“My reports are in my suite, but with Tia’s financial interests in the water system, I think we need to include her in the discussion. Let’s wait until after lunch.”
He walked into his office, a communication device opening in one hand as he threw two words over a shoulder, an executive used to people working on his timeline. “In ten.”
Lights brightened his office before the door closed. I turned to the estate office, activated its security pad, waited for initial system recognition. As the door opened, I peered in the room, expecting little more than a standard square office furnished with government-issued work surfaces, black chair, and storage units. Instead rich wood surfaces formed a generous U-shaped desk along the office’s back walls with a matching conference table standing before a stretch of windows that overlooked Ashwood’s field and pasture acreage. Near the door two upholstered chairs faced each other over a small communications-laden console built into a pedestal. Lights came up along the ceiling when I put my foot down inside the door. On the desk stood an etched glass name plate engraved with my name.
This moment, this incredible moment, brought me full circle from the simple laminated crayon-drawn tag outside my first classroom and all the years I had no place to hang my name. On wobbly legs, I walked the office’s perimeter, settling fingertips tentatively on the gleaming table surface then extending my whole hand to feel the solid wood texture. I squatted next to the table, peered at its underside and confirmed this was the real thing by touching the slightly rough grain.
“That’s solid oak,” David said from the doorway. “All the wood in this building is reclaimed or recycled. Salvaging real wood is my hobby.”
I stood up, one hand still on the table. “The bench in the foyer …”
“Made it myself at my parents’ place in South Dakota. My father had that piece of wood sitting in the barn for over a decade. I also designed the wainscoting in the hall. Makes the place feel more like my home.”
“You could build a workshop here.”
“I don’t have the time.” He walked in, long legs covering the room faster than mine. “Should we sit at your table?”
I hesitated even as his left hand extended toward a chair, strong fingers with nails groomed to perfect straight lines of white interrupted by a band of silver below a misshapen knuckle puckered with the shiny red skin of an aged scar.
“Which chair will you claim?” He pushed back a chair at the end of the table. “The head of the table, or maybe you’re the type who sits in the middle and watches how others use space?”
David’s insistence annoyed me as much as his wife’s hunger for a housekeeper dedicated to her pleasure. “I’m sorry, David, this time doesn’t work for me. Magda and I are meeting in a few minutes. What would be a good time for you and Tia?”
“Just give me the top lines.” No smile accompanied his words. “I don’t need anything formal.”
Involuntarily I sighed, rather frustrated with Ashwood’s principal residents in this first showing of their individual personalities. Before another involuntary sound left my mouth, I rested my hands on the back of another chair, raised my face to look into his. My eyes moved over a soft throat, past a strong square chin then upward to where his left cheek rippled once, then twice, then again. I recognized that twitch—Director David wanted his way.
“David, management of Ashwood is my number-one priority. There’s been a lot of time put into assessing the estate’s current issues and building constructive plans to improve its performance. Both of you really should hear of those plans in their entirety. Let’s set a time, this afternoon or tonight.”
I gave him my tolerant teacher’s smile, encouraging him to cooperate, yet cautioning him that I would set the rules for Ashwood’s management. Ignoring David’s irritation, I filled my sight with the beauty of the now dense snowfall, wondering if transports could move through what looked like at least a foot since breakfast that morning.
“Maybe you forgot that the DOE staff is reporting here this afternoon. Government energy conservation, not Ashwood, is my primary responsibility. I have time now.”
“That might explain why you and your wife haven’t noticed a dozen kids with faces as thin as during the time of great adversity.”
I saw my words strip complacency from his homecoming face. Blunt Anne didn’t care how Director David felt at the moment. I cared how about the kids and Ashwood.
“Listen, I’ve been gone two months and pretty much lived in this office for the two months before that. What are you saying? Barbara would never treat those kids with less than care than if they were her own. She was a good matron.”
