“The night of the security breach, he expressed interest in having Phoebe transferred to his guardianship and assigned to his family home.” With a long swallow, Milan emptied his glass. “If you weren’t on painkillers, I’d pour us something with alcohol.” He sat around the table from me. “Peterson apparently believed that if David Regan had not won Tia’s attention and affection, the Marines would have approved his marriage to her. The investigators found correspondence between the two of them right up to the day she died. Let’s say Peterson became convinced David should be punished for her death.”
“Peterson was insane.” My hand touched the edge of a butterfly suture under my shirt. “I thought he might kill me last night. And what about the man who twisted my ankle?”
“Peterson’s right-hand aide. A man with his own devils.”
I knew basically good people sometimes did bad things in order to feed their kids. I saw it happen on the street, had my bag taken at knifepoint. But I never met a person who injured others for pleasure like Peterson’s aide. My ten minutes in his control moved evil from an abstract concept to concrete reality.
“Peterson and two other officers did receive directions to cause an incident in Paraguay. As David told you, there was no reason for him to be part of the group.”
Sitting hurt, walking hurt, standing hurt. None of that mattered as I wondered if Peterson’s command of the Paraguay ambush might extend beyond his own death. If nothing would bring an end to Peterson’s influence until David was also dead. I attempted to straighten my spine and wondered if knowing the answer to that question would be helpful. Milan sighed, the sound that comes before difficult words. I stopped searching for physical comfort to bring emotional relief.
“When his aide came to us with the proposal to set up a communications base here as well as staff a security patrol, the Bureau thought it would provide your family and Ashwood comfort and safety. No one could know, Peterson hoped to create chaos—the kids living elsewhere, you dead, the business destroyed.”
“Will David be rescued?” After I asked the question, I looked out the window at the large agricultural operation my South Dakota farm-boy husband loved. Ashwood, where child workers could use late-afternoon free time to play games or sit on the screen porch of the school building and study. One of his spare-time projects, a swing set built for kids and adults, attracted two teenagers. The girl wore her hair as short as possible. The boy also wore a close buzz style. “You’re not answering, Milan. You’re always honest with me.”
“Peterson didn’t leave a coherent communications trail, so military investigators are piecing together data about the mercenaries who are involved. It’s true that the U.S. is in Paraguay because of government corruption with terrorists and mercenaries steering the ship. That makes the search challenging.” He leaned toward me. “Keep your hopes up. When this story leaks, heads will roll in some high levels of the military establishment.”
“Is your job secure?”
“Don’t worry about that, Annie. I think I’m signed on to parts of this job for life.”
My chest bruise ached, an irony I kept to myself. “Let’s keep this part of the conversation private. Hope is so much easier to live with than doubt.”
“With the expanding media circus, I’ve changed my mind about your taking the family to South Dakota for a break. If Lao can provide security, you should go.”
“You’re not a farmer, Milan. This is almost the worst time of the year for a crisis or a getaway.” I paused. “I’d like Paul to be evaluated by a good geriatric specialist. If he and Sarah want a getaway, send them. I don’t want the kids separated from school and friends.”
“I agree Paul is tired. I can have those arrangements made tomorrow.” Milan made a note, looked up. “How worried are you about him?”
“Moderately. He carries a lot of responsibility here and is taking David’s absence hard. When he’s stressed, he’s started to rub his chest and his breathing sounds labored.”
I checked the time. “Terrell and Lao are expecting us for dinner in twenty minutes. Strange to think that yesterday we introduced Hajar and Dr. Frances to the kids over dinner.”
Milan didn’t smile. “You’re a strong person, Anne. Four kids, two grandparents, dozens of employees, and the extended community rely on you to make good decisions and you don’t let them down. While the Bureau had no reason to know of Peterson’s intentions, we accept responsibility for putting you through hell.”
When the government was flush with money, such statements often preceded offers of cash. Ashwood experienced interruption of its business and would file for compensation to cover our losses and expenses. I wanted my husband and our life, not cash.
“So what now, Anne?”
“I get a good night’s sleep, wake up tomorrow, probably hurting like hell, and hope for a more normal day.” Putting my hands on the table, I remembered Dr. Frances’s mission at Ashwood. “I’ll concentrate on Phoebe’s situation and spend time with Andrew. Maybe Dr. Frances could help all of the family process the trauma of the past week.”
“I was hoping you’d say you would follow the doctor’s direction and sit in a chair and let your head heal.”
A knock sounded at the door before I replied. Amber and a second worker waited with a dinner cart.
“Cook Terrell thought you’d do better eating here than walking back to the dining room.” She bowed to Milan and greeted him by name, then set up the table with baked chicken, fresh garden vegetables, warm biscuits.
“Amber, Cook says your injuries will take time to heal. Make sure you are better than Ms. Anne about following his directions. He’ll know when you’re ready to return to a full schedule.” He smiled. “And Teacher Jason tells me you are very good with languages,” Milan continued. “Korean, French, Spanish—quite impressive.”
“Ms. Anne started that all,” Amber said, blushing a beautiful rose under her warm brown skin. “She said every worker at Ashwood would have a mentor, and my first mentor was Nurse Kim. When I was little, she would talk to me in Korean or French every day. I like the way languages are put together.”
