single-minded affection that flowed from the mother.
As her mother sang softly, the child hummed, contentedly crooning to her doll as her mother crooned to her.
Through the open window the gentle sounds of the summer afternoon lulled them. In the street, half a dozen of the neighbor boys were playing a pickup game of baseball, and in the next block the melody of the ice cream truck chimed its tune.
The mother and child were barely aware of it, so content were they in their own little world.
Then, from downstairs, the sound of the front door slamming interrupted their idyll, and as heavy footsteps thudded on the stairs, the mother began wiping the lipstick from the child’s face.
The child twisted away, dropping the brush with which she’d been stroking her doll’s hair, but clutching the doll itself close to her chest. “No! I like it!” the child protested, but still the mother tried to wipe away the gloss.
Then the child’s father was towering in the bedroom doorway, his face flushed with anger. When he spoke, it was with a voice so loud and harsh that both mother and child shrank away from him.
“This was not to happen again!”
The mother’s eyes darted around the room as if she was seeking some avenue of escape. Finding none, she finally spoke, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t help it. I—”
“No more,” her husband told her.
Again the mother’s eyes darted wildly around the room. “Of course. I promise. This time—”
“This time is the last time,” her husband said. Striding into the room, he swept the child from her lap, his arms closing around fragile shoulders. Though his wife reached up as if to take the child back, he moved out of her reach. “No more,” he repeated. “Didn’t I tell you what would happen if this continued?”
Now the woman’s eyes filled with panic, and she rose to her feet. “No!” she pleaded. “Oh, God, don’t! Please don’t!”
“It’s too late,” the man told her. “You leave me no choice.”
Pulling the doll from the child’s arms, he tossed it onto the bed. Then, ignoring the child’s shrieks, he carried her out of the bedroom and started downstairs. Moving down the long central hall on the lower floor, he passed through the butler’s pantry and the large kitchen, where the cook, frozen in silence, watched as he strode toward the back door. But before he could open it, his wife appeared, holding the doll.
“Please,” she begged. “Let her take it. She loves it so. As much as I love her.”
The man hesitated, and for a moment it seemed as if he would refuse. But as his child cried out in anguish and reached for the doll, he relented.
The woman watched helplessly as her husband carried her child out of the house. Instinctively, she knew she would never see her child again. And she would never be allowed to have another.
The man carried the child through the great oak doors of the Asylum, and finally set the small, trembling figure on her feet. A matron waited, and she now knelt in front of the child.
“Such a pretty little thing,” she said. As the child, holding her doll, sobbed, the matron looked up at the man. “Is this all she brought with her?”
“It’s more than will be necessary,” the man replied. “If anything else is ever needed, please let my office know.” He looked down at his child for a moment that stretched out so long a spark of hope glowed briefly in the child’s eyes. Finally, he shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sorry for what she did, and sorry you let her do it. Now there is no other way.” Without touching his child again, the man turned and strode through the enormous doors.
Without being told, the child knew she would never see her father again.
When they were alone, the matron took her by the hand and led her through a long hallway and then up some stairs. There was another long hallway, and finally she was led into a room.
Not nearly as nice as her room at home.
This room was small, and though there was a window, it was covered with heavy metal mesh.
There was a bed, but nothing like the pretty four-poster she had at home.
There was a chair, but nothing like the rocking chair her mother had painted in her favorite shade of blue.
There was a dresser, but it was painted an ugly brown she knew her mother would have hated.