Leaving Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  Raima’s review of the White House forms was summarized in five sentences: “Congratulations. No way out. Make the best of it. Forms are sloppy, but non-negotiable with the exception of reimbursable expenses, staffing, and housing. Repeat, make the best of it.” As directed in the original packet, she directly billed the White House vetting office.

  Before our afternoon meeting I completed the White House packet and took my place on the federal government payroll as Special White House Commissioner Anne Hartford. In forty-eight hours I would be official with authorization to lease both office space and living quarters in Washington, D.C., and hire the first of a dozen staff.

  Young people who don’t want to spend their lives traveling, or may not have the best scores on annual achievement examinations, gravitated toward federal government jobs. Decent wages, wonderful benefits, and the possibility to climb your way up the wealthy rungs of the Washington, D.C., career ladder looked attractive to kids living in cramped multi-generational metro housing. Federal jobs provided the closest living to the old middle-class. Reviewing the compensation and fringe benefits offered for my one-year commission made me pause. The starting pay levels for my D.C. staff, beyond reflecting a ridiculous cost of living adjustment, would provide generous increases for quite a few of our Ashwood employees. I thought about options.

  Chapter 36

  As a child I played schoolteacher with dolls and stuffed toys balanced behind shoebox desks. Not one person who knew Anne Hartford from before the Second Great Depression would recognize the corporate executive preparing to hand off leadership of a decent size corporation to accept a presidential appoint­ment. The Annie they knew wanted a nice career as a teacher, time for her husband and children, a comfortable home. I had hoped to put my kids through college, see Europe, and travel the United States.

  Many of those people are dead now. Some didn’t survive the starving years of the depression. Some couldn’t survive the grueling labor years of the recovery. Others gave up. The Bureau of Human Capital Management used psychological assessments to put people without needed skills back to work. They probably inventoried the potential jumpers or wrist slashers as well. No resources were used for the future of those who wouldn’t return the investment.

  I spent three years in a Washington, D.C., training center learning to manage an agricultural production facility staffed by assigned workers and children taken from their city homes. The bitter, solemn, and emotionally damaged Anne Hartford who walked down Ashwood’s hall to her first meeting had no line of sight to the woman she would become. When I could dream about my future once more I repeated the pattern of my great-grandparents coming out of the first great depression and looked to build security for those I loved. The only way out of the government-assigned workforce was bona fide labor in a family business that contributed to the nation’s security. That’s what David and I built to offer shelter of good, honest employment to our kids.

  With an acceptable education program and social service plan, Faith had five years before assignment and could chose Hartford, Ltd., an option not available when her siblings entered the work registry. This day was why I grew the company with David and Paul in support. If our children wanted to be part of Hartford, Ltd., they had a choice, a priceless freedom in our nation.

  From grants given David and me twenty-seven years earlier in compensation for serious government infractions, we had built ourselves a tidy empire. In the bipolar economic structure of the mid-twenty-first century, we were on the safe side. Hartford, Ltd., was diversified across industries and flush with cash. Pre-second depression our children might have lived off trust funds. Post-second depression our children were given the gift of working in a healthier environment.

  Deshomm and the president may have rushed the timing, but our children were ready to make decisions about their work futures. We sat around a large conference room table with Andrew on hologram. Clarissa was present to ensure the accuracy of our meeting’s records and monitor incoming communications. I asked Terrell, Magda, Lao, and Max to be part of the group because they each headed significant parts of our operations. Raima and our external services director joined later as consultants.

  “Much has changed in the last twenty-four hours, which is why I’ve asked all of you to change your schedules to make this meeting possible. I wish Phoebe were able to join us, but we can’t delay.”

  Regardless of relationship, each person in the meeting looked professional, even Faith. I noticed Terrell studying me during updates on Phoebe. He looked tired. Losing a night of sleep wasn’t easy on any of us so far past our twenties. I smiled at him as the small talk ended.

  “You were all asked to accept a new code of confidentiality. Take it very seriously.” I paused, slowed down what would be shocking to my children. “If you followed any media today you know that a difficult conflict occurred within the Bureau of National Human Capital Management. I don’t have details to share except to tell you that last night our friend Milan was appointed Secretary of a restructured Bureau.”

  Small applause followed the news along with comments about being close to someone who was close to the president. David and Lao were quiet.

  I drew in a breath. “In two days President Hernandez will be announcing that I have been commissioned to form a Board of Ethics within the new Bureau. This is very confidential.”

  All chatter about Milan’s rise died. The kids and I had lived in the metro area for a few years while Andrew, Phoebe, and Noah attended a gifted offspring school. But our children thought of me as mom and a fixture of Ashwood.

  “Congratulations, Annie. We’re very proud.” Fatigue lifted from Terrell’s face as he smiled. “Milan’s been trying to get you off Ashwood, and he finally got the president of the United States on his side.” He nodded his head.

  “Will you move to Washington, D.C., Mom?” Our youngest child, the only one who still saw me every day asked. “And could I come with you? Washington, D.C., would be so great.”

