Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  “Thank you. It’s nice to have these DOE folks extending their watchfulness beyond the directors.” I filled the rest of our walk with meaningless chatter as possibilities of Milan’s true allegiance tickled my thoughts. “Not that Cook doesn’t keep me fed and pumped up on coffee. He sometimes knows I’m hungry before I can even have the thought.”

  Inside my office, I closed the door, found a paper notepad and Richard’s favorite pen before sitting down. Milan’s eyes followed every move I made.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked. “I got the feeling your thoughts are far beyond picking turkey or ham.”

  “I remember when we had enough food in my parent’s refrigerator that I didn’t have to choose. It’s those kind of memories that marks us as different from that young DOE guy in the walkway who never knew a time when there was so much food that people threw it away because of a manufacturer’s expiration date.”

  “True. My kids don’t believe I carried two sandwiches with me to school or that Grandma baked twice a week.” He engaged my eyes. “Turkey or ham?”

  “You’re DOE, aren’t you?”

  “I think I’ll take the ham sandwich, if you don’t have a preference. Do you think there might be mustard in the office kitchen?”

  “If you’re DOE, you know the answer to that. Director David tells me every DOE kitchen is stocked with the same stuff in the same arrangements, so you don’t waste time between meetings.”

  “That may be true. I can eat this without mustard.”

  “Am I right about the DOE?”

  “About storing the same stuff in the same arrangements? That sounds like most engineering-dominant organizations. I wouldn’t credit the DOE for thinking that up. Are you ready to talk through the Bureau’s proposed settlement?”

  “Just tell me who you work for.” I needed someone to trust. “It makes a difference to me to know that.”

  “Right now I am working in your best interest. Where’s your earpiece?”

  “Lao’s setting up new communications connections. I have this old technology for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “Turn it off. You need the time to concentrate on this material, and no one needs to hear our conversation.” While I unclipped the squawker, he wandered my office and shut down my monitors, a desk lamp, and the conference table tablet and pulled the adjustor rod off one blind. He placed the rod inside his briefcase. “That should provide us with privacy.”

  “This room hasn’t been secure?”

  “Depends on your definition of secure. It’s in the interest of the Bureau always to know what’s said and done in this office. It’s in the interest of the DOE to know what the Bureau knows about what’s happening on the estate. For example, I agree with Director David’s feelings that it’s a bit creepy for older male workers to wear primary color outfits.”

  The blushing thing started before my slow-burning anger. The turkey sandwich tasted fantastic. I tried to focus on enjoying the taste of real meat on fresh bread with a bit of green lettuce and flavorful tomatoes instead of blowing up at the person who held the papers that offered me future freedom. He gave me time to chew one bite, a second bite.

  “Ready to start?” Holding his sandwich in one hand, he opened his briefcase with the other, took out a folder. He snapped the case shut.

  “You’re not going to give me an answer, but expect me to trust that what you present is in my best interest?” Even while I spoke, I put down the precious fresh food to extend both hands for the papers he offered.

  At the moment Milan reminded me of a pleasing combination of an elementary school principal, a family doctor, a bureaucrat, and maybe my brother. Plain as any day laborer working on Ashwood, authoritative as Sandra, comfortable sitting with a regional chief or holding a baby, I wasn’t sure how to understand his role.

  “Some people in the system have to operate across entities, and some operate above entities.” He placed a folder in my hands. “I report to Chief Jorgensen and work on special projects under his direction. It isn’t accidental that most of the projects I keep on my desk relate to estates domiciling key DOE individuals or interests.”

  Old-fashioned designer eyeglasses came out of his briefcase. He rubbed the lenses clean with a small cloth then settled them on his face. “I pass other projects from the chief to a small staff carefully selected. That’s all I’m willing to say. That, and it’s in the best interest of the Bureau and DOE that Anne Hartford is a satisfied estate manager.”

