Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  I leaned against his chest, hating the information he shared, but holding his proclamation of love as the most valuable event in my day. “Let me share something with you that Milan said before he left,” I said as I moved us to talk about our personal future dreams and the place where our worlds intersected before discussing Milan’s documents.

  If my proposed settlement was accepted, I would be a wealthy woman with the opportunity to build a business in agriculture, educational resources, and energy all from the offices of Ashwood while being subsidized by the Bureau of Human Capital. More important, the documents assured the legal framework to support our life together with Ashwood as our home. That sweetness was the greatest wealth. I forwarded my amended materials to the man known within the Bureau as Auditor Milan then turned off the lights and slid under the covers to warm up at David’s side.

  38

  We inspected the estate’s reconfigured sleeping quarters in the morning. While appreciating the adults’ willingness to open their spaces for our new workers, I promised we’d move all the kids into the main residence before spring. Cleaning contractors scrubbed every corner of the existing workers’ sleeping rooms and stripped every bunk down to the mattress. Storage boxes marked with our new workers’ names appeared ahead of their owners. We would be ready for the Giant Pines crew.

  “Matron Anne, we need you in the kitchen.” Terrell’s voice expressed either extreme joy or the brink of melt down. Lana and I rushed to the kitchen, where squealing workers walked around delivery people moving boxes of food goods, baskets of apples and crates filled with hams and large cuts of meat into Ashwood’s almost empty storage spaces. A Giant Pines transport stood outside the residence’s back door surrounded by State Troopers. From the top, troopers removed a huge pine tree.

  “Director David’s mother called this morning. Their holiday foods will be delivered this afternoon if security clears the transport. All of that on top of all this.” Terrell placed an arm around my shoulder and squeezed tight. “My God, I don’t have to cook another stinking fish meal. Another month of that routine and I’d have sent in my resignation.” He laughed out again, encouraging the workers to continue their silly behavior.

  “The best part, Matron, is that I placed our monthly order yesterday using our new budgets. Whatever we don’t have to drain from Magda’s market production will make life a great deal easier.” He rocked his shoulder against mine.

  “I was afraid you were having a total meltdown, the way your voice wobbled.” I shoulder-bumped him back, let the month-old rib cage take a mild impact.

  “Matron Anne,” Ladd spoke up, “the big security officer lady said they were having pizza delivered for lunch.”

  Pizza. Ladd said the word with more reverence than my brother and I would have ever given to the food. Terrell made a decent meatless version on flat bread dough when we had cheese available, but I knew most of our workers had never tasted the real thing.

  “Have you had restaurant pizza since you joined Ashwood, Ladd?”

  “I haven’t had real pizza since my oldest brother joined the army when I was little.”

  “Enjoy it, guy. Cook Terrell is going to be keeping you plenty busy in the kitchen in these coming weeks.” His smile stayed bright. “By the way, the crew placed your bed in a more private corner of the new bunk room.”

  “Matron Anne.” The calm voice of Auditor Milan came into my earpiece. “Is this a good time to go through your paperwork?”

  “I’m in the kitchen celebrating the delivery of Great Pines surplus food and news of pizza for lunch. Can you give me fifteen minutes?”

  “Certainly. And, in case you didn’t know, much of that food is from your estate found in storage at Great Pines.” He paused. “We’ll conference in fifteen. I’ll generate contact from my office.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  “You and I, Matron, unless you’d like to add someone else?”

  “Just checking. That sounds fine.”

  Before he called, I organized my papers then surrounded the desk in my quarters with the items I carried from my family. I wanted them with me as my future life became official. At the last minute I brushed my hair, fixed a new scarf around my shoulders.

  “Well, Matron Anne, we are going to need to a new title to match your new status.” Milan’s face appeared on screen. “The Bureau is pleased you have agreed to maintain responsibility for Ashwood through the end of your contract and will formalize the contractual items you specified about chain of command, communication requirements and such in recognition of your new free-holder status.

  “The Bureau also appreciates your willingness to host the experimental estate education program and will extend Teacher Jason’s assignment through the duration of his two year grant. It is understood that a tutor will be needed for the new model as well as expanded worker group, and we’ll assign Tutor Hajar in probationary status.”

  I stopped Milan. “What about the language on first rights to market the estate education program at the end of the project? And, mental health professional availability for those affected by the neglect or abuse at the hands of Mr. Jensen or on Giant Pines?”

  He cleared his throat, moved his finger along his data pad. “They are silent on the marketing rights request. It was not struck, but also not initialed. Likely no one understood what you were suggesting. I’d be tempted to let that sit until we can develop exact language. They have allocated a one-quarter full-time equivalent counselor to Ashwood as needed exclusively for the workers transferred from Giant Pines, although you should know there is very little metro area resource available to actually provide those services.”

  “Cook Terrell might be able to help.” I waited for an indication that Milan knew of Terrell’s counseling background.

  “What can you tell me about that?”

