Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  I fussed at my desk as if looking for paper and pen. Lana arrived with our breakfast as I planned a quick answer that I wanted to finish my Ashwood assignment without Jensen’s threatening presence. Maybe I’d admit to having strong feelings for Phoebe that extended to her parents. But, sitting while Sandra asked Lana questions about career interests provided time to self-edit. Sandra knew me well enough to recognize half-truths.

  I felt my way toward answering. Sandra sat a few chairs away, facing the eastern windows and a peaceful view of Ashwood’s frozen pond with its ring of bare weeping willow and ash trees. This morning we were treated to a sunrise creeping up behind the trees.

  “Before I say much, can you tell me if you’re here in your official role?” I asked.

  “That’s fair. Jensen’s history with Ashwood, including his communication last night, isn’t unusual for this guy. I’ve been called in as counsel for a couple of younger matrons in this area.” She slid a bowl of oatmeal her way, rather common food for the Washington, D.C., folks. “I traveled here because of you, Anne. I hope you can be as open as we’ve always been, but you’re right to remember I’m also a Bureau representative looking into serious allegations.”

  Workers would be at breakfast with members of Ashwood’s staff. I knew which kids needed time to wake up over their oatmeal, which boys sat together each morning to play games, how Amber had a tendency to spill on her clean uniform so she wore a green apron. A few day laborers with kitchen privileges would be eating in the back dining area Terrell had created from an old storage space, their weather-reddened faces relaxing over coffee and a warm meal.

  “This place is more than my new home, Sandra. It’s like I have the opportunity to make Ashwood successful, very successful financially, as well as create a good place for its people. My first morning here, I discovered kids ate cold cereal at a quiet table, staff made breakfast in their quarters and not one laborer ever entered the residence. That’s all changed. I’ve made difficult decisions and asked staff to work hard, and we’re on our way to rebuilding this estate.”

  “Your reports support that, Anne. You’re not telling me much I don’t know.”

  “David and Tia require support to raise their children. If you could see how excited he’s been to step into being a father, you’d know Phoebe will have a good life. Tia needs the people we’ve put on our team to help her live with the pressures of her work.” I cautiously shifted in my chair, could not find comfort. “There’s some evidence Matron Barbara helped further Tia’s dependency on alcohol and prescription drugs, perhaps with Director Jensen’s help. We need time to understand her situation.”

  I picked up the carafe, offered her more coffee. Tilting forward sent my ribs into play and I straightened more like a fifty-year-old. “Forgot about my ribs,” I said.

  She looked out the window, rubbed the bridge of her nose, a thoughtful habit I remembered well. “So tell me about why Jensen has you spooked.”

  This was Sandra the businesswoman asking. I focused on Ashwood first to build her interest. “If he doesn’t get access to the water system technology, I think he might find ways to sabotage Ashwood’s financial recovery.” She nodded.

  “I suppose his assurance that he could get away with abusive behavior reminds me of how the authorities turned their backs on assaults against women during the depression.” I quieted, shifted in my chair again.

  “And that comes from being raped in your mother’s house?”

  Sandra knew about that incident, but her casual mention stirred deep emotions. “Think of all the Bureau policies Jensen violated yesterday: child abduction, misappropriation of estate production for personal gains, sexual harassment, inappropriate personal use of Bureau system, indecent exposure, threatening physical harm of an essential government employee.” I stopped, expected Sandra to pick up the conversation with wisdom. When she didn’t, I continued, aware my voice sounded reedy. “Why should I believe he won’t be allowed to take over Ashwood … damage Director Tia’s career … or rape me? If dual standards didn’t exist, he’d be in custody already.”

  I stopped speaking, knowing I’d rambled. Avoiding connection with Sandra, I looked out the windows where light teased Ashwood’s buildings toward that moment still almost an hour away when sensors would turn off security lamps. I turned back, saw Sandra check her watch while drinking from a water glass. Frown lines deepened across her forehead.

  “That’s good to know, Anne. You want justice. You don’t feel Ashwood is secure while Jensen lives in the vicinity. You’d like to be sure he doesn’t impact this estate’s people and future. Does that summarize the big picture? Anything else?”

  The way Sandra encapsulated my emotional flow would be written in report for anyone’s eyes. I knew her communication style well enough to visualize how she’d outline the key statements with supporting bullet points. All very sanitized for those within the Bureau who needed to make decisions. She had not taken a note during these fifteen minutes, was not satisfied with the direction of our discussion.

  “We’re down to about sixty minutes to save or secure your future. Tell me what you want for yourself, Anne, beyond this matron phase. We might be able to grab you a piece of the future with some negotiations.”

  Quiet slipped into my soul, clearing all the clatter with a rare absolute understanding of what I wanted for my life, which I then edited before sharing with this powerful woman. No big aspirations or recognition in lights, but what I needed to feel my life had completion and meaning.

  “It’s relatively simple, Sandra. I want what I lost. I know I can’t bring the dead back to life. My deepest desire is to create my own family—a husband and children with a secure home of our own. Maybe that could be in a lifelong property hold on Ashwood where I could become a player in the commodity market and build a community that feels like family.”