  We went over the materials, talking through financial models and legal issues and tax implications. I asked so many questions, I worried Milan would become irritated. As he turned over papers, I saw tiny notations on the backside of many.

  “Did you want to talk about the notes on the back,” I asked as we moved from one topic.

  “Those are just notes from a staff person for me. I’ll give you a clean copy.” We finally wrapped up, and Milan offered me the clean documents and the notated version. “Write your changes on these clean pages, then give me a call, and we’ll talk. If you want, I can come back for a discussion. It would be best if we could resolve this by eleven on December twenty fourth because I will be on a transport to Madison, Wisconsin, with my family soon after that.”

  “Did you want me to have your notes?” I held up one page of the originals, his handwriting on the back of some sheets.

  “I have my notes.” He handed me the file folder keeping nothing. “Consider those your working draft.” Sitting back in his chair, his mood appeared to change. “I’m going off record for a minute because I like you. I think you know what you want out of life and have the opportunity to secure your future.”

  He settled back in his chair. I found myself relaxing as well.

  “Let me share what I’ve read in the notes from Sandra Goetz’ unfortunate visit and what I think I’ve learned about you these past weeks. I think a lot of money won’t buy Anne Hartford happiness. What might make your life complete is a man like David Regan in a home of your own with a couple of kids and satisfying work. The kind of stuff people have chased after since life began.” He coughed, excused himself, and then removed his glasses before looking me straight in the eyes. “Am I far off the mark?”

  “David is married. He’s a DOE long-term professional, and I’m under contract to the Bureau. It’s all complex.” Then I looked back at Milan and saw a person worth trusting, regardless of his official position. Just a person talking with another person, sharing a common history from before the time of great adversity. “Look, it is important to me to have work that I feel is valuable, and Ashwood feels that way. If I could have Ashwood and the rest of what you just described, I think I would have a great life.”

  “What I’m going to say to you, Ms. Anne, is to remember what you want as you go through these papers. Don’t be distracted by who is getting paid what or equating a big bank account with the ability to buy your personal dreams. I’m not trying to save the Bureau or DOE any money by that advice. I’m hoping to save you from making some inaccurate trade-offs.” He smiled at me, tapped a hand on my arm with a sweet touch that assured me his words were offered as advice of a kind person. Then he stood, returned the curtain wand to its window, and walked around the office flipping on the lamp as well as my monitors.

  “Best of luck these next few days.” Milan leaned in close as he reached for his briefcase. “I wish you and Director David the best of holidays and future holidays.”

  37

  Immediately before supper, Terrell and I sat down with Ladd to tell him about the developments at Giant Pines, which would bring new faces to our estate.

  “Maybe I should be transferred to another estate,” Ladd stated. “What if those jerks make life difficult for me? They’ll blame me for bringing their place down.” His somewhat erratic emotional response left me wondering what stewed inside the boy besides teen hormones.

  “The Giant Pines guys will be dispersed throughout Ashwood, Ladd,” I tried to soothe
his surface worries by bringing his fears back to proportion. “From what I hear, those workers are relieved to get out of a difficult environment.”

  Terrell, Ladd’s primary mentor, spoke to the boy as if they were both adults facing a challenging situation. “I’d like you to be my lead kitchen worker, Ladd. You’ll have a hand in getting these kids used to the way we do things. We’ll have a short meeting each day in my office to talk about how everything’s going.” The boy allowed Terrell to establish eye contact. Terrell extended a hand. “If you’re willing to shoulder some extra responsibility, let’s shake on it.” Neither of them smiled, but I saw Ladd take Terrell’s hand willingly.

  “This has been tough on you, Ladd,” I said after they shook. “Your mother is going to receive extra money in acknowledgement of your bravery. The Bureau is also putting aside a college scholarship, including living stipend, for you, assuming you keep up your test results.” That caused him to smile. “Teacher Jason will help. You’ve got friends around you.” I left Terrell to work out details with Ladd, a bit sad that the days of me knowing each worker’s story had changed with the Giant Pines group almost doubling our crew.