  “Probably less than you know,” I replied. “He’s been good with Director Tia and understands young people. If he’s interested, I’d like to give him the opportunity, perhaps tie him to Ashwood longer than his existing contract.”

  “I’ll look into that.” Milan continued. “Let’s return to the documents.”

  We moved through protocol about budget transfer issues. I accepted language about Bureau consequences should Jensen or any representative of Jensen have any contact or exert any sort of influence or pressure on Ashwood, Ashwood’s people, or me.

  Returning to the financial settlements, Milan delivered a statement I expected. “The Bureau has slightly increased its financial offerings, but is unable to find additional funds to meet your revised request.”

  David’s old house key still rested against my flesh under my sweater and scarf. I touched it, acting as if the very subject brought heart ache. “So, Auditor Milan, how is it that DOE can settle almost ten times this amount on Director David? Are you suggesting that threatening an employee in the revenue stream branches of our government carries larger penalties than actually firebombing and sexually threatening a female member of the service arm?”

  Papers moved across his table surface, a show of some irritation. “There have been only a handful of federal estates transferred to free-holder status across the country. You have a place to live with guaranteed financial support while building any of a half dozen possible income-generating businesses based on output of Ashwood. Director David is receiving a one-time financial settlement.” Silence followed. “You understand there is a difference in short-term versus long-term value of what we just covered?”

  “You’re right, Auditor Milan. I do value this settlement and all the careful thought you’ve put into its formation.” I stopped and gave him a genuine smile. “And I also appreciate your kindness in dealing with everything we’ve experienced together since I arrived at Ashwood. I saw all those zeroes on Director David’s contract and wondered about the largesse of the DOE. I didn’t understand how far their influence extended.”

  “Interesting reference to the DOE, Matron Anne.” He removed his
glasses, no longer appearing irritated, and leaned forward on his elbows. “They see great potential in a future partnership with Ashwood under your ownership and are willing to make an upfront investment of double the Bureau’s monetary settlement in order to allow you to develop the estate’s existing product lines without fear of financial pressure. These funds have already been invested in an annuity under Ashwood’s new corporate identity with the Nation’s Bank.”

  This unexpected news sidetracked me. Four years ago, when the Bureau assigned me to estate management training, I was eating bread from dumpsters and sleeping in my grandmother’s quilt in the equivalent of a flophouse. Before the market crash and time of great adversity, Richard and I had worked very hard to save what now seemed like a pittance as our total rainy-day fund. My chin trembled.

  “Are we through?” Milan asked. “You’ll see much more of me because I think you’re going to be a person worth watching.”

  “It’s overwhelming. I wish my family could be here, that Ashwood could have saved them as well.” Ineffectively I swiped at my running nose with a handkerchief, then pushed tears off my cheeks. “Too late.”

  “Let me be the first to acknowledge the potential of your future, General Manager Hartford. “Bureau management offers congratulations. The DOE extends a welcome, and I say Merry Christmas.”

  For the next half hour we transferred copies of documents with notarized legal copies to be delivered within the hour. We agreed to keep the settlement and estate changes private until after the first of the year to keep everyone focused on absorbing the Giant Pines crew while enjoying the simple fun of the holiday.

  After Milan left my screen, I checked my banking accounts and cried again as the deposits appeared. This day I wouldn’t wonder what it meant to be part of the DOE.

  39

  In another era, following such developments, I would have hit the stores to buy everyone special Christmas presents. Or I might have danced into the living room looking for congratulations. In this era, I promised myself new friends by next Christmas. That seemed like a good goal, to truly rebuild a personal life. At the moment, to answer a need to share with someone my good fortune, I contacted my alma mater and offered to help make college at St. Olaf possible for a young woman struggling to complete her education. Then I was ready to join Ashwood’s people.

  Outside my quarters, staff prepared for the next day’s welcoming of new people, the evening’s eating of rich foods, of celebrating our holidays. I watched everything with a different set of expectations, knowing I might spend years of holidays here and thinking already of traditions including a plan to convince Terrell to stay as long as possible.

  I gave David a thumbs-up as we headed into dinner, saw pleasure in the lift of his eyebrows and corners of his mouth. I bent to hear Amber volunteer to spell the dreaded thirty words that evening, then looked up. Nurse Kim watched us from across the room.

  That night I sat at the head of the long cherry table in Ashwood’s dining room and knew there would be good-spirited conversation, good-natured jokes, and the goodwill of people who behaved as family. David held little Phoebe, Ladd directed the serving workers, Terrell encouraged everyone to save room for dessert. I thought how proud my mother would have been and blinked to stop tears that came with the memories.

  In the morning the giant cherry table would be moved off center in the dining room to accommodate a second table for our new people. The dining room now belonged to the estate, not exclusively the directors. I’d worry about Tia’s needs for a directors’ table when she returned to Ashwood.

  She called David during dinner and at least a half dozen people extended their arms to hold Phoebe. With no studies for the next few days because of the holiday, workers made plans for games. Terrell offered to make popcorn balls.

