He looked at the money in his hand and then up at the rank insignia on my jacket collar.

“Your brother Daniel came into my shop Tuesday asking if I’d buy a set of silver serving pieces from your mother’s sideboard,” Henderson said.

“Did you buy them?” I asked.

“I told him I only buy from the person whose name is on the original land registry or bill of sale,” Mr.

Henderson said.

At 4:00 p.m.

I opened the back kitchen door on Birch Street and stepped into the warm house.

My mother stood at the stove stirring a small pot of soup, her fingers working at the ends of her silk neck scarf.