“There isn’t one worker on this estate that weighs at average for their age. It will be one of my priorities to monitor their health. This will not happen again under my management.” I used words to build my platform with this man. “Matron Barbara may have made your life comfortable, but, starting today, you, your wife, and I will do without a meal before I take food off the kids’ plates again.”
“That’s exactly what I’d want done.” One hand rubbed his chin. “You don’t think Tia and I would mistreat kids?”
“I didn’t mean to imply that.” My frustration with this man now burned out, I felt our relationship slipping treacherously through its first minutes. “But I want you to know how I feel about Matron Barbara. Poor business judgment may be annoying, but harmful treatment of people is unforgiveable in my values.”
Voice and face were consistent when David spoke. “We’re on the same page, Anne. What do you need us to do? Let’s sit down and put together a plan. Clear the air and get Ashwood off to a new start.” Pulling a chair from the table, he gestured me to sit down. “I’ve got time now. Once the DOE crew arrives, I’ll be tied down.”
“Do estate transports travel through heavy snow?” He followed my hand as I pointed toward the windows. “On the East Coast the transportation systems work within a certain climate band and just shut down if temperatures fall too low or snow accumulates too quickly. I didn’t think to look up what happens in the Midwest.”
Without responding to my question, David walked out of my office, his fingers flying over a data pad. I wanted to think a client or his boss demanded his immediate attention or he would have excused himself.
Following him as far as the door, I closed it, and then tried out the chair at my work surface. The swirling snow framed in each tall window, beautifully stark, presented challenges to Ashwood that were more critical than wondering about David’s behavior. I called Jack to check about snow removal plans, Lana to prepare emergency sleeping rooms, Terrell about food supplies, and Magda to determine if she needed house staff to help bring in livestock or secure greenhouses.
“The snow is melting quickly when it settles on the heated roofs,” she said. “I think we’ll be okay. This is very good for our fields and orchards. Be happy.”
“That may be the first time I’ve heard ‘happy’ at Ashwood,” I answered.
“Well, I hear Director Tia was feeling pretty happy when she arrived home, and Director David looked like he’d be willing to make you feel the same.”
From child workers through directors, the small estate world breathed recycled gossip, overheard comments and possible slights. Magda’s low tones added an earthy, unwelcome sound to her crude comment. I remembered first Tia’s hand on my arm, then David’s. How odd they were as individuals.
“It is a joke, Matron,” she said. “Just joke.” A young person laughed near her. “Ashwood won’t fail if you take a few minutes to relax. You think you can work around the clock every day, huh?” She chuckled. “Come watch vegetables grow in the greenhouse. That counts as work. Or, I can teach you to knit for that new estate baby.”
“What are you talking about, Magda?”
“If this is supposed to be some big surprise, then there’s a problem in the residence. I’m just repeating what Director Tia already told the workers.”
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p; The office building’s distance from the main residence, a bonus for uninterrupted work time, now placed me at a disadvantage in dealing with Magda’s news. I called Terrell to find out what was going on in the residence as I prepared to leave my newly-found haven.
He answered as the first ring finished. “Calling twice in ten minutes. You must like the sound of my voice.” I could hear laughing and children hard at play behind Terrell.
“Magda thought Director Tia might be awake …”
“She certainly is and standing about ten feet away from me surrounded by most of the workers. There’s lots of excitement about this baby. I just poured Director Tia a glass of her favorite chardonnay, and she’s disappointed that the workers and I aren’t joining her in raising a glass. Interesting little party going on here.”
“Damn, Terrell, you should have called. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” A wild shriek interrupted our conversation. “How drunk is she?”
“By my assessment, Matron, I’d say extremely with a generous helping of something else.” His choice of words implied that others were listening. “You might want to tell Director David about the celebration and join us.”
With sobriety a prerequisite for estate employment, cheap booze remained a metro area problem. On Washington, D.C., sidewalks, despite aggressive government campaigns, drunks often outnumbered the sober. I didn’t know if any of Ashwood’s young workers came from alcoholic families or neighborhoods terrorized by drunken gangs, but I would bet another gold-tipped coin on it. Tia’s abuse of her expensive alcohol and wine collections could derail our fragile estate if she distracted workers and staff.