  I walked from group to group, eventually picking up a stinky Phoebe. In the darkened nursery, David sat in the rocking chair. I felt his sadness as I turned on a small lamp.

  “How’s Tia?” I laid Phoebe on the changing table surface and began peeling off her day clothes for a clean diaper and pajamas. “Some of the workers are interested in challenging you in a puzzle contest.”

  “Let me do that.” He stood and moved me aside to finish his daughter’s changing. “The worksite is a hell hole that Tia thinks should be closed down. If that happens, there’ll be implications for her international task force.”

  The stench of baby poop rose between us, but David worked without comment. He cleaned Phoebe as if his large hands could do this in the dark without missing a spot or pinching her plump thighs.

  “It’s already Christmas Eve there and every member of her work group broke at noon leaving a strong possibility of a power outage across the region.” He eased Phoebe into a clean undershirt, keeping her partially covered and close to his body so she wouldn’t feel a draft. Her big eyes followed his face, her fingers latching on to his as he began pulling pajamas over her feet then up her legs. “I could tell she was drinking, maybe high. I hope her escort understands. Tia can be very convincing when she chooses to disguise her use or intimidates handlers who don’t catch on to her style.”

  I prepped a bottle while he wrapped the baby in a blanket and sat back in the rocker. He played a little finger game with her as the bottle heated. When I handed it his way, he caught my arm. “Promise me you’ll never get into that way of life. Promise me you’ll find other ways to deal with stress.”

  “David, I’m never going to have a world looking to me for the kind of solutions you two can generate.”

  “There’s always been too much expected of Tia. When we were in our first year of assignments, she pestered the big guys to challenge her, to really load her up. She wanted to get ahead, and medium difficult problems just bored her. She worked hard to show off her brilliance.”

  “You can’t do anything about Tia right now. Just pay attention to Phoebe. She missed you during dinner.” I turned down the lights as I walked through the room. “I’ll see you later.”

  The giant Christmas tree, carried in by our security crews, stood in the formal gathering space with subtle lights directed at it from the floor and ceiling and a few within its branches. Strings of lights were too costly for Bureau budgets, candles in trees too dangerous, so Lao and Rashad dimmed the room and treated the tree as if it were a beautiful outdoor display. Tomorrow, Terrell and I would spread small presents under the boughs for each staff member and worker—candy, books, a cash bonus, and something personal as well as gifts from family. Boxes of cookies or small stuffed animals had been wrapped to put something in the hands of those without families. While meager by the standards of my youth, we planned quite a show for these kids raised in hard times.

  I breathed in the tree’s clean spicy scent while thinking of the partnership David and I considered if Tia chose to remain married but apart. The contract would be complex with his many patents to protect and his children and his wealth balanced against the new net worth of Anne Hartford, our children, and my future businesses.

  Plans for tomorrow took over my thinking. Now two days behind on routine reports reviews, I’d be in my office by five before eating breakfast at the big table at six-thirty. With none of our workers going home for the holiday this year, we’d avoid the sadness felt by those left behind, but the day would be crazy as transports brought us Giant Pines’ kids and adults.

  The weather cooperated with our plans on Christmas Eve morning with moderate temperatures, and no new snow while Hajar and Magda coordinated arrival of small groups from Giant Pines. I welcomed each person by name then introduced them to their new supervisors, who helped them choose new clothes, find a sleeping space, then share a small snack in the kitchen. Terrell reported watching skinny hands of our new workers hesitate before accepting a plate of food and glass of milk.

  The Christmas pageant was scheduled following our first meal together all crowded into the dining room. Although the day flowed without a hitch, I knew I’d be wandering t
he residence that night to comfort little people away from home for their first holiday, afraid of their new settings, or just upset by too much happening.

  “Cup of tea, Ms. Matron?” Terrell carried two mugs into the room. “Or, should I use your new title?”

  “Please keep it under cover until I’m ready to share. There’s too much going on around here to explain this to the kids.”

  “You know I will.” He handed me tea then sat next to me on the floor. “Thinking about Christmases past or future?”

  “I spent three Christmas in the Bureau dorm space with plenty of time to read and be alone with my thoughts, and I spent one on an estate in urban Philadelphia. If I weren’t a bit apprehensive about how our new kids will feel tomorrow, I’d be more excited.” The tea had a peppermint scent to its steam. “What about you?”

  “My family celebrated Christmas for weeks—from St. Nicholas with stuffed stockings until my Mama ran out of steam. She loved holidays and any reason to bribe everyone back home. She died December twenty-seventh four years ago at my sister’s house in San Antonio.” He sat down then sipped his tea. “That’s the last time I was with them for the holidays. It’s too hard to get time away from work and costs too much to travel. Anyway, without her we couldn’t find our own way to be together.”

  “Maybe sometime we adults could share our family stories with each other,” I said knowing we’d never do that, never want to dig back to those people and places because the stories often ended badly. “Well, maybe just one or two stories.”