Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  Ashwood’s smooth tile and wood floors played through my thoughts as I listened to his voice, which mixed the clipped tones of our shared university background with the easy cadence of a Midwestern upbringing. If Terrell did well as Tia’s chemical care shadow and found opportunities beyond estate work, I’d appreciate Jason’s maturity in my management team. He shifted again, leaned back in his chair.

  “Recently I received a three-year grant to develop estate multi-age curricula.” His voice slowed. “I need to be housed where I teach. In return you’d have the opportunity to be a test site for a new education model. The grant pays half my salary and living expenses.”

  “Why isn’t this in your credentials packet,” I asked before offering him the position. “The grant and special arrangements are significant factors.”

  “I’ve been interviewing with matrons regionally for the last ninety days and haven’t found the chemistry that made me want to share everything. Unlike other Bureau candidates, I have the right to turn down offers.”

  “And, have you turned any down?”

  “A few. You can check that right now. And, here’s the security code to verify the grant.” He slid a card toward me with both the University of Chicago and Bureau encryption. “I’ll leave you alone to read. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Matron Anne.”

  Before bowing his head, Jason smiled at me. I returned his smile and bowed my head as well, knowing Ashwood would benefit from this man, might become a preferred assignment for parents placing their children in government training. When I finished reading the grant document, I activated an offer.

  No one from the Bureau planned to drop in for at least a simple introduction, no estate management staff member thought to invite me inside the offices for a cup of tea, not one person officially connected to the thousands working in the dozen floors above this sanitized interview room cared to extend a welcome to the region. I paged Van.

  He waited outside the elevator foyer in the underground parking garage. The vehicle’s side door slid open as I approached, and I removed my errand list from a pocket as I stepped into its quiet interior.

  “Jeff Roberts for your haircut, Matron?”

  “That’s right.” Sandra encouraged trainees to have professional hair styling before their first assignment. I ignored her recommendations, arriving with long hair twisted and pinned each morning. By the storm, I understood I didn’t have the time for that kind of personal preparation. In thanks for arranging Phoebe’s nursery, the Regans made an appointment for me with Jeff Roberts, one of the most exclusive stylists in the Twin Cities.

  Leaving the parking ramp, we turned away from the restricted tunnel and onto a downtown street. Not many people wandered the sidewalks during work hours. Clothes divided workers for private employers from the majority in government employment. I loved the fabric, cut, and fit of clothes worn by the privately employed— a woman in a cardinal-red coat with blue scarf and gloves, two young girls in plaid pencil-thin skirts above dark stockings and tall boots. If there was time after my hair cut, I decided to look for new scarves to brighten the solid colors of my uniforms.

  We stopped in front of a narrow, three-story building. A door man dressed in rich brown wools appeared at the side of the transport.

  “Just a minute, Matron,” Van cautioned. “I don’t have verification from your stylist for this person’s actions. Please sit back in your seat.”

  Like a pre-crisis wealthy woman, I did as Van asked, gazing at the back of his head while data moved across the airwaves. Years of walking around Washington, D.C., as a mere trainee hadn’t prepared me for return to the cities, where my gold earpiece or uniform could attract criminals.

  “All clear. Enjoy yourself, Matron. I’ll be waiting nearby.”

  “But I’m scheduled for two full hours. Certainly you can take some time for lunch or errands?” He only smiled as the transport side opened, and the man in brown extended a gloved hand my way.

  Deep ebony doors decorated with subtle holiday greens led into the most luxurious hair salon I’d experienced. Blue-white lights created a sense of energy while music invited escape. Seasonal potpourri covered the smell of hair-care chemicals. My doorman waited with outstretched hands while I removed my scarf and coat. In the dressing room, I wrapped myself in a wealthy woman’s soft robe, hanging up the matron’s uniform. Removing my gold earpiece, I set it on vibrate and dropped it in the robe pocket. I became plain Anne Hartford, a woman with too much shaggy hair.

