Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  “Already in the planning.”

  “They’ll never notice what they’re eating with a cup of your brew.” I poured myself a fresh mug and headed to meet with Ashwood’s newest adult staff member.

  The jolly man who met children in the foyer hid beneath the surface in our work session. I saw a man who carried sadness of losing his family and was trying to adjust to the realities of the new order. A man a lot like most of the adults at Ashwood.

  Teacher Jason stayed focused, attacking each worker file with a list of questions about work habits, physical strength, leadership in the residence. We talked about the current situation and the kids’ fears, about the mentorship system I’d implemented at Ashwood, inviting him to participate by coaching the adults. Three hours flew by in the familiar language of teachers talking about kids.

  “I have to be at a security briefing in ten minutes,” I said to draw our time to a close. “I have one last request.”

  He nodded while shifting in his chair. In spite of changing positions, my aching body hurt as I tried to stand up. His movements looked quite fluid. Terrell was right; no one really recovers in an estate’s daily pattern.

  “Nurse Kim needs to be involved in our efforts so she can gain an understanding of how serious I am about the future success of our kids. I thought she might help Amber manage basic reading. As soon as Phoebe’s napping, she might approach you for advice.”

  “Won’t this nurse be here only a few more weeks?”

  “Could be more. The Regans are expecting another child in June. If Nurse Kim’s assignment is over the long haul, we need to involve her in our team.” I checked my data pad, surprised at the absence of communications. “Any last questions before dinner and your first school session?”

  Sitting back in his wheelchair, reading glasses perched above his nose in a ridge that seemed to exist for this purpose, the teacher formed a triangle with his fingers as he thought. “You have a lot on your plate with this lockdown and the new infant and resource issues, but let me try something out on you.” He smiled—not the easy kind I saw with the children—yet sincere. “I did notice in the files that Ashwood has a high number of kids who are full wards of the state. How does the idea of a holiday pageant sound to keep our minds busy with something positive?”

  “Could adults participate? Who would be the audience?”

  “Well, we could do little scenarios or songs for each other and stage it in the great public room. Or we could try something bigger and use the community center in the village and invite the kids’ or day laborers’ families?”

  I knew why my first hire was the right one as we barreled through skeletal plans for his first suggestion and stored away the village performance for next year. This simple program could spawn a lot of dreams in our kids.

  “That’s why you’re so right for Ashwood, Teacher Jason. If you’re open for help, try Terrell, our cook. He has a great voice and plays piano. The workers adore him.” I gathered my things, stood carefully. “As the day goes on, I’m really feeling the bruising from yesterday’s incident.” I moved as quickly as I could to the security briefing.

  “Matron.”

  I was humming a favorite holiday song when David stopped me in the hall. I blushed, maybe because he caught me in a silly moment, maybe because of Tia’s talk.

  “Hello, David.” I kept my voice light. “Between exploding transport bruises and that near shiner, you look like a guy who isn’t afraid to take on the bullies. Are you going to the security briefing?”

  “No, I was looking for you.” He put his hand on my elbow. “Tia just received flight orders for tomorrow morning. I need to know if this will impact Phoebe?”

  Of course David would be worried about Phoebe. “Good question. I’m not worried, but I’ll talk to my regional coordinator right after the briefing. Bringing Teacher Jason on board gives us a tremendous advantage in building the case that Ashwood can support your children.” Then, because I was a bureaucrat on a driven schedule, I asked the foolish question. “Anything else?”

  “I heard Tia’s recording. Let’s step through one question at a time, Annie.”

  Neither of us had to say more. In the fishbowl of this residence, neither of us should say more, but I knew my smile was different from the one I gave Terrell earlier. “I can’t be late, or Baylor will start without me,” I said.

  After the children’s dinner with Teacher Jason, after their first evening of lessons, after the residence temperatures dipped, I walked past the formal rooms and saw Tia sitting in the rocker, holding Phoebe. A moment not to interrupt, I watched their reflection in the big mirror.

  Tia held her daughter without trepidation, strong arms wrapped around the baby’s blanketed form. She spoke, her voice a soothing flow of calm music. When she raised the baby to her lips, to a mother’s gentle kiss, I saw the trails of tears on Tia’s face. She moved the child from arm’s crook to the extension of her upper legs, appearing to study Phoebe’s emerging features. Tiny arms waved in the air, I knew a smile of some sort probably pleased Tia. I walked away, for the first time not afraid for the baby’s safety in her mother’s care.

  I doubt Tia slept that night as lights remained on in the office building when I finally went to bed. Her transport was scheduled before most of the staff awoke in the morning. Terrell and I shared morning coffee with a subdued Tia, who was once again dressed in the same well-styled traveling clothes she wore when I’d first met her. Her suitcases and business bag waited in the front hall. David joined us, kept an arm around the back of Tia’s chair. They did not look into each other’s faces.

  When the transport arrived, Tia left for the nursery. David followed, but she held up a hand and asked to be left alone.

  “How long will she be gone,” I asked him.

  “Three months, maybe six. They might have to tear down the facility. The Eastern Europeans have been known for poor construction in the past. We’ll ship more of her things as she gets a better idea of the duration.”

