Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037 (21 page)

“Why don’t the two of you sit out on the porch for a few minutes,” Terrell suggested. “We’re going to have kids in here looking for snacks. I’ll load yours up and send them to sit with you.”

Magda joined us for dinner to fill Paul’s vacant seat at the family table. Phoebe and Andrew continued a conversation obviously started in school about the language proficiency exam and his experience taking the same test. The boys spoke with Magda about picking apples. I had no appetite, just listened to the kids, observed Andrew, and thought about David.

“You would like us to take Andrew on a tour of Ashwood after dinner?” Magda asked me as others finished eating. “You need time to talk with the others?”

“Can’t I stay?” With the ability of a kid to hear adults’ quiet conversation in the midst of other noises, Andrew began to build his place in the family. “I know how it feels when your parents are in trouble.”

I began to love my son in more than an abstract sense. Terrell’s observation that Andrew carried sadness gave me reason to look into his eyes, see the shadowy depths that defined his world.

Raising my voice to gather the others into our conversation, I said, “Magda suggested we show Andrew some of Ashwood before dark. We can talk out in the orchard.”

“Are you going to tell us anything upsetting?” Phoebe asked. Magda put a hand on the back of Phoebe’s chair. “With Daddy missing and everything else, I can’t study.” Tears accompanied her words and worry.

“Honey, you’ve only missed two days. We’re in a bit of rough water here.” I dreaded the night ahead, thought I should keep her with me.

“Teacher Jason said you’re the best-prepped student he’s known,” Andrew pointed out. “You got to stay loose.” Phoebe paid attention, didn’t shake her head or look away.

“Mom, tell us about Daddy now.” John spoke.

Noah added “Please.”

This was parenting, no planning allowed. I pushed my untouched plate away. “Okay, pull your chairs closer. Boys, come next to me so I don’t have to talk across the table.” They moved, pulled chairs to my side. Andrew stayed, now a part of our family worry.

I almost lost courage as I looked into their faces. My own fears of losing David, of having our children taken away, of moving through the future as a single parent held calm words captive in a throat closed tight. Magda tilted her head, a frown forming above her eyes. I faked a cough, reached for my glass of water. Fear slid over their faces—eyelids lowering, lips closing, the suggestion of creases forming on foreheads.

Water caught in my throat. I coughed and remembered the worst days when a clean glass of clear water became unreachable because I couldn’t pay our utilities. My family would never sink to that level of life. Never.

“More of the DOE crew was rescued last night in Paraguay and two died. But Dad is still missing.” Phoebe stared at me, Noah looked at his hands, and John leaned closer. “His identity chip isn’t working, so the military have to use other ways to find Dad and the other two.” I kept my voice confident, gentle, and strong. “The best people are searching. That’s what I know. Dad will do everything he can to come home.”

Noah put his head on his arms.

“Where’s Grandpa?” John asked.

“He’s staying in the DOE office building for a while. Grandma is going to sleep there with him.” How to tell them the rest of the story ran through my thoughts.

“Is he helping them find Dad?” Phoebe gave me space for a half-truth.

“Mr. Peterson would like Grandpa closer while they look for Dad. So Grandpa is going to work real hard—be out in the fields during the day and in the DOE building at night.” How to explain the DOE guard came easily. “The DOE will have someone with him so Mr. Peterson knows where to find Grandpa at all times.”

They accepted the story. Magda widened her eyes as I spun partially true stories.

“I’m scared.” Phoebe sat back in her chair, broke the family circle. “What if they can’t find Dad and he’s hurt and can’t escape. What if…”

“My Dad said you gotta walk one step at a time,” Andrew cut in. “I’ll study with you for the exam.” He looked at Phoebe till her head came up. “We’ll pile up good news for when your dad gets home.”

So Andrew pegged his place among the children as a wise child. I offered thanks to whichever parent nurtured his thoughtfulness.

Tears stayed in Phoebe’s eyes, but she calmed. Our daughter understood striving for achievement. I suspected in the future these two would compete hard for honors and recognition, but that night Phoebe treated Andrew as an ally.

