Isabelle and Alexander

by Rebecca Anderson

  She wanted to reassure him, but anything she said to deny the disparity of their own situation and the Pooles’ would be untrue, and such fabrication was unjust. She could attempt a happier attitude than she felt, she could hitch on a convincing smile, but she would not lie to Alexander.

  Instead, she said, “I shall see you for dinner,” and went out of the room.

  Over the next few days, Isabelle took Edwin and Charlotte to Peel Park and the Natural History Museum. They walked on afternoons when the rain abated. They took a carriage ride across the city and explored Queen’s Park, and they wandered through the marketplace full of shopkeepers and household workers. Charlotte smiled a great deal at Edwin and almost never at Isabelle. Ed held his wife’s arm, as was proper, and continued to be attentive to Isabelle. There was nothing of which to complain, but she felt the shift in their relationship, and it left her feeling lonesome and, somehow, frightened.

  Edwin was a married man. He would always be her first and favorite friend, but the recognition that his romance, his choice of wife, and his altered situation had driven some kind of wedge between them pricked at Isabelle’s heart. Or, Isabelle thought, I have done so. She was not naïve to the probability that her own situation must cause some of the distance between them. After all, she’d married first.

  But Edwin had been a constant in her life. As she walked down a busy street half a step behind Edwin and Charlotte, she felt unmoored by the shift. She was no longer his Belle, and he was no longer her Ed. He belonged to Charlotte now, first and forever. It did not take long for Isabelle’s thoughts to move forward from there: if Ed no longer adored her, how could she imagine being loved by anyone? Had she somehow become unlovable?

  The disappointment Alexander had spoken of reared up inside her, but not for the reasons he had supposed.

  She was a passable beauty, but not an exceptional one. She was from a respectable family, but not an exceedingly wealthy or important one. She was fairly charming and witty, but her occasional impropriety must cause embarrassments. She could converse in a parlor, but when was she last in any but her own or the Kenworthys’? Startled to discover that she was, in fact, no more than ordinary, Isabelle realized she ought to expect nothing beyond ordinary happiness. Nothing beyond common attention, consideration, or courtesy.

  Perhaps she simply did not deserve to be excessively happy.

  Her heart gave a lurch, and she felt the truth of the thought.

  Simple joys were likely all the pleasures in store for her.

  Recognizing moments of delight from the months of her marriage must now be a deliberate action.

  This unanticipated separation between her heart and Edwin’s gave her a shudder of sadness. Not for the distance but for the surprise. How could she have not expected this? Anyone could have told her that the nature of their relationship would change with her marriage and with his. She had a husband. He had a wife. And their friendship had always been a childlike delight. They were no longer children.

  Well, then, she told herself, here is the life I now live. I shall make the best of commonplace contentment. She would carry on. And she did not need to wait for a drastic change in her life. She had some power to create further happiness in her marriage. And she must take note of such flashes of contentment so they did not go unnoticed.

  Edwin turned to ask her about a tree filled with a few songbirds, and she placed a smile on her face as she described what she had learned about the birds most common to the north in late winter.

  After sharing what she knew, she drew a bracing breath.

  Was that so difficult? she asked herself.

  Her question remained unanswered.

  That evening at dinner, the family was served a thick and hearty stew along with soft bread rolls, a meal Alexander could manage to feed himself with his limited arm motion. He did not in general seem to mind Isabelle’s help with his meals, but the addition of company must, by nature, make it more embarrassing to carry on in their new habits of the preparation, delivery, and eating of meals.

  Isabelle was pleased that Edwin spoke in his usual companionable manner, reporting to Alexander on the sights and sounds of a city he had quickly come to enjoy.

  “Of course, in the company of two such women as my Charlotte and your Isabelle, how could a man not become particularly fond of any place? I imagine I would by now be as fond of a damp corridor or a dragon’s lair were I to experience it with these two.”

  Edwin’s manner had changed so little in the months Isabelle had been gone, but something was different. It took most of the meal for Isabelle to realize what it was. Having experienced so little conversation in the months of her marriage, she had come to treasure every word, every comment, each syllable as a thing of great import.

  Listening to Edwin filling the room with nonsense, although sweet and charming nonsense, she wondered if this was how he had previously spoken. Had there always been so little of substance to his remarks? Remembering her own prattling on the carriage ride to Wellsgate, she blushed. Had she seemed as frivolous as this? It occurred to her now that Edwin, her dear Edwin, might be silly.

  At the traitorous thought, she looked round the table, searching each face to glean any change in aspect. It appeared to her that no one else recognized her new discovery. Charlotte spoke only as manners demanded, Alexander was as uniformly quiet as ever, and Edwin needed only an audience to carry on performing his monologues.

  Oh, dear, Isabelle thought. This will never do. She knew herself well enough to know that once planted, this idea—any idea—would grow in her mind into a fact, and the fact would solidify into the truth about her darling friend, whether it was real or not.

  She roused herself to respond to Edwin’s latest comment about how winter at the Lakes had been far superior, socially, to any winter in his memory. Isabelle made an agreeable observation and then turned the conversation to letters from her mother informing her that a great deal of the warm clothing and cotton blankets her parents had purchased recently were made with Osgood fibers.

