Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037 (32 page)

“Not that we shouldn’t have that talk,” Lao replied, “but I thought the doctor suggested that you rest.”

“I’m counting four hours sitting on a folding chair in the safe room as rest.” My steady voice broke as I grabbed for another breath while I kept up with the men. “Could we slow down? I only have one good foot.”

“I need about thirty minutes to file reports,” Lao said as he walked away from us to the exterior door. “Call me when you are ready, and we’ll meet in the estate offices if you can walk there.” He waved and went out into the September afternoon.

“I think I need fresh air,” I decided. “Thank you for taking time to stand by my side, Terrell.” I nodded toward my pictures. “If you could take those back to your office, I’ll pick them up later. I’m going outside before I take a shower.”

The short distance from the front door to the kitchen’s side entrance convinced me I did need lunch and a rest. Like the shadow of an eagle’s wide wingspan, calm once more covered the residence. Sarah and Paul drank black coffee at an empty lunch table, kids bumped into each other as they left for classes. Voices carried faintly from the kitchen area.

“Andrew,” I called to him just as my younger kids turned a corner.

He looked my way, concern changing his face from typical youngster to frightened person. We met in the middle of a hallway.

“I wanted to say that you’ve been a trouper since you arrived. You’ve helped the little boys tremendously.” I put one hand on his shoulder with a light touch, gave him space to reject my contact. “I’m sorry this has been so difficult. I’m looking forward to having happier times with you.”

I wish I could rewind the security tape to show his wonderful smile to David, to Paul, to whoever was interested in Andrew’s adaptation to Ashwood.

“My aunt said you were the best person to help me and Ashwood would be a good place to live until college.” He looked at his feet for a few seconds, then really looked at my face. “I don’t want to muck this up. But I don’t feel right just living here. I’ll earn my keep.”

His shoulder felt substantial under the summer-weight shirt. He was a few years away from his teens, not a little boy. “Andrew, you’re my son and having you here is a great, unexpected gift. You don’t have to earn your keep.” I bent to look into his eyes. “I want all the best for you.”

He nodded, the kind of action kids do when they don’t fully understand adult words.

“We can’t replace life with your family, but there are a whole bunch of people here ready to make those years until college go well. We all want you to have a shot at your dreams.”

I saw his shoulders twitch, then relax. “Can I call you Annie?” he asked.

“Certainly. It’s a name only family and really close friends use.”

“That’s what Terrell said.” The moment broke. “I’ll be late for science.”

“Go ahead.”

He moved fast on long legs, maybe the same way his father ran. I made a note to research the Smithsons, starting with Clarissa. Perhaps there could be a role for her at Ashwood so my son could grow up with both halfs of his family.

“Anne, do you have a minute?” Hajar came from behind me.

“If we walk to the kitchen. It has been a long time since I ate last night.” She joined me. “Well, in spite of our military insanity, what do you think of Ashwood?”

“Jason is such a gifted educator. He should be teaching teachers,” she replied. “But he’ll never leave here.” She put her hands together, forming a temple with her fingers. “I wanted to be the one to tell you that the letter of concern has been revoked. That means I’m leaving.”

“Stay with us for a few days. Tell your supervisor that you want to observe Jason.” I held out a hand to her. “I’d love to find out what’s going on in your life.”

Holding out her right arm, she pointed to a slim silver bracelet. “This is what’s going on. I’m heading to North Carolina in a few weeks to marry a wonderful man. The bracelet is a family heirloom. And I have a new assignment near Chapel Hill.”

“Congrats, Hajar.” News of weddings between people who found each other had become more common as society distanced itself from the years of Bureau-arranged marriages. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-three,” she replied and leaned toward me. “I’m three months pregnant,” she said quietly. “We are so pleased.”

“Double congrats.” We hugged. “Do you really need to leave?”

“Mohsen and I filed for our marriage license months ago and have been waiting for our mothers to plan a party.” She raised her shoulders, shrugged. “I need to get back to help. I wish I could stay longer.”