What I remember of Nurse Kim was how she presented me with my first true management challenge—neutralizing the personal agenda of a staff member. As a distraction, I assigned her responsibility for mentoring a five-year-old Amber, who was having problems learning to read.
Milan spoke to Amber in French. She answered, her eyes brightening. Their conversation continued. I closed my eyes, the heaviness of Peterson’s hatred fitting my shoulders like an old, old winter coat.
“We’ve put Ms. Anne to sleep,” Milan said softly.
“No, I was just thinking about how cute Amber was as a little girl.” I smiled her way. “Now that I’ve embarrassed you, we’ll let you go. Please thank Cook Terrell.”
Cheeks once again pink, Amber departed.
“When everything slows down, if that girl is interested, I want to adopt her. Or at the least apply for legal guardianship.” Milan listened. “We adore her. She’s smart and has potential if she can stay in a good school with supportive people. I don’t know if I can remove her from the worker class, but I’d like to.” Talking about the future felt good, hopeful. “Of course I need to speak to David, but he knows how I feel.”
“I gave you the name of an adoption lawyer. Give him a call.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lao brought the smell of a sun-warmed day to our dinner gathering, and I wondered how to replace the freedom of outdoor running until my ankle healed. He looked tired as he exchanged logistics information with Milan about the need to move the hazmat trailers. We served ourselves, unfolded napkins, began our meal before beginning business talk.
“The military’s investigative team cleared out earlier than we expected, and there is agreement about unacceptable chemical contamination of the building. It needs to come down as soon as possible.” Lao offered the information with no inflection in his voice, as if talking abo
ut demolishing an old field shed.
“DOE has absolute authority to make that decision.” I spoke as the estate owner even though the plan broke my heart. “But, our contract does require them to rebuild, and we have the right to approve the replacement design.”
“Do you want them to rebuild?” Milan’s question surprised me.
“David has almost three years left in his DOE contract. If he can’t work from here, he’ll have to spend significant time in the city.” Once he came home, I wasn’t ready to risk having him away. “They deeded the building to us last year, and we had long-term plans for its use. In the short-term, the DOE gifted student group will require lab space.”
“I agree with Anne,” Lao added. “We use their conference rooms, our school uses labs, and having Anne based in that building frees up this office. From an engineering perspective, Ashwood truly benefits from DOE’s technology projects.”
Remembering my conversation with Terrell days earlier, I brought a few negatives to the discussion. “On the other hand, we feed extra people, which will be an issue if food supplies become tighter. There is also the DOE affection for planting listening devices. How often do we sweep for bugs, Lao?”
“At least once a week. But don’t forget that we find as many Bureau devices in the residence.”
Milan blew a small laugh out through his nose. “Jeremiah, the cook you fired, was on Peterson’s extended payroll. And in turn, Jeremiah taught Antwone a few tricks. I think with both of them gone, you’ll find less government listening at Ashwood.”
“Did you know about Jeremiah and Antwone?” From the creases above Lao’s eyes and the tight line of his mouth, I suspected Milan’s information was news. Lao shook his head.
“It would be nearly impossible for an outsider to worm into the military expenses system to track down payments made to Jeremiah,” Milan volunteered. “Unless you looked for Feed Our Souls Kitchen and knew Jeremiah’s friend created that front for a handful of illegal activities.” He saw Lao frown. “Don’t fire your intelligence mole, Lao. I stumbled on the information at a Twin Cities benefit event.”
The food on my plate, a precious commodity, no longer held appeal as the precarious safety of my family was uncovered. Jeremiah, who had fed us each day and managed our food sources, collected pay from a madman bent on destroying my husband.
“You’ll receive a copy of the investigation report, Anne.” Milan speared a cherry tomato. “When does the DOE want to move on demolition?”
“In three days.”
Lao’s words began a string of questions in my mind. “What’s the hurry? Could they wait until we’re through with harvesting the orchards?”
“There is a possibility the building could explode.” Lao waited for me to ask another question, continued when I stayed quiet. “A team has begun packing what can be saved. Anything in the basement needs to be destroyed. There is also a contamination issue in the empty office next to yours, Anne, so they recommend we not save any of the furniture from either space.”
Tears formed in my eyes as Lao spoke. David and his father built or refinished each piece of my furniture.
“I want to pack my office.” I meant the words.
“It’s in the hands of the hazmat folks, Anne. Maybe tonight we can garb you up to supervise one of their people.”
“Any impact on Ashwood operations during demolition?” Milan reached over to cover my hand with his while planning moved forward.
“The walkway from the residence is being sealed right now.” Lao took out his data pad. “Everyone needs to be off the premises when the building comes down in case of airborne particles, so we’ll transport workers, staff and family members to Giant Pines. Before that happens, the demo crew will build a dome-type barrier over the building.”
“Who’s packing David’s things?” I wanted to sit in his chair once more, look at the shelves he built and his favorite collection of old sci-fi books.
