“Lao has set up a safe communication room you should use when you make those contacts.” David hadn’t told me the names of the emergency contacts he’d left with Paul, but I had a short list I intended to call as well. “I can’t say why Lao felt that was necessary, but I’d like you to respect his decision. Check with him.”
“Maybe I’ll take care of that now.” Paul stood. “You should get back into your own clothes before your son arrives,” he said gently. “After all, he thinks you own the place, not milk the cows.” His signature wrinkle of the nose let us both smile.
I not only took off the jumpsuit, but also showered as if I could wash away the morning. While I dressed I thought about calling Milan and realized that if he could do anything he would already be in action. With Milan, Paul, Lao, and Terrell making contacts, I called Andrew’s teachers to talk through his orientation. While they told me their plans, I jotted down two or three names I would try to call about David. After they finished, I closed my eyes and prayed.
Chapter Seventeen
The transport bringing Andrew to Ashwood arrived almost forty minutes late. I sat on a bench near the visitors’ gate with nothing on my mind but wondering about this unknown son, how he would change our lives, and what he might need. Standing just inside the gate, I watched the transport driver exchange documents with our security person before unloading Andrew plus a pack, a big suitcase, and one box.
I knew I shouldn’t crowd his entry by rushing toward him at that moment. He looked straight ahead, inserting his fingers into the security scanner, thanked the guard who helped moved his things through the gate, then stopped as it closed behind him. Andrew took his first steps up our path with determination, like he expected to travel the distance to the front door alone. I remembered that feeling, but this newest resident had a mother to meet him and a sprawling, stucco-covered building to call home.
He didn’t see me as he moved like a city kid, showing no apparent curiosity about this new place. Or maybe he looked ahead straight ahead because there was no landing place behind him. I wanted to call someone to take his things and leave him walk unburdened, but I knew that most of the kids walking through this gate were threatened by separation from what they carried in of the past.
“Andrew.” Unable to wait for my first touch, I approached him after his fourth step. “I’m Anne Hartford. I spoke with your aunt a few minutes ago and promised I’d be sure you knew that she is thinking of you.” I held out my hand. “I also told her that she is welcome to visit or stay with us any time. The bigger our family becomes, the stronger we all can be.” Auburn highlights in his dark hair captured the late morning sun, bringing painful thoughts of whether my mother ever saw my brother just like this. Would I remember this moment throughout our lives? “I want to welcome you here and hope you make Ashwood your home.”
Standing still, carrying his things, he looked not at me, but at our surroundings. “My aunt said you own all this. That can’t be right.”
His comment didn’t hit me as odd coming from a child of intellectuals who lived in comfortable settings, but seldom owned real estate. “Your aunt is right. Ashwood started as a government estate, but I have owned it for a little over seven years.” I held out a hand. “Let me carry one of your bags.”
“This one isn’t too heavy.” With a small grunt he transferred the suitcase, which weighed as much as a three-year-old child, to my hand.
“We can carry the box together. When do the rest of your belongings arrive?”
“This is it.” He increased the space between us. “We didn’t pack my winter stuff because nothing fit. My aunt sold my coat and stuff to the consignment store.” We walked another three steps in silence. “The suitcase is heavy because of my books.”
“You’re right about it being heavy,” I acknowledged but wondered where all the furnishings of his parents’ home might be stored. “Are you hungry?”
Andrew turned intense dark eyes to me. I recognized the look of food deprivation, almost as if the body rations energy and sends an alarm to all the senses to use only what is necessary.
“Terrell held lunch for you. Remember, on estates we don’t worry as much about food.” I offered information to comfort this boy who wouldn’t have known real hunger before his father’s death. “We might eat things you don’t care for like fish or oatmeal or lots of vegetables, but Terrell has a way with food.”
“We only need to eat to feed our bodies,” Andrew said with a note of disapproval. “My father ate too much and was flabby. My mother thought he’d fail his physical requirements.”
“You won’t find overweight people here unless they are inexperienced day laborers. We’re very physically active. Do you like sports?” He nodded, turned his head my way in a first genuine connection. “There are soccer games late every afternoon until we have too much snow to keep the field clear. Thanks to my husband, David, we have softball competition from April through September. Some people cross-country ski and snowshoe in the fields in the winter. Any of those fit you?”
“Yes ma’am.” He shifted his back pack. “I’d like to get on a soccer team.”
“Great, I’ll let Lao know. He runs our soccer schedule.” We moved in silence until I opened another subject. “After you eat, our first priority is introducing you to Teacher Jason.” I looked for some reaction to my mentioning school. Andrew walked forward, now watching his feet. “He may be the best estate head of school in the nation.” Still no response. “Your tests and records show you are a bright student.” Andrew’s head came up, and he looked toward the residence. “The school building is just southwest of the residence.” His eyes followed my pointing finger.
“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”
“I trust your word.” We walked the final yards to Ashwood’s kitchen entrance. “I thought we’d go in this way because this is how we all tend to go in and out of the residence. The kitchen is a pretty informal area except during meal prep. You can stop in any time for fruit or something to drink.”
