Mrs. Kenworthy gently reminded Glory that she was a guest in the Osgoods’ home, and Glory nodded.
“I know, Mama, but I am also working, and I need nice music to do the best possible work.”
Isabelle smiled. “And if I can help you to produce the best possible work, I am very happy to do my part.” After she made certain that her guests were supplied with tea and biscuits, Isabelle took her place at the piano and played and sang for more than an hour. The only other sounds in the room were low murmurs between Glory and her mother. Isabelle wondered if Alexander had grown so bored he had fallen asleep, but when she looked at him, she found his gaze turned toward her.
She whispered to him, “Thank you, sir, for this morning. I feel very glad.”
Alexander smiled at her. “And I thank you for the music,” he said.
She smiled her thanks and turned back to the pianoforte, eager to supply him some small pleasure.
After the Kenworthy ladies left, Isabelle rolled Alexander in his chair back to the parlor to await Doctor Fredericks’s visit. Before the appointed hour, however, Mrs. Burns appeared to announce a visitor.
Isabelle stood. “I will go receive whomever it is in the drawing room,” she said.
Mrs. Burns shook her head. “He desires to see you both.” Her words, accompanied by a smile, seemed to pique Alexander’s curiosity. “He wanted his visit to be unexpected and unannounced, but may I admit Doctor Kelley?”
Isabelle leaped to her feet and ran to the door. Doctor Kelley, hat in hand and a bag at his feet, stood awaiting admittance to the room.
She embraced him. “You never need wait,” she said. “You are so very, very welcome here.” Taking him by the arm, she escorted him into the parlor.
Alexander saw his old friend enter, and a look of delight overtook his features. “We did not know to expect you,” Alexander said, “but I am so pleased you’ve come. Are you well?”
Isabelle felt her heart quicken at seeing such pure joy on Alexander’s face.
“Aye, quite well, sir. And you?” the doctor asked, stepping close to the chair.
In answer, Alexander moved his head from side to side, shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, and then raised his hands.
“Ah, and see who is showing off,” Doctor Kelley said, fondness apparent in every syllable. His sigh held audible relief. “Look how well you are,” he said.
If Isabelle heard a catch in the doctor’s voice or caught a glimpse of dampness in his eye, she said nothing but simply gave it a place in her memory.
She directed the doctor to a chair next to Alexander before she excused herself to let the two of them reconnect. She had scribed a letter to Doctor Kelley in Alexander’s words and included it with her own of the past week, inviting him to visit. But she knew there were questions the doctor would like answered that Alexander would be reluctant to discuss with her in the room.
She went to the kitchen and spoke to Mrs. Burns and Mae about an addition to the household. After ordering tea and asking Yeardley to place the doctor’s things in Alexander’s dressing room, she came back to hear Alexander’s voice, low and earnest.
“I cannot expect this to continue.”
“My dear boy,” the doctor replied, “I believe she is more than willing.”
Were they speaking of her, she wondered? Or of Nurse Margaret’s ministrations?
Alexander said, “It is, indeed, far too much to ask. No woman should have to bear such inconvenience.”
The doctor caught Isabelle’s eye as she reentered the room and gave her a sad smile.
“And here is the lady of the house,” Doctor Kelley said, rising. His gentle redirection allowed Isabelle to understand that Alexander would not want her to hear the conversation. Surely the doctor recognized what she had overheard, but the exchange did not include her. Alexander had never before used such phrases in her presence. Indeed, the word inconvenience saddened her. Had she behaved as though her husband’s condition distressed her? Or worse, that she was irritated by it? Had she given him to understand that she did not want to aid in his rehabilitation and recovery?
She pushed away her feelings of melancholy and forced a cheerful aspect. “How auspicious that you have arrived today, when Doctor Fredericks is expected for his weekly visitation only this afternoon.” She managed to keep a pleased countenance as she said, “We are so grateful that you found him and convinced him to take Mr. Osgood into his care.”
Doctor Kelley deflected the praise. “He is, indeed, such a busy and important man. His work in the Manchester Royal Infirmary is spoken of in every medical circle. His pioneering work in assisting the type of injuries our Alec has sustained is truly remarkable.”
Isabelle had her doubts, but she held her tongue. Doctor Kelley gave Doctor Fredericks all the credit, but it was he who had attended Alexander in the critical early days.
“We know that your own kindness, sir, as well as your knowledge and understanding, have contributed considerably to his healing.” Isabelle wished she could form the proper words to truly make Doctor Kelley understand the gratitude she felt.
“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 effor
t 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 the nurse.
“Indeed not. But if you were to train me,” Isabelle said, attempting a smile, “I would be.”
Isabelle hoped that comment would bring the small lift to Alexander’s lips, but his head remained facing the far wall.
Nurse Margaret looked into Isabelle’s eyes, a challenge unconcealed there. She pulled back a thin cotton blanket to expose Alexander’s torso. The straps from his chair formed raw, red welts on his shoulders. Bruising left his skin in various shades of purple, green, and yellow.
