Leaving Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  His next footstep happened out of rhythm. I tucked my hand into the bend of his arm. “Frances wants about an hour alone with her. Where are the others?”

  “Amber and John took off to look at office space in the estates’ business building, Faith is giving Noah a tour of the gym.” He hurried through the sentences. “We brought Phoebe home at a critical moment, Annie.”

  The scientist’s gift for understatement in the absence of facts often amazed me. I didn’t respond as I opened Paul’s door. A young man Frances had identified as having healthcare worker potential helped Paul into bed. They talked about dinner and plans for the next day. David placed the pitcher on a table.

  “I thank Doctor Frances every day for training Otis to be such a great assistant,” Paul said while settling against his pillows. “I hope he gets enough time in her office to keep learning. Can’t imagine what bureaucratic idiot thought this kid should spend his life pruning bushes.”

  A grayish pallor had replaced my father-in-law’s rancher tan. Red lines marked his cheeks; dark circles made his eyes appear sunken deep within his face. Otis offered him a small oxygen apparatus. “What a nice dinner. Too bad Andrew isn’t here yet. I’m waiting to hear about Alaska.” He inhaled deeply. “Always wanted to see that state.”

  Except for accommodating an adjustable bed, this space had not changed significantly since I slept here my first night at Ashwood. The outer sitting room held furniture Paul and Sarah brought from South Dakota, and lately a bed for Otis. David leaned against a wall, I sat near Paul, and we chatted about dinner. I told him about Raima’s plans for the next evening, sparking other stories and memories. As he tired, I stood to give Paul a goodnight kiss and suggested we leave.

  “Raima’s coming just to see Dad?” David appreciated our legal counsel’s fine billing technique. “I know they are friends, but that’s still special.”

  “Well, she wanted to come after dinner, but that changed when I asked her for some advice. Actually she’s coming in the late afternoon for a work session.”

  “About Deshomm?”

  His communicator buzzed with the DOE tone. “Damn. I’ve got to take this.” I recognized the change in his voice that still happened when work called. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  Our family quarters had become a busy center. Frances sat next to Phoebe on a sofa. Amber and John lounged side-by-side across from them with Faith leaning near their legs. Noah, always our family dramatist, stood and gestured while telling a story. All appeared relaxed. I joined the gathering, sat in a wing chair, listened to them talk about work and leisure and friends.

  “Grandpa looked good at dinner,” John commented. “We probably tired him.”

  Amber patted John’s knee. “He rested as much as he could today to stay up this late. Faith and I aren’t nearly as exciting as the three of you. I can’t bear to think of him not being here.” She bent her neck, one hand covering her mouth. John pulled her to his shoulder, his chin resting into her hair.

  “I love him.” Phoebe put the words out without embellishment. “I still want to make him smile and be proud. With so many grandchildren, I’ve always had to work extra hard.”

  Frances pushed up from the sofa. “Your grandfather has lived an amazing life.” She touched Phoebe’s shoulder. “It’s my night to supervise the twins’ bedtime so I’d better get out of here. If you need me, call.” Her eyes stayed on Phoebe. “Anytime.”

  She left without offering insight into Phoebe’s condition. I recognized doctor and patient confidentiality, chafed at being kept in the dark. As his wife left, Terrell joined the gathering, bringing a snack of fruit and nuts and sweets.

  Synapses weakened by long absences reconnected and siblings learned the language of each other’s current world, I tried to stay in the moment and experience the family David and I had created. I leaned back against my chair, let go of worrying about a Phoebe relapse and heard about successes and struggles in a very different world than Ashwood. With the exception of Faith, our children had grown up in a time of scarcity and government-controlled structures, starting their adult lives in the era of multi-corps’ domination.

  Nations’ hunger for jobs of any kind had been satisfied by industries with deep pockets as the Second Great Depression eased. Deals were struck, access to natural resources granted, citizens trained to meet employers’ requirements. Economists struggled with models to right size government. Privatization was a tool, then the creed. The old game of states stealing jobs from each other looked like child’s play as the growing corporations shifted operations from country to country in search of cheap labor and loose regulations.