“You don’t have to be so nice.” He sounded like the survivor kid he had become. “I’m not a soft intellectual kid anymore. I learned to be self-sufficient. I’ll just pack myself some food in the morning.”
“No, Andrew, you’ll join everyone for three meals a day. That’s what our family does.”
“What am I supposed to call you, ma’am?”
“How about if you start with Anne?” I saw his head nod. “I have a lot of titles. Most of the workers call me Manager Anne. Some of the adult laborers call me Ms. Anne. Phoebe and Noah have always called me Mom because they were infants when their biological mother passed away.” We were almost to the house. “What did you call your parents?”
“Father and Mother.”
His shoulders were so close; I put my right hand on the one closest to me. “I’m glad you’re here, Andrew.” Emotion thickened my voice. “We’re in the middle of a difficult time and you know about those.” He didn’t move away. “Your arrival fills in a hole in my heart.”
We walked a few steps together. I stored the feel of him and the sweetness of this moment for when the getting to know each other process became rough. I opened the residence’s back door and gestured for him to go in first. “Welcome to your new home, Andrew Smithson.”
“Come on in, son, and let me help you with that box.” Paul extended a hand and smiled. “I’m Paul Regan, Anne’s father-in-law and grandpa to the Regan clan. If you’d like to call me Paul, but treat me like a grandfather, I would be honored.” He hefted Andrew’s box, then relieved me of the suitcase. “Cook Terrell has the makings for a good sandwich on the counter. Introduce yourself to him, grab some food, and I’ll see that these things get to your room.”
Andrew followed Paul’s directions with visible respect and a humble attitude. I felt Terrell assess our similarities, saw surprise in the way his eyebrows raised, and knew the boy would be recognized as mine. My friend looked my way, let his droopy eye close into a wink.
“Well, Andrew, I first heard about you when Phoebe was days old. She was born a few weeks before your birthday and your mother felt sad remembering the little time she had with you.”
“My mom said she loved you before you were born,” John’s deep little boy voice in the kitchen surprised me. “I’m your real brother, John. If you need help with anything here, you can ask me.” He extended a hand. “We’re going to share a room with Noah, my other brother. He can be your other brother, too.”
“Why aren’t you in classes?” I asked, trying not to look at Terrell in case we both laughed out loud.
“I couldn’t pay attention because I saw Andrew walking with you.” My matter-of-fact kid was honest. “Teacher let me go.” His eyes moved from Andrew to me, them back to his new brother. “And, I’m hungry. I think I forgot to eat enough lunch ’cause we talked so much about you.”
Terrell’s laugh, so low and rich that children always responded, answered John’s indirect food request. “I have enough to feed at least two boys. Go show Andrew where to wash up and how to get back to the kitchen. You two can eat at the counter.”
Andrew didn’t look back as John led him from the kitchen. I turned to Terrell.
“Still the Ashwood I love,” he said. “Never have to worry about feeling alone. You going to sit with the boys? I got iced tea and a few cookies waiting.” While he spoke, he set plates on the breakfast bar he insisted we build years ago. “By the way, anyone who sees that boy next to you is going to know you’re related.” He shook his head. “Amazing how genetics works.”
“Thank you. For everything.” My wristband pulsed and I read the message. “Damn, it’s Peterson. I need to meet him in my office.”
Paul, returning with the boys, reminded me of Lao’s directions that I not be alone with the man.
“Is Dad all right?” John’s easygoing befriending of Andrew slipped. “Isn’t Mr. Peterson the one with news about Dad?”
“He might have news, or he might want to talk about the DOE crew working here.” I rubbed his back lightly. “You two eat your snack. If I’m not back in twenty minutes, could you introduce Andrew to Teacher Jason?”
“This is the way it is around here,” John said to Andrew. “She’s busy during the days, but we have family time at night. When my dad isn’t traveling, he eats breakfast and lunch with us. You’ll like him.”
Paul and I hurried through the residence and office building passage. Rain clouds had begun to gather over Ashwood’s distant fields. Good news for the farm, but superstitiously I hoped they were not forewarning me of difficult news. Catholics like my mother or Sarah might have made a small sign of the cross. My right hand twitched at the thought of that long-ago comfort gesture.
The DOE guard stopped us, made Paul answer questions that I understood to discourage my father-in-law from entering the offices. But I would follow Lao’s direction that I not meet Peterson alone. I tapped Milan’s code into my wristband. When he didn’t respond, I gave him open access to the conversation about to take place.
“You’ve done your job,” I told the guard. “You’ve known Paul to have absolute access for all the years you’ve worked in this building. Your son plays on the soccer team my father-in-law coaches, so don’t treat him like a stranger.”
“New rules, Manager Anne.” The woman kept her eyes low.
“This is still my property that the DOE rents.” I gave her a small smile because our sons played together. “Please don’t make this any more difficult a time than it is for my family.”
“You have my thoughts and prayers, Manager Anne,” she said. The door opened. “They’re waiting for you in Director David’s office.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Paul kept his voice low. “I thought these guys were here to make sure the media were kept at bay and to take care of you. Now I wonder whose side they are on?”