“DOE’s taken care of anything related to them. Anything remaining will be handled by the same crew that packs the rest of the building.” Lao sat back. “It makes me nervous to think such strong contaminants have been in the lower level of a building so close to the residence and school. I insisted that they notify us of such dangers in the future.”
“Did they say when they would start rebuilding?” I knew the answer would be tied to David’s return. From the minute pressing together of Lao’s lips before he answered, I guessed the suggested date.
“That’s difficult to establish right now,” he offered. “Soil testing needs to be conducted and infrastructure examined for integrity.” His words slowed. “Assuming no problems, probably two to three months.”
Before my emotions crashed, before tears flowed, I struggled to find a way to complete what we had to accomplish. “Include me in discussions with the DOE property folks, Lao.” I sighed. “Let’s give the demo crew as much time as we can. Take everyone to Giant Pines for a barbecue and campout. The kids can sleep on the floors or in tents. Anyone who wants to stay should be able to do that, but I’d like Sarah and Paul to be with my kids. Put Jason’s team in charge of fun.”
It might have been admiration in Milan’s eyes when I looked across the table. I prefer to think he was surprised that I could be the manager at such a bleak moment, and not that he wondered if I was in complete denial. I needed to be alone. “Lao, maybe I could ask you to work that plan?”
“Sure, Anne.” His eyes followed my slow rise from the chair. “Need help?”
“Just air and time to think,” I said. “Milan, do we need to talk business?”
“We’ve set the clock back forty-eight hours, Anne. You’re in charge, the kids are back under your care. I return to the city tonight assuming you will prepare a thorough report of the present and anticipated expenses incurred because of this episode.” He rose. “Do let me walk you back to the residence.”
“Thanks. Lao, let me know when I can get into my office. I’ll supervise packing of my space and David’s personal things.” He stood up as well. “And thank you for steering the estate during these past days.”
Minnesota September evenings feel so different from the same time of day in August or July. The air cools quicker, the sun drifts toward its resting place with purpose, leaving no doubt of moving into a time when everything must be harvested, covered, protected from the Minnesota cold. Leaves change color, each variety taking center stage with rare vibrancy for a few days. David’s favorite time of year, I thought. This time I let the tears begin.
Milan guided me away from the residence, the curious children, the anxious family. We walked over already cooling earth toward a pond dug to balance the earth’s elements around our home. We sat on a bench built early in the summer by David and our boys. The whole family looked forward to planting a new garden in the fall. David developed a landscaping plan, which I hadn’t seen before he left. For all that might be lost, I placed my head in my hands and cried.
Chapter Thirty
When I was a girl, posttraumatic stress disorder became a widely used diagnosis to explain irregular behavior of discharged soldiers, abused women, children raised in war. The big D dropped millions of us into unbelievably horrible situations, and we stopped talking about the long-term psychological impact. We had survived and walked the earth hoping nothing as awful would ever happen again.
I cried and scrambled to find emotional balance. Milan sat close, his arm across the back of the bench, and told me what he admired about David and our kids. I listened until I could manage a steadier voice. We agreed that there was hope David would return. If the worst happened, Milan promised he would personally bring the message to Ashwood.
Needing to return to the cities, Milan offered to help me to the dining room. Paul and Sarah led the dinner conversation. Their chairs appeared closer than normal, and I saw Sarah’s hand resting on Paul’s leg. Dr. Frances sat between the younger boys and laughed at one of John’s knock-knock jokes. Everyone looked tired.
“Mom.” Phoebe jumped from her chair and ran my way for a hug. I noticed Dr. Frances watching my daughter’s movement but didn’t mind. Phoebe’s head rested near my chest wound, her hands touching at the top of the bruise on my back. This was the way parenting happened—love was offered and accepted and sometimes hit touchy spots.
“I’ll have a cookie,” I said as the boys dragged a chair to the table for me. Sarah put one of Terrell’s best sugar cookies on a plate and moved it in my direction. With so many heavy topics on our minds, I wanted to steer us to a normal activity, one without emotion. “If anyone needs help with homework, I’m all yours. Anyone?”
“We don’t have any,” Andrew said. “Teacher Jason said we should relax after all that stuff this morning.”
“Could we have a game night?” Noah made the suggestion while shoulder-bumping John.
“That sounds like a great idea, and I bet even your grandpa might be easy to beat tonight.” Paul scuffawed and the boys chuckled. “I’ll play until I get paged to pack our things in the DOE building.” They would be sad about the building’s demolition, but had to be told. “It has to be taken down because it is very damaged.”
“We’ll help you pack,” Phoebe stated, as if she were in charge. “We don’t need to play games.”
“Thanks, sweetie, but there are contaminants in the building so only adults can enter. We have to wear special clothes.”
John said what many at the table thought. “What will Dad think when he gets home and his stuff is all in boxes?”
Sarah’s eyes brightened with tears. I dug deep to stay confident for the kids. “Dad probably knows exactly what bad chemicals were used in the lab and will explain it all to us. He and I will both be sad because we have special family memories of each of you connected to those offices.” I looked toward Andrew. “Even you. The last conversation David and Paul and I had in my office was about you joining our family.”
Paul winked at Andrew. “That’s right. Pretty exciting conversation.”
Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037 Page 25