I stopped at David’s office on my way back to the residence. Gesturing with his hands, he spoke German to some unseen audience. I pantomimed for his attention from the doorway. He turned away, dismissing me with the back of his chair.
A drunken adult talking loosely in front of child workers couldn’t wait. I moved through the office building walkway at a racer’s pace, pulled out my data pad and sent David a message about his wife. What was certainly a serious November storm in the Midwest threw snow from a darkening sky. The sounds of children at recess on a school playground appeared to be coming from Ashwood’s dining room.
“Nanny Matron’s come to join us,” Tia screeched, as I entered. Cheeks and nose bright pink, curly hair squashed flat on one side, she knelt on the floor wearing yellow overalls from some long distant era with a brilliant flowered shirt and gaudy orange knit scarf twisted twice around her neck. “Amber and I are partners, now that we’re friends.” She held up her own little hand surrounding Amber’s tiny fingers. “You’ll have to find someone else if you want to play our new estate game.”
Around the room, children squatted in twos. Some laughed with Tia, others laughed, knowing her behavior to be very naughty for an adult. Coming from the food preparation area, Lana crawled up behind Tia as quietly as a snowflake. Not sure of Lana’s intent, I shifted my eyes toward Ladd and a younger boy.
“If I may, I need to leave the circle, Director Tia,” Ladd said while looking my way. “Terrell can’t make lunch alone.”
Tia tilted her head to one side, turning toward me. “No one leaves until we finish making the rules. Matron Anne can use her little data deal to write down what I say.” She moved from squatting on her heels to her knees and hands, landing above Amber and pulling the child to the floor. “Pay attention, Matron. First words we all say: ‘The Regans are having a baby; jump your partner’s bones.’”
Amber flattened to the floor, face pale, eyes shut tight. Lana moved as Tia began springing forward to do only God knows what. The girl brought her arms down around Tia’s slender frame, gently restraining the woman, who paused, caught at an awkward angle, posed for her next jump, her toes still on the floor, and silent in surprise. Lana held on, obviously experienced in dealing with troubled people. Maybe even with this person. Barbara left no notes of caution about her household personalities.
As I moved through the confused children, I signaled to Ladd to extricate Amber from between Tia’s feet.
“No more games now,” Lana’s soft, sweet girlish voice soothed Tia, a world-renowned but emotionally unbalanced scientist. Swaying from side to side, Lana rocked Tia. “Now’s time to be quiet. You and me will rock.” The tiny woman’s head relaxed onto Lana’s slight shoulder.
I kept my voice light as I said, “Children, go to the kitchen. Older ones take care of the young ones. Find Cook Terrell or Magda.”
“Not that witch,” Tia hissed while pushing Lana aside. “Don’t let that creature near my little girl, my Amber.”
“That’s enough Tia.” Finally, David joined us. Tia staggered without Lana’s support, one knee nearly touched the floor yet her eyes moved to her husband’s face as if they were alone in the room. “What were you thinking?” The old German heritage of his Dakota plains upbringing flattened his words into a terse scold.
This scene resembled nothing close to how I anticipated my first meeting of Tia and David as a couple. That meeting was to have taken place at the dining room table set with dried flowers, woven placemats, and silverware. I’d hoped to create a homecoming filled with optimism. Instead, the two stood a short physical distance and indeterminate emotional distance apart. Tia moved toward David. Her dark eyes, brilliant with alcohol and tears and some dark force, stayed locked on her husband. Even I felt like an intruder.
“David, I’m so tired of thinking. I wanted to make the children laugh, but instead I made that little Amber girl cry when I tried to give her a mommy huggy. Why don’t we just adopt these children? They all live here anyway.” Her words slid from giggly drunk to dead serious drunk. “I can’t take care of a baby, David. I can’t do that and find energy for the world. David?” She reached out one hand toward her husband, alcohol-inspired strength dissipating.
