“Smashing,” Pandora said, the first to break the silence. “I feel like I’ve walked into a discovery of some lost art and treasures. An Egyptian tomb.” She strode into the carriage house and let her hand lovingly trail through a thick coating of dust, creating a bright streak on a mahogany dining table.

“It’s amazing,” Anna said, walking up to a vintage wicker rocking chair. “Whose stuff is this, anyway?”

“Flo’s mostly,” John said. “And some of it is my mom’s. It’s been gathering dust in here for years.” He was less interested in what was in the space than the space itself. “Look how much room there is in here. Once we clear this stuff out, we’ll have our very own fort. A place to hang out. Neutral territory. Switzerland.”

“Dude, your mom’s okay with us all doing this?” asked Cooper, spreading out his hands to indicate the mountain of stuff.

“Okay? She’s been begging me to do this for years. What do you say? Y’all go grab something and let’s clear it all out!”

“The game is on,” exclaimed Gordon.

In good spirits, they all dove in.

Pandora was, as usual, right behind Gordon. “Look at this charmer!” she exclaimed, drawing his attention to a stone statue.

Anna cast Linnea a warning glance about Pandora’s advances. Linnea shrugged, and together they marched into the fray.

For the next hour, they carted out objects to the yard. Linnea laughed as from time to time she’d hear someone call out, “Oh, cool!” or “Man, look at this!” or “I haven’t seen this since I was a kid!” Boxes of china, wicker furniture, Christmas decorations, an old lawn mower and other assorted tools, various antiques (some good, some not so good), and boxes of National Geographic magazines gradually gathered in the yard. It was a motley collection. The damp magazines were the first to go to the corner for trash. Most of the carpets, mildewed beyond repair, were also tossed. Inside the barn, Anna parked herself in front of some boxes of old books.

“It’s heartbreaking,” she said, separating the books into piles. “Most of these are spotted badly with mold. They have to go.” She sighed as she dumped them in the trash bin. “It’s like cancer. It spreads to all the good books.” Then she gasped. “What the hell?”

Linnea turned her head and called out, “What did you find?”

Anna carefully flipped through the delicate pages to check the copyright. Mouth open, she pointed to it, then looked up, shocked. “Yep. There it is. March 1852. This is a first edition of Uncle Tom’s Cabin; or, Life Among the Lowly!”

“That’s the book against slavery, right?” asked Pandora.

“Back in the day, it was a huge influence when it was published,” Linnea added. “It outsold the Bible.”

Gordon asked, “But isn’t ‘Uncle Tom’ a racial slur?”

“It’s sad, but today it is,” Linnea replied, realizing that, being British, he might not understand the history behind the book. “The original character of Tom was inspired by a real man, but time and racism twisted the character until today calling someone an Uncle Tom means he’s a sellout to the race.”