  A lifelong property hold on Ashwood had escaped through my self-editing. I’d been a government vagabond for four years. Indeed I wanted Ashwood to be my home and close the door on the time of carrying my life in a suitcase and a few boxes.

  “Anne, you know the Bureau has big plans for you.” She wore her executive face, one eye closed and a funny crunch of her lips as if delivering a body blow to an obviously flawed plan. One of the few trainees allowed to observe a round of regional performance reviews, I knew Sandra’s razor-sharp business sense. “You could parlay Jensen’s indiscretion into a shorter assignment here and become one of the Bureau’s youngest regional leaders. I’d bring you back into the Eastern or Southeastern areas to create visibility with senior Bureau decision makers.”

  One finger tapped on the table top, stopped. “Of course, there’s the possibility of a substantial financial settlement for your suffering. As you pointed out, Jensen appears to have violated a preponderance of laws. The settlement might be enough to buy a place where you could settle in D.C. Maybe we could get a surrogate to carry your child when you’ve got time for family, not a lot of precedence for that among Bureau professionals. Think big picture—you’ll have a real career and your family, Anne. Don’t limit your possibilities.”

  Two day laborers opened the dairy barn fence on the far side of my window view. The milk transport arrived every morning between seven and seven fifteen. Production numbers should pop up on my data pad before seven-thirty. Our no-hormone, no-chemical dairy operation products demanded top price. These were the things a matron took pride in, details that quickly lost meaning in a regional coordinator’s daily work life and were meaningless to any of the people reporting directly to Sandra.

  “Maybe the Bureau missed something in profiling me for this role,” I said while feeling my way through my thoughts. “I look right—middle-class, educated, career woman who lost everyone and everything. But after just a few days here some of the Bureau training began melting away.”

  Working to change the blank face she turned my way, I lowered my voice. “I connected with the people—these workers look like childr
en of parents who made a tough decision, the management team is multi-dimensional. I don’t want to be a field commander. I want to be myself.”

  My mentor and confidante leaned toward me. I thought she might rub my hand or put an arm around my shoulder. I leaned toward her as well, sighing with the relief of possibly setting an anchor here for more than thirty months.

  Authority zapped through the strength of Sandra’s hand, suddenly gripping my wrist. She shook my arm with such force that I felt movement in my shoulders and ribs. I swallowed the pain, fought to rebuild a toughened exterior.

  “Nice little talk, Anne.” While I tried to move away, her single hand pinned mine to the table. “Now remember the Bureau has invested four years in your sorry, untried ass. I made sure you received a tough assignment—an estate on the edge of redeployment, underdeveloped workers, energy department directors who can’t parent. I picked you for this mess because a sad sack former teacher, propped up with the right support, just might possibly save a nutcase scientist from self-destruction. And if you fail in just one of those challenges, there will still be enough in your evaluation packet to justify sending you to a more prestigious assignment. That’s why we put four years into you—for pay back to this country. You do owe this country.”

  It was the speech I knew she ultimately would deliver, the core mantra each trainee heard over and over. The speech intended to keep us walking through each day with a look outsiders might call smug, but insiders knew as the façade of the female military in action. The duty face, the knowledge that the Bureau owns just enough of your soul to make you step quickly when the march is called.

  Showing neither physical discomfort nor emotional shame, I pulled my hand free of her restraint. Of course she sat on my injured side, so the motion felt like a sharp kick, but I straightened in my chair, closed the dream gates, and returned to the game of survival.

  “If your nemesis Jensen wants Ashwood, he knows how to make that happen using government policy to reclassify the land.” Her eyes demanded connection. “Siphoning off the best of Ashwood to put quality food on the tables of the most important people in this region is significant. The heads of local bureaus, national department leaders deserve far better food than the common market provides.” I gave her my attention, not my commitment. “You threaten his personal business by protecting this water system thing. You also threaten a whole lot of critical relationships he nurtures through satisfying the stomachs of some very powerful people. And he holds very interesting information about those people. Information that provides him protection. Do you see what’s happening?”

  People still starved in the cities, babies still died in dumpsters, bureaucrats still molested their troops. I poured a glass of water. Maybe twenty minutes remained to negotiate a settlement with Sandra before the bureaucrats tore open the communications lines.

  “Matron Anne, we have a situation at the lower delivery gate.” Lao appeared on screen. “A large transport of materials from an unknown vendor is insisting on delivering boxes for you from the Bureau of Human Capital Management. Are you aware of this delivery? Or perhaps your guest placed an order?”

  29

  Sandra’s direction had me looking for an escape. “Let the games begin,” I said a bit too loudly. At my emotional eruption, Sandra’s eyes widened. I pushed away from the table, turned my back on her, and walked to my desk console. “Find out what the transport is carrying, Lao. I’ll be there.”

  “You better stay in your office, Matron.”

  “That’s for me to decide.”

  “I can provide better security for you if you remain inside.”

  “Sorry, Lao, but right now I need to be there.”

  I turned back to Sandra. “We have a situation, and I’m going to join Lao. For your safety, I’d rather you watch on monitor.”

  Before Sandra reacted, I was rushing from the office as fast as my body allowed. With a barn coat from the service entrance, I hurried down the back path to the delivery gate.