  Ashwood’s staff and workers enjoyed their DOE-provided dinner of rich beef stew as I shared the news about the Giant Pines children and three adults joining us along with changes in sleeping arrangements and temporary work assignments for our new people. With permission from Teacher Jason to excuse Lana from half an hour of school, I asked her to join me for inventory of the estate’s stored clothing.

  “While we’re on the subject of worker clothing,” I mentioned casually at the table. “I wanted to check with our young men if you’d like the opportunity to switch from red or green or royal blue pants to more traditional black and grey for winter. This would be a good time because there will be girls needing new uniforms so we could shift some of the primary color things their way.”

  David’s suggestion proved to be a winner, and before school that night we did clothing swaps across the workers, making sure everyone had pants that fit and shirts or smocks in colors they liked. I made arrangements for a cleaning service to be on site the next day with launderers to prepare all appropriate clothes for the Giant Pines kids, wash our extra bedding and bring items we lacked, and would also clean up behind the carpenters to ready dorm rooms and sleeping quarters.

  Nurse Kim, the woman who dominated so many of my free minutes for all her early weeks at Ashwood, slipped back into her real nursery role. Or maybe I finally realized her power to be rather insignificant in the estate’s big picture. She brought Phoebe with her to dinner, and we passed the baby around the table like any large family. After the clothing swap, I fed Phoebe her bedtime bottle in the dim nursery lights.

  “Your Daddy asked me to kiss you good night, baby girl. He’ll check on you later.” I raised her sleepy face to my lips. “Let me give you another kiss from your mommy. She must miss you an awful lot.” If I had closed my eyes, I think we both would have slept, eyes smoothed shut by the dim lights, gentle music, soft blankets of the nursery. Nurse Kim saved me from losing another precious hour when I needed to be studying the settlement documents now locked in my quarters.

  Before I could sit down with the paper, Lao and I walked through each change made to my system that day.

  “One last warning, Matron,” he said when I told him about my deadline for signing the Bureau’s papers. “Conduct any truly sensitive business about Ashwood or personal matters from within your quarters. With Baylor’s outside expert, I found six listening DOE devices in your office this afternoon.”

  “Did you find the one in the blinds wand?”

  An eyebrow raised, Lao smiled. “You did not find that one on your own, Matron.”

  “The curious Auditor Milan showed it to me. I’d love to know why that man is connected to this estate.”

  “Not a puzzle I can solve, Matron. Enjoy your new systems set up.” He left.

  I chose an assortment of classical piano music, poured myself a rare glass of wine, slipped off my shoes and sat down at my desk to read Milan’s back-of-page notations.

  Following his suggestions, I grew to understand that the Bureau would be a source of income to me for the remainder of my contract and a supplier of labor as well as the primary purchaser of Ashwood’s goods for as long as the existing economic system held true. Under the lifetime legacy deed, I would never owe property taxes, and should government economic policy change, I would have the opportunity to purchase as much of the estate as I chose at a price determined within the contract.

  The DOE appeared as a second legacy customer of Ashwood, with mention made of possible future energy resources or production. I flagged the language.

  “Matron Anne, are you available for a visit?” David, as businesslike as on any day prior to Tia’s departure, came through my earpiece. “I’m outside your quarter’s door and would like to share a document from Auditor Milan.”

  “Come in.”

  “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.” A cheap joke, but worth a laugh on a day when many of the straps binding Ashwood loosened to leave enough space for smiles and chuckles. “Want to see?” David extended his data pad with text in place.

  I hesitated about sharing all my documents with him, unsure how he felt about my almost primal need to claim Ashwood as mine when his key around my neck could be read as a valued escape clause from this form of living. “I’m afraid I’m old world with a pile of paper. It was how Milan presented the information.”

  “Read mine. I can wait.” He pulled a chair next to my desk and put his data pad in front of me.

