She also had the potion she had made for him to sooth the stump of his leg in a way that caused him to forget entirely that the pain was still there.T...at pain was like a memory of a nightmare hidden in his mind and sealed from his conscious thought at any given moment.“Thank you kindly for the biscuits, Miss Henrietta. Tell you sister she is a fine cook and will make a good wife for a hungry man.”“Are you volunteering for the job, Chief Muir? I think you would make a fine husband just sitting. "So, when are you going to start practicing for the recital?" Mom just came right out with it.I looked up, feigning confusion. "Recital?" I asked.Mom threw a couch pillow at me. "Don't be a brat. You know darned well you promised me last Christmas that you would play for the Church." The Church?" I mused.Another pillow. "Father!" Mom cried.Dad looked up, first at Mom, then me, then back to Mom, then back into his book. "A duet, I believe, if my memory serves me right," he said.Mom and I looked. More

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