  “You can tell her the Bureau has no intentions of removing Phoebe from Ashwood. Nurse Kim overstates her influence.” It was the only holiday gift I could deliver in this locked-down mess of a situation.

  He took off running along Ashwood’s long central hall like the big South Dakota farm boy he had once been. I walked to the sink, rinsed my coffee mug, aware of Terrell’s extra-sensory perception activation.

  “Um, um. He likes what he sees even if you didn’t completely brush out your sleep hair.” I blushed, twice in twenty-four hours, as my hand immediately reached for the area I knew he was seeing. Terrell laughed, low and smoky.

  33

  The weeks of lockdown were the most peaceful time in my first months at Ashwood. Everyone fell into the protocol required by our rings of guards and officers and troopers. Surprises like news of vandalism or intercepted transports reported in security briefings occasionally unnerved me. But, inside the walls, Ashwood’s workers, laborers, and staff carried on their duties protected from undue alarm.

  Teacher Jason took charge of the children’s non-work development, becoming a valuable team member. For the first time, kids carried notebooks and pencils in their work shirt pockets for all kinds of school assignments. During afternoon recreation time, Jason built simple games to lure even the most outdoor-adverse kids into an area protected by the residence and outbuildings.

  And there was festive holiday preparation among the workers and their mentor adults. Three of our children would go home for Christmas, and we invited parents and siblings of four others to spend the day at Ashwood, the estate’s first visitation. Baylor’s folks endorsed the plan, offered transportation assistance.

  “Maybe I should have invited my parents for the holidays,” David said as he walked into my office about ten days before Christmas. “Phoebe’s not cleared for travel until March and my Mom’s getting a bit itchy about meeting her first granddaughter.”

  “Your DOE folks know how to make miracles happen,
David. I’m sure they could manage transportation from South Dakota.”

  “I’m just daydreaming because my brothers and their families are all going to the farm over that weekend. I haven’t been home for the holidays in six years.” He sat down in a chair near me. “Mom’s sending Cook Terrell Christmas cookies made by her church ladies. I’m sure they’ll be the greatest. She makes these gingerbread people with applesauce instead of sugar. I asked Lao to be sure a load of hams, roasts, turkeys, and venison from my parents makes it through security. The best meats you’ve tasted in the last decade.”

  I half-listened as I reviewed allocation reports. The estate would need to dig into our slim financial cushion to feed the security forces in about ten days.

  “… eager to meet you. My dad likes women who frown over financials.”

  We were at that stage in our relationship that I heard affection under his comment and could smile as I responded. “If we have to continue feeding three dozen extra meals a day for much longer, I’ll have permanent frown marks.” David now had a regular chair in my office. “Remember you commented on my dad’s V-shaped crease above his eyes? Mine will be even deeper. I’ll look like a permanently worried old woman at thirty-two.”

  “Not going to happen, Annie. I see the security guards watch you walk past.” He delivered the compliment with a male wolf-like grin from another era.

  “What have you told your family about me?” I asked him. I wondered how old schoolers understood the developing world of relationships for people like David—arranged marriages, babies born to surrogates, while the traditional ways existed in other parts of our country.

  “That you’re the woman I wanted to meet years ago.”

  Love came quite different this time in my life, propelling us from strangers to this emotional place. This man was good and kind and invited me to dream. His roots, buried in South Dakota farm dirt, kept him steady in this risky world. Courtship on an estate under lockdown consisted of constant work pressure, little privacy, and the incredible experience of being together almost every hour of every day.

  Against our personal intent of no public displays of affection during regular work time, I wound my fingers through his across my desk. “Can you come to my quarters after Phoebe is in bed tonight?”

  “Only if you unplug the ear piece.”

  “A deal.” He wandered out. A DOE chip would tell some mole where in the residence this prized citizen spent time tonight. No one would care.

  After dinner, after spending thirty minutes in the workers’ classroom, after visiting with Nurse Kim and Phoebe, after too much time in paperwork, I heard a knock on my door. David walked in, like a visitor, looking around for what the things around him might tell him about Annie. I closed the door, secured it and turned down the security system to absolute minimum. My earpiece lay next to the monitor. He took in each detail.

  “I brought you something.” He held out a small box wrapped in square of old brown velvet and tied with red satin ribbon. “My father’s Aunt Jessica convinced me to accept the MIT scholarship and leave home. This was hers.”

  Untying the ribbon, old emotions threatened my steady heartbeat. Trainees gifted each other on birthdays with a piece of candy or a hair clip from things brought to the academy. The child in me held on to memories of big glorious boxes wrapped in papers and ribbons, the wonder of brand-new things waiting for discovery. Matron Anne could be as excited by any wrapped box from David.

  I wondered what a man who still traveled the world, who had money to spend on hand-sewn infant clothes and who wore cashmere sweaters to the office, might give the woman who invited him to her bed. The velvet fell open, warm on my palm, exposing a small red box with the name of some long ago jeweler in Northfield, Minnesota.

  “Don’t you think it’s an omen that you went to school in that little town, and I still have this hundred-year-old box from Great Aunt Jessie?” David stood close, I could smell Phoebe’s shampoo on his shirt.