  The touch of another human’s hands on my neck, up the back of my scalp, across my forehead both soothed and set my nerves alive. Scent from the lavender massage oils reached my nose. I slipped into simple relaxation removed from everything right on the other side of that ebony front door. God, it was great.

  My earpiece vibrated as the stylist blew dry my now shoulder-length hair. I ignored the small pulses on my left thigh, wrapped in the utter relaxation of this first two hours away from all responsibilities. Ashwood could wait. My contract gave me two days a month time off and all I was claiming was two hours in this place where people called me “Anne.”

  “Do you need to get that,” the stylist asked, dryer now off. His eyebrows raised high, a man used to interruptions.

  “No, I definitely do not need to answer,” I said. “I like what you’ve done with my hair. I’m embarrassed to admit it’s been years since I had a professional cut.”

  Something of my old identity appeared in the mirror. I looked like a woman with a personal sense of style. I shook my head, liked the feel of my hair moving freely, and admired how a loose wave curved around my neck.

  “Don’t let the traveling groomers hack at my gorgeous work.” He smoothed a hand over a stray hair. “Honest, it was like a reality show to do your hair. You’re a looker even if you have to wear those grim estate outfits. I know a great tailor who could do wonders with a few tucks here and there.” He ruffled through his station drawer and pulled out a business card. “He makes home visits.”

  I took the card, looked back into the mirror and saw the receptionist approaching with Van. I pivoted in the chair. “Matron, Cook Terrell and Magda need to speak with you. You weren’t answering your calls.” He shuffled, uncomfortable. “You look nice.”

  “There’s a small office behind the front desk,” my stylist volunteered. “Happens all the time. Would you like a glass of water?”

  “The office will do.” I stood, removed my earpiece from its pocket banishment. “Thank you, Van, for coming in … and the compliment.” As we walked I turned on my communicator, signaled for Ashwood. Once it re-engaged, I closed the office door and leaned against a wall.

  “We’ve got a serious situation.” Terrell answered without a greeting. “Jensen decided to come out of hiding. He sent a worker here about an hour ago with a copy of the contract that Matron Barbara signed committing to hefty shipments of produce and dairy stock for the holidays. We sent the boy back, but there’s going to be trouble when Jensen’s truck arrives in the morning. He left a contact number.”

  Late lunch and consignment store shopping disappeared. “I’ll be back in about ninety minutes and will call Auditor Milan for advice during the drive. He and I have talked about the Jensen’s issue since the audit.”

  “Matron,” Magda joined the call. “You don’t know the worst. We think one of Jensen’s workers tricked Ladd into walking out of the estate gates. They’ve taken him.”

  A chill ran down my back. Worker abduction with its break in parental trust frightened every bureau employing child workers. “If Jensen’s kidnapped one of our children, I’ll have him screwed to the wall.” I began pacing the small room. “Who knows about Ladd? Has someone taken inventory of other workers and staff?”

  “Lao saw Ladd and the other boy throwing snow balls at each other. Then Ladd stepped outside the fence to get the last shot,” Magda said. “His tracker chip stopped moving about thirty minutes from Ashwood. We’ve accounted for all the kids and adults except
one day laborer in the stock feeding area.”

  “Update David, but do not tell Tia or the nurse what’s happened, especially not the nurse. Make sure Lao and David know it is essential we keep this situation in tight confidence.” My voice remained steady, directions coming from some long-ago drill during training. “Find that day laborer and call me. I’m leaving now.” Signing off the call, I opened the door, asked for my clothes and bill.

  “I settled the bill,” Van volunteered. “It’ll be added to the transport services. Take your time getting dressed.”

  We were on our way through the city in five minutes. Van, eyes forward while worming through midday traffic, handed a sack over the seats. “Lunch, Matron. We keep a few things with us for emergencies. Part of the service.”

  My hand shook as I reached for the bag. “Thanks. Can you use my data pad to locate a tracer signal location? We have a worker who needs to be picked up at another estate and no other transportation available.”