  The conversation had just turned to a wide-range discussion of which multi-corps were infiltrating others’ spaces and John began sharing a story about an agricultural project he completed in Canada when the lights dimmed, then blinked before yellowing.

  “Feels like downtown Chicago,” Phoebe commented. “Damn power grid goes down in the summer when you really need air cooled, goes down in the winter when the wind goes through buildings.”

  I wondered if John still became tense when the lights dimmed, if the trauma of Ashwood’s invasion by a rogue military when he was a little boy left a small scar on his calm exterior. Noah looked at his communicator, a frown forming across his high forehead.

  “Mom, are we okay?” Faith asked the question we all were thinking.

  My communicator pulsed, once long and twice short. Sadig’s signal. “I’ll go check,” I said as I stood. “You all stay here. The residence will stay secure, but the drone field might erode.”

  David, just walking into the room, heard my voice. A frown line deeper than his son’s suggesting either concern or annoyance.

  “What’s Sadig got to say,” he asked as we met in the doorway.

  “He wants me to meet him in Engineering. This can’t be good.”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I want to make sure Dad’s okay.” He turned away like an aged athlete, strong and coordinated, but no longer graceful or swift. Watching him walk down Ashwood’s central hall, I noticed the stiffness in his left shoulder.

  “Wait for me, Mom.” John rose from the floor. “Doesn’t seem like a good plan for you to be walking alone when the security systems might be compromised.”

  He knew nothing of the video of two teenagers standing near my office window last night. I waited for him at the door, hoped this was just an odd coincidence.

  Chapter 11

  Clouds floated across the moon in a sky clearly visible after the sun membranes had been pulled aside and drones floated unencumbered into our courtyard. We had our own power plant. A disruption meant mechanical failure or vandalism. Fortunately at this hour of the night, an electrical issue would inconvenience people more than plants or livestock.

  I thought I saw irritation in the way Sadig looked at John when we entered Engineering. Jaylynn, our chief engineer, worked on a large screen, testing switches and diverting power to sensitive operations. A wall thermometer showed it was still eighty-three degrees outside.

  “Anne, I thought you’d want to see what’s happening.” Sadig didn’t look at John. “We are unable to access the back up generators. The problem is vandalism in the power head.”

  Jaylynn backed away from the screen. “There was an unauthorized entry into our system shortly thereafter, Ms. Anne. Simultaneous program hack and a line partially cut. The perpetrator of the physical damage is locked in a cattle stall.”

  “The engineering crew detected a hacker shortly before the incident,” Sadig said as Jaylynn continued working. “The coding wasn’t very sophisticated, but led to mechanical damage. It’s going to be a long night to bring up some of the growing buildings before mid-day sun.”

  “First priorities have to be Paul’s oxygen and the drone guard.” I spoke directly to Jaylynn. “I
f we can’t get that back to full strength, Phoebe needs to be in the safe room. What’s your assessment?

  She tapped on the screen. “Paul is on a portable generator. I notified Intellectual Corps staff and put our best engineer on patching the drone guard to our largest portable. We had some infiltration before the switch took place and it won’t hold for more than two or three hours, but I understand the IC requirements, ma’am. We’re fully capable of following security protocol.”

  “With the Deshomm issue, shouldn’t there be more protection around my mother?” A challenge sounded under John’s voice. Sadig did not respond.

  “Is the vandal an Ashwood employee?” I knew the answer because no temporary laborer would still be on the estate at this time of night.

  “Jake Peterson.”

  His surname is still common in this land where the Scandinavians settled, but John and I were both startled. “How long has he been with us and in what role?” I pressed my communicator code for David, knew he would find me.