  Lao acknowledged my approach as he spoke with the driver, a large man wearing a uniform missing a carrier identification patch. The man got out of his transport, looked in my direction while walking around the back of his rig to open a door. I held my breath, concerned Jensen could abduct a critical Ashwood manager. Security personnel hovered close to the gate. Lao and the driver stepped back.

  “As you were told, Ashwood is under lock down. No entrance or deliveries except specific items ordered from approved vendors.” Lao’s voice, offering no inflection, carried in the cold morning quiet. “Security will provide adequate time for you to file new travel coordinates before you pull away from the estate walls.”

  “You’re not listening, buddy,” the driver protested. “I’m an independent driver with a one way delivery contract. I won’t get paid unless you accept the load and sign the bill of lading. You can’t screw me by not accepting a delivery of cut flowers.”

  “You’re not listening, driver. Ashwood isn’t accepting shipments outside our approved vendors.”

  The driver’s hand landed on Lao’s arm maybe fifteen seconds before two security staff put hands on the big guy’s arms.

  I stayed inside the gate. “I’m Matron of the estate. Who sent you?”

  “Your sweetheart, Senior Executive Director Jensen. Big spender. I never seen no man put out like this for a woman.”

  I looked to Lao, caught in a collusion of anger and confusion.

  “Look, I’m sorry for your misfortune of getting caught in this situation.” Lao stood, arms crossed on his chest. “You need to back out our drive and be on your way.” Lao walked toward our closed gates.

  The man advanced, hands extended. Lao gave the guards a small signal to advance as well. As the driver formed a clenched fist, he found himself again restrained. “You lousy fuck-up bureaucrat. I’m not getting stiffed. Sign the damn form, and I’ll get rid of the load somewhere else.” His face reddened. Security continued their hold.

  Lao backed inside Ashwood’s pedestrian entrance, closed it.

  Outside the gate, released from our hired people, the driver shook his fists toward the monitor while shouting curses. He entered his transport, flipped open its rear door and began pulling back and forth, causing boxes of cut flowers to flop out, burst open on the frozen ground and be run over. Long-stem red roses, white roses, gerbera daisies in brilliant pinks and reds, delicate iris of every purple shade, clumps of ultra expensive bird of paradise stems lay crushed amidst green ferns.

  I didn’t know where so many flowers were being raised in this new world. Every inch of growing environment grew food for someone. Apparently in this new order, the dual standards of those with money and the rest of the population once again existed. I turned away, the sight sickening me.

  Security stood guard, hands suggestively settled on Taser holsters. The driver pulled away, slamming the transport’s back shut from within his vehicle. I flinched, waited for an explosion, then found my voice.

  “Thank you, Lao. We should add to the gate crews.” My legs felt shaky. “I can’t believe this kind of waste exists again.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Nothing is surprising. People starve, and others raise flowers. We’ll have maintenance wear protective clothing to dispose of these.”

  Hobbling back to Sandra, I filed a security breach report with the Bureau via my data pad. I found her still sitting at the table drinking more coffee, tapping fingers on its surface without rhythm. “The regional office opens soon,” I said as I entered the room. “We better get to work before they call.”

  “Perhaps we should get you out of the region,” Sandra suggested. Her calm tone added to the outdoor chill I carried and made me wonder if Sandra’s appearance was more to protect Senior Executive Director Jensen than counsel me.

  “How many women my age have successfully completed assignments in the region without sexual harassment from Jensen?” I look at her as I asked.

  “Why is that relevant?” Her vo
ice was cool, disinterested.

  Before responding, I used controls under the table to signal Lao that he would be receiving audio of this conversation to record it in his office.

  “You know it’s relevant. Signing me to a risky assignment with an acknowledged stalker down the road—into an estate where he blackmailed staff into conducting illegal business.” I slowed my words. “I should have had prior information and been asked to sign a risk consent form. If his files are secured, someone should have granted me full access to review this history. Isn’t that protocol?”

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Anne. Senior Executive Director Jensen is a respected member of the regional Bureau team. You certainly read about Giant Pines enterprises in the neighboring-estates materials data before you arrived. If you didn’t complete your research, do it soon. Be careful of defaming such a man. We discussed this last night.”

  I hated the charade we now entered, the mask she pulled over truth. “He knew I carried a son and when the baby was born—sealed information. He acted as if he were privy to almost everything in my life. As if he was watching me move inside Ashwood.”

  An uneasy quiet filled the space between my former confidante and me. Sitting back in her chair, Sandra appeared to be listening, as if collecting food for thought. I used to call it her Buddha face, acknowledging how far away she could appear in the midst of any emotion. Not this time, not when I understood the silence to be confirmation.

  A groan rose in my throat, my breakfast threatening to follow. “He’s been watching me, using the security monitors in my own quarters. That’s how he was able to perform that disgusting sexual act only in my room.”

  Sandra’s head turned slightly, as if listening for a sound beyond my voice, someone outside the door.

  “My God, someone in the Bureau made this all possible. He must have been the synthesized voice from the time I arrived. That’s why Barbara moved out of here so quickly.”