Isabel's Gratitude

Chapter II

Isabel, alone in her room in the late afternoon duskiness, sent a servant to tell Pansy she was returned and to request an interview. It may seem a stilted, formal method for family but form was a requirement of the Osmond household. She was not at all certain of Pansy’s response; Isabel had been away for just over a month and did not know her stepdaughter’s frame of mind. Her father had stipulated she not write and she was nothing if not an obedient child.

When Pansy knocked on her door a half hour later, more anxious for her stepmother’s well-being than anything regarding herself Isabel relaxed. She kissed Isabel and they held each other close. Isabel felt the tension in the young girl’s slight frame and judged that things had not gone easily in her absence.
“Tell me dear girl, how have you been? How long have you been home from the convent?“
“I’ve been home for two weeks today. Mother Catherine thought it best.”
“Was it so terrible? Your father does not mean to hurt you, he thought that a time for reflection was important.”
“I did not mean to cause any disquiet. I stayed in my room and thought about Papa and you and what the future would bring. You did not seem happy when last we met, I was afraid for you…afraid you may not come back.”
“Ah, dear, I’ve come back as you see. I could not stay away from you and our home.”
“And Papa?”
“That is more complicated, dear, and not something you need worry about. I am back and we can carry on as before. We’ll take our rides, visit our favorite sites and talk of things that concern ourselves. We’ll laugh and be as before.”
“I am sorry about your cousin. I have never met Mr. Touchett certainly but if he is your cousin he can be nothing but splendid. What was England like? Did you see Lord Warburton?”
“My cousin was a most wonderful companion to me. He was light-hearted, generous; the best of men. I wish you could have met him but he was so very ill when he was last here I could not take you to him. Lord Warburton is his neighbor and a most excellent friend. He was at the funeral to be sure and invited me to his home to meet his two sisters again but I did not go. He is soon to be married, in fact may be so at this time.”
“I’m glad he has found someone. Such a handsome man should have just such a fine wife.”
“He will be as happy as he can and we need not concern ourselves with Lord Warburton’s well-being. We will concern ourselves with you, sweet girl, we must see that you are happy, for that is my goal. I feel I have not been fair to you, that maybe you were confused and I should not like that, Pansy. You are young and I wish you the joy, the freedom to do something that brings pleasure to your spirit, such a very fine spirit, my dear daughter.” Isabel hugged Pansy again and felt the girl’s rigidity lessened. “I am a little tired today, but tomorrow we shall be back to our old selves and there is much to catch up on. We will visit the Coliseum and the galleries, we shall have picnics and ride to our heart’s content.”
“Oh Mother, I am so glad of your return. I was not sure…”
“You see, I am returned and we are reunited. Nothing can make us sad.”
“Was Papa glad to see you? He seemed angry and even Madame Merle has not visited us. And then he quarreled with my aunt…”
“Papa was expecting me…he had no cause for alarm. Only you, you silly girl, doubted my return. Now you will dress for dinner and we will talk no more today. I must rest up for our outings, I think you may need a new dress and a cloak, summer will be here soon enough, what do you think?”
“I have no need of anything but your company. Papa has not taken me out, nor have we had many visitors in your absence. I think he was sad without you but maybe now we shall have guests…and music…oh, I am so glad of your return.” Pansy wrapped her frail arms around her stepmother and the two held each other close for a minute. She then made her way across the room and blew a kiss to Isabel before darting quickly out of the door with a smile of gratitude on her small, pretty face; the first in many weeks.

Isabel sat in her opulently upholstered armchair looking at the expanse of a small park that began outside of the Palazzo Roccanera, her home for four years, since her marriage to Osmond began. He chose their dwelling, as he chose everything in it; his taste not to be denied in all matters of art and decorum. Isabel had to forgo many ideas she’d once had; Osmond had ruled in all but a few matters. He would have preferred to choose everything but in one area she would not give way; her relationship to her cousin, Ralph, and her friends, though to placate him she kept them away from him as much as possible. She regretted this; but she would no longer need to appease him. His friendship with Madame Merle, though possibly concluded, had stripped him of his moral superiority. She had no intention of ever receiving Madame Merle in her home and did not think the woman, so rigorous in manner would show herself for the foreseeable future. That she was Pansy’s real mother would never leave Isabel’s conscious, that it would always live in the cloudy province between herself and her husband was a certainty but she knew it would factor less as time went on, especially if Madam Merle was in America for a prolonged visit as Isabel had heard she would be.

