned to the spinning floor and awaited Mr. Connor. When he appeared on what must have been his scheduled rounds, Isabelle caught his eye and waved. He made a sign that he’d be with her in a moment, and she watched the frenetic surge of motion at every machine. She tried to count the number of workers on this floor alone, but with their movement, it was easy to lose track of how many were even attending one machine. There must have been at least fifty machines whirring, clanging, and roaring on the floor. At the same moment dizzying and comforting, the clamor made Isabelle grateful to Mr. Kenworthy and Mr. Connor for keeping everything under control.

“Welcome, Mrs. Osgood,” Mr. Connor said after he’d led her to Alexander’s office. “How can I help you today?”

“I don’t want to keep you from your work,” Isabelle said, “but I was wondering if we could arrange a time to bring Mr. Osgood to do an inspection.”

His mouth moved a moment before he seemed able to form words. If Mr. Connor had been expecting something from her, he hadn’t expected this. “An inspection, ma’am?”

“An opportunity for him to come through each floor and see that all things are still going according to plan.” It had sounded like such a simple, obvious suggestion before she’d spoken it aloud. Now, though, she was unsure. Perhaps it would dislodge the cogs of his smoothly working system.

Mr. Connor ducked his head and tugged at his collar. “Is that wise?”

Isabelle wondered if any of her decisions were wise lately. “I don’t doubt that he will be happy to see with his own eyes that his mill is flourishing, and I believe an invitation from you—a request to come and make an appearance—will be just the thing to get him here.”

Mr. Connor still looked uncomfortable, but he said, “I trust you know best.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that trust and will do my best to continue to deserve it.” Isabelle wondered if this suggestion was overstretching, but at the same time she felt so strongly how little she was able to do for Alexander, particularly on the days he refused her help with morning exercises.

“We will need to carry him to a chair. Is there an entrance other than the one from which I entered?” Isabelle pointed toward the street door.

Mr. Connor nodded. “There is a door on each end of the carding floor leading from the canal. But how do you suggest he move from one level to another?”

This had not occurred to Isabelle, though now she could easily see that it should have.

“Perhaps on the first visit we should stay on a single level.” Isabelle stood. “Can you choose another strong man who can help lift and carry Mr. Osgood when the moment is needful?” So many details she had not considered crowded her mind.

“Aye, ma’am.”

His simple agreement allowed her to feel that perhaps this was not such a foolish notion after all. “Thank you, Mr. Connor. And I would like to let you know that your spinning-floor workers were very kind when they thought I was a new worker.”

Mr. Connor spluttered a horrified apology. Isabelle shook her head. “Were I in a position to secure employment, I know I couldn’t do better than Osgood Mills.”

Mr. Connor’s face relaxed into a smile. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll send a message to Mr. Osgood tonight. Good day to you,” he said, all before opening the office door and escorting her out into the crowded, noisy, wonderful mill.

The delicacy of the dance Isabelle needed to contrive in order to stay out of reach of Nurse Margaret was astonishing to her. She avoided crossing the nurse’s path at mealtimes, on the staircase, and in