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

distress. Had he felt an increase of humiliation going through his treatment with an audience? Or did Doctor Kelley’s very presence help strengthen him as it did her?

As this was still too intimate a discussion for her to open, she remained by Alexander’s side as Doctor Kelley spent hours ministering to both his body and his heart.

Isabelle and Yeardley continued to take Alexander to the mill most mornings, and after Nurse Margaret’s treatments each afternoon, Isabelle learned how to better care for Alexander at the hands of Doctor Kelley. Now that she was in a more intimate position to see his incremental improvement, she watched with joy every sign of returning strength. Before long, he required no more strapping into his chair at home. With the help of Doctor Kelley or Yeardley, Isabelle could help Alexander sit on the parlor couch. She assisted him in exercising his arms and legs and found great pleasure in organizing meals that tempted him to eat a more varied diet.

Isabelle still spent some afternoons with the Kenworthy ladies, and Glory and her mother visited the Osgood home as well. On one such visit, Isabelle invited Alexander to sit with the ladies in the drawing room. He agreed, and Isabelle and Yeardley helped him to sit on the couch before the visitors arrived.

Seldom did Alexander spend any time in this room, and he spoke of his pleasure at the changes she had made. “Perhaps we have more opportunities to rediscover the rooms of our home,” he said.

His inclusive words sparked great delight in Isabelle’s heart.

Glory announced that her painting was nearing completion, but when Isabelle asked if she could see its progress, Glory told her she would not show them until it was finished. Alexander said nothing, but Isabelle hoped that soon enough, he would warm to Glory enough to relax into conversation in her presence. Isabelle noticed that his attention to the young woman had changed recently; he no longer seemed cross about her quirks. Instead, he seemed to watch the way she interacted with her mother, and after she left, he mentioned some of what he’d noticed.

“Glory can do more than I had believed she could,” he said to Isabelle as they ate dinner. “When she spoke of the ways she assists her mother in the home, I was surprised at her abilities. When Kenworthy speaks of her, he talks with so much fatherly affection I can hardly believe half of what he says, but it appears she is more capable than I had imagined.”

Such a concession swelled Isabelle’s heart. She understood that Alexander’s comments meant more than simply a wider understanding of Glory’s skills; he was beginning to see that institutionalization was not a foregone conclusion to her condition and therefore not to his, either.

On a lovely, sunny afternoon, Isabelle walked to the Kenworthys’ home. Upon arrival, she found the ladies preparing to walk out to the park.

“Join us, do,” Glory said, clapping her hands. “We shall search for flowers in the park.”

“How could I resist?” Isabelle said, as eager as Glory to experience the emerging spring.

Their stroll was a great success, as Glory was able to discover many early blooms in the public garden. When her mother suggested they ought to be moving toward home, Glory contested they needed another hour out of doors. “We may not have another day this fair for quite some time, you know,” she said.

Isabelle would not dare to argue with such logic, and the ladies continued their wanderings with great pleasure. They greeted acquaintances and strangers along the paths, each as eager as the last to breathe in the warm sunshine.

“I was unprepared for Manchester to hold so much of natural beauty,” Isabelle admitted. “It has been a gloomy and dark winter.”

Mrs. Kenworthy pressed Isabelle’s arm. “For none more than for you, dear, but now you see the winter is come to an end. All shall look brighter from here on.”

Before long, Isabelle saw Glory beginning to droop. Mrs. Kenworthy kept a steady stream of encouragement as she guided Glory along the path toward home. Isabelle noticed Glory’s steps slow, her voice deepen, and her brow furrow. Mrs. Kenworthy’s talking maintained its cheerfulness but began, as they moved through the park, to take on a manic air.

Isabelle met Mrs. Kenworthy’s eye, and the older woman gave a small shake of her head, as if Isabelle had asked if there were something she could do and the answer was no.

“Dear Mrs. Osgood, how do you like our park?” she said, inviting Isabelle to join in her conversation.

“Oh,” Isabelle said, faltering. “Well. It is lovely.” She felt a plunge of despair that she could be of no more use than this. Determined to take some of the pressure off Mrs. Kenworthy to chatter to her daughter all the way to their home, Isabelle tried again. “See this wilderness section over here?” she asked, pointing to her right. “It rather reminds me of a place I used to play with my cousin when I was small. I would steal vegetables from the kitchen garden and fill my apron pockets with peas and radishes, then wander out into our small wild garden and stay there for hours, pretending I could not hear the calls of my parents or the housemaids. I would dig in the dirt, make crowns of flowers, climb hills and trees, and eventually come home dreadfully soiled. Do you know,” she said, leaning closer to Glory as if to impart a secret, “I believe it thrilled my father.”

“Your father craves adventure, does he?” Mrs. Kenworthy asked, reaching for Glory’s hand. The young woman batted her mother’s arm away.

“The idea of adventure, at any rate.” Isabelle watched Glory become less tractable with every few steps.

She decided to try something else. “Glory, do you remember the song about the rabbit we played and sang a few weeks ago?”

Usually Glory would have clapped her hands and begun to sing, but she grunted and turned her head away.

Mrs. Kenworthy gave