“Thank you, Andrew. That’s great advice,” I said. “Let’s take a walk, then do homework.”

“Phoebe, we can do drills while we walk,” Andrew volunteered.

“Sounds like I should get out of the way.” Magda stood and gathered plates. Her company usually gave me time to relax, to be an adult without responsibilities an arm long, but that wasn’t to be tonight.

As they strolled the orchard path along Ashwood’s eastern and then southern walls, Andrew and Phoebe spoke Spanish, French, and Arabic to each other. The young boys stayed close for a short time before childish energy brought on a surge of running and horseplay. I stored the sight and sound of this walk for a future time when David and I would walk again through these trees, talk about our day and our kids and the future. I pulled a Cortland apple from a low branch, cleaned it against my pants, and bit into its crisp surface. From the smell of rotting fallen fruit to yellowing grass, the dry heat of the last week was taking a toll. We needed rain soon. I dropped the apple, left it.

Rounding my foursome back to the residence, I felt as if eyes followed us. All four of us visited the boys’ room to see Andrew’s bed and belongings. I sent the kids to the family quarters to finish schoolwork, considered visiting Paul and Sarah in the DOE office building, and instead headed to the kitchen. I thought I needed a drink and turned toward the water dispenser. Each step took extreme energy on legs that moved as if deep mud sucked at my shoes. I faltered as the remaining dinner cleanup workers’ voices became louder and the room stuffy.

I heard someone gasp an instant before I reached for the counter when lightness claimed my head and my legs gave up the effort of walking. “I feel …”

Perhaps I should have called for help instead of merely describing my sudden weakness. People used to being in charge are often poor judges of their own condition. Thankfully, strong hands made it to my side and eased my final descent as the world went black.

Terrell’s voice issuing directions brought me back to the moment. I rested against his shoulder, felt nauseous and embarrassed. “I’m all right,” I said, projecting a wobbly voice through rubbery lips. “I don’t know what happened.”

“And we don’t know what happened either so you just stay where you are,” Terrell said. “I got you, and you’re staying right where you are until I decide something else.”

With Terrell back on the estate, my medical responsibilities fell to second-in-command, followed by Magda, then Sarah. No one at Ashwood ever had as powerful a natural knack for handling these matters as Terrell. He almost delivered John when labor came early.

“Please help me to a chair in case one of my kids comes in.” His arms tightened as I put my hands on the floor, readying to push myself up. “Terrell, I can’t let them see me.”

“I know, Annie. I’ll let you get up when I think you won’t fall back down.” I felt his hold switch to support. Amber knelt down next to us, offered me a glass of water. My hand trembled as I reached. She helped steady the glass as I sipped.

“Thank you.” I moved myself away from Terrell’s support, closed my eyes when the effort surprised me. But I stayed upright on my own. Amber put the glass on the floor, then sent the remaining workers off to their studies with directions not to mention “Ms. Anne’s accident.” Silence filled the kitchen, an oddity during this hour.

“I’d like to get you to your room,” Terrell said. “If that’s not possible, you’re going to lie on the floor in my office, with your feet up. Will I have your cooperation?”

“Yes.”

He brushed hair from my forehead while I regained my strength. “I think you’re plain tuckered out and not eating,” he said. “Food and early bed.”

“The kids, Terrell. The boys are excited about sharing their room with Andrew, but I can’t leave Phoebe alone.”

“I hear you haven’t had a real night’s sleep in weeks ’cause of Phoebe’s terrors. We’ll take care of her tonight. You got to trust somebody with that girl.”

Amber returned to us in the rather tight space between the serving counter and the drinks station. “How can I help?” she asked, her voice softened.

“I’m feeling better,” I said and pushed myself to stand. Except for a slow churn in my stomach, nothing much happened. “Cook thinks I need help getting to my room, and he’s the expert.”

On the way to standing, I saw a large platter had fallen down with me. Terrell made it possible for me to get to my feet with some dignity. Amber kept me balanced on my feet as he brushed stoneware bits from my clothes. I wobbled my way out of the kitchen between them with a quick stop at Terrell’s office for him to grab a medical kit. Closing my bedroom door, I sat on our bed in a cold sweat.

