Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  Seemingly from nowhere, one of the girls appeared to pick up the coat. “You must be our new housekeeper,” she exclaimed with more excitement than appropriate. Her eyes explored my presence, as if I were a prized gift delivered for her enjoyment.

  “So tall, so young, and attractive. Barbara must have hated everything about you. I saw pictures of the old girl at our age, and she wasn’t all that great looking even before wrinkles and that yellowing white hair.” She snickered. “I think David will be very pleased. I think I’m even pleased.”

  What could I say? Tia took me by storm, left me mumbling, “Welcome home, Director Tia.” She rubbed two well-manicured fingers across her eyebrows as I finished my greeting, an impatient gesture that made me feel like a stiff bureaucrat. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you and Director David.”

  We should have tipped our heads, offered recognition of each other’s titles and roles. Instead we stood near each other in the large foyer, light coming through her personally-designed windows, casting half-open cat eyes on the floor. She shook her head as if to move beyond the formality of introductions.

  “David and I don’t stand for using titles among adults here. This is supposed to be our home. The kids can call you whatever you want, but we’ll use first names.” She seemed to sway on her feet as she spoke, noticed it herself and extended a hand toward me. “I’m hungry and tired. Would you walk with me to my rooms?”

  “Of course,” I said and stepped to her side. Magda’s comment about a director’s need for liquor came back as the unpleasant odor of alcohol seeping through skin pores rose from Tia’s small form. Without removing her wet leather boots, she tucked a hand under my arm and hugged her body close to my side as we moved from the foyer.

  “You must be at least five feet seven. A regular giant next to a woman like me. If you don’t mind taking this off my hands, I’ll do better walking.” She handed her briefcase to me and leaned close. “You’ve got great hair and a nice body. David’s going to hit on you as soon as he walks in the door. Do you do women?”

  Meeting Tia required that delicate balance of openness and decorum usually needed for a first date with a hormone-imbalanced teenager. As we walked, her hand slid ever closer to my body. Bureau training dorms were busy with women “doing” women as Tia said, so I took her question as a sign from a bored woman always on the lookout for quick excitement.

  “Until Ashwood is back on track, I don’t have time to even think of ‘doing’ anybody,” I said in soft voice and slowed my steps just enough to pull my movement out of rhythm with hers. “Maybe rest would be good until your husband arrives? Or maybe food and hot coffee?”

  “I could smell something cooking when we turned from the central hall. Don’t know that I like so many odors in my house. That’s why I like my caterer.” We stopped at the door to the directors’ suite. “You do know about my caterer?”

  “We have a new cook, assigned by the Bureau. I’ll fill you in on all the details when Director David arrives.”

  Director Tia Regan, at age thirty-five, held patents on the promising water reclamation system used at Ashwood and was frequently called one of the most brilliant scientists in critical natural energy fabrication development. Her Bureau file hinted at some type of emotional instability, possibly bipolar disorder.

  “Open my door, or I might puke eggs Benedict on our shoes.” I scanned my thumb then pushed open the door. “Right now, I don’t like the smell of food. Don’t suppose I’ll like the smell of a baby, either. All that spit up and shit. But I have a housekeeper, and there will be a nanny, and I’ll just have to show up at times to remind people that I’m the monster’s mommy.” She began laughing, then burped up a smelly brew of food, alcohol, and coffee.

  Easing her through the room’s entrance, I closed the door behind us, set down her briefcase and removed her hand from my arm. She wobbled her way to a low leather chair, sat down at an awkward angle then slumped back and stared my way. “Why did you want to be a housekeeper? You look a whole lot smarter than,” her voice became pseudo-elegant as she rolled through, “Barbara.” She burped again. “True?”

  “Barbara may have functioned more as Ashwood’s housekeeper. I’m here to manage the business of the estate. Making sure you and David are comfortable and well cared for is one of my priorities, but Ashwood’s overall operations will demand most of my attention.”

  Tia slumped into the chair, her overly-brilliant hazel eyes following me like wild birds darting about in an otherwise still face. I closed a curtain, patted pillows, checked for hidden bottles while performing these domestic tasks. I turned back to her, ready to offer help with any reasonable requests.

  I could sense she found displeasure in my actions. Like a great actress preparing for the curtain to rise, Tia began reconstructing her appearance. Her back straightened, her shoulders leveled, her facial features hardened.

  “I don’t need to hide anything in this suite.” Nothing cozy remained in her voice. “There’s a wine cooler in the corner that you’ll keep stocked with my favorite labels. We also have a bar in the main salon that is to be stocked.” She began tugging at her boots, small hands fumbling at smooth leather. I approached to help, and she raised one foot toward me as if I were a trusty servant.

  “They work me fucking harder than a trained bear in the lab for eight to ten hours a day, then coop us up in this place.” She wiggled one bare foot out of her boot. I was surprised to see beautifully painted toe nails. “You’ll discover, Anne, that I work too fucking hard. It’s up to you to make sure I can relax the way I want. That’s the deal.”

  “Have you thought about how the baby will change your life?”

