I watched reactions of staff and workers. A few children came from families where a new baby wasn’t always positive news. Reaction ranged from Amber’s happy squeaks to looks of uncertainty.
“I suggest we toast Baby Phoebe’s birth.” All eyes turned my way. I smiled, inviting the same emotion from others. “Ashwood cherry wine or juice for everyone. Cook and I will pick helpers on our way to the kitchen.” Voices rose as we left.
“I know food stores are still tight, but do we have any treats for a bit of a party?” I asked Terrell while we gathered drinks. “It’s been a tough day. Maybe the kids will sleep well on the floor, but I was hoping for something more comfortable.”
Handing bottles my way, Terrell pushed aside a storage crate. “Spiced mixed nuts and small chocolates—good enough for celebrating Ashwood’s first baby?” He piled tins at my feet. “Matron Barbara hid pounds of this stuff throughout the storage spaces.” He stood. “There’s a huge box of foil-wrapped candies I’m saving for the holidays.” With tins in one arm, he shopped the shelves. “We’ll open a box of crackers and some fruit spread.”
I gathered serving bowls and plates while four excited kids watched Terrell assemble the simple snacks. He placed spoons in each bowl, trusting that no one would take more than a generous taste of the nuts or chocolate, then spread crackers in a shallow serving plate with a bowl of fruit spread preserved in Ashwood’s past years.
I wished there was more to offer, yet I felt grateful we were in a warm, safe place with dinner still in our stomachs. The excitement of the workers felt as high as my brother’s thrill in a past life when my parents ordered six pizzas for twelve boys sleeping in the basement.
When David raised his glass with thanks to God for the healthy birth of Phoebe, the faces of Ashwood’s child workers inspired me to expand the toast.
“As we welcome Phoebe, I’d like to toast to bettering the world for all children,” I said, surprised by my emotions. Glasses were raised, and I noticed many adult heads bowed. While the treat trays emptied, I wandered through our small community to talk with or give a gentle touch to every one of our young workers.
David and Tia opted to sleep in their own quarters. Lao and Jack took responsibility for finding sleeping space for everyone interested in staying in the gathering room. Terrell and Lao managed the fireplace. Sleep descended quickly on Ashwood’s physically tired residents.
Curled up near the doorway in a blanket from my own bed, I found my mind returning to Tia’s erratic personality and wondering how life would be for Phoebe. Across the room, I watched Amber as she lay snuggled within Lana’s protecting arms. Morning would tell if her cold exposure would require real medical attention. The scars on her back worried me more than today’s experience. I made a commitment to find Amber a special mentor.
“Matron Anne.” The Bureau voice appeared in my ear, followed by an annoying popping. “Please respond.”
I pressed my earpiece to signify reception, eased from my blanket and walked to the kitchen area, where low lights glowed. “This is Matron Anne at Ashwood.”
“Please provide a status report.” A voice as cool as our air in the residence, as uninterested as a census taker at one’s door.
“We’re experiencing fluctuations in our energy supply. We have a young worker who may need medical review for overexposure and first-degree frostbite. The estate has not sustained significant structural damage to the residence or production buildings at this time.”
“And the directors?”
Across the kitchen, I noticed Terrell cleaning a counter top. Midnight during a weather crisi,s and this man still made sure his workspace was shiny. I turned my back, began walking toward the dining room and away from others as I answered, “At this moment, everyone’s fine.”
“The directors are in residence?”
“You can trace their identification chips, so you know they’re in their quarters.”
“And Director Tia is comfortable with Cook Terrell?”
Turning my head to one side as if halting a sneeze, I saw Terrell drying his hands then turning off one more light before following my footsteps. I sensed he might be listening in to this conversation.
“Why don’t you ask him?” I turned toward Terrell. “He’s right here, as you know, and can probably answer for himself.”
We faced each other. I was too tired after working a nineteen-hour day, too annoyed to be civil to the now-confirmed Bureau snitch at Ashwood. “If there are no other timely questions, I have one. Then I plan to get some sleep.”
The Bureau voice made a stutter sound indicating I’d pushed them off script. I took advantage of their lost continuity. “I heard a second Regan baby is expected in summer. Is this accurate?”
“Yes, a son will be delivered approximately June 27.”
“So this couple will be parenting two young infants?”
“We have confidence in your experience and capabilities, Matron Anne.”
“Thank you. Now I’m signing off.” I disconnected the caller, knowing she could demand my attention as long as she choose. The earpiece remained quiet.
“Terrell, you heard my question about a second child. Did you know about this?”
“Matron, don’t get yourself all sideways about the Bureau’s way of doing things,” he said. “Nobody’s questioning your competency.”
“That’s good,” I replied with anger ignited by fatigue. “Nobody’s questioning my competency, just layering in Bureau observers?”
“Maybe we could step into my room to finish this conversation,” he said while wrapping a hand around my elbow.
I shook him off, or tried. The strength that made it possible for him to manage a big knife as easily as I handled a pencil kept his hand in place. “I’m not about to spend time in your room and start a whole new line of estate gossip.”
