Isabelle and Alexander by Rebecca Anderson (new books to read TXT) 📗

could say a word, he turned from her, inspecting the rooms adjacent to the entry. Standing in the hall with her hand extended, she felt snubbed and inconsequential. She missed Doctor Kelley already.

Returning his attention to the men with the chair, the doctor bustled around them, giving directions and striding across the entryway, pushing the chair and executing sharp turns. He appeared to be taking the measure of the house.

“Where is the patient?” Doctor Fredericks asked in a voice louder than the space warranted, and Isabelle pointed toward the parlor.

“Right. Come along,” he said. Isabelle wondered if she was included in this brusque invitation. She followed the men into the parlor, where Alexander lay propped against a pillow.

“Osgood,” the doctor said with a nod, and if any additional greeting was forthcoming, Isabelle didn’t hear it.

“Into the chair with you,” the doctor said.

Alexander’s mouth opened as if to answer, but no words came out.

“Up, now.”

Alexander glanced at Isabelle. She wished for a moment to fix her expression into something other than shock at the doctor’s manner, but there was no time. The doctor snapped his fingers in impatience. Isabelle was startled at this discourtesy.

“I’ll need assistance,” Alexander said. Isabelle was pleased for him that his voice sounded stronger than it had since the accident.

Doctor Fredericks nodded at the men who’d carried the chair into the house, and they went to either side of the bed, sliding and lifting Alexander from the bed to the chair. At a signal from the doctor, both men stepped away.

For a moment, Alexander looked as he had when she’d first seen him, seated in her parents’ receiving room, tall and handsome and nervous.

She’d forgotten until this moment that he’d seemed worried that day in her parents’ home. Humble. As if it mattered to him what she thought. Until now, he hadn’t looked that way again.

But today it wasn’t Isabelle he wanted to please. He kept his eyes glued to Doctor Fredericks, waiting for a pronouncement.

Isabelle watched as Alexander seemed to grow smaller. Only seconds later she realized that he was slipping, tilting in the chair. She watched in horror as he began to fold over on himself. She ran the few steps across the room and landed on her knees at his chair, pressing her arms into his shoulders, bracing him from the fall that was imminent. As she pushed his torso upright, she heard a breath of impatience from behind her.

“Perhaps,” the doctor said to the back of Isabelle’s head, “you’d rather leave the room as we perform our examination.” His voice was detached. Emotionless.

“Perhaps,” Isabelle spat, “you’d like to protect your patient from any additional harm.”

“Mrs. Osgood,” he said without a hint of contrition or judgment, “which of us is a trained physician?”

She did not choose to answer him.

“Leave us, if you please.”

Still on her knees and bracing Alexander, she looked into his face. He looked back at her and whispered, “It’s best you go.”

She whispered back, “Do you want me to go?”

His expression softened. “You need not witness this.”

Isabelle nodded and stood, uncaring that she appeared inelegant and improper. Before leaving the room, she settled Alexander more firmly against the back of the chair. Her hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment as if she could infuse him with a measure of her own strength.

As the doctor did not speak to her or look at her as she left the room, she didn’t feel any need to give him even a nod. Stepping across to the drawing room, she settled herself into a chair from which she could see into a corner of the parlor.

Perched on the edge of the seat, she watched and listened. The doctor’s toneless voice, issuing commands, cut through the space between rooms, giving Isabelle physical pain. How could this man represent the same profession as kind and gentle Doctor Kelley?

Intermixed with the doctor’s tone, she could hear Alexander’s weaker, softer voice offering responses to questions. She wished she could understand his words, know his replies. Several times she saw the chair move across the floor, Alexander sitting upright. A small relief, at least, that they weren’t allowing him to fall from the chair.

After what felt like hours, Isabelle heard the doctor taking his leave. She met him at the door.

“How is he?” she said without preamble. She owed this man no particular courtesy. His assistants walked out the door without taking leave.

The doctor reached for his coat and hat, but she stood between him and the door. If he planned to leave before she was ready to excuse him, he’d have to push past her.

His response came in the same voice, careless of how it must carry to the patient himself. “There is reason to think he can regain some of his strength, but it won’t happen with the kind of coddling he had in the country. I’ve left the names of nurses who can be hired to come to your home if you’re determined to keep him here for a time, but when you tire of caring for an invalid, here are the asylums I recommend for convalescence.” The doctor reached into his coat pocket and handed Isabelle a printed paper advertising long-term care for the infirm and feeble. She placed the pamphlet on the table beside the door without looking at it.

She steeled herself to deliver the words she’d been rehearsing in her mind. “Doctor, I understand that though this is a foreign experience for us, you have trodden this path of injury and recovery several times.”

“Indeed.”

She cleared her throat and spoke in a gentle voice, unwilling to make her words heard to Alexander. “And we appreciate your experience, your practical knowledge, your mind, and your understanding.” As she stopped for a breath, he made a move to pass her. She straightened her back and continued. “In addition to your professional skill, could you perhaps give him a small measure of your heart? Surely he will recover more quickly if he is treated kindly.”

The doctor