“These are generous settlements, Auditor Milan and Chief Jorgensen. I look forward to reviewing everything later today. Right now I must hurry to our security update. Chief Baylor is about as tough on latecomers as Teacher Jason is on slackers during our estate holiday pageant practice.”
Some of the tension in their room eased with the knowledge that we were on the backside of an awful time. Lao’s timely words about Jensen’s obsession with Ashwood came to me.
“Mr. Jensen is in Montana, outside this region, but I understand he has connections to our estate that might linger, including history with Director Tia Regan. Is there anything you can tell me about continued protection of our estate and people?”
Chief Jorgensen took the question. “That is an astute observation and question. Of course we will continue to provide some level of security, and the Department of Energy has indicated a strong preference that they also maintain a dedicated unit to keep the Regans, and the facility, safe.” He paused. “Mr. Jensen has a number of physical disabilities which lead physicians to believe incarceration for the rest of his life probably means months, not years. I can’t say more.”
35
Without a second thought I embraced Ashwood as my new corner of the world. Any displaced person would trade bags and boxes for a place called home. Forget that the front doors stood so forbidding to strangers, forget that the house had not known happiness. I would redefine life here, and not totally on my own. Around my neck a chain held an old-fashioned key offered by the sweetest man as a safe harbor when I had no place of my own. By this time tomorrow, I would have a home and opportunities of my own to share with David. For the moment, I chose to believe that Tia would carry out her plan to relocate and free David. I reveled in joy.
We would have the luxury of holiday celebrations to start the emotional turnaround of Ashwood. And, if Auditor Milan could work the transfer of funds, Terrell would cook whatever he wanted for everyone on the estate, even if the food from David’s parents didn’t arrive on time. I wanted honest-to-goodness full tummies for every child. Next year, God willing, Ashwood would host a holiday open house and serve foods people of my generation remembered—platters of cookies, bowls of fruit, meats with gravy, pies, and homemade candies. Next year.
On my way to the security briefing I walked through the kitchen and pulled Terrell aside. “I want to meet with you after this meeting is over. We have things to discuss.”
My tone must have implied business as usual. “If it’s about baked oatmeal for the third time this week, don’t bother,” he replied.
“It’s time to lighten up,” I called over my shoulder as I left the room. “Eggs and toast tomorrow. That’s an order.”
After almost four weeks of sitting at this table to discuss resource reallocation in response to almost daily attempts to break Ashwood’s perimeter, I wondered if I knew the news of Jensen’s arrest before Baylor. Easiness among the officers and troopers already sitting at the table suggested not.
Baylor rapped her coffee mug on the table, signaling the meeting to start. “It’s official: Mr. Jensen was taken into custody shortly before midnight last night and is already sitting in solitary confinement in Great Falls, Montana.” Applause began. She smiled in my direction, held her hands up for quiet. “The Bureau of Human Capital Management mismanaged this man so long that the feds issued an ultimatum to turn him over.”
Her authoritative voice took on a more mellow tone. “So, today we go into transition mode. Experts will be arriving this afternoon to conduct one last sweep of the estate. State patrol will be at half staff today and leave end of day tomorrow. Twin Cities Regional Police will coordinate with Engineer Lao and the DOE’s Oluf for future security needs of Ashwood. Any questions?”
Clapping began again and smiles of relief. Baylor’s state patrol counterpart held up a hand, then spoke. “Engineer Lao and Matron Anne deserve acknowledgement for running a tight operation under adverse conditions. Our troopers may not particularly like oatmeal and fish stew or soup or casserole, but knowing Ashwood’s food shelves were emptied by this scumbag, we are deeply appreciative for three hot meals a day offered with such generosity. We’d like to donate a serious supply of holiday candies to help make the coming days a little brighter for Ashwood’s folks.”
Heads nodded, and applause broke out again. Oluf, representative of the agency still promising to help feed its own patrols, announced sandwiches being delivered for lunch and beef stew for dinner that day courtesy of the DOE. He also volunteered agents to work on holiday decorating.
Baylor brought the room back to an agenda. “I understand up to a dozen workers from Giant Pines will be arriving with a tutor the morning of December 24. Under Ashwood supervision, we’d like to put a few officers in the work group to prepare sleeping space for those kids. I have a crew at Giant Pines now directing deconstruction of beds and such while the workers are interviewed and reassigned.
“Matron, on behalf of a number of our people who have children in the estate system, we want to say we hope our kids are treated as well as the young people here. I don’t see such well-behaved, productive workers on most estates I visit. And none of us have heard such laughing and singing.” She swallowed before continuing in a softer tone of her authoritative voice. “Congratulations.”
They brought their hands together again, facing Lao and me. His face relaxed into a smile I wished I could photograph. I bowed my head then stood to speak, each word coming from my heart.
“Your people gave us the peace of mind to keep on task without worrying about the next threat. You’ve heard complaints that a few of our day laborers have applied for reassignment because of all the security clearance activities. That’s unfortunate, but not unexpected. The teams working here have helped our young people get past their personal fears of authority. That’s why you hear that singing and laughing. Thank you.”