  Inside the box lay a key, a simple silver-colored key like the one that unlocked my parents’ front door. A small paper tag written in female slant script shared an address from any town or city in old America: “Maple Street.”

  “She left her house in Sioux Falls to me when she passed away. I didn’t know anyone who lived in a big city as a kid. I stayed with her so we could go to museums, eat at restaurants, drive to Minneapolis to see a big city. Cousin Jeff lives there with his wife and son.

  “I want you to know that I won’t always have to be a government grunt. I’ve put away significant DOE bonus money. I’ve got this house and share in the deed on my parents’ farm. I’ve got a future to offer beyond my contract service.”

  From his pocket he pulled out a chain. “Maybe kind of corny, but if you want to keep it on this chain I thought it’d look nice.”

  I accepted the chain, strung it through the eye of the key and handed it back to him before lifting my hair off my neck. He latched it, kissed my neck and then my throat. I turned to feel his lips on mine, to open his lips with mine and taste him.

  The headiness of a man with all his sounds and smells and feelings in my arms, filling my mouth and brain and heart. Especially heart. For just a moment the past—the good memories of Richard and the bad experiences of the assault and lonely childbirth—pushed against my physical need for this man. But I let go of all that to be in the moment and led David to my sleeping room to a bed freshly made in a space lit by candles and a sliver of the moon visible from an uncovered window.

  Later, with the key to a house on Maple Street embedded in the skin of my neck, I listened to David talk about the life we might have. The man-boy sprawled across my three-quarter bed, my hand clasped to his chest. I knew, as long as the DOE kept a chip in his neck to protect their investment, no bank account would ever be large enough to make life in a South Dakota farm town possible. That dream would have to be lived here.

  “Matron Anne.” From the other room, my own mistress’s voice called.

  “Don’t go,” David asked.

  “I have no choice.” I rose, took my robe from the foot of my bed. “You understand.”

  “Matron Anne, please respond.”

  “Annie, before you go.” His hand held my arm, with both strength and gentleness. “I love you.”

  We were trained like circus dogs to obey the earpiece voice. I held still for a moment, my accelerated heart rate now jumping to a different commander. I touched my lips to his forehead before whispering “I love you, too” then headed for the other room.

  34

  Earpiece again in place, I sat in the dark of my dressing room. “Matron Anne here.”

  “Please remember to wear your earpiece according to protocol and save us the need for a screen greeting.”

  “You’re speaking with a person who’s had less than four hours off in almost eight weeks. Certainly a few hours here and there without Bureau summons are acceptable. You are aware we are still under lockdown.”

  I cleared my throat, while searching for slippers without turning on a light or triggering a visual screen, and softened my tone. “I’m sure you didn’t put all the facts together and I know you have many estates to balance. Why the call?”

  “Senior Executive Director Jensen has agreed to immediate relocation to a lesser Bureau project in the Pacific Northwest region. Will this satisfy your complaint?”

  “Tia and I have saved huge amounts of DOE special projects bonus money in individual accounts …” played through my mind and kicked my faithful employee temperament to its knees.

  “Actually it doesn’t. I spoke with Senior Executive Director Sandra Goetz extensively about what I needed to do to close this episode. She made a number of offers which did not meet my requirements or were unacceptable in other ways.”

  “Matron Anne, you do understand that Senior Executive Director Jensen has been demoted and relocated away from family, friends, and home.”

  “Have local and state officials filed cha
rges for child abduction and sexual predator activity?”

  “Senior Executive Director Jensen no longer lives within the Minnesota region. I do not know the answer.”

  “If he has been demoted, why are you using his title? In fact, how do I know this isn’t Jensen using the Bureau communications system again?” I disconnected, sat in the dark. For a person long subsisting on an emotion-lite diet, the rich brew of David’s love and Jensen’s evil provoked imbalance like sunlight in a December night.

  “Annie, are you all right?” David, blanket wrapped around his body, stood in the doorway. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

  “So the mood wouldn’t be totally shattered. So there’s no way for the security monitor to catch light and become active.” My voice lowered another few notes, other emotions layering on the evening. “Stay there. I’ll join you.” I left the precious metal ear piece on the bench, careless of its meaning or value, closed the door behind me.

  He held open the blanket and I settled against his body in my winter robe, but chills replaced our heat. “Supposedly Jensen has been demoted and moved out to the Pacific Northwest, so my regional coordinator wanted to know if I was satisfied with that as resolution to our situation.” I laid my head against his chest. “Something was off about the whole communication.”

  His heart beat quickly, like a hurdler stepping once, twice, three times before flying. His arm around my shoulder held me in place as carefully as he might carry something of great value. His chuckle near my ear broke the tension.

  “Damn straight. What government representative would call at eleven at night with that kind of news and question? Try your regional coordinator. Where’s your earpiece?”

  Sex wreaks havoc with returning to realities like a job. “We need to talk about what you said when I was getting out of bed.”

  “Not until we know who just interrupted us.”

  “David, if it was Jensen, he may be monitoring this space and listening to us. I left it in the other room. I’m off duty.”