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

in question. Never before had she made any sort of demand of her husband, never had she insisted on anything. Well should he be surprised. She reclaimed the seat next to Doctor Kelley, sitting in Alexander’s line of sight, placed her bandaged hands on her lap, and continued. “No decision you make affects you alone; therefore, you cannot decide crucial things in isolation.” Neither of the men spoke, so she continued. “All choices made about our family should be made by us together.”

Our family.

Seldom had these words crossed her mind. She’d thought of the two of them as sharing a home, but it was his home. She had taken his name and was supported by his business. For the first time, she spoke of them as a unit, an entity, a pair. She reached past her discomfort and fear of rejection for some proprietary ownership and found it suited her.

With Doctor Kelley looking on, she leaned forward a bit in her chair and said to her stunned husband, “Now, what would you like to discuss?”

Alexander looked from Isabelle to Doctor Kelley as if he was unsure how to proceed. After a moment, he said, “I believe it is time to move me to Manchester Royal Infirmary.”

Stifling the impulse to shout, “No!” and hurl a candlestick across the parlor, Isabelle folded her hands in her lap, held her opinion and her tongue, and looked to Doctor Kelley to handle this.

“For what reason?” the doctor asked, his voice measured and calm.

“For every reason,” Alexander answered, clearly struggling to echo a fraction of that calm. “I am a burden. I am not healing. I may never walk again. I cannot help my business function, and I am no kind of husband.” Reddening, he turned his face away from Isabelle and Doctor Kelley.

“It will be too difficult for Isabelle to recover from her injury,” he said, a scratch of emotion clawing through his words, “if she must work so hard to assist me. I cannot help Isabelle.”

A ripple of pleasure at hearing him say her name rose above her heartache.

“I may even be hindering her recovery. For a time, at least until she has regained her strength, I must go.” An echo of his newfound tenderness underscored his words, removing any blame from her. She could hear the guilt in his voice, the pain of having, even obliquely, allowed her to have been hurt.

Could he actually feel this was true? Isabelle felt her heart break. She wanted nothing more than to run to Alexander, fall at his knees, and tell him none of his concerns were warranted, but she knew there were truths there. Even discounting her own injuries, which she was certain were mild, his recovering functions, so remarkable to her, were, in fact, minor when compared to what he had lost.

Isabelle glanced at the doctor. He indicated with a minuscule motion of his head that she ought not answer yet.

The three of them sat in silence for several eternal minutes, each radiating pain and grief.

Finally, Alexander turned and looked at the doctor. The older man spoke. “A medical asylum may be a solution to one or more of your concerns,” he said.

“Exactly,” said Alexander. “For Isabelle’s comfort and healing.”

The doctor reached a hand over to pat Isabelle’s forearm. He must have heard her sharp intake of breath and seen her stiffen in her seat.

She was not succeeding in masking her emotions. She knew if she allowed herself to unleash the wave of tears behind her eyes, it would show she was overburdened.

Forcing her voice to sound calm, she said, “Can we agree for a moment to leave my healing out of this discussion? Will you allow me to express my wish not to be left alone?”

Alexander nodded.

Alexander nodded, and Isabelle watched his face. Was that a flicker of recognition that he’d moved his head in a different way than ever before? Until this moment, he’d been able to turn it only from side to side. In effect, to say only “no.” Now, with this tiny change, his body was opened to the chance to say yes. Isabelle wanted to leap from her seat and find that unbelieving Doctor Fredericks, bring him back into their home, and demand he watch Alexander nod.

She found no further words, and she turned to the ­doctor.

She was grateful for Doctor Kelley’s comforting hand. The doctor spoke to Alexander again. “Even without concern for Mrs. Osgood, some of your own interests would not be served by confinement.”

Alexander began to argue, but the doctor stopped him. “Your recovered function is a very good sign,” he said. “And I am exceedingly grateful to see what you have managed to accomplish.”

At a sound of disbelief from Alexander, the doctor spoke a bit more loudly. “Is it possible you will not recover fully? It is certainly possible. I fear it is likely. But,” the doctor stood and stepped closer to Alexander, “your life can be full of joy and significance from this chair.”

Alexander shook his head as if to argue, but the doctor continued. “You have made much progress since you’ve been back in the city. Doubtless it is less progress than you have wished, but it is progress notwithstanding. Can we give all credit for your improvement to Doctor Fredericks and his nursing staff? That is a question impossible for me to answer. I believe you and your wife will need to discuss it and come to a consensus.”

Discuss? Consensus? Those words would require more speaking to each other than Alexander and Isabelle usually attempted when both were awake and fully conscious. Isabelle felt the weight of alarm pressing on her. She reminded herself to put the fear aside, for she was no longer the woman who cowered in the corners.

Alexander glanced at Isabelle but returned his eyes to the doctor. “I believe you are right, and we will discuss it, even though I certainly cannot dismiss her injuries. But I believe you must have an opinion of the asylum idea,