Isabelle shuddered and felt ill.
“When you see this,” Nurse Margaret said, indicating Alexander’s wounds, “you think of your husband and of your own discomfort. When I see it, I know that it is the natural progression from one stage of healing to the next. You recoil. I press forward. These are instincts that lead us to either flourish in a nursing profession or fail. You are not suited to nursing a patient. Go back to your drawing room.” The woman turned her back on Isabelle and continued to attend to Alexander as if Isabelle were already gone.
Feeling the sting of her dismissal, Isabelle knew she could either turn and walk away or continue a fruitless discussion.
Without any hope of changing the nurse’s mind, Isabelle spoke, nonetheless. Nurse Margaret was not, after all, the only person in the parlor. “Technique and training are helping Mr. Osgood heal, and for that I am grateful. However, force and coldness cannot do all that remains to be done.” She hoped Alexander, his face to the far wall, heard and understood her words. She trusted he recognized her willingness to assist him, to comfort and support him.
Frustrated and irritated, Isabelle paced the small drawing room. Doctor Kelley stood at the door asking Doctor Fredericks frank and specific questions, and the specialist returned answers that even Isabelle recognized as condescending and vague.
Why would this man not trust Doctor Kelley? She wondered at his air of dismissal. The attitude had never surprised her when directed at herself; after all, as the nurse had pointed out on several occasions, Isabelle was not a healer. She was only a wife, and not a particularly experienced one. But Doctor Kelley had made a life of caring for, curing, healing, and soothing people in every state of health and weakness. Why did this man insist on treating Doctor Kelley with such disregard? She was furious on her guest’s behalf, and on her own.
She took a step toward the doctors. Her forward motion, though small, pleased her.
Isabelle Osgood recognized the beginnings of an unfamiliar sensation: she was ready to be taken seriously.
At the sound of the door closing, she stepped to the good doctor’s side. Perhaps, she thought, she should have given him a moment to compose his face. He looked frustrated and wounded by his interaction with Doctor Fredericks. Come to think of it, Isabelle recognized the look. Alexander had the same expression about him after every visit from Doctor Fredericks. She examined his face in the dreary light of the entrance hall and took the older man by the hand.
“I wish to know what you think,” Isabelle said, her voice a whisper. “Are the doctor and nurse helping to heal the injury to Alexander’s body?”
Doctor Kelley brought his other hand up to hold hers between both of his. “I am encouraged to see so much motion in his arms and hands. And the fact that he can turn his head is a vast improvement. It suggests he will regain significant strength in his neck and shoulders. I am thrilled that he is beginning to be able to sit in his chair unassisted.”
She could tell from his small grimace of pain that Doctor Kelley had seen the chair straps’ damage to Alexander’s chest and shoulders; such a sight had clearly affected the doctor as much as it had troubled her.
“But?” Isabelle asked. It was clear to her that something was deeply amiss.
Doctor Kelley shook his head. “I hate to see our Alec tossed about like a damp and dirty cloth, with no respect to his pain or his spirits.”
With no warning, Isabelle felt a sob escape her.
The doctor immediately spoke his concern for her, leading her toward the drawing room and into a chair.
She sat, grateful, and wiped at her eyes. “I apologize, sir, for losing my composure. I promise you,” she added with what she hoped was a reassuring smile, “this is not a daily public occurrence.”
Doctor Kelley sat in the chair opposite and smiled sadly. “No, not public.”
“Perhaps you mistake my meaning,” Isabelle said, even though he did not, indeed, misunderstand anything. “I simply feel relief at your words. I, too, feel great distress at the manner in which the doctor and nurse are treating Alexander. I’ve no right to disapprove, I know, but in my heart, I believe there is a better way.”
“No right?” Doctor Kelley shook his head. “My dear, you have every right. Who knows Alec better than we do? Who can see his improvements more judiciously than we can?”
Isabelle longed to feel the doctor was corre
ct, but her comprehension of her husband’s wishes and desires, his strengths and his needs, was only beginning to bloom.
As though he could see her thoughts, Doctor Kelley said, “And through your compassionate assistance, you’re growing daily to understand him better.”
“I thank you, sir. Your kindness is a great boon. If only you could stay here forever,” she said, smiling through what remained of her unexpected moment of weakness. She wiped the tears from her eyes and stood. “Shall we attend to Mr. Osgood?”
The doctor followed her into the parlor, where they found Alexander once again sitting in his chair. Nurse Margaret had gone from the room. Yeardley gathered the last of the instruments and apparatuses and put them into the small bag that was now kept in a sideboard at the corner of the room.
Doctor Kelley placed his hands upon Alexander’s head, and Isabelle watched her husband’s eyes close. She wondered if he felt relief or 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.
Isabelle and Alexander Page 22
