His mother’s beloved Royal Doultons. Gone and crashed to the floor. How long had she been collecting those blue-green, white, yellow-red figurines of Victorian women in petticoats and parisoles? Did that go back to her mother, the Anna Merlin she’d never known? Had she collected them and Grandfather gave them to her when she married Dad? Yes, that’s right – her father had packed them himself in her trunk when she left the house on Park Avenue and come to Philadelphia.
Merlin gasped. “I’m sorry, Mother, I’m so sorry!”
A mask came over his mother’s face. Everyone was having a hard time adjusting to Merlin since the fire. After the inquest, they’d walked home, silent except for Dad’s coughing. His mother had held Merlin’s hand all the way. And now he’d bumped into the cabinet and the Royal Doultons had fallen and smashed.
“It’s quite all right, son. Don’t give it a second’s thought. Go run outside and play.”
A second’s thought. As if those figurines should occupy more than a second of time in anyone’s head. Merlin went outside to play hopscotch alone.
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