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

conversation. Never before had Alexander shared details of his work with her. It occurred to her now that perhaps he had been waiting for her to show interest.

“I do not pretend to know about the requirements and the details,” Isabelle said, looking at a blotter on the small desk, “but do you think that perhaps Mr. Kenworthy could manage the day shifts for a time if I brought you here for an hour or two each morning? I think with Yeardley’s help, we can manage the journey, and you can be here with your workers, and Mr. Connor can rest.”

She stood practically without breathing, hoping her suggestion was received in the manner it was meant. When Alexander did not reply, she looked up to see him watching her.

“Of course, if that is an unwise suggestion, I understand,” she said, her voice quaking under the fear of her own folly. “I know Doctor Fredericks has spoken in opposition to traveling outdoors in the chair. Surely we can secure a chair more suited to the roadways.”

“You understand far more than I would have imagined,” Alexander said. “And I thank you for such a generous offer. I should like to speak with both Kenworthy and Connor as soon as possible.”

As Edwin and Charlotte returned to the main floor of the mill, the group made its way out of doors. Isabelle asked if there was anything in particular that had caught their attention.

“Is it not fascinating to consider,” Charlotte said, “how many thousands of people in this city must have a daily employment?”

There was nothing judgmental or critical in her words, but Isabelle felt a need to defend the workers.

“Fascinating indeed. As much as it is to consider how many gentlemen’s families need no employment at all,” she said, underscoring her words with a smile to stave off any possible offense. “People of all circumstances are needed, it seems, to keep England on her feet.”

“Hear, hear,” Edwin said. “Jolly true. Imagine the state of things if every man in the country spent his days like I do, in relative idleness.” His laugh showed that his conclusion was meant as no disrespect for the life he had been born to. “No work would ever be accomplished. And if every man in the city lived like you, old man,” he said, nodding to Alexander, “far too many wives would stand at the window awaiting the return of their busy, important husbands.”

Isabelle watched the group laugh together and revisited her thoughts about how Edwin had changed. She realized that perhaps he had not changed at all, but through the past months of alteration to her lifestyle and expectations, she certainly had.

It seemed possible to Isabelle that the Edwin of her past was a delicious memory of something sweet and delightsome. Now, with the evolution of her tastes, she believed she rather craved something of more substance. Her heart would always hold dear Ed in a place of fondness, but her heart was expanding to make room for love of different kinds.

As Edwin and Charlotte’s visit came to an end, Isabelle saw them off at the platform where they caught a train to Liverpool. Waving goodbye, she felt a tug on her heart that seemed to be more for the loss of the child she had been than for the loss of Edwin in her daily life. Her love and affection for him would always be part of her heart and her soul, but it could not be all. She had come to require more from a connection than diversion and pleasure.

She had come to value a certain solidity that she felt with Alexander, even within his shifting moods and tempers. There was a firmness, a power that seemed to come not in spite of his physical challenge but because of it.

Isabelle began to think that his was a strength she did not desire to live without.

The new arrangements brought Isabelle and Alexander to the mill each morning for two hours. Mr. Kenworthy met them at the door and helped Yeardley bring Alexander inside, where a smart new chair awaited him, one that could navigate the aisles of the factory floor with ease.

Some days, Isabelle found Alexander delighted with the new procedure. He seemed to enjoy his interaction with his workers, and there was a light in his eyes when he met with them and discussed their work. Isabelle kept a polite distance from these interviews, always nearby but keeping outside any professional conversations. She learned a great deal about the five floors of the mill and found herself drawn to the weaving room, where the rhythmic motions of shuttles being pushed through warp and weft elicited the same kind of calm as the ebb and flow of the ocean. Most of these appliances were original to the old mill, and she loved the gentler creak of wooden shuttles and forms. The lower floors’ equipment roared and ground, metal machines working faster and stronger than the older wooden ones could. Isabelle loved wandering through the weaving floor until it was time to meet Alexander at the end of his meetings with Mr. Kenworthy and the other workers. He generally seemed pleased with the arrangement.

On other occasions, Alexander would grow quiet and pensive after a morning’s visit to the mill. He mourned his inability to be useful. Isabelle learned quickly that her input on days like this was not helpful. He did not want to hear her say that his efforts were worthwhile; he wanted proof of his own. She could not give him that.

In all the hours and days she spent in the mill, she became acquainted with several of the workers, young women near her age who did not hesitate to speak of Mr. Osgood’s reappearance in the most animated fashion. It soon ceased to surprise Isabelle when she would enter the small cloak room on any of the floors and hear the workers considering her husband’s excellence as an employer. The young women,