“I meant the cook’s office,” he said. “Better than out here, where anyone might catch a word or two.” His hand dropped from my elbow into a gesture toward Matron Barbara’s former work space. “Air freshener on the second shelf should cut through the smell of the honest work done this afternoon.”
The homiest place on most estates is often the cook’s office, where staff may find a piece of candy, someone might grumble about the matron, a worker could rest if under the weather. Terrell’s office, newly cleared of Matron Barbara’s things and the leftover audit rubble, had not yet developed that personality. Cookbooks from before the turn of the century filled one shelf with a large handmade chef doll perched between the stacked volumes. Terrell’s personal spice locker stood next to an old stuffed chair. He turned on a battery-powered lamp and sat in the desk chair, waving me toward the other seat.
“This won’t take long if you listen good.” Terrell cleared his throat while rubbing his hands together. “It’s no secret that our Director Tia’s a very loose wire. People have been watching her every time she’s out of this place and talk’s running thick. Do you know this?”
In the partial light of the office, Terrell seemed like a different person. He sat easily in the chair, a quiet power filling the space between us. I noticed more lines across his forehead, more fatigue around his eyes.
“I know what’s in her file. Magda forewarned me of Tia’s drinking. She’s not the first brilliant person to behave oddly.” And who could say what odd behavior might look like in this new era of brilliant people kept like prized animals in pretty government pens. Seeing the Regans up close opened my eyes.
“And you’re acting as a loyal Bureau employee, a matron defending those in her charge. I’m sure they’ll benefit from you as matron.” Terrell leaned forward, crossing forearms on his knees. “But, they also need what you as a person are willing to invest. That’s the big challenge.” He yawned, droopy eye closing. As a second yawn started, he dragged one of his big hands across his face.
“That’s a big thought, but now we are having this discussion because it’s obvious to me that your job is bigger than keepin
g Ashwood fed.” Playing estate politics at this hour of the night made no sense.
“You’re smart. I’m sure you researched everything available in the Bureau files about me before calling to question my assignment.” The way he spoke let me know he knew about that conversation with the Bureau.
Our exchange played like academy simulation exercise. I understood the questions would bring me to information, good or bad. Sitting back, I now doubted that the man in the cook’s chair ever worked in a large catering company or served as a private chef or managed another estate’s food.
“You know what I found. What are you really asking, Terrell?”
He held up a hand, tilting his head toward the hall. Shuffling steps approached.
“Matron?”
Terrell opened the door to a pale, shivering Amber. A loose cough wracked through her body, shaking the child from top to toes, sound bouncing off the narrow hall.
“I don’t feel very good. Matron Barbara told us to always come to the Cook’s office if we don’t feel good.”
Whatever Terrell wanted to share would have to wait. I motioned Amber to my side. Touching my fingers to her forehead and looking into her feverish eyes, I pulled off my own large sweater and wrapped it around her. “Let’s get you something to drink and medicine for that fever.” I stood. “Cook Terrell and I can finish our conversation in the morning. Right now I need to find you a warm bed.”
15
With bedding Terrell recovered from the kitchen’s large warming oven and my own blankets, I set up the small trundle bed in my room. I returned to Terrell’s office where the child lightly slept, one thumb curled near her lips.
He winked while standing up from his desk. “I gave her a general pain and fever medication. Then we each had a touch of warmed brandy in milk. Mix of old and new. Where are we taking her?” Showing gentle strength, he gathered Amber in his arms, shushing her mumbled response with soothing sounds. We walked through the darkened halls of Ashwood to my quarters and tucked Amber into the warmed trundle bed next to mine. Terrell left. Within minutes I crawled under my covers. Somewhere around two o’clock, the small sounds of a sleeping child, on top of a full day, pulled me into deep sleep.
“Matron Anne, please respond.”
The clock said five. Amber slept quietly.
I felt disconnected as I tapped my earpiece to indicate I needed a few minutes to respond. Minimal warmth rose from the floor heating system as I left my bed. I eased into slippers and drew on a robe.
“Matron Anne, are you available?”
“Yes.” I sat down at my desk in the other room, turned on the monitor to check weather. All was calm with moderating temperatures and promise of sun. “The worker with frostbite developed a high fever and cough.”
“There has been a change in plans for the Regan infant’s arrival at Ashwood.”
“Is she not doing well?”
“The infant is fine, Matron. It is not conducive to Director Tia’s project obligations to travel to the metro center today. The child and nanny will arrive at Ashwood tomorrow.”
“Can you track the nursery furniture and advance its transport?”
“That would not be the responsibility of the Bureau.”
“Thank you for the update. Is there anything else?”
“Have a good day, Matron.”
Fully awake, I cleaned up and put on fresh clothes. Before I left Amber sleeping in my room, I changed security to track changes in my rooms. The earliest morning sky showed as I walked to the kitchen. Terrell and I needed to bring last night’s discussion to completion. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee welcomed, but didn’t relax, me. Terrell extended a full mug my way, pointing toward his office.
We settled, a monitor above his desk turned to security views of the workers’ gathering room where the children still slept and my sleeping room where Amber remained unmoved. I sipped at my coffee, willing to let Terrell lead us back to the interrupted conversation.