Amber found my pajamas, turned her back as I changed. She picked up my clothes and opened the door for Terrell, then stayed in the room to witness Terrell conducting a medical assessment.

“You’re not pregnant, your blood sugar is fine, and your heart is strong.” Terrell spoke as he repacked the kit. “So we’re going to call this fatigue compounded by stress. And, you are going to sleep tonight without an alarm in the morning.”

“I have to be available for the five-thirty makeup call.”

“Nope. I’m the medical officer on this estate and I say that’s not going to happen.” Terrell turned to Amber. “Am, please get Ms. Anne a glass of water.” She left for the bathroom. “I’ll call Sarah and they can interview Paul if they want a family member. Amber will sleep with Phoebe, and we’ll get Sarah or Magda if needed.”

“Can we keep this out of the med reports? I don’t want Peterson to broadcast it to the world.”

“I got two weeks until the monthly report is due.” He shook out a sedative. “If you’re cooperative and take this little pill with this nice glass of water, I think we can avoid a remote medical consult.” He held out the tablet. “We’re going to monitor how you’re doing for the next few days to be sure nothing more serious is going on.”

“I really shouldn’t take that, Terrell.”

“That’s not an option.”

One tiny pink pill was the reason I slept through Phoebe’s screaming and why she knocked poor Amber against a wall before walking out of the residence without ever waking up. Because of that pill, my daughter’s small pajama-clad form was captured in the front courtyard on video by Peterson’s team.

Chapter Nineteen

Ms. Anne. Wake up. Ms. Anne” From somewhere near my bed I heard a young girl’s voice, high with fear yet ragged as if it had been pushed through a mush-filled mouth. Terrell’s little pink pill suppressed my natural response, made me think about how to open my eyes or pull on a robe. “Is Phoebe all right?” I asked into the night.

“She’s outside. Through the front doors.” Before I could focus, I recognized the voice as Amber’s and heard tears under the words, maybe pain. “I couldn’t stop her. I’m so sorry.”

“Get Terrell.” I grabbed my wristband, pressed Lao’s icon. “Phoebe’s in the estate,” I said as I stumbled toward my bedroom door. “She’s sleepwalking. We need help. Now.”

“Magda’s got her.” Lao spoke so quietly I had to hold the communicator wristband to my ear. “Go back to bed, Anne. Phoebe’s right here.”

“Where are you? I can’t believe I slept through her call.”

“Stay where you are, Anne.”

“Amber is hurt.” Through the haze I saw blood dripping from her nose, down one hand and arm. “She needs attention. In my bedroom.” I grabbed a towel from a drawer, handed it to her. “Sit down, Amber. Here.” Gently I pushed her to the floor, guided her to hold the towel. “Keep your head level.” I moved away, steadying myself with a hand against the wall. “Someone will be here in a minute, I have to go to Phoebe.”

She tried to stop me, but I was stronger than a twelve-year-old. Even in my muddled sense of awareness, the open front door jangled my alarms. From the steps I heard my vulnerable Phoebe crying for her father.

I rushed down the wide slate steps and through a small garden of carpet roses. Maybe the medication made me unstable on my feet and I stumbled, fell to one knee on the gravel drive. On the other side, in Ashwood’s courtyard, Magda stood with her arms around Phoebe. I waved Magda side, already offering comforting words for Phoebe. Magda stepped aside with reluctance. I took my child in shaky arms, held her close, dried her tears with my shirt.

“Sweet one.” I rocked with her in the cool Minnesota fall night air. Her shoulders stiffened with dream anxiety yet remained almost flaccid like a newborn baby not knowing how to use muscle and bone. I rubbed her back, and as she awoke the cold, damp gravel underfoot registered in her mind that we were not in her room.

“Mom.” The whispered word settled us back where the world felt safer. Terrell appeared, dropped a blanket around her shoulders then gathered her up in his arms. “Where is Daddy?”