She had more to say. “Before I go, I must tell you that your children are treasures. Phoebe is an exceptionally bright child, and all your boys have great potential. I noticed John has not been tested for the offspring program. I’ll request that he be considered.”

“We’d rather not have him have that classification.” I said nothing about our intention to keep John out of the government’s data bank to preserve some of his freedom as an adult. “What do you think of Andrew?”

“Andrew will do well here. I don’t know why his education got derailed.” Hajar paused, appeared to think. “There is something in his file about having a strong father but a distant mother.”

“That sounds like what he has told me.”

“Well, that gives you lots of room to mother him.” She tipped her head. “Good?”

“Yes, good.” We hugged, knowing it could be the last time. With regionalization of employment and travel, we might never see each other again. I wished her luck and encouraged her to stay in touch.

Workers on release from school for the day stood by every available counter space and table in the kitchen, cleaning or preparing fruits and vegetables for canning. Sarah moved from group to group. My conversation with Magda about harvesting Ashwood’s kitchen gardens felt like a memory of a long-ago past. Light vertigo slowed my walk through the activity.

“Ms. Anne, Terrell had us put a lunch plate aside for you.” Amber stood at my side. “Would you like us to bring food and iced tea to the dining room?”

Knowing her as well as I knew my own children, I was touched by deep emotions when I saw her bruised face. “You and I are both in kind of bad shape. How are you doing?”

“Okay. Cook has been really kind.”

“I insist you find a good book, take your dinner, and go read. No work tonight.” She protested. “Amber, I miss our weekly walks and talks. If you’re willing to walk slowly, we should start again in the next few days.” The first subject would be my interest in offering her legal protection to stay at Ashwood until she turned eighteen. The possibility of the Bureau reassigning her and taking her from Jason’s school had no upside for her.

“I’d like that.”

“Me too.” I moved away. “About your question, a tray would be great, but in the small dining room. Thanks, Amber.” I hobbled through the kitchen to the quiet of the small space and elevated my foot. David consumed my thoughts. He had been seen. They were feeding him. He would have a beard showing, his skin would be the golden color of a kid who grew up on a farm. I knew his strength and determination. I wanted him home.

I pushed the tray aside, hungry but unable to escape the awful murky odor that followed us from the DOE building. I lowered my foot from its resting place on another chair and placed my head on my arms on the table to stretch my lower back. Through my crossed arms I stared at the tiled floor, a color David chose to brighten the small room. The past twenty-four hours catching up with my body, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

“Mom.” A deep childish voice squawked next to me. “Mom, wake up.”

“John, is something wrong?” My words blurred into one sleepy sound. A younger, uninjured woman’s spine might have remained limber after sleeping bent over a table. My back, my chest, and all the other bruises made the simple movement toward sitting upright a struggle. 

“I got the highest score in the whole state on the flying plane puzzle test.” David and I had no idea where little boy John got his manly voice. He bent his head to look into my face as I straightened. “Are you all right, Mom?”

“Fine, honey.” The final stretch of spine brought more normal alignment. “Let me give you a hug. The flying plane puzzle is a really big deal.” My lunch tray had disappeared.

His head settled on my shoulder, a comfortable place, and I landed a small kiss on his coarse dark hair. “Grandpa Paul is in bed. Grandma Sarah says seventy-year-old men can’t take this much physical abuse.” Stepping away, he looked to me with a visual request for assurance that Grandpa and I would be okay.

“He hasn’t slept well for a few nights so he probably needs a long nap. Grandpa’s birthday is in a couple of days.” John adored birthdays—his, anyone in the family, worker kids, favorite adults, the house cats. “Do we have cards and table decorations?”

“Grandpa wants to wait until Dad is home.” He stood on one foot, balancing against the table with fingers. “Does that mean he doesn’t even want one card?” Uncertainty wrinkled across his forehead. “Isn’t seventy a big deal?”