  If Van heard anything in my voice that betrayed my request, he showed no suspicion. He reported through the transportation bureau, so I hoped the Jensen estate would not generate any questions. He put up a hand, and I placed my data pad in it. I sat back, opened the food sack as if completing arrangements to pick up a child from a social outing. A ping sounded from my transport’s global positioning screen, then silence filled the vehicle.

  “You know that’s the Jensen estate,” Van said, his voice no longer colored with that service tone. “Senior Executive Director Jensen is a very important person in your regional Bureau team.”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “You say this boy followed one of the Jensen workers. Sounds like you’re calling this an ab—”

  “If our worker comes home with me to the estate I won’t call this episode anything.”

  “Well, Giant Pines doesn’t open their gates to any transport except those of the Senior Executive Director. Your worker is in a building near the road.”

  “Let me call the estate. Maybe they’ll make an exception about those gates. Could you please close the privacy window? I’ll knock when I’m done with my calls.”

  “Matron, this is a powerful man you’re …”

  Van saw my appreciative smile in his rearview mirror before I cut off his warning. “The executive director left contact information with Cook Terrell. I’m returning his call.”

  Perhaps the absence of family made me more reckless as I raced to rescue Ashwood’s defenseless boy. I recognized the chilled calm settling in my mind from those teaching days when I faced some of the city’s most powerful people who were merely the parents of underperforming children in my classroom. I could get a lot stronger to protect Ladd and Ashwood. I punched in Jensen’s number.

  “Who are you?” A voice like many that were computer-generated answered.

  “Matron Anne of Ashwood estate. Senior Executive Director Jensen asked that I call. I understand one of our workers accompanied one of your workers back to your estate. Since I’m in the area, I’d like to give our boy a ride back home in my transport.”

  “It would be unorthodox for a worker from any other estate to be here. Our workers do not invite young people to the estate.” The flattened automated voice, a sign of disrespect between estates’ staffs, negated my nervousness. I worked at remaining calm, aware I could be speaking with anyone from one of their workers, my peer or Jensen himself.

  “I agree with you that this is irregular.” I replaced “unorthodox” with a more insinuating word. “The Ashwood adults who saw our worker helped into a Giant Pines transport thought it was all much more than “unorthodox.” His tracer suggests he’s in a building near the road. If you’d send him outside the gate, I’ll deal with what went wrong from Ashwood and not file paperwork naming this estate and Senior Executive Director Jensen.”

  Only silence answered my bravado, which had been delivered with bouncing inflection while moving over the rutted roadway. In the transport front seat Van’s lips moved. Who had he called?

  “We’ll open the lower gate. Wait in your transport for further directions.”

  A click ended the message followed by emptiness. I called Terrell at Ashwood.

  “Where are you, Matron?”

  “We’re about five minutes from the estates region entrance and will be stopping at Great Pines to pick up Ladd.”

  “Director David is on his way there.”

  “Terrell, didn’t you try to stop him?”

  “Lao is driving. He feels responsible for the situation.”

  If Jensen acted like most Bureau senior management, he’d treat David like a mere guest on Great Pines, a person to be treated nicely but with no stake in the game. I’d seen that patronizing approach drive intellects to very poor behavior.

  “Any news about the missing laborer?”

  “He called in for a late start today because of a sore tooth.”

  “I hope he saw a dentist, but I’m relieved he’s not mixed up in this.” I paused. “We’ve been directed to pull into Great Pines. I wanted someone to know that. Hopefully, I’ll have a talk with Jensen, although we might be beyond a face-to-face agreement to settle his threats.”

  “Don’t go in there alone, lady.”

  “Don’t let your imagination go places, Terrell. I think they’ll make sure Ladd comes home with me, but Barbara’s signature on that contract is worrisome. Jensen knows it is illegal for one estate to oversell production plus past payments were directly payable to Matron Barbara.”

