Harriet wondered how Derrick managed to walk up and down stairs while reading without falling and cracking his head, but he always seemed to succeed.

Harriet moved out of the way, careful not to spill the hot water. “How is our patient?”

Mother’s brow folded in concern. “He hasn’t yet awakened.”

Derrick leaned against the wall, his eyes still directed on the pages of his book. He never stood upright anymore, lounging about like an overgrown stalk of wheat. “He’s probably just sleeping.”

“It’s been hours.” Mother sighed. Her hair, once the same soft brown as Harriet’s, was now pure white and softly curled about her smooth face. “I do hope the poor man doesn’t die.”

Derrick glanced up from his book, disgust in his tone. “He doesn’t look as if he’s about to die; his color is far too good.”

“What did the doctor say?” Harriet asked.

Derrick shrugged. “Not much. We put the patient in one of Stephen’s nightshirts and found nothing more than a few bruises and that gash on his head.”

Mother’s soft brown eyes shimmered with concern. “The doctor said that there was risk of a brain injury.”

“A slight risk,” Derrick said inexorably.

Mother glanced at him reproachfully. “Any risk is too much when speaking of a brain injury. I hope the poor man isn’t like Mrs. Billingsworth. She fell from her horse not two years ago and hit her head and died.”

Harriet frowned. “Mrs. Billingsworth died just last month.”

“Yes, but she never regained her memory.” Mother leaned closer, and said in a confidential voice that was quite easy to hear throughout the entire foyer, “When she awoke, she was appalled to discover that she was married to Mr. Billingsworth, which would appall me as well.”

“Lord, yes!” Derrick said, apparently finding this new conversation more to his liking. “The man never bathes and has the most peculiar habit of grinding his teeth between every sentence.”

“My own memory is slipping at the mention,” Harriet said, wrinkling her nose.

Mother nodded, her pretty lace cap flopping over one ear. “Had it been I, I would have pretended not to remember the husband, but maintained a very clear memory of the children.”

“There you go!” Derrick opened his book. “If you ever decide to lose your memory, you’ll know just how to act.”

“Indeed I will,” Mother said, smiling ruefully. She glanced at Harriet. “Derrick and I are going to the barn to see if Stephen has returned with the hay cart.”

“I thought Derrick was going to fetch the hay?”

Derrick didn’t look up from his book. “I was, but Stephen apparently wanted it done quicker than I was able to get to it. When I went to the barn, he had already unloaded the ewes and left.”

Mother sighed. “And I daresay he’s angry about it, too. Come, Derrick. He should be back. I hope he didn’t injure his leg with such a prank.” She crossed the foyer and out the door, Derrick slouching behind.