With the afternoon’s abrupt end, the park grew still in the enveloping darkness, the trees swayed in the wind, a subtle moonlight cast a romantic haze over the scene. This would invoke an evening of energized contemplation for Isabel. It had been a long day, began in the very early hours with her return to Rome. She would take dinner in her room and sleep peacefully in her own bed. She was home, such as it was. She’d confronted Osmond; she’d bargained for Pansy and won her major point. She knew Osmond would never brook any argument against his “magnificent form” but she would press it as little as possible. She would do what she said she would; see what was in Pansy’s heart and act accordingly. She had not mentioned Mr. Rossier nor had Pansy. Perhaps the flame in her heart had gone out. She was young though Isabel suspected she may be romantic enough to insist on its everlasting dominion in her heart. She hoped not. Though Mr. Rossier was honorable in the straight and narrow leaning, he was not a man of heroic intentions. That he had loved Pansy, Isabel knew to be true. He proved it by selling his bibelots to please Osmond and garner Pansy’s hand in marriage to no avail. She wondered if he still retained his affection, if he was as bitter as he was when last they met, if he was in Rome.

She had much to catch up on and for the first time since learning of her husband’s betrayal, her cousin’s bequest and subsequent death, Isabel felt she could breath. She meant what she said to Osmond; she would find a way to have a meaningful life within her failed marriage; that was all she could do. She’d entered it in good faith and she would live with it in the same manner. Osmond would have no grievance against her behavior. She would honor the form he so assiduously embraced. Then she would do what she wished. I must go on, she thought, I cannot live under a shroud any longer, I cannot cry over my mistakes but must find a way to move forward, to live up to my cousin’s expectations: that I should experience the world and mark my existence with aptitude, with wit.

Isabel thought of her cousin’s wit, his dry humor that so lightened the atmosphere in sickness and even death. Osmond had no humor; that Isabel soon learned when dealing with her husband’s moods. He carried a deadly seriousness about him that made Isabel’s insides shrivel.

Oh well, enough with the self-pity, Isabel Archer, she said to herself. Get on with it. She may not have the romantic alliance she had once sought, but she did have many other resources and must remember to be grateful. As her sister-in-law, the Countess Gemini, said, Nothing's impossible for you, my dear. Why else are you rich and clever and good?

Her resolve renewed, Isabel undressed, pulled back the covers on her large carved, canopied bed and undid her hair from its underpinning. She did not call her maid, she had given her the day off. Isabel was content with just her own company and thoughts. A small tray was brought to her but she found she was not hungry and nibbled at a few early strawberries. The day had been filled with food for thought and that was all she needed tonight. Tomorrow she would begin a new phase of her life, much of it uncertain but the one conviction she could afford no longer, a girl’s vanity, she would put aside. She would take the reins and drive herself and her stepdaughter to the higher ground. She looked forward to the rarefied air, the glorious view and her feet authentically planted in the old Roman soil.

With these enlightened thoughts, Isabel fell into the first real sleep she’d had since her coarsely conceived conversation with the Countess Gemini, seemingly years ago but in reality less than six weeks. She dreamt of her cousin Ralph and in her dream he said to her, Go easy on yourself, my dearest friend, you are much loved and highly capable. Hearing those words, softly whispered close to her ear by her most beloved relative, Isabel slumbered in the deep realm of the angels and when she awoke, the sun was shining, the air was chaste and her maid was smiling with expectancy carrying a large silver tray bearing a vase of small pink wild roses, a basket of fruit and freshly baked bread--all that was beautiful to begin one’s day--and as she poured the delicious aromatic coffee only to be had in Italy, Isabel’s heart sang a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

TO BE CONTINUED