  “Will you be leaving Ashwood? What about Hartford?” Magda kept the meeting business-oriented.

  Briefly I wondered how Magda would work with David. She ruled agricultural production. If she didn’t have strong interpersonal skills with her management team down to common day laborers, I might have had to replace her. We were longtime friends, but that didn’t stop her from being challenging and headstrong when convinced hers was the only right way to accomplish a goal.

  “I’ll answer your question on two levels.” I felt freed. “I don’t really know the full scope of the president’s expectations for the Ethics Board. My contract stipulates that I will work an average of four days per week in Washington, D.C., through the first ninety days of my service, with air transport between Minnesota and the capital provided by the government.”

  “Will we contact you when there are questions?” Magda tilted her head, her lips closing tight after her last word.

  “For Hartford, Ltd., this will be a time of change. We’ve decided to formalize the board of directors and look outside for appropriate industry members. I will limit myself to sitting as chairman of the Board and concentrate on Hartford’s long-term strategy. David has agreed to step into the role of president and lead the day-to-day. All becomes effective at midnight.”

  Silence followed. I had thought someone might congratulate David or nod their head in agreement. Our kids looked thoughtful, Clarissa seemed to stutter in her note taking, and Magda appeared stunned. She and Terrell had been involved with some strategic planning in their functions, but the announcements showed how different Hartford, Ltd., was today than a half dozen years ago when everyone knew everything.

  “How long do we have for transition?” Max had his calendar open plus a small notepad. “There are issues at Giant Pines because of new government regulations that I was hoping to discuss with you. Probably in two to three days.”

 
“We’re hoping you can shoulder additional leadership, Max.” I moved us into grounds where Magda could be difficult. “I leave for Washington, D.C. in twenty-one days and my calendar is out of control. So fortunately David has been involved in almost everything at Giant Pines and a lot of the important issues of Hartford over the past few years.”

  “I have to object if we talk about splitting dairy and livestock from general agricultural operations.” Magda tied her words too closely to the end of my sentence. “Whether we ship lettuce or eggs or milk or hamburger to market, it all requires Hartford labor. We’ll have inefficiencies.”

  “Max might feel the same way.” David stepped into his new role, offering Magda his perspective originating from long days at Giant Pines. She’d find him tougher to quarrel with because he had spent time in the fields and barns. “We’d like to see the Ashwood brand have more prominence in the livestock market.”

  “Does a Washington, D.C., move impact the environmental research center plans?” Andrew asked from his hospital bed.

  David and I had agreed to use this question as a launching point for a wider discussion about the future of Hartford, Ltd., We had expected John to be the first to ask.

  “Because of Paul’s significant financial endowment, we’ll continue with our plans to transition part of Giant Pines for the research foundation. John will be leaving consulting to head the foundation. Phoebe will head a second classic research lab in what we’re now calling Hartford Futures focusing on water purification products and other projects with commercial potential.”

  “Where do I fit into the picture?” Everyone turned to look at Faith. “I am willing to complete college, but only if I can be part of growing Hartford, Ltd.” She looked down at her data pad. “I am young, but I’ve worked in the greenhouses and barns. I read everything about our business that I’m allowed to see. This is where I want to be.”

  “Where do you see yourself in the business?” No one smiled around the table. Faith put herself into an applicant role in a crowd of people used to assessing skills and potential. David sat back after asking the question.

  “Since I interviewed with McGill, I’ve been approached by a number of multi-corps. They would love to understand what we do here that makes Hartford, Ltd., so successful.” She made eye contact with each person around the table. “Andrew’s help made it possible for me to do a four-year law program that will only require me to live away six months each year. I want to work here during my remote study time to be exposed to everything I can so when Raima is ready to retire, I can be in-house counsel.” With flair she sat back in her chair, lowered her eyes for a few seconds, then looked at the group with confidence. “She has agreed to have me clerk within her firm.”

  Andrew began clapping and others joined. Recovered from the shock that multi-corps reps were contacting Faith, I wanted to walk around the table and hug this beautiful daughter, but I didn’t want to diminish her step into adulthood. David and I would talk later, both amazed at how Faith had developed.

  I used her four-year program as a good timeframe for everyone to think about Hartford, Ltd., and led a robust discussion. Clarissa kept us on task until two hours ran out, then drew me away from the table.

  “They want you in Washington, D.C., tomorrow to prep for announcing the ethics board.” She didn’t wait for me to absorb this schedule change. “You’ll be picked up by air transport in the morning. Milan has you booked for dinner with a working session at the White House. It will be a long day.” Then she paused.

  “Really?” I thought that even if I went straight to bed now I couldn’t make up the last two nights.

  “Really,” she replied. “Your credentials arrived about ten minutes ago. Only you can receive the packet so a government underling is waiting outside your office.

  David stood on the far side of the room talking with Magda, Max, and John. The discussion appeared friendly, although I could see the defensive hold in Magda’s shoulders.

  “Clarissa, could you arrange a nice time in the city for Faith and me before I leave?” She looked surprised. “I know I don’t have a lot of days to spare, but this one is important.”