  Alexander glanced up at her, a look of surprise on his face.

  “I wonder,” she said, “if the two of you would be at all interested in seeing the mill?” She directed the question to Charlotte but did not expect any reply from that quarter. Edwin, however, responded immediately.

  “We would be delighted,” he said. “I confess, we spoke of the possibility but assumed that, what with Mr. Osgood’s injuries, we would be unable to make it a reality.” He set down his silver and pushed away from the table as if his enthusiasm for the idea could not be contained within a dining chair. “How could one come to a city such as Manchester and not enter one of the working mills? Particularly if one has such a cherished family connection.”

  Although there was no need to answer that question, Alexander nodded. “I agree. If the idea pleases you, we shall spend an hour in the mill. We could make a visit in the morning. That is when the full staff is at work. The night hours are run by only men. The effect is slightly more robust than the daytime when the female workers are also present.” Alexander went on. “In the afternoon, I am unavailable to attend you there.”

  Charlotte leaped onto that opening. “Because of your medical appointments?”

  Alexander looked startled at such a familiar question. He glanced at Isabelle, who wished she could say something. She wanted him to know that she had not discussed his treatment with this woman who was practically a stranger. Nor, she hoped he knew, was Isabelle speaking of his medical care with Edwin.

  Alexander recovered enough to drawl, “Indeed.” With an arch of his eyebrow, he continued in a lighter tone. “It takes a team of professionals to bring me to this questionable state of wellness.”

  “We met your nurse upstairs.”

  Charlotte did not offer more commentary about Nurse Margaret, but Isabelle wondered if the frightening woman had been
more forthcoming with their visitors than Isabelle herself had been.

  “Of course, they do very well,” Charlotte continued, and with that statement brought the number of words she had spoken directly to Alexander beyond the number she’d shared with Isabelle. “It is such a relief that you have recovered so well to this point.”

  Isabelle wondered at Charlotte’s investment in Alexander’s health. Perhaps as Edwin was more attentive to Isabelle than his wife was, she felt the need to connect herself more to Alexander. Edwin changed the subject to discuss the particulars of the mill visit.

  “If you are willing to help my man Yeardley with a bit of heavy lifting,” Alexander told him, pointing to himself, “we shall manage the trip quite well.”

  And so, the following morning, the five of them—Edwin, Charlotte, Isabelle, Alexander, and Yeardley—pressed through the busy streets of Manchester on their way to visit Osgood Mill. Yeardley pushed Alexander’s chair around and among the obstacles they encountered, including carriages, porters carrying packages, pedestrians, horses, flowing water, and dogs.

  Isabelle heard Charlotte’s voice behind her. “What a great deal of mess this city holds,” she said to Edwin.

  He replied with, “You might be shocked by parts of London, my dear.”

  “If London is worse than this, perhaps I should rather stay away.”

  Isabelle doubted very much that any part of London Edwin took his wife to visit would match the grit of the mill district, but she chose to say nothing about the less-often-­visited sections of Town.

  Instead, she turned to say, “I am so honored that you should spend time exploring our city in all its aspects. Our visits to the park and the museum have been so enjoyable. I do hope before you set sail from Liverpool that you also have the opportunity to visit the Royal Manchester Institution to see the art collections, or perhaps the Cathedral or Chetham’s Library. One of the joys of Manchester is its variety.”

  Alexander made a sound that could have been disagreement, wonder, or merely a clearing of his throat. Well might he be surprised to hear Isabelle describing the joys of the city she barely knew. She was surprised herself to feel the urgency to defend her home.

  Home.

  She had never before considered Manchester her home. Alexander’s home, yes. But now, walking down the crowded, dirty, rutted street strewn with waste, she felt a connection with and a sense of pride for the city.

  Entering the mill with Edwin and Charlotte in tow, Isabelle continued in her proprietary feelings. As Edwin and Yeardley helped Alexander up the steps and into the spinning room, Isabelle drew near to Charlotte to explain the workings of the mill. Shouting over the noise of the machinery, she gave her new cousin a short overview of mill production and the work of the employees. Speaking of those whom Alexander’s business employed brought Isabelle a renewed sense of pride in his work.

  Charlotte nodded politely now and then, but she seemed more interested in placing her hands over her ears to block out the sounds of the mill than in hearing Isabelle’s shouted explanations.

  Edwin walked beside Alexander’s chair, bent over to hear his descriptions of all that lay before them. Isabelle watched Alexander gesture across the floor and point toward the upper stories, and she wondered yet again at the miracle of his regaining the use of his arms.

  Within a few moments of entering, they were greeted by Mr. Connor, who called a momentary halt to the production. Isabelle noticed he looked haggard, his eyes shadowed and face thin.

  “Mr. Osgood is here,” Mr. Connor shouted over the clanging and whirring of equipment rolling to a stop. The cry was taken up all across the floor, and men and women jostled and ran toward the middle aisle of the room so they could see him. Isabelle watched the faces of Alexander’s workers, many of whom seemed alight with joy at the idea of seeing him.