  “All I’m saying is don’t be a hero. Jensen can make your life hell.”

  On that Terrell was right. My estate management career could end this afternoon or be turned into a nasty life spent on some horrid, poor acres in Wyoming. “I’ll listen well and act wisely,” I promised. “I need to talk with David. Take care of home front, Terrell.”

  We passed through the estates gated entrance. “How far now, Van?” I asked using the transport communication system. “And who have you been talking with?”

  “I filed a change in destination, Matron, and alerted my supervisor of the situation.” His eyes remained straight ahead, no casual contact via the rearview mirror. “We’re approximately twenty-eight minutes from Giant Pines.”

  “Thank you. We’re to go in the first gates and wait for directions.”

  “Just so you know, I can’t be leaving this transport.”

  “That’s fine, Van. I’m not expecting anything weird to happen.”

  My earpiece buzzed. Then David’s voice came through. “Anne, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” For a brief moment I took comfort in the impulsive support of David and Lao. For many years no one stood behind me in any crisis. “I’ve spoken with someone at the Jensen estate and have been invited to pull the transport through their lower gates. I hope to we’ll resolve the situation with Ladd quickly. It’s probably a misunderstanding.”

  A slight whoosh came through my earpiece before David spoke again, perhaps the sound of another transport on the roadway. “Let’s meet before Giant Pines’ gate. Lao was the one who saw Ladd helped into their transport, and I have a few pieces of history that might be helpful if needed. Lao suggests parking our transport at the thirty-eighth marker post. We’ll be there before you.”

  “As long as you respect that Jensen has asked me to be in contact with him as the manager of Ashwood.”

  “You told me about his dealings with Matron Barbara. I think I can be of help.” He cleared his throat.

  “I want to keep this low key. I’m concerned about security at Ashwood.” I thought quickly. “If you aren’t comfortable following my lead, then wait outside the gate. I need to sign off.”

  The few high clouds I could see through the transport windows appeared almost dingy in contrast to the acres of sparkling snow that lay behind the estates’ gated entrance. With a gentle thud, the transport connected with smooth, cleaned pavement and picked up speed.

  I leaned forward a
nd opened the glass. “We’ll be meeting Director David and one of Ashwood’s managers at the thirty-eighth marker. David will ride into Giant Pines with us.” Van nodded, his eyes straight ahead. “I’ll take my data pad, please.”

  22

  When I saw Ashwood’s small transport, I called Lao. “The estate needs you, Lao. I’m nervous about security there while I’m with Jensen.”

  “It’s not good for you to meet with this man alone.” Lao’s always even voice put a brake pedal on my nerves. “He’s a powerful person.”

  “And I’ll have Director David as well as a transport driver with direct connection to his superiors.” I paused. “Terrell’s smart, but no one knows what Ashwood’s physical plant needs like you. Please, Lao, consider this a directive. Take care of the workers and Director Tia and the baby.”

  “Don’t you think we might need an extra body if there’s trouble inside Giant Pines?” David questioned from inside the transport.

  “If there’s trouble, I don’t think three of us will make any difference than two of us,” I said. “There’s nothing to suggest we’re in physical danger entering Giant Pines.”

  “Director Jensen has one of our boys. That suggests the possibility of physical danger to me,” he answered.

  Van listened into our conversation. I shook my head, impatient for David to stop with his questions. “We’re pulling up to the transport. You can join me or go back to Ashwood with Lao.”

  He walked to our transport quickly, eased through the door the same way. I breathed in the cold air coming from his clothes before the transport ventilation neutralized his presence. As he settled into the seat across from me, I saw his eyes take in my haircut and wished we were in a less stressful situation so he might make a comment. But nothing was that simple.

  “Here’s my strategy—” David started.

  “It’s my responsibility, David. I’m the estate manager. Jensen won’t want to deal with you on Bureau business and that’s appropriate. So, if you want to join me in meeting him, you need to stay in the background.”