  “He is an engineering student doing a six-month cooperative work-study assignment.” Sadig looked up, established unblinking eye contact with me. “He was raised by his mother in Boston and came to the Institute of Technology under sponsorship of Honeywell. They suggested he spend time in a small installation setting and our work-study engineering assistant was graduating.”

  “Do you know his father?” I shot the question to Jaylynn, unhappy at even the slightest revisit of one of Ashwood’s darkest periods. “Have you heard of Colonel Peterson, a Marine who tried to take control of Ashwood almost seventeen years ago?”

  Jaylynn, a competent engineer and pleasant woman in her mid-thirties, shook her head. “I’ve heard a little about Director David being ambushed and all, but nothing specifically about a guy named Peterson. Should someone have known this?”

  “Why don’t we do a more thorough background check on the kid in the morning.” David entered the room and conversation with a suggestion that showed he had overheard us. “Peterson is a fairly common name in Minnesota. In the meantime, anything I can do to help?”

  “Sadig.” The voice of Max Cravileau, head of operations at Giant Pines, interrupted. “We’ve got power outages in sections of our grid. The property fencing is out near the main barns. Parts of the cattle sheds and milking equipment are also down. Those are the immediate concerns.”

  “We have a situation in Engineering, Max.” Sadig sounded cool, his eyes returning to the wall screen. “How much of the fencing is out?”

  “The pasture lands on the main road side near the cattle sheds and feedlot.” Max didn’t waste words or emotion. He was a native Wisconsinite with farming in his family since they’d emigrated from Belgium two hundred years ago. “We rigged up security lighting and will ride the fence until it is re-activated.”

  “Max, this is David. Any sign of strangers in the barns?”

  A slight hesitation raised tension. “We’re not sure. There are no lights in your herd’s enclosure so we don’t know if anyone’s been in with the cattle. But, someone reported that we’re missing a calf.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. And I’ll bring John.” David looked to Sadig who shrugged one shoulder.

  “Wear barn boots and bring your own lights.” Max sounded as keyed up as I’ve heard him, outside of cheering for his son’s soccer team. “Keep me informed, Sadig.”

  “Will do, Max.”

  “I’m going back to the milking parlor. Anything I should tell people about using lights and such?”

  “Make sure anything not needed is turned off,” Jaylynn directed. “We’ll control power flow over the next twenty-four hours.”

  A dozen or so small blinking drones buzzed around the courtyard during our walk back to the residence. Clearing the estate of the invaders would take most of the next day. We kept quiet. A part of me wanted to join the guys, a part of me was very tired.

  “I need to get to work,” Phoebe was announcing as we rejoined the family. “Three hours of laughing with my sibs was just the mini-vacation Dr. Frances ordered.” She stretched, thin arms reaching outward, her back easing into a lovely curve. “Even though it’s late and dark, I’ve got to see our old room first, Faith. Mom tells me you’ve got the eye for decorating.”

  “The London posters started me.” Standing next to each other, Phoebe and Faith both looked older than their ages. “I can’t believe you’ve not been home since then.”

  Faith stopped to kiss me goodnight. A weaker Phoebe looped an arm around my shoulders and leaned in for a hug. I wanted to follow them, to be sure Phoebe would sleep safe at home.

  “Before you leave, I’ve just learned that protection is compromised on the estate so you both need to stay inside.” Phoebe yawned, unused to thinking about personal security. Faith understood the drill. “If anything changes for the worse, we’ll use the safe room.”

  “No thanks, Mom. You’d have to drug me to drag me into that closet.”

  I knew Phoebe wasn’t exaggerating.

  “We’ll do whatever it takes to keep everyone safe, Phoebs.” I didn’t exaggerate either.

  My own claustrophobia made the family space with windows on two walls more attractive than a dim bedroom. I straightened pillows and tables then stretched out on a sofa with my work pad. Pages from an ADM purchase contract appeared.

