“Have you received the news about your second child?”
“Holy God, no.”
I wanted to laugh at the excitement that lit up his face.
“What do you know?” He moved fully into my office, sat in a chair. “Is everything okay?”
“All I know right now is his expected delivery date is in late June.”
“Can you imagine two kids raising hell in this place? Built-in playmates. That’s the best part of siblings close in age. With my brothers and the farm, I had a great time as a kid.”
Neither of us said a word about telling Tia. David would need to be a strong parent to create anything resembling the family in his memories.
“If our kids are anywhere as smart as Tia and physically as strong as my family, they’ll make a real difference in the world. That’s what this is all about isn’t it, these guided marriage contracts?” He stood, his mood tempered, sadness creeping into his tone. “Probably just as well. I wasn’t the greatest catch a half dozen years ago. I was a lab rat.”
Barbara, separated from David by decades, could sooth his insecurity, assure him that his looks, intelligence, and decency would attract many attractive women. I looked for another way to offer comfort.
“David, just before the turn of the century, my aunt taught at a small college in Iowa where all the students dated each other and the single faculty did the same.” I tried to remember where the story ended and edited out her own marriage to an older administrator, which ended in divorce three children later. “Coming from a big city, she found it all kind of limiting, but came to realize that the students were naturally selecting mates from the pool available. There may have been other possible matches in the big world, but the campus bounded their community during the time in their lives that they were ready to select a husband or wife. You and Tia made the best match from a small pool of folks who all lived in labs.”
“How did you meet your husband?”
It was my turn to look out the window, remembering how we met on a cool spring morning. “I tripped over his shoes after a running a half marathon in Wisconsin. I fell into his lap and poured the contents of my water bottle on him. Not very romantic.”
From the other side of my desk brown eyes focused on my face. I felt his change from seeking comfort to offering it as he said, “Sounds like life in normal times.”
“People still live that way in some parts of this country. You and I landed on the front side of this whole different way of life.” I leaned back in my chair, generated a smile. “I need to work on the baby furniture before staff at other estates get into their daily routine.”
“Well, let me know if I can help.” He rose from the chair, again flexing his shoulders. “Seems like my workouts don’t hit the same muscles as snow shoveling.”
“And I’m hoping Cook’s brew will make up for hours of lost sleep.” I wanted to see him smile again. “If you have time today, we should talk about your schedules and Phoebe’s first days. We could begin reviewing Ashwood’s plans as well.”
“How about this evening when the kids are in lessons?” He leaned toward my desk and knocked his knuckles on the surface. “See you here at that time.”
16
Matrons managing at four of the other estates in our zone were women of Barbara’s age. The last estate, a livestock breeding operation, ran under a professional management contract with a housekeeper. If not for the furniture crisis, I would have met these women in a conference call at the end of the month. Casual visiting, a victim of limited time and transportation, might develop in the future.
I followed Bureau communications protocol of not interrupting work at other estates and sent a note asking for help in temporarily furnishing the nursery. I wished this work didn’t have to be so bureaucratic and lonely.
I tried to call the sadness filling my soul “fatigue” or “new job insecurity.” But, as a brilliant sun created a blinding scene of crisp white outside my window, I knew the past dragged down my spirit. All I think I wanted when entering government training was the simple comfort that someone would notice if I did not come home at night. When everyone who I loved or who had reason to love me passed away, when I found myself stranded in a strange city in the most difficult of times, the Bureau became a lifeline.
Here at Ashwood, we were people stranded between the familiar and unknown, family and friends stripped from our lives with protocols and responsibilities layered in the emptiness. Into this artificial community of unrelated wounded souls, the Regans would raise their children born from strangers’ wombs.
God help us. Workers bending their heads in silent meditation Sunday mornings during our hour of spirituality came to mind as I wondered how a wounded woman like me could lead children to a personal connection with God. The matron position must have been created by a bureaucrat in search of his mother—producing hundreds of pounds of dry milk, stabilizing daily life for brilliant scientists and teaching little children to pray.
The computer screen illuminated, bringing my thoughts down from the Almighty to the all-knowing Bureau communication system. One message: “Infant furniture to be transported from Maplewood Acres approximately eleven hours. Three dozen Ashwood eggs exchange suggested.”
I forwarded the message to Magda and Terrell to confirm we could meet the barter price after fulfilling our market obligations.
“Welcome Matron Anne and Ashwood’s first baby. Saw Maplewood Acres’ message and offer new bedding set. Image below. Made by me, Beatrice. All natural materials. We’re through with having babies at Oak Glen and these things are looking for a new home. No exchange required. Call to confirm transport.”
Blankets, sheets and crib pads made of bright blue fabric with fluffy clouds and rainbows were displayed. Tiny old-fashion day gowns in complimentary colors completed the image. I called immediately.
“Hello, Matron Anne.” Beatrice’s voice suggested someone between my age and Barbara’s. “I never wanted to put a baby in Bureau-issued bedding, so I sewed everything here for our family or staff’s babies. Just a little hobby.”
“You’re quite generous.”