  “We’ll shoehorn that in.” She shook her head, checked her com­municator. “The courier is waiting, Ms. Commissioner.”

  “Call Milan, ask for clearance to tell the extended staff before I leave.”

  “Will do.” She opened the door. Two brown suits fell into step behind me as I crossed the hall and entered the sunny space I had considered a refuge.

  The courier bowed his head, old civil protocol. I did the same.

  “I need a voice sample, finger print, and blood stick test, Ms. Commissioner.”

  “Here’s my right hand.” I held it out, let the serious young woman press one finger onto an inkblot, then jab the next finger.

  She checked the fingerprint against her source and read data off the blood stick. “Everything is accurate.” With her head bowed, she extended a thick packet closed with sealed wires. From her coat pocket she took out a small clipper and broke the seal. “Have a good day.” She turned and left. One brown suit left. One remained outside my office door.

  Chapter 37

  With typical drama, Phoebe developed an allergic reaction to residue from a surgical cleanser and ran a high fever throughout that evening. Instead of going to bed early, David and I split the hours between dinner and midnight. Thankfully medication brought her relief before one of us passed out at her side.

  “Do you think I could ask my nice, inconspicuous bodyguard to carry me upstairs?” I joked with David as we shuffled our way toward the staircase. “Who built this place with such a long staircase anyway?”

  “The feds. Nothing easy with those dudes.” He tucked one hand into the corner of my arm and we swayed up the steps and down Ashwood’s central hall toward our suite. For a moment I considered crawling into bed fully dressed or maybe fully nude. Then I remembered the motion monitors and changed into a sleep shirt. David snored on his side of the bed.

  When David traveled for the DOE, his snoring was frequently a loud, noisy sound that pushed me into earplugs. Used to being the parent in charge of caring for our children and the estate owner awakened when things happened at Ashwood or Giant Pines, I had become a light sleeper. David’s snoring disrupted my sleep when I had a sleep surplus or made falling asleep more difficult when my mind raced from thought to thought even though I needed rest. The unexpected Washington, D.C., preparation trip kept my mind busy. My sleep-deprived body could not find rest.

  After two o’clock I got up, found a robe and went to our family room where I kept a pillow and blanket for these kinds of nights. I thought I saw Amber walking into the kitchen area. Settled on a sofa under a soft cover, my eyes closed.

  “Ms. Hartford.”

  A stranger’s voice called me from a dream about green walking shoes. A touch I didn’t recognize jolted me upright. A young man, clad in brown, squatted by the sofa.

  “Phoebe is asking for you and a communication has been initiated for the two of you with Secretary Milan.”

  “You’re kidding.” Allergies caused me to breathe through an open mouth so I sounded more like an old man than myself. “She was fine at two a.m. and it can’t be much more than an hour or so later. Who originated a communication with Milan at this time?” But I was sitting up, reaching for my robe as I tried to speak logically. The young man held out soft house shoes that I kept in the foyer, a kind gesture that felt uncomfortable.

  “Why didn’t Phoebe just call me?” My question was rhetorical, just conver­sation to fill the awkward time until I felt steady and awake. We began to walk, the young man a step behind.

  “They say she tried. You might have been sleeping deeply. By the way it is three thirty.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Robert.”

 
; For a number of years in Phoebe’s childhood, I abandoned sleep to comfort her through night terrors. How others stayed asleep while she screamed, I never understood. Small lights illuminated the central hall. The deepest part of the night was past. Sunrise would begin in sixty or seventy minutes. I held on to the railing as we made our way down the stairs, trailed one hand along the lower floor’s wall. Half the sick room was dark, the rest half-lit.

  “You look tired.” People in her Chicago lab would recognize the quality of her raspy voice better than I could. “Sorry to drag you out of bed.”

  The nurse recording vitals pulled a chair to the head of Phoebe’s bed. “She’s much improved since you saw her at eleven. You should sit down.” I obeyed. She shook a blanket open and tucked it around me as if I were an invalid.

  “Milan isn’t dressed for the public yet.” Phoebe told me this unremarkable information as if sharing a significant discovery.

  “You should both be sleeping,” my confidante turned boss said as a hologram formed on Phoebe’s bed tray. “But, I understand that Phoebe needs to know what is happening in Chicago and how that impacts her future.”

  I wondered how many times he answered Phoebe’s odd requests as her legal guardian and who would provide her that kind of support in the new order. She sat forward. Her bony elbow, so close to my face, tugged at my maternal instincts even as I backed away from the view.

  “My mother said Ahlmet could no longer control me and I overheard other comments about him. The implant is gone, but what exactly happened?”

  “Ahlmet died in a fight outside the Chicago labs, Phoebe.” Milan gave her facts, no empathy or emotion. “There has not been media coverage because of specific language in his employment contract.”

  “No national day of mourning?” Her voice became whispery. “No crowning of a new Intellectual Corps member? I guess you have two vacancies with my decision to join the family business.”