  This had been the way they’d looked at him when she’d come with him before Doctor Fredericks’s recommendation to stay inside. Since that time, had the workers’ eagerness increased? Or was it an increase in her ability to understand and appreciate it? On the first visit with Alexander in the chair, certainly his employees were delighted to see him looking relatively unharmed. Had the workers so obviously adored him in this manner prior to his marriage, to his accident?

  Isabelle wondered that she could ever have failed to notice such esteem. Perhaps it was evident to her now because she wanted Edwin and Charlotte to see it as well. To know that he was cherished by those his business supported and who, in their turn and in their way, supported him.

  Alexander spoke to the workers for a few moments, complimenting them on their good work and thanking them for the fine inventory they were producing. When he had finished speaking, they lined up to shake his hand, touch his arm, and speak a few words. Isabelle stood back at a distance, watching with a sense of pride.

  Mr. Connor came to stand beside her. “He’s looking well,” he said.

  “At the risk of impropriety, I cannot say the same of you,” Isabelle said, hoping her gentle tone took some of the sting out of her words.

  Mr. Connor shook his head. “Ah, no. I am well enough. Perhaps not sleeping as much as I’d like,” he said with a smile. “But the mill does not sleep.”

  “The mill is not human, and humans ought to rest,” she said. “I fear you are overworked to a dangerous degree.”

  “Now, don’t you let the mill hear you say she’s not human,” Mr. Connor joked. “And take no thought for me, Mrs. Osgood. Help your husband get well so he can come back, and we will all feel better.”

  As much as Isabelle wished to assure herself that Mr. Connor would indeed care for his own well-being, she knew that any further prodding on her part would appear as distrust, a feeling she was far from experiencing.

  “I hope it is not forward of me to thank you.”

  Unsurprisingly, he looked a bit startled, but she continued. “I honor your sacrifices.” She gave Mr. Connor a smile, which he returned.

  When the crowd began to disperse from Alexander’s side, Mr. Connor shouted the order for everyone to go back to their places. At the startup of the machinery, Isabelle watched Alexander’s face relax into pleasure. She could not deny he loved his mill.

  Edwin asked if he could explore the upper floors of the mill, and Mr. Connor agreed to take him up as he made his rounds. Alexander looked as though nothing would please him more than to be able to bound up the steps to the other levels as well. Isabelle stood at his side as Mr. Connor led Edwin and Charlotte to the stairway. As they disappeared, she caught Alexander’s eye and pointed toward the office. He nodded, and she pushed his chair around the perimeter of the room to his office in the corner.

  She closed the door behind them, sealing out a large percentage of the noise.

  “Thank you for bringing us here,” she said.

  “Your cousin seems to find the mechanisms interesting,” Alexander said.

  “More important, the workers have great joy in seeing you here.”

  She was sure such a remark would bring a denial, or at least cause Alexander to look away, but she was mistaken. He looked directly at her and smiled. “Thank you for saying so. And I hope it is clear that I have great joy in seeing them too.”

  The shudder of happiness that ran through her was, she thought, due in equal measure to his smile and his satisfaction. She took delight in his apparent pleasure.

  His next words brought an increase in her happiness. “It felt right to thank them for their efforts. They are my employees, and I could not make a living without them. Because they sustain my mill, I ought to acknowledge them.”

  He reached for her hand, an impossibility only a few short weeks ago. Isabelle felt a shiver run from her fingertips up her entire arm. “And I ought to thank you,” he said, his voice lowered. “There are a great many things for which I have not been sufficiently grateful.”

&nbs
p; She felt warmth behind her eyes and pressed his hand. “I feel the same way,” she whispered.

  Isabelle held Alexander’s gaze as well as his hand. Some­thing flickered in his eyes, and she felt a pull toward him, an overwhelming urge to touch him, reach out, hold him. Be held.

  Would she ever feel his arms wrap around her? Would that desire for his affectionate, longing closeness ever be fulfilled? At his gentle gaze, a whisper of assurance touched her mind, and her occasional hope rose to a level of possibility, if not promise. In gratitude, she watched Alexander’s face until a loud crashing pulled her attention.

  The noise startled them both, and Isabelle laughed nervously as she rolled Alexander to the door so he could see what had befallen the machinery.

  With only a glance at the spinning room, Alexander seemed to understand what had happened. He reassured her with a word that Mr. Connor would direct needed repair.

  She nodded her understanding, but she felt she must bring up her concern about Mr. Connor’s health. How to mention it?

  “I fear Mr. Connor might be overworking himself,” she said, unable to find appropriate preliminaries.

  Alexander looked at her as though trying to see what lay behind her eyes.

  “I agree,” he said after a moment.

  Isabelle noted the compassion in his voice, and she continued. “I know nothing of his schedule, of course, but I fear he may be working day and night without leaving the mill.”

  Alexander nodded. “In the past,” he said, avoiding naming his accident, “Kenworthy and I oversaw the day workers. The majority of the workers are here in the daytime hours. Connor would superintend the overnight period, repairing machines that were not in use in those hours.” He looked down at his hands. “Since I have been unable to carry my share, Connor has, I am afraid, attempted to stretch himself to do both of our jobs.”