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

“I thank you again for making their comfort your concern. You are a gem, Mrs. Burns.” Isabelle felt a bit silly, as she always did, when she tried to compliment a person like Mrs. Burns, who was so well suited to her work, particularly because Isabelle felt off balance and out of place as lady of the house.

But the housekeeper smiled across her whole face. “As are you, dear. Those of us who love Mr. Osgood could think of no better wife for him.”

“It is so kind of you to say so.” What Isabelle really wanted was further reassurance that what Mrs. Burns said was true. “Are you certain?” Isabelle asked. “How can you tell?” With her mood rising and falling with each interaction, she was rarely sure from one day to the next if she had done anything right.

Mrs. Burns smiled. “The two of you will grow to be wonderful supports to each other.”

Over the next few days, Isabelle spent time searching the city and choosing explorations for her to discover with Ed and his wife. Upon returning home one afternoon, she stepped into the drawing room and gasped.

All of the furniture was shifted—a settee under the window, three chairs moved from their places, all to make way for a beautiful cherry-wood pianoforte and a golden-brown harp.

Upon the desk of the pianoforte, where the sheets of musical notation stood, was a folded piece of paper. She seated herself upon the bench and took the note.

Dear Lady,

When there is something that I can do to make this feel more your home, I desire that you will only mention it. While this instrument is no sufficient compensation for your constant kindness, I hope you will find that it makes your days more cheerful.

The words were penned in Mrs. Burns’s hand, but there at the bottom, an inky scrawl appeared to begin with the letter A. She could only imagine that Mrs. Burns had written the words as Alexander had dictated them, and then handed him the pen to attempt a signature.

She folded the paper and held it to her heart.

Then she set it down and put her fingers to the keys. Aside from playing in the Kenworthys’ parlor, she had not had the opportunity to practice in months. As her fingers explored the keys and tested the sound of the instrument, she felt a thrill of delight that she could play for Edwin and Charlotte. Another moment and she realized that she could also possibly help alleviate some of Alexander’s disquiet during his sessions with Nurse Margaret.

Every day until the visit, Isabelle played in the drawing room for hours, both dampening the sounds of Nurse Margaret’s exercises and adding an element of comfort to the Manchester house that had not been there before. Mae mentioned that she could hear the music from the kitchen if she left the doors open, and Isabelle discovered Yeardley with a bit more spring in his step than was typical.

Mrs. Burns was delighted, and she said so often.

“What a joy to have a songbird in the house,” she would comment, walking about the room placing and replacing candles and books. It was the first time she did any housework in Isabelle’s presence.

“I know that I have you to thank for it,” Isabelle said. “And I do thank you.” She ran her fingers up and down the keys in a happy little arpeggio.

Mrs. Burns shook her head. “Oh, no. Thank Mr. Osgood, for it was all his doing.”

Isabelle questioned the absolute truth of the statement, but she appreciated the gesture.

“I wonder,” Isabelle said, “if Mr. Osgood has a favorite song.”

Mrs. Burns smiled and said, “I imagine if he hadn’t before, he does now. Sing that one you did yesterday, about the sailing ship.”

The housekeeper found ways to keep herself busy in and around the drawing room each day, and occasionally Isabelle could hear her humming along. Rough and painful sounds continued to come from the parlor. Moans rose above the sounds of the music, and Alexander often kept his face turned to the wall.

But now and then, Isabelle’s music drew a comforting blanket over this difficult time.

As the day arrived for Edwin to bring his bride to Manchester, Isabelle found herself pacing the rooms, peeking out windows, checking the kitchen, and gazing into the gloomy drizzle. She knew it would not bring him faster, but she could hardly keep a seat.

Alexander had asked to wear his favorite blue coat and be seated in his chair. “I still look an invalid,” he muttered as Yeardley resettled Alexander’s coat around the seat’s straps. He stared out the parlor window in his turn. Isabelle stood before him. “You look very fine in that coat,” she offered. He gave a momentary start followed by a small smile before he contemplated once again the view outside the window.

Isabelle was learning to look past his apparent anger to uncover her own understanding of his hidden pain. There were days his tempers frightened her. When he grumbled at Yeardley or muttered about his meals, she found herself cowering and avoiding him lest he aim his anger at her. Other days exhausted her as she imagined a lifetime of caution, backing away from any accidental offense or confrontation. But today she refused to be frightened; she would only feel excitement and anticipation. In return, her positive state seemed to bring a small echo of cheerfulness to Alexander.

At long last, a black carriage pulled close to the front steps. It took all of Isabelle’s restraint to wait in the parlor, especially when she heard Edwin’s laugh outside. Oh, that laugh. One of her favorite sounds in all the world. She was certain she could have heard it from London, or the moon.

She stood, then sat, then stood again. Alexander aimed a look at her, but she didn’t attempt to translate it. If he was nervous or annoyed, he would continue that way with or without her interference. There was very little she could