  “The baby is someone else’s idea.” Tears began to form in her eyes. “Sure I want a child, but I should never be entrusted with mothering anyone.” She leaned back, but not in a restful way. “I’m unstable. You know that from the files. Take after my father who died from a self-inflicted gunshot to the head.” Her eyes locked into mine then closed. “Brilliant brains are just like any other gray matter when they’re splattered against a bedroom wall. I don’t hold any illusions.”

  Snow swirled outside the windows. Inside all was quiet. Drawing a short breath, I thought of the tumultuous months as a classmate fell into drug use and how I thought nothing could be more difficult to manage than a life unhinged. “Director Tia …”

  “Drop the ‘Director.’ No titles. I want just a goddamn regular home where adults don’t all prance around with titles.”

  Little did this woman know that “regular” homes didn’t have caterers or child workers. Whatever I planned to say was meaningless against Tia’s mercurial temperament.

  “We can do away with titles among the adults, Tia. The children may leave Ashwood and need to understand how protocols are honored.”

  She laughed. “I think David will like your old-fashioned ways. We’re an odd couple, but the chemistry generally works. He travels enough that he can find easier women for entertainment. The baby is his idea. Wants a little successor to his name. As long as some decently intelligent matron,” she said with a dramatic drawl, “is willing to do the physical pregnancy thing, I suppose it’s no big infringement in my life. You will find a way to be sure the house is quiet when I work here.”

  The nursery was planned next to the directors’ space, so quiet wasn’t an easy guarantee. “There will be a nanny to care for the baby, but it’s rather in the nature of little ones to cry and make noise. I suspect you’ll hear some of that through the walls.”

  “Then find somewhere else in the house for a nursery.”

  Spacious by today’s standards, the only unoccupied space left beyond the baby’s designated suite was two guest rooms sharing a bathroom. The layout would be more difficult for a nanny. Not able to predict Tia’s response to that plan, I merely nodded and changed subjects.

  “I thought Lana might be responsible for attending to you and David when you are home—deliver meals, straig
hten your rooms, and such.”

  One thin hand reached behind her head to pull a comforter from the chair back. She curled her legs up and spread the blanket about herself, displeased with something curling around her mouth and eyes. I stepped forward to help her with the cover.

  “Isn’t Lana that plain girl who cooked for the kids? She’s rather joyless and slow. I don’t think I’m comfortable with that plan.” Tia pulled her hand back from where my fingers touched hers. “What are you doing that’s more important? You said keeping us comfortable is one of your priorities.”

  Both of us were government employees although she carried the prized intelligence worker status. We knew our places, but she wanted to push boundaries and rule this small universe to her own pleasure.

  “Ashwood is in very difficult financial and physical condition.” I hoped she would show concern, but wasn’t surprised that she did not. “Lana can give you more attention.”

  Tia’s head rose from the chair’s back. “Surely there’s another girl who’s sharper. You have your little world to think about, while I have the real world relying on me.”

  This spoiled woman failed to understand that her success was also measured by the development of the young people on Ashwood, that someday one of these kids might want to be a scientist or researcher because of role models like her.

  “Lana has been identified as university potential. She may be quiet, but she has carried extraordinary responsibility as Ashwood’s cook.” I watched Tia as I spoke. Her head once again rested on the chair arm, her eyes drooped. “She’ll do well for you.”

  “So you think. Go ahead and make your mark,” Tia said and burrowed down into her resting position. Her eyes closed.

  I left, already thinking about how to prepare Lana for supporting Tia. The woman would challenge an experienced adult, and all I had to put to the task was a girl not quite in her teens, speaking uneducated English in a quiet voice. I placed my trust in Lana because that was necessary to free me to attend to Ashwood.

  Walking through the residence I felt old resentment of how bureaucrats structured titling in this new post-depression economy. Why should people like Tia carry respected titles like senior research director while people with heavy management responsibility were known by the archaic matron from twentieth-century Britain? Give women the heavy lifting, but a title that somehow implied we managed schools or prisons instead of the breadth and depth of complex agricultural estates. With each Bureau or Department building its own reporting hierarchy, people outside those structures had no clue who held responsibility for making decisions.

  “What does the Lady Director-ess want for lunch?” Terrell asked as I entered his domain on my way to find Lana. “Maybe just something to drink?”

  “Could everyone hear her in the halls?” I lowered my voice and turned my back so workers wouldn’t be able to listen to our conversation.

  “You and me are the only ones meeting Ms. Tia for the first time today.” Terrell pushed a stock pot onto a back burner of the large gas range. “These children know adults far better than we know kids and not much surprises them. They got front seats watching us all do our thing.”

  A handful of workers washed pots and stacked lunch place things while we talked. Not one looked like they were listening to the discussion, but their ears were more accurate than wireless networks.

  Lowering his voice, Terrell leaned closer to me. “I’ll keep an eye on Lana. Let’s just say I was wilder than our Lady Director for a few years when I was young. I know my way around a drunk.”

  “Don’t use that description.”

  He stepped back, suddenly cool. “No need to worry. We’ll say the lady is having a difficult day. I know when to give fancy names to plain truth, Matron.”

