John waited till they were all gathered; then, in the manner of a master of ceremonies, he lifted the wood bar that bound the two barn-style wood doors together and swung them open, calling out, “Ta-da!”
Everyone took a step forward. The inside resembled a barn, rising past rafters to a high ceiling. Everyone in the group was creative enough to spot a treasure when they saw it. The space was packed to the gills with stuff, but peeking from behind the wooden bedposts, the wicker rockers, the rolled-up oriental carpets, were the gorgeously rendered, vividly colored sea animals swimming in blues and golds in Miranda’s mural: whales, dolphins, jellyfish, sea turtles, sharks, and countless colorful fish. Linnea had seen the similar mural in John’s loft upstairs, but this one was larger and even more breathtaking.
“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.”
“But that was so not what Stowe wrote.” Anna looked lovingly at the book, closing it and letting her palm rest reverentially upon the tattered cover. “Those of us who love old books live for moments like this. These volumes,” she said, “are definitely worth investing in to get them restored.”
“May I see it?” asked Gordon. He picked it up and leafed through the pages, then brought the book to his nose. “Yes, definitely mold and mildew. But not too bad. I think you’re right, Anna. It can be restored.” He looked at Linnea, whose gaze questioned how he knew this. “My parents have a library full of old books,” he explained. “They strive for climate control, but they’re always checking for mold.”
“It’s a massive library,” Pandora chimed in. “Quite impressive.”
Linnea shot Pandora a look. “You’ve been to Gordon’s parents’ house?”
Pandora cast a furtive glance toward Gordon. “Yes, once,” she said in a casual way. “Ages ago. My parents know his parents. Socially, you know.”
Gordon looked at his shoes.
Linnea considered how Pandora’s parents, very well connected socially in England, would know the parents of a university professor.
“Anna,” Pandora asked, adroitly changing the subject, “how did you get into old books?”
Anna stretched out her leg with a soft groan. Her yoga pants were smeared with dirt and dust, but she looked as happy as a pig in a mud bath. “My mother didn’t exactly have a library,” she said, casting an amused glance at Gordon. “More like cartons of books she kept piled up in the attic or under beds. We had as many bookshelves as you could squeeze into a rented house or a trailer… so, not a lot.” She laughed self-deprecatingly. “Mama didn’t have one dime to rub against another, but she loves her books. Truth is, she’s a hoarder of books. She volunteers for organizations that collect old books—libraries, schools. Her role is to spot the rare one, the find that they could auction off. She taught me everything I know.” She laughed mirthlessly with memory. “I’ve spent many hours at her side, leafing through books. Now I love it too—the history, the feel of the eras right under your fingers, authentic and true. Like this book,” she said, reaching up to take hold of Uncle Tom’s Cabin again. “This is the real deal.”
“I don’t know about books,” Linnea said, opening a box that was filled with bolts of fabric. She lifted several out, revealing vibrant patterns. “But I know fabric. Take a look! Sea turtles, dolphins, jellyfish, like the murals. And here, coral.” She picked up bolt after bolt. “These blues and greens are gorgeous cottons.”
Linnea’s mind spun with possibilities. She could sew almost anything. She especially loved to make her own clothing. This trove of vintage fabric was a gold mine. Suddenly another idea struck. “Hey, Anna, Pandora. We can use this fabric to make face masks. We can donate them to organizations, like the aquarium.”
“Great idea,” Anna said from her pile of books.
“I don’t sew, darling,” Pandora said, wiping dust from a small bookcase.
“But you can cut patterns,” Linnea teased.
Suddenly Cooper jumped back, dropping the old carton in his hands. He stood spread-eagled. “Holy shit! A rat!”