I drove back to Elm Street by myself while Sophie went back to her shift at the clinic.

The house was cold when I came in the back kitchen door.

I went into the dining room and opened the glass door of the oak hutch my mother had brought from Ohio forty years ago.

On the bottom shelf was her sterling silver tea set, five pieces sitting in dark blue flannel drawstring bags.

At two o’clock Mr.

Henderson, who ran the antique shop on Main Street, sat on my living room couch with a little black scale on his knee.

He lifted the silver teapot out of its flannel bag and turned it over to look at the hallmark on the bottom.