“Okay, all the good feelings done now?” Baylor stood. “We got planning to do. Matron, if you need to leave, I’m sure Engineer Lao can give directions.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer.” I pulled the door shut behind me, with a new list of chores forming related to the Giant Pines workers’ arrival. My visions of the estate slipping into a peaceful Christmas holiday adjusted. I tapped my shoulder squawk box. “Magda, Jack, Terrell, Teacher Jason, I need you in my office as quickly as possible.”
36
Terrell provided treats from his hidden trove for our team’s review of Auditor Milan’s working documents. Around my conference table, long weeks of stress showed in faces and held us back from easy acceptance of Milan’s accounting reports. Finally we got to the end of a revised estate report with no columns in deficit.
My team’s skills centered on operations, so they let relief about Ashwood’s good fortunes fill ten minutes of discussion before pricking that balloon with details of reality. Ashwood’s buildings could not be prepared to everyone’s specifications quickly enough to handle the inflow of livestock and plant materials arriving in January, and managing production across two estates for some period of time would overtax our people. Magda didn’t like introducing Great Pines hybrids in Ashwood’s horticultural mix. Terrell wanted food budgets broken out in different formats, which would require new reports.
Their fussiness distracted me, and I fretted about being without my earpiece on such a critical day. I wanted to be concentrating on our estate, not answering needs presenting by the bureaucratic idiot who chose to send a dozen child workers our way the day before Christmas. I was disappointed food funds would not be released until after the best holiday goods had been shopped in the markets. As the team slogged through details, my mind wandered to major decisions I had to make about my own future.
When Magda requested a complete inventory of available plantings be sent from Giant Pines before close of the business day, I lost my concentration and cool.
“My God, listen to us. For the past month we’ve sat around this table squeezing resourc
es from rocks, bartering for simple necessities, keeping a positive face when each day posed difficult challenges.” I shoved away from the table, chopped through the air with one hand as if to cut the developing bickering. “Now we’ve received the best news possible, lists of resources coming our way, and we’re like a starving dog turning our nose at pork shanks because we want beef. Let’s relax.” Some of my team looked down. Others stared at me with eyebrows raised. “Okay, me first.”
I stood, carefully cracked my knuckles. The resulting sound drew audible response. “Dare you to copy that one.”
Terrell laughed. “I can beat that old snap with a few moves.” He rose and produced more snaps and crackles from his back than I wanted to count. “Cooks got to stay supple, and standing on your feet all day is hard on the spine. That one feels good in bed, too.”
Eyes darted around the table at a possible double entendre.
“Oops, sorry, if I offended anyone,” he added. A huge belly laugh followed and swept over us as he sat down.
“Terrell,” I walked behind him and put my hands on his shoulders, “your job is to get busy this afternoon. Using a conservative budget model, build the food reserves forecast assuming thirteen additional workers and three adults.” I backed away from Terrell. “Since the DOE is feeding everyone today, you’ll have adequate time. I want to see beef and turkey on the table December 25, if possible. Look at Tutor Hajar’s inventory. Let’s assign one young worker and one early teen to the kitchen until we have time to really assess our needs.” He nodded in agreement.
“Lao, you’ll need to finalize how many of the security force will remain in place and for how long. Officers from the Twin Cities Regional Police have volunteered to help pull together housing for the workers. Rashad, please coordinate this with Lao. They’re ready this afternoon to begin swinging hammers. Where can we find space?”
We were back on track. Ashwood’s buildings would bulge until spring, but none of us complained during the rest of our planning session. “One last item. I want to say thanks for how hard every one of you has worked since I arrived. Please use the scheduling system this afternoon to block out two days off within the weeks immediately after Christmas. No exceptions. Coordinate backup. If you need more time to get home to family or friends, let’s talk. You’re too valuable to burn out.”
Magda stood, walked around the table and gave me a surprising hug. “Every person living on Ashwood should be giving you one of these,” she said. “Excuse me, but right now I’ve got a poetry reading practice. You’d think my group would not want this bull-frog-accented voice to read out loud.”
Her departure marked the end of the meeting. In the quiet of my office, I tried to remember that organic connection with Ashwood I’d experienced this morning. Numbers, new names, insane timelines, and Christmas carols rushed through my overactive brain.
“Matron Anne,” a familiar male voice filled the office from my shoulder communications device.
“David, you need to know I’m using an old communicator while Lao and the crew update security.”
“Damn good you told me that before I said anything that might make you blush.”
“You just added to a wonderful day here. I wish you were here.”
“I had a briefing in the car this morning. Sounds like the DOE and a few other choice agencies finally knocked your Bureau into action. Congratulations. People must be delighted. You and the estate will come into decent resources.”
“How does a dozen new workers arriving tomorrow sound? Merry Christmas.”
“I hope they’re not bunking with you?”
“David. Remember we’re on a more open communications signal.”
“And, my comment reflects concern that you need the little quiet time you’re allowed after the lights turn off on the estate.”