“Well, I’ve just got a house and staff to manage here at Oak Glen, so I’ve got more time for hobbies than you estate manager women. Excuse me a moment.” She muted her side of the call. I delved into Bureau data to find a picture of Beatrice.
“You’re probably trying to find a picture of me,” she said as I entered the Oak Glen staff directory. “That Oak Glen picture is the worst. Just turn on your cam and we’ll do a better introduction.”
So we met. Beatrice, a handsome woman with features defying anyone to name one ethnic background, looked about ten years my senior. She wore glasses atop her short hair, a deep cinnamon sweater complimenting warm skin. “I hear you have a new cook who I might like to meet.”
“News travels fast,” I said. “It feels great to see someone outside Ashwood.”
“This isn’t the easiest way to spend your days.” She lifted a great mug to her lips. “I didn’t think you’d be so young. Or such a good-looking European type.” She didn’t drink, just held the mug near her mouth. “How did Ashwood fare in the storm?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“Tell me about the baby. My biggest challenge is day care. With family farms unable to pay for family leave time, it seems like the estates attract young, fertile laborers.” She chuckled.
“The Regans have a girl. She arrived early so we’re pulling everything quickly.”
The mug left Beatrice’s lips again as I spoke. She lifted her eyes toward the camera and spoke. “I don’t remember Matron Barbara mentioning an infant. Isn’t one of the directors kind of reluctant to do the whole family routine?”
Maplewood Acres’ suggestion of three dozen eggs in exchange for use of the nursery furniture now appeared clean as Beatrice appeared to barter in gossip. She didn’t know how I disliked loose talk. We sat miles apart, gazing each other’s way via cameras.
�
�We are looking forward to Phoebe’s arrival,” I said. “A baby at the winter holidays is a special treat.”
“Might be rough on you.”
Of course Barbara shared what she chose from my bio with the estate region group. Beatrice seemed to not only know of my surrogacy history, but also when I delivered. The thought of a friendly relationship with Oak Glen house supervisor faded. I produced a grateful school teacher smile, tipped my head and starting closing the conversation.
“Your gift is appreciated.” I kept smiling toward the camera. “Thanks again. Would love to talk, but I have a production meeting.” My reminder of the differences in our responsibilities came out clear.
“Well, good luck with the little one. You’ll have the packet this morning.”
The screen returned to estate information and Bureau alerts. Brilliant sun sparkled off snow-covered surfaces as far as I could see, creating a scene of incredible beauty or absolute entrapment.
“Any luck?” David asked from outside my door. From his quiet tone I knew he heard some part of my second conversation. No privacy in small quarters.
“We’re paying eggs to rent furniture from one estate and have a pure gift of bedding from another. You can forget your daughter sleeping in a drawer.”
“Just out of curiosity, why didn’t you call any of the family farms? I’m sure they’ve got kids and used furniture.”
“Protocol, David. Federal estates aren’t to disrupt the family farms. They don’t have resources for us to be borrowing.”
“I know my mother would have been here with a loaf of cinnamon bread to say welcome if a new woman moved into the area. She wouldn’t care who owned the place. Farm living will always be rather isolated for women.” He shrugged and began turning away. “I bet you’d like one friend around here who isn’t connected to your job.”
“Friends would be good,” I said. “You’re right about that.”
“At least there are plenty of communications tools to stay in touch with your old friends. I still talk with two of my old grade-school guys. One’s farming his folks’ place, and the other’s a lawyer in New York. Incredible to think Egg Head had that kind of smarts.” He laughed as Terrell buzzed my earpiece.
“We found furniture,” I answered.
“And we have a sick worker,” he responded.
“Amber?”
“Fever, lung congestion. Medical assessment would be helpful.”
“I’ll generate the request. Is she in my room?”
“No, Lana brought her to my office.”
“I’ll place the request and meet you there.” A whooping cough filled his side of the conversation. I wished Matron Barbara could hear the pain of this child and know whatever financial gain was realized came out of the health of Ashwood’s workers.
As a federal estate, we received a small allocation of medical assessments, which could be carried to the next year if not used. Fees for each additional assessment built on the number of services requested. With six weeks left in the year, Ashwood had not used any of its medical resources, leaving me to wonder if the workers’ vaccines and lab profiles were up to date.
Half an hour later after setting up an assessment for Amber and annual lab profiles for all estate workers, I joined Terrell outside his office.
“You look as heated as Amber,” he said. “Bad morning?”
“I knew immunization records were overdue, but I just discovered Ashwood’s health files have been falsely updated. Half of these kids haven’t received flu vaccines for two years. And, all resources allocated for preventive care have been used.”
He raised eyebrows. “Barbara played with fire. What about the Regans’ baby?”
“The public health staff dispatched a technician immediately to conduct assessments on all workers and in-residence staff members. There’s a chance the baby will need to stay in the metro if any of the Ashwood adults or kids don’t pass screening criteria.” I wrapped my arms around my chest. “I suppose that woman knew she was underfeeding people, and she didn’t want lab panels flagging vitamin deficiencies. But how could she place everyone in jeopardy by ignoring simple vaccine schedules?”
“I can’t answer that. I think it might be good for you to talk with our sick girl. She needs someone who looks more like her mom.” He pushed open the office door.