“You’re right. Why don’t you organize your brothers and sister to make a few small things, and we’ll hold off on a big party until later.” Suddenly I wished David’s brothers could leave their farms to wait with us for his return. I resented the scarcity of resources that made travel such a luxury for regular folks while bureaucrats buzzed around in private transports.

John’s face lightened. “Mr. Milan gave me a high five about the puzzle prize.” Those unique arched eyebrows went higher. “And, he sent me to tell you he’d like to meet you in your office in twenty minutes.”

“Nice to mention that now, goofball.” I wouldn’t attempt to stand until John left.

“Oh, and Phoebe said she likes Dr. Frances and invited me to have a snack with them. Got to go.” He turned and hurried out to the lure of food. I called Milan to move our meeting back ten more minutes, then hobbled to clean up and put on clothes that didn’t smell like the DOE building.

Making my way down our residence’s front steps, I stopped to enjoy the soft warmth of a late summer afternoon. The air smelled of a ripening orchard and cut grass. Looking toward the DOE building, I saw a large hazardous materials trailer, suggesting demolition had been ordered.

Staff members smiled as I walked through Ashwood’s office building. I concentrated on moving as normally as possible to assure them that the estate was on track. One or two expressed pleasure about the news of David having been sighted.

In my office, Milan greeted me with a quick, gentle hug. “Last night was one of the longest in my life. I thought there was a significant possibility we would lose you and Paul,” he said. Every age-related wrinkle on his face added to an overall tired appearance. “You look a lot better than I expected from Dr. Frances’s report. Sit down. Do you need to elevate your foot?”

“Thank you, and that would be helpful. Maybe I should have thought about a dose of meds when I freshened up.” From my chair at the small conference table, I could almost reach headache tablets stored in the desk. Milan caught my look. “If you don’t mind, I think there’s a small container of generic stuff right up front in that drawer.”

Two mild tablets chased down by cool water did nothing for tension that kept me anticipating the next invasion of bad news, threatening action, fear. I carefully placed the glass back on a coaster made by Phoebe as a Mother’s Day present. “What do you know about David?”

His silence slowed my breathing, made a second sip of cool water taste like juice from moldy field grass. He shook his head as he said, “Nothing new in the last twelve hours.”

That was the time passed since Paul and I first sat in the food storage room, rescued and dazed. Half a day gone with no progress. I lowered my eyes, pushed a water droplet around the table’s glass top. Silence became the language of my office as I thought about David, about what I should ask, about how tired I felt. “Milan, what is happening to my family?”

In a behavior I knew represented stress, Milan rose to pace the office, stopping here and there to adjust a blind or straighten a light shade. With one foot carefully elevated and the start of a killer concussion headache, I had patience to wait for Milan’s explanation.

He stopped walking, leaned back against a window ledge. “Two stories come together—the rare reality that sometimes bureaucracies think they can hide their troubled leaders instead of removing them and the oldest reason for a man to seek revenge,” he said. I settled back in my chair.

“I’ll start with the personal side. Peterson had the affair of his life with a young science student from New York studying at the University of Michigan. Her family managed to hold on to some part of their comfortable life during the early depression so she had money for dinner out, for good wine, for travel with him. He was a campus military instructor, almost ten years older, didn’t expect to fall in love with a nineteen-year-old girl.”

“Peterson was involved with Tia?”

“Even as a young woman, Tia discarded men when she wanted something new. Peterson may have been obsessed with her, but she was always obsessed with having a good time.” Milan reached for the water, poured himself a glass, closed his eyes while he drank. He twirled the glass, made the ice cubes clink. “As much as possible, Peterson managed posts within a hundred miles or so of Tia. There are pictures of them together when she worked on her doctorate at MIT. They would have had a very enviable life at the time—he earned decent money in the Marines, she had her family trust and graduate stipend. Think of how you were living in the city fifteen years ago—worried about keeping a rented room and eating one meal a day.”