Dad put it there the year he quit tobacco.”

The shed smelled of oil and rope and cold iron.

The key turned and the lock gave, and we lifted the trunk out together, one end apiece, the hasp rusted and the padlock opening on the third try.

Inside were paper folders tied with string, a cloth sack of survey stakes, and a cardboard tube with a rolled plat map in it.

Frank held the tube steady while I worked the map out flat on the bench.