“Can you let Magda and Rashad and Jack know the workers need to report to the gathering room in forty-five minutes for check ups?” I asked as I turned away.
“The workers are still at breakfast,” he said. “You’re working too hard.”
“Matron,” Amber whispered as I slipped a hand on her forehead.
“I’m here,” I said. “You look comfy.”
“I want to go home,” she said and began coughing and coughing like a small engine unable to turn over. “My mom has a special cup I get to use when I’m sick.”
“Sh-h-h.” I tucked the blanket around her. “A med tech is on her way here to look at you. With medicine you’ll feel better.”
Ashwood was lucky that day with every staff member and worker cleared for contagious diseases and Amber diagnosed before her condition turned to pneumonia. The kids didn’t feel the same way after blood tests, immunizations and vitamin injections. On our thin provisions, menu planning around the children’s needs meant challenges for Magda and Terrell.
“Can Tia and I make a financial contribution to ease the food situation?” David asked when the medical transport left. “I know that’s out of protocol, but this is our home, and we feel responsible.”
I felt guilty for attacking him about the workers’ condition only a day earlier. He was a good person caught in this odd new world just like me.
“Thanks, David. Terrell is building a solid vendor group and rebuilding our supplies. We’re allowed to run a deficit for six months, so if we can pass on your kind financial offer right now, I’ll do that.”
“You know how to find me if that changes, Anne.” He gave me a kind look and left.
17
They’re here!”
David’s joyous announcement on the estate system stopped work the next afternoon. Inside the residence, every worker and adult rushed to the foyer, lining up according to age or role as if welcoming royalty to Ashwood. Thanks to one week of Terrell’s kitchen magic, most of the children’s faces no longer suggested hunger. Worker reassignment and adult mentoring showed early promise in changing morale. We could be a family of sorts, a haven for children.
Phoebe arrived swaddled in pink blankets, carried from a Bureau transport by Nurse Dallie Kim, a middle-age woman of Asian descent. Baby and nurse could both be described as petite, not to be confused with fragile. The way David rushed out the door, I was concerned he might pick them both up. He was beyond joy, a man transformed by sight of his first child.
Tia waited inside the foyer. Looking Nurse Kim directly in the eye, Tia pulled aside Phoebe’s blanket. She traced her fingers over the baby’s cheek. Tiny, light-pink lips moved in that fishlike reflective movement of an infant searching for a mother’s breast. Tia stepped back as if displeased with her daughter’s natural action.
David extended hands to feel the weight of his child. “Please,” he said in a solemn voice, “may I hold her?”
The nurse transferred Phoebe to his arms and turned to me as if we were relatives merely chatting during this time. “We had an easy trip here,” she said. “Phoebe slept much of our travel.” She nodded toward David, who was experiencing the first rush of fatherhood then tilted her head in my direction. “I’m Nurse Kim and am delighted to be at Ashwood. You must be Matron Anne.”
I bowed my head in acknowledgement of her introduction. “Welcome. I hope you will be comfortable here.”
“Come here, Tia.” David slid closer to his wife. “She has your nose. Lucky girl.” His voice sunk close to baby-talk level. Tia’s back straightened as she stepped aside.
Unsure how to read her actions with workers beginning to surround the new pa
rents to be closer to the baby, I brought my hands together in a soft clap. “Let’s move away from the front doors and give the directors a few minutes alone with their daughter,” I said. “Everyone please finish your tasks, and we’ll have a little party to welcome Phoebe and Nurse Kim in the dining room in an hour.”
Workers and staff dispersed, excited voices moving back throughout the residence. Nurse Kim, Tia, and I followed David as he walked through the central hall. He moved like a man carrying the last water on earth in a thin crystal goblet. Nurse Kim and Tia spoke about Ashwood, the pink blanket, the snowfall, not about Phoebe.
Noticing a small frown began forming above the nurse’s eyes, I stopped at the directors’ suite. “Why don’t I take Nurse Kim to the nursery and give the two of you time with Phoebe?” I suggested.
“That’s a good idea” Nurse Kim responded. “It would be good for the baby to learn your voice and touch. I’ve been her only handler since she was born, and it’s really important she now learn your arms and voices.”
“David seems to be bonding right now. I’ll pick her up later. One parent is enough at a time.”
Phoebe’s Bureau-appointed protector stood firm, blocking Tia’s further movement past the open door. “You need to be with your baby. Let me walk you in.”
Tia responded in a voice loud enough to attract attention of nearby workers. “This is my home, Nurse Kim. I’m in charge of what happens here. If you don’t like that, we’ll ask for a new assignment from your Bureau.” Tia straightened her spine as she spoke, drawing herself upward as if trying to win Nurse Kim’s respect by standing taller.
“New parents are often apprehensive, Director Tia. My job is quite simple—to assure that each infant assigned to my care has a secure and healthy bonding experience in their homes. If that end is jeopardized in any way, I’m required to remove the infant and find a safe haven.” Nurse Kim, coat still fastened and travel bag over one shoulder, moved slightly forward. “That’s your daughter waiting to meet you. I suggest you follow your husband’s example and enjoy little Phoebe.”
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