Not being part of my earlier conversation with Peterson and Milan, Paul didn’t know whose side the players lined up on. “It does feel awkward,” I said to provide an answer without real substance.
As soon as we entered, I headed to my office, relieved to see the door was still closed. They may have tampered once more with the lock David had installed, but for the moment all appeared normal.
Paul trailed behind me on my way to David’s office where Peterson waited at David’s conference table. I noticed that more pictures were in different places, and a pitcher of water with unfamiliar glasses stood on a tray on the edge of the desk where David kept work reports. All the subtle changes irritated me while signaling more challenges coming from this man.
“You didn’t need to disrupt Mr. Regan’s work, Manager Hartford.” Peterson rose from a chair. “I merely wanted to update you in person.”
“It is more efficient for both of us to hear your update at the same time.” I remained standing. “And I prefer that you work in a visitor’s office or conference room. David will not appreciate the disruption of his things. Is it DOE practice to go through their directors’ work space within days of any interruption of their normal activities? Have your staff ruffled through David’s things when we vacationed away from Ashwood?”
The man flushed, perhaps flustered at my words, or irritated at my willingness to challenge his poor decisions.
“Maybe you thought you could find information in David’s office to help you locate him?” I stopped, stepped back into the hall. “I won’t meet with you in there, nor will I ever sit down at that conference table with Ms. Sweetwater.” Paul stepped aside as I moved toward my office. “We’ll use my table.”
They followed me. I placed my hand on my door, felt the security system hesitate before the door opened. Nothing looked out of place, but now I knew my space had been searched and probably bugged.
“Hopefully your crew didn’t upset the estate files,” I said as I pulled out my chair at the table. “You see, the scanner had a bit of a hiccup at the door—a signal to me that there has been another breach.”
“We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, Manager Anne.” Peterson looked at me with eyes like deep Great Lakes winter water, dark and blue. “I apologize. I may have taken liberties with these offices assuming they operate like most DOE-owned facilities.”
“Mr. Peterson, you know this is now leased space on privately-owned land. The DOE has played a supporting role in Ashwood’s success and I am appreciative. Let’s not get into boundary issues. I only ask respect as you work with us.”
Paul sat. Peterson continued to stand.
“Sit down, Mr. Peterson.” My fear of what he might tell us about that small third group of ambushed Americans gentled my voice. “We are eager to hear what you know about David.” I tried to sort out what Lao told me from what I knew through the morning interview. “The last I know is that only the group including David is still missing in Paraguay.” Like a hungry animal watching food carried by another, Paul’s eyes followed Peterson’s moves. “Please, sit and talk with us.”
He pulled out a chair and lowered himself as if sitting might corral him in an unwanted position. Paul leaned back; I stayed upright with elbows resting on the table. Outside clouds thickened suggesting a sudden rain storm’s arrival. Andrew might have to wait a day to find a soccer game. Paul fidgeted.
“There have been developments,” Peterson began. He spoke like the manager of a troubled company trying to maintain face while offering false comfort to investors. I concentrated on maintaining my own calm and strength.
“As you mentioned, the ambushers split the group, and American military personnel rescued most of our team within the last twenty-four hours.” I nodded. Paul did not respond. “The remaining individuals were divided into two groups.”
Peterson paused. I wondered if he needed to restructure what he said because Paul did not know the full story, or if the presence of another man in the room changed his style. “We located one group, but David is among three DOE staff still missing.”
“Use that damn tracking chip and find hi
m. I can’t believe the U.S. military can’t just resolve this and bring my son home.” Paul, brother of a marine and son of a Vietnam vet, grew impatient with the bureaucratic verbal dancing. “This should have been over yesterday. Who’s in charge?”
Before Peterson responded, Lao’s words came to mind. “Paul, the tracking chip is only technology.” Speaking to my father-in-law, I kept my voice low. “These individuals could remove the chips. Is that what you’re going to tell us, Mr. Peterson?”
I appeared to sidetrack Peterson’s presentation. If I had not asked him specifically to sit with us, the hands positioned palm down on his chair might have propelled him back to his feet to deliver the rest of this carefully worded update.
“Yes, the tracking chips of those missing were removed.” I closed my eyes, feeling again a sense of nausea in response to David’s pain. “We found those chips alongside the bodies of two other DOE crew.”
The next few minutes of conversation barely penetrated my terrible fear about David’s safety. I wondered if Paul’s intensity was response to knowing that two crew members had been killed. Paul’s voice, while strident, also sounded like an old man demanding the impossible.
“Where is that site?” Paul now leaned forward, so close to Peterson that he could grab him. I don’t think I could have held Paul back if he had tried. “What country is holding David?”
“Personnel on the ground tell us David is being held by Paraguayan military within the country’s borders.”
I closed my eyes, understanding through all of Peterson’s bravado that the Paraguayan situation had spiraled with no one now in control.
“It’s a stinking small country. Heat-seeking technology can find these people faster than you can drive back to the Cities.” Like a commander himself, Paul directed the conversation. “I want a complete report from a military representative within the next half hour. Anne and I will wait here.”
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