  Morning coffee built a certain amount of intimacy between us, but not enough to give him permission to speak this way, particularly when workers could hear. I gave a near-nothing acknowledgement of his comments, feeling isolated in my matron clothing and title, but not shamed.

  Before leaving the kitchen, my eyes were drawn to the large window alongside the food prep area. Snow fell in slanting lines of white, disrupted by almost constant wind gusts into ghostly pillars. My fragile roots planted in Ashwood felt pulled and trampled by the reality of meeting Tia. I looked around the kitchen again, wishing I could spend the afternoon here chopping vegetables and being part of the crew.

  10

  At least six inches of new snow fell in the two hours before David arrived. Again, I stood at the front door to introduce myself. Again, I found myself surprised at the inaccuracies of the Bureau personality profiles that summarized this man as “a product of a Midwest family farm,” as if that defined a total person.

  David, a tall man carrying at least two hundred thirty pounds on his six-foot frame, took off his coat and, with it folded over one arm, put his hands together and made a small bow of respect. I braced myself for the kind of verbal jab Tia enjoyed as he stood upright. He remained quiet. Dark eyes searched my face with normal human interest. He smiled, creases circling a generous mouth and cheeks rounding out his face.

  “Obviously, I’m David and you are Matron Anne.” He stepped out of his shoes and searched the foyer closet for house slippers while speaking. “Tia’s not big on using titles, but I wanted to acknowledge yours and ask if you’re comfortable with using first names. Tia and I are in debt to the women who take on estate responsibilities. You make it possible for us to have some kind of personal life.” He tipped his head again.

  “Unless she stopped somewhere on the way from the airport, Tia must be home,” he said while hanging his coat on a hook. “She had a tough European trip. I hope she is able to rest while we’re here together for the next week.” He dropped his voice, eyes searching the main hall. “Any news about the baby’s expected arrival?” He smiled like a man with wonderful news. “Feels good to be able to say that out loud. It was awkward to keep quiet around Barbara.”

  “Thank you for the welcome, and yes, your wife arrived safely and is resting, and I am comfortable with first names.” I took a breath before cycling through the rest of his questions.

  Not knowing David, I wasn’t sure what emotion deepened the color of his eyes. He picked up his briefcase. I stepped forward a few inches so he would be the only one to hear about the baby.

  “All is well with the baby’s anticipated delivery date. She will stay at the birthing center for a week and arrive here with a nanny around December 24.”

  “I want to tell the staff tonight so we can enjoy preparing the nursery.” Emotion quickened his voice. “Her birth will be the most important event in my life.” He waved his hand toward the hall. “Walk me to the office and tell me what’s happening at Ashwood.”

  “I’ve prepared a report to go over with you and Tia that summarizes the Bureau audit, my plans, and changes already underway. Maybe later this afternoon after the two of you have had time to rest and eat lunch?”

  He put his free hand under my elbow and pulled me closer, not with the intimacy of his wife’s touch, but in a way unusual for today’s society. “I’d like to go over things now.” Did he not hear my comment, or did he not like what I said? “For all her chatter about wanting Ashwood to feel like a real home, my wife tends to see Ashwood as her personal five-star hotel. On the other hand, she’s more interested in treating the estate as a research lab for water and energy technology, than the work of filling cellars with food.”

  We walked through a short window-lined hall passage to the directors’ office building, which fell under the Department of Energy’s command. David pressed his thumb to the security pad, and the door opened onto space that felt bright even on this stormy day.

  “When I walk through this door, I feel like I’m home. And after two months on the road, home feels good.” From his personal style of a dark body-skimming wool sweater and black pants, I assumed he influenced the ultra modern wood, stone and metal design of the space. “Of course, that
may all change when there is a little person running around the residence,” he said over one shoulder while sticking a finger into the dirt of a large potted fern. He turned toward me and extended a hand. “Someone kept things watered. Come on in. Here’s your space for estate management.” He tipped his head to the first room as we entered the suite. “Matron Barbara preferred the cook’s office. I suspect she was intimidated by our Department of Energy technology.” He gestured to the closed door. “If you’ve switched estate security, the door should open.”

  This was all news to me. The Bureau’s virtual tour of the estate didn’t include this building, which I thought served as labs for David and Tia. “I wasn’t aware there were offices in this space,” I said as I looked around the area.

  “No surprise to me. DOE has its own security quirks. Let me tell you about the rest of the area.” Again his hand touched my elbow as we walked. “There’s a coffee station and bathroom, the staff work stations, Tia’s office, then mine. Downstairs is a large conference room and work space. We have one assistant and two analysts who are physically here when we’re in residence. You’re welcome to use the assistant’s services whenever you want.” He paused, changed from tour guide to business man.

  “I requested a copy of the audit and already know Ashwood is in bad shape. Everyone working in these offices, except for you, is paid for by DOE, so feel free to tap into the brains of these people without worrying about taxing the estate budget. You’ll meet Patricia, an analyst, and Ewan, a brilliant engineer, after lunch. They often work from their homes when we’re out of town.”

  Standing at the door to his office, David seemed eager to get to his own desk. “I need to sign on to the system and unpack my briefcase. Let’s talk about Ashwood in ten.”