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care of you for a while. I’m going to prescribe a mild sedative which I urge you to take tonight and at least for the rest of the week.” He waggled his finger at her. “Now quit shaking your pretty little head.”
    I knew she hated that as much as she hated being talked down to. Poor Dr. Wallace didn’t know he was cutting his own throat. This was, no doubt, the last time he would be seeing my mother in a professional capacity.
    â€œNo one wants to take medicine but sometimes we need it. You must get some rest. Let your little chickens take care of you for a change.”
    He smiled pontifically and beamed in my direction. I wanted to go for his throat but I settled for the prescription he held out instead.
    Mother thanked him weakly. She was playing Camille to the hilt, and I began to regret that I had ever summoned medical advice. But she only played roles from a position of strength. He had reassured her that her heart was still pumping and all was well. She was feeling better already. God help us for the next few days! The good doctor had given her a mighty weapon: Camille was here to stay.
    I decided to have the pharmacy deliver the sedative instead of taking time to shower, change, and drive downtown for it. I needed some rest and quiet, too.
    I got rid of Dr. Wallace and paid off the delivery boy at almost the same time. Mother took the pills in a limp hand. She made quite a show of having trouble swallowing them, but she did snuggle back in her pillows and get comfortable almost immediately falling into a deep and restful sleep.
    I stayed a few more minutes to make sure she was all right and then headed toward my room and a long hot shower.
    The afternoon had turned as grey as our mood and the evening brought clouds and rain. I could hear the loud boom of thunder in the distance even under the shower. By the time I finished bathing, the temperature had dropped enough to make my wet skin stand up in goose bumps.
    I hurried out of the bathroom and searched quickly through the walnut chest. I found a pair of old flannel pajamas and a sweatshirt and shrugged them on gratefully. I was hopping on one foot and pulling a thick sock on the other when Cassie tapped at the door.
    The blessed child had a tray of steaming hot cream of tomato soup with cheese melted on top. It was her favorite meal. We turned the gas logs on low and sat on the rug in front of the hearth happily slurping soup and dunking Saltines in the melted cheese.
    â€œI looked in on Gran before I came. She’s fine. Her color is back to normal, and she’s sleeping quietly.”
    â€œThanks, Cassie. I really appreciate the supper, too.”
    I sat back and leaned against the ottoman and patted my stomach.
    â€œJust what the doctor ordered.”
    We looked at each other and laughed. We laughed and laughed, and then we laughed some more. I finally held up my hands in surrender.
    â€œStop,” I gasped. “Please let’s stop or I’ll upchuck my soup.”
    Since Cass was eight months old and had her first giggle fit, she and I had to agree to stop laughing together, for neither could stop while the other continued.
    She wiped her eyes on a paper napkin.
    â€œWhat a creep! Where did he go to medical school? Mom, you have to promise me! If I ever get sick here, you will take me out of town to the doctor!”
    â€œOnly if you make me the same promise!”
    We shook hands solemnly and sat back to gaze in the fire. The thunder was getting closer, but from long experience with late summer storms here on the farm we could tell by the sound that it would be moving farther north of us. The heavy rain would most likely fall all night but there would be no dangerous high winds. The outside work would have to be put off until the grass was dry, so tomorrow would be a day to work inside. I would encourage Mother to stay in bed so I could have my way with her house. Maybe even move some furniture around. My mood began