Perhaps that same Midwestern family-farm upbringing showed as David stepped back from Tia’s emotional volcano. One small step, then another, then a stiffening of the spine. Tia drew back her shaky fist to her mouth.
Like a parent dealing with an unpleasant child, David appeared to draw from some internal source to correct himself and move again into Tia’s space. He made a sound, maybe a sigh of resignation, maybe a mere clearing of his throat, before saying anything.
“You’re exhausted, Tia. So am I. We’ve done some heavy travel time.” He lifted one arm, settled his large hand on her thin shoulder. The action was not overtly tender, yet there was some simple comfort in the way he settled the heel of his palm first, as if asking for permission, before spreading his fingers. It appeared he placed no direct pressure on her slender frame, even as his hand stabilized her shaky stand.
“It’s more than that, David. It’s so much more than that.”
“It always is for you, Tia. But, resting is the only thing we can do anything about right now. We can have something to eat, you can rest.” She showed no interest. “Maybe later we’ll watch a movie or play cards.”
“Let’s go into the city or invite your team for dinner.” She leaned toward him. They’re fun.”
“Look out the windows, Tia. It’s snowing so damn hard, no one could even get here for work.” He jiggled his arm, swaying her lightly on her feet. “Let’s talk over lunch. Give the new cook’s food a try.”
Wrong words to throw on Tia’s blown-out emotions. I sucked in my lower lip, watched from the corner of my vision for what would happen next.
“That’s one part of what’s wrong,” Tia said, turning toward me. “I work like a slave of this fuckin’ country, then our new little matron decides I have to eat the trash food of some bum turned into a ‘cook.’” She spit the word at him. “I want my own food from my own chef.” Tia shook off David’s hand, stood up as defiant as drunken balance allowed. “Or, I’ll stop eating.”
Lana stared at the floor, a child who heard this all before and waited patiently for the shouting to be over. David, a man beyond his comfort boundaries, looked towa
rd me for rescue. And I knew the scene had escalated because Tia had a new audience—me.
Yet, under all the dramatics, I think I understood Tia’s despair about living as a pampered yet virtual prisoner. She could choose to shop in the city, have friends over for a meal, spend a weekend in New York City. She could choose her clothes, the books she read, accessories for the residence. She could even choose to have a surrogate bear her child. But, she could never stop working on projects directed toward the government’s desired ends, could never move from this estate, might not be able to separate from the man she had agreed to marry. Intellectual capability, which bequeathed these two individuals comforts far beyond most of the country’s population, carried a lifelong sentence of bound servitude as well.
Until this moment, I saw the lifestyle without understanding its silken restraints. The DOE security chips embedded under their skin could be seen as protection in a world that didn’t always trust Americans, or as a tracer never letting these two escape their handlers.
“This might be a good time for me to introduce myself.” From the kitchen, Terrell joined us in the tension-filled space, a fresh toque on his shaved head, wiping his hands on a towel. Handing the towel to Lana, he tipped his head toward the dining room door. She hesitated. He repeated the gesture and she left. Ignoring me, his eyes focused on our troubled couple.
“Director Tia, Director David, I am Terrell Jackson, Ashwood’s new cook.” He settled back on his heels, crossed his arms over his chest. “I can assure you I am not a bum trained by the government. I received training at Le Cordon Bleu in Atlanta, worked as a private chef for special events at the Mayflower in Washington, D.C., then ran my own restaurant and catering company until the great adversity. Lost it all.”
David appeared to listen while Terrell spoke. They were an odd pair—the young, tall, broad-shouldered man who worked behind a desk and the middle-age thin man with a droopy eye who lifted great weights of food and equipment in the kitchen. Under different circumstances I would have done introductions, but Terrell held the floor. Tia looked as if she listened to the winds howling around the residence.
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