  The compensation offered David astounded me, complete with details defining circumstances under which the monies would pass to a trust created for Tia as executor of any issuance of their marriage. A second note, signed by Tia, guaranteed future custody of Phoebe and their unborn son to David as long as remaining genetic materials was destroyed. David’s priorities showed in the language.

  “Does this cash settlement somehow relate to your regular DOE compensation?” came out as I tried not to compare the numbers in my documents.

  “Yes. Don’t think about it, or you will be unhappy.”

  “Well, I am. Nothing’s changed in the way our government appears to be structured. Anything related to teaching, caring for people, raising food is still undervalued.”

  “Maybe, but you can break your contract and walk away from this job anytime, while I carry a chip under my skin so the DOE always knows where I can be found. I choose to think of it as ten-year conscription. We’ll see if they don’t control me a lot longer. All that’s unknown.” His face crunched. “I can’t even go to the bathroom without someone knowing where I am.”

  “And the language about passage of the settlement to Tia or your children?”

  “It may be news within the Bureau that Tia wants to be away from here, but the DOE tracks her sexual partners all over the world. Quite amazing. When we were newlyweds, it was all confusing to me. I thought we might be able to negotiate some limited exclusivity. In place of that, we just went for the ‘such good friends’ kind of deal. When she decides to end our marriage, someone’s watching out for her long-term financial security as well as assuring that my next partner isn’t a gold-digger.”

  He reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. I closed my eyes, his touch raising desire for more touching, more time, more of everything. I opened my eyes and returned to reading the document. “Who signed this?”

  “Your friend, Auditor Milan.”

  “But his title is different than on my documents.”

  “You’ve been indoctrinated too well by the Bureau to understand how the real government world works, Annie. It might be a surprise that many government agencies resent the huge land grants given to your employer.” Tilting his head to one side, he held up his index finger. “Face it, the Bureau has shown itself to be particularly good at providing jobs or education to a huge part of the U.S. pop
ulation and providing a more reliable, cost-efficient domestic source of food. Other than that, your Bureau is leaving opportunities on the table that could bring the U.S. back to its economic knees because they don’t consider developing international commerce part of their duty.”

  “The bottom line is that we all work for the same employer—the U.S. government.” My protest sounded weak.

  His laugh, though kind, had that indulgent sound I equated with Sandra when she was ready to share a worldly secret. “If you look at your income statement, the payor is the U.S. Treasury, right? Let me show you mine.” He tapped on his data pad then extended it my way.

  Department of Energy issued his pay. I willed myself to not gasp at the salary.

  “Energy, Water, Technology, Consulting, Entertainment, and Educational Resources are the revenue streams of our Treasury.” David offered the information without emotional inflection. “The Bureau was once described to me by a DOE executive as the property managers, housekeepers, and service workers of the country’s money makers.”

  “They only say that because women run the Bureau.”

  “You may be right, Annie. DOE and most of the business agencies are old world in their gender balance at the leadership levels. Tia isn’t alone in thinking of matrons as housekeepers instead of sophisticated estate executives. You’re every bit as smart as anyone in the revenue side, which is probably why someone in the Bureau grabbed you when labor profiling took place.”

  “So who signed your agreement?” I asked again as if knowing that one insignificant detail could untangle the world in which we lived. All my puffy pride in assuming management of Ashwood, all my drive to make it profitable, all the concern about preparing the kids for better futures looked small, like a pet dog trained to perform tricks to amuse smarter owners.

  “It doesn’t matter, Annie. It all sucks. All the corruption and layers of officials and service groups spying and tricking each other. You’re far better than any of that. You’re a real deal person, Annie. As stable as the land in South Dakota, as smart as any business manager I’ve negotiated against in any part of the world and as good-hearted as I want my daughter and son to be.” He pulled me in, whispering the last part in my ear. “And I love you because of all that. You are the key to a better way of living.”