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

thought for months only of my discomfort and shame. Never of your own suffering. And now you have sacrificed your own health and safety to save my mill.” He looked beyond at the stone building rising up behind her. “It is a great gift, indeed, but would mean nothing at all were you not safe as well. Can you forgive a foolish man?”

Isabelle felt her knees buckle. She tried to answer, but words were slow to form.

Grace, standing at Isabelle’s shoulder, stepped forward. “As you can see, sir, your wife is well. A strong woman, and quick-thinking, too, she did us all a great service today. But perhaps it is time to get her home.”

“Thank you, Grace,” Isabelle said, her voice an exhausted whisper. “I shall not forget this kindness.”

The girl smiled and stepped away.

“Wait,” Alexander called to her.

Grace turned back.

“You may go home now, of course, if you wish,” he said.

Grace shook her head. “Soon enough, sir. I’ll go back inside and see what kind of use I can be to put the workings back together.” She nodded her head in farewell and moved toward the mill.

Alexander, still holding Isabelle’s bandaged hands, said, “Come. Sit.” He motioned to his chair. “You should not attempt to walk home.”

Too tired to argue, Isabelle allowed her legs to release and settled herself on Alexander’s lap in his chair, and then she steadied her aching head against his shoulder.

“Am I hurting you?” she murmured.

“Never,” he replied, raising his trembling arms to encircle her.

As Yeardley pushed the chair the remaining few blocks to the house, Isabelle closed her eyes and listened to Alexander whisper his gratitude in her ear.

Isabelle vaguely understood Mrs. Burns calling for Nurse Margaret, who appeared in the parlor muttering about such care falling outside her contracted duties.

Willing her back to straighten and her voice to strengthen, Isabelle turned to the nurse. “You are dismissed. Mrs. Burns and Doctor Kelley can tend to me very well.” She turned her face from the nurse and knew the woman had left only when Mrs. Burns leaned over Isabelle’s shoulder and said, “There is no question you had rather not have her in the room.”

Although the housekeeper’s words held no blame, Isabelle apologized. “I never speak that way,” she said, hoping Mrs. Burns would not begrudge Isabelle this breach of politeness.

Mrs. Burns shook her head. “About time, if you ask me,” she whispered, a grin lighting her face.

This gentle support allowed Isabelle to find some manner of ease once again.

All matters of cleaning, bandaging, report-filing, and repairing occurred without Isabelle thinking very much about them. She allowed herself a blessed release from thought as she sat in the parlor. Mrs. Burns, eager and capable, helped organize and carry out each duty that could bring comfort to Isabelle.

Within seconds of her skillful ministrations, however, Alexander pushed in, taking Isabelle’s hands gingerly in his own, applying cooling cloths, tenderly dabbing away the filth and soot, daubing salve onto her skin.

His movements reflected much care, both by their insistent tenderness and the obvious effort every movement cost him.

From his chair, he rolled out fresh, clean strips of cloth, light as clouds, and wrapped them gently around and around Isabelle’s hands. He let her go only when Mrs. Burns assured him Isabelle would feel far better without the scent of fire clinging to her hair.

Soon Isabelle found herself clean, her damp hair tied back in a braid down her back, sitting in the most comfortable parlor chair as Doctor Kelley inspected the work Alexander had done bandaging her blistered hand.

Even through the pain of her injuries, Isabelle felt herself drifting off into sleep.

“Please forgive me,” she said, covering another yawn. “I do not mean to offend.”

Doctor Kelley laughed. “My dear lady, we shall send you to sleep as soon as I am certain of your safety.”

The very thought of making it to her bed was fatiguing. “Not sure I can climb the stairs,” she murmured, sliding deeper into the cushioning of the chair.

Alexander said, “Stay. Please. Stay here, and I can keep watch over you tonight.”

Isabelle sat up slightly at the suggestion that he tend to her. “Oh, there is no need.”

“Forgive me for contradicting you, but there is a need. I need to know that you are well.” Alexander’s voice hitched a bit with an intake of breath. “Doctor, will you help her settle so she can rest?”

“A fine idea, lad.” Doctor Kelley arranged a footstool at the end of Isabelle’s chair and tucked a soft blanket about her.

She attempted to thank him, but her words slurred into the bliss of a deep, restful sleep.

She awoke to the sounds of Alexander’s voice, gentle and easy in a way she had never heard it. As she surfaced from sleep, she registered that he was speaking to her. Although her mind woke, her body was slow to move, and she listened to the sounds fall over her like a warm ray of summer sunlight.

She only realized she’d fallen back to sleep when she awoke yet again. She opened her eyes and saw Alexander holding the stationery box he’d given her at Christmas. “And I don’t know if you even saw what lay beneath,” he said. Her eyes fluttered closed.

His voice sounded tired the next time she woke enough to notice. “I wrote you this one after our first trip to Wellsgate, when I made rather a blunder of things,” he said, breathing out a sigh of regret. “And this next was an invitation to try the trip again. I was too cowardly to give them to you.”

Isabelle attempted to speak, but her body refused, and she drifted back into sleep.

Again she surfaced from her deep, healing sleep to hear his voice.

“This one,” he said, and she heard a small rustle of paper, “I dictated after I said some truly unkind words about the situation of your dear Glory. It was meant to be an apology, of course. It didn’t take long for it to become something