He fussed before settling. “You look better than I feel,” he said. “Lao shut down the outbuilding visits, and we banked the big room fireplace about an hour after you put Amber to bed. I napped in a chair.” His hand curled around the mug.
“You and I haven’t been given much time to get the feel of this place without a generous dose of crisis,” I said sitting back, waiting for him to talk.
Terrell remained silent, gazing above me at a spot on one of the shelves. He put down his coffee, stood up, eased a book out, and sat down. “I’ll admit this has been a load more work than I expected,” he said as he opened the book then turned it toward me. “I’m thinking this might be a new way to deal with our excess supply of frozen fish.” He pointed to a picture. “What about rutabagas? Lao found a free source.”
I looked at an old recipe for baked fish cakes and lost patience. He eased his hand up from the book’s spine. A small paper note showed in his palm, “Turn off ear piece.” He continued speaking, weariness clouding his lower tones like an old smoker. “My mother made this back in Boston. Fish was cheap.”
During training, I earned reputation as an independent sort by going “off hearing” on a regular basis. I preferred my privacy when speaking out loud to my dead family. Sometimes I merely wanted control of my own space. I reached up, rotated the gold knot earring to off then placed it in my pocket while Terrell talked about fish.
He stood. “She’d season it up and make a breading with browned crumbs. Wasn’t too bad. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to see our fish supply.” He motioned toward the kitchen, brought me to his side as we walked. “Hall camera is behind us. The cooler has cameras, but no sound. Keep your back to the door while we talk.”
I followed him into a cooler where he wasted little time. “Quick word, Matron. I got your back. Bureau sent me here to monitor Ms. Tia. Critical she stay intact for that international energy conversion project. I’m a cook in today’s world, but in the old days I earned my reputation as a chemical intervention specialist.”
“And you’re supposed to …”
“Watch her like a hawk. Talk her through bad time. Doctor her drinks or food to avoid meltdowns.” He grabbed a box of fish pieces. “Bureau thinks nobody needs to know, but I don’t like having you spooked. I think we make a good team.”
Little about this Ashwood assignment should have still surprised me, yet I was taken by the depth of the Bureau’s talent assessment and ingenuity in placing Terrell. “Thank you for sharing,” I said while staring at a tall stack of fish boxes. “And I agree we work well together. I even like standing in a cooler with you. Although it doesn’t feel that much cooler in here than my quarters.”
He winked that droopy eye. “We got extra dairy products today so we’re having extra rich fish chowder. Keep building up these kids.” Dropping the box back on the shelf, he turned toward the cooler door. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait.”
He turned back, his brown skin as unattractive in the cooler’s overly white light as my own paleness. The last twenty-four hours had drained energy from both of us, but his responsibilities trumped mine in physicality.
“Why the secrecy? Why didn’t you just tell me this?” I said, back to the camera.
“That lady’s paranoid. Haven’t you noticed? They say sometimes she sits in her room and just watches security screens. You understand?”
“Yes. Let’s get out of here.” I stifled a sneeze. “My coffee’s turning cold.” Grabbing a food bar and hot coffee, I headed to my office to hunt for baby furniture.
Even at five-thirty in the morning, I wasn’t the first one up in the DOE facility. David’s voice carried out his office door. He spoke German, words and intonation flowing as if his brain needed no translator.
The small building operated on its own power generator, warming our offices better than the cool main residence. Cross government unit politics never showed up in my training program. Putting frustration aside, I began working.
“Great, ano
ther early morning person. I hope Amber’s doing well?” David walked into my office with a large steaming mug of something.
“She had a rocky time around two.” I stretched my shoulders. “Lana will send me an update when Amber wakes up. I didn’t like her cough.”
“If we need the DOE physical assessor, let me know.” He had not shaved, his clothes looked like he pulled things from a suitcase. “You already know that our daughter, Phoebe, will be here tomorrow,” he asked.
“Locating nursery furniture is my first priority this morning.”
“My folks had an old white wicker basket kind of thing on wheels that lasted through all my brothers.” He flexed his shoulders as he spoke. “If we need to make a drawer into a bed, that’ll be okay. Maybe she can sleep in our room.”
“We’ll find her a bed,” I assured him and thought about Tia’s strong objection to a baby’s noise. “You need to let the nanny care for the baby at night. Sleeping like a baby is just a figure of speech—they’re rarely quiet for more than a couple of hours.”
His laugh sounded indulgent, like a man who won a great award. “I’d like to invite my parents for the holidays. My mother’s always wanted a granddaughter.”
“I’ll send that request to the Bureau right now, and we’ll know by lunch if they can make the arrangements.”
Laugh lines smoothed on his face. “Thanks, but I wasn’t really serious. Tia doesn’t work well with them around. Old time South Dakota farmers and a New York City research scientist have nothing in common except me.”
His eyes wandered to the window where snow-covered trees no longer flailed in winds on the pre-sun morning horizon. Lights glimmered in the outbuildings where Jack and his crew cared for the animals. Looking out at the same scene, I understood why this son of a farmer felt truly at home in this building where the smell of coffee and a wood stove flavored the air and the sight of barns filled many windows.
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