  I scrolled through the document signed by a stranger about two hours earlier. ADM agreed to purchase David’s herd of specially bred dairy cattle from a third party for an exorbitant price with a contract execution date three days out. The Hartford, Ltd., representative’s signature scrawled across the screen in an unintelligent collection of bumps. David and I held legal rights over those cattle with no one else authorized to sell or breed the herd.

  “Sadig.” I glanced at the clock while paging. “David.” Moving toward midnight. I’d been up since shortly after four. “We have another situation.”

  My husband answered first, the sound of a transport’s hum coming through under his voice. “We’re driving alongside Giant Pines. What’s up?” Fatigue flattened the vowels in his words, that Germanic influence of the Dakota farmlands teased from M.I.T. educated speech.

  Sadig joined the conversation.

  “Someone has sold your herd to ADM. A third party supposedly acting on your behalf. I received a copy of the purchase agreement. The livestock are to be picked up from a location off of Giant Pines in three days. I don’t know who signed the contract, but it wasn’t either of us.”

  “David, you should stop where you are,” Sadig inserted. “I’ve contacted estates’ regional security for support. This could get dangerous if we have cattle rustlers.”

  “That’s incomplete thinking, Sadig,” David said. “We’re beyond the regional police on the scope of this mess. Anyone at that level could be bribed.”

  David would not have challenged Lao, our former head of security that way. In the morning I’d meet with Hartford’s human capital leader about Sadig. But, as midnight approached, I suggested they develop a game plan. With news that priority areas of the two estates were nearly powered, I told them all to be smart and stay safe before ending the conversation.

  One last note arrived as I began signing off. Andrew would be arriving after lunch. My first child, the son I carried as a surrogate when the world order we now know began forming. The family says he has a number of my features—Hartford eyes, a tendency to sidestep the emotional for the factual, gentleness with children.

  From his first day at Ashwood as a preteen, Andrew’s presence calmed Phoebe. In fact, one summer they both spent at Ashwood as teens, I thought he fell in love with her. I hoped his presence would still quiet her, but stopped thinking at that point. They were both adults now with their own histories of mature relationships.

  Chapter 12

  Anticipating logisti
c issues in the morning with a partially hobbled power grid, I forced myself to go to sleep. Phoebe’s odd collapse brought me back to her years of night terrors and sleep walking through the halls. Tonight she worked, maybe avoiding the difficulty of troubled dreams. I slept until the sun began rising.

  Repeating our decades-old morning pattern, Terrell and I poured coffee and settled in the kitchen to talk and watch the start of Ashwood’s day. We gossiped about the estate, our children, Paul’s health, our shared history. We set aside our business roles to start the day in the comfort of friendly conversation.

  “Jaylynn tells me they need to keep all domestic and office buildings on reduced juice. She’s adjusted the thermostats.” Terrell waved to someone outside the windowed wall. The old small dining room area built to accommodate laborers in Ashwood’s early days housed Terrell’s offices with most of the test kitchen work contracted out. Frances opened the side door, her curly hair still damp.

  He stretched an arm toward his wife, drew her near for a kiss. “Glad our kids got their mother’s good looks.” Frances shook her head and reached around his side for an empty mug. “By the way, Otis was in for Mr. Paul’s coffee around five. Said he woke up feeling good.” He paused, looked over his glasses at me. “And Phoebe asked for a breakfast tray to be delivered to her DOE office about the same time. Cook made up a healthy plate and had it carried over.” Frances sat down, put her mug on the counter, sinking into thought as Terrell spoke. “Don’t think she made it to bed last night.”

  “A cares will arrive today.” Frances let the words settle. “Pretty shocking they didn’t send someone yesterday. Someone here must be watching out for her.”

  We sat in silence. My thoughts shifted from acceptance of Phoebe’s eccentric lifestyle to frustration with the fuss she constantly stirred. I sighed, put the coffee mug down. “As tired as she looks, I’m sure sleep might have been a better choice for her. Can you tell me anything about what happened last night, Frances?”