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

“And your own ministrations, dear Mrs. Osgood, have certainly been a great assistance.” He patted her hand.

“I do not know how much help I give,” she said, making certain to catch Alexander’s eye, “but I am more than happy to do what little I can to aid those who know better than I.”

“The practices surrounding this type of injury are ever evolving,” doctor said, “and many doctors and nurses learn performances and behaviors that seem to succor and heal injured patients. But in my heart, I believe that any service undertaken with love will have a stronger impact.”

Love.

Isabelle felt her face heat up, but not because she was ashamed at Doctor Kelley assuming more than she felt. When they were at Wellsgate, Isabelle often fought feelings of humiliation when Doctor Kelley or Mrs. Burns made comments about her relationship with Alexander. The sweet, dear doctor assumed that their marriage was all it should be, filled with sincere affection. He had no reason to think otherwise, of course. But Isabelle felt the guilt of one who ought to feel a certain way and did not. Added to that, she felt the shame of a woman who had no confidence that she had truly captivated her husband.

She had feared that their marriage, which began as a business proposition, would continue as such until her death. That she would be ensured a warm and comfortable home and an occasional smile or pressing of the fingers, but nothing more.

Mrs. Burns knew better. All her talk of patience spoke of the kindly woman’s perception of Alexander’s character. She had always seemed to understand something about Alexander that Isabelle was just now learning to see.

And now Doctor Kelley stood in their city house and spoke of love. His words caused her to flush with pleasure because there were moments when she knew that what she felt for Alexander was love. And even more wondrous, there were moments when she recognized his love for her too. Why, she wondered daily, did it require time and work and effort? She’d never had to try to love Edwin. The simplicity of adoring him, her dearest friend, was like breathing—as needful and as natural as air feeding her lungs.

Of course, the love she felt for her dear Ed was of a different kind than the love she was learning to feel for her husband. Much was distinct, even though much was similar.

Was it possible that one day she’d feel that kind of instinctive love for Alexander, even with as complicated a beginning as they had?

Was it possible that he would feel it for her? With the added joys and pleasures of marital love?

She glanced at Alexander and saw the difficulty with which he was doing something as simple for her as staying upright in a chair, turning his head to maintain eye contact with the doctor, who was evidently testing him by pacing in front of the window.

Perhaps, she thought, the work and effort would increase the reward. Both in Alexander’s recovery and in their budding, ever-changing affection.

When Doctor Fredericks arrived, Isabelle stayed in the parlor. She normally chose not to be present in his visits with Alexander, as his practice brought pain and distress. Isabelle knew that having her there added to Alexander’s discomfort. But today, she elected to keep a seat and listen to the two doctors’ discussion.

Alexander made the introduction between the two medical men. Doctor Kelley’s warm and gentle demeanor was a sweet balm compared to Doctor Fredericks’s curt nod and brusque manner.

Isabelle wanted to demand polite behavior toward their guest, but Doctor Kelley seemed unconcerned with the other man’s treatment of himself. The older man took a seat near the window and watched Doctor Fredericks begin his assessment. Only minutes later, Nurse Margaret arrived. Isabelle felt herself sit up straighter, as if the nurse were going to criticize her posture.

As Doctor Kelley watched Doctor Fredericks and Nurse Margaret, Isabelle watched Doctor Kelley. His gentle nature remained obvious in his face, but his posture began to reflect her own. Without appearing to notice, he sat closer and closer to the edge of his seat, leaning forward. Isabelle wondered if he shared her desire to reach out and stop—or at least soften—some of the treatment.

The professionals lifted and bent and twisted Alexander’s body, testing muscles and demanding responses to specific and personal questions. Isabelle found herself covering her eyes, needing to know what was happening but preferring not to see Alexander suffering at the hands of those whom she had assisted in inviting into his home.

As part of the treatment, Doctor Fredericks and Nurse Margaret laid Alexander on the small cot. His face turned toward the opposite side of the room, Isabelle could watch their ministrations without him seeing her observing. His once-strong shoulders seemed to have shrunken. They pressed, turned, and prodded about, making comments to each other all the while but rarely directing a comment to Alexander, and never to Isabelle or Doctor Kelley.

At the end of the examination, Doctor Fredericks wrote some notes in a black leather diary and prepared to leave. Doctor Kelley made to follow him out the door, and Isabelle grappled with the choice to go along with them and hear their conversation or stay in the room and be a shield for Alexander.

“Nurse Margaret,” Isabelle said, her voice timid, “I would be quite delighted if you could show me a technique by which I could help perform some of the strengthening exercises you do each day. If there were more I could do to assist you and the doctor, perhaps we would see an even faster recovery.”

Nurse Margaret’s eyes cut into Isabelle like knives. She did not deign to answer her.

Isabelle continued, her voice gaining strength. “I am confident that my assistance would be a boon to Mr. Osgood.”

“You are not a trained medical professional.” What should have been simply an observation was delivered with all the contempt and spite Isabelle had come to expect in her interactions with