Sitting alone in my office I felt the comfort of his voice. “The DOE is feeding everyone today. The Regional police will be helping to build out space for the kids. It’s crazy, but at least we’re in positive stress.”
“Annie, we can really make Christmas good for all the kids. The Ashwood kids will have an audience, and the Giant Pines workers might see that this move will be okay. Did anyone think about getting them some decent clothes? All I remember is how threadbare those kids looked. Check out the storage closets in the lower level.”
“That’s a great suggestion. I’m not sure I would’ve remembered clothes before they arrived. We won’t be able to meet Tia’s primary color preference on short notice, but I’m thinking those kids won’t care if they’re wearing navy instead of green.”
“Can you do me a favor and shift the girl-color stuff from the boys. It’s a little odd to have a big guy like Ladd wearing red pants and a blue shirt.”
“Is that all you called about?”
“One more thing.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t sign anything remotely dealing with your own settlement until I get back. We have things to talk about.”
“Auditor Milan, or whatever his real title is, will be here this afternoon with papers about the estate, as well as a smattering of settlements. I’ll have time to review and consider.”
“They forwarded my settlement this morning, and it was a stingy lump sum payment. DOE staff reviewed it and sent back revisions. I’ll share it with you this evening if you’re still awake when I return.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate talking with someone outside the Bureau.” I slowed my voice. “There’s a lot I’d like to share.”
“Well, if you drink enough of Cook’s brew, we’ll be up all night. In your office or the directors’ quarters?”
“We’ll find a place.” I couldn’t think of being alone with David in the quarters he shared with Tia. “Good luck with your work. We’re having beef stew tonight, so you might want to hurry home.”
“My boss is taking me out to a steak place for a Christmas present. That’s the difference again between DOE and your bureau. Maybe they’ll send you a holiday greeting. See you.” He chuckled while signing off.
Through lunch, I combed every number in Milan’s spreadsheets, thinking of myself as owner of the estate. I added additional support to update production equipment, to build out new greenhouses, to replace materials showing premature wear. Remembering my visit to Giant Pines, I demanded physicals for every worker and laborer reassigned to Ashwood and medical resources to support future needs. For two hours I worked through line items until the revised estate financial books looked ready for the Ashwood management team’s meeting with Milan.
Our review session with the mysterious auditor began with minimal questions. Lao and Rashad brought a few to the table about construction planning. Discussions bogged down on an offer to bring modular units from Great Pines.
“We’ll pass on that offer,” Rashad said. “We’ve put together a temporary housing plan with two girls settled in the office area of Magda’s quarters, the three older boys bunking in a small storage room Jack and I don’t need. We’ll reconfigure the regular residence’s three dorm rooms and slip this new tutor woman into one of the guest sleeping spaces.”
He stopped, swallowed coffee then took a deep breath before restarting. “The new adult laborers are outdoor guys who can be put into the larger green house office for a number of months. It’s a great place to sleep in the winter.”
For a man who generally said little, his plan displayed thought, kindness, and our commitment to kids. “We heard the Giant Pines situation has been hard on these young people and felt as a team that we want to show them a new start. We’ll take the bunks and chairs and such, but think our plan, being temporary and all, is more in line with how Ashwood works.”
“Rashad, that’s great. Did you ask Teacher Jason for his thoughts?”
“He helped. Great guy.” Rashad smiled. “Really great. He’s offered to do a book group for adults after the New Year. Been a long time since I read anything other than Bureau instruction manuals.”
“That’s wonderful.” The
stretch of today’s smile felt better and better on my face. I’m sorry to end this session, but, as I mentioned in our call this morning, Auditor Milan, I can’t be late to practice for tomorrow’s pageant. You can work here or join me.”
Milan followed, acknowledging the DOE agents, stopping in the kitchen for a cup of tea, greeting Ladd and asking about the boy’s slowly healing shoulder injury. He joined me on the sofa where I sat with Phoebe in my arms and watched Teacher Jason run one small group—including Nurse Kim—through its section of the big holiday show. When Amber called for me to join the group reciting “The Night Before Christmas,” Milan extended his arms for Phoebe. He looked comfortable resting a baby against his chest.
Politically correct in treating Christmas as a secular holiday, we acknowledged multiple religious traditions. Amber recited an old children’s poem about the birth of Jesus she had learned with the help of Nurse Kim. Handing Phoebe back to her nurse, Milan stood to applaud, surprising the kids who had no idea what to expect when show time actually hit.
“Who are you?” I asked as we walked back. “I’ve met estate auditors, and they don’t sit at security force meetings or with the big names as easily as you did this morning. I get the feeling you know the history of every person on this estate and a whole lot of stories I’ll never hear.” He also had the gift of staying quiet. “Auditors don’t negotiate settlements with people like David Regan or his DOE representatives.”
“And estate managers don’t usually bring down corrupt people who have climbed over hundreds of folks in a monolith like the Bureau of Human Capital Management.”
Side by side, we moved through the walkway. DOE agents nodded. “Sandwiches on your conference table, Matron Anne,” my young agent contact from the morning shared. “Didn’t look like you took time for lunch. Cook sent along enough for the both of you.”
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