Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037

by Cynthia Kraack

  I worked in the DOE office building at David’s request and hadn’t seen the possibility of this day—when the DOE would call in payback for its largesse. They planned to control our family to protect David without really assuring me they had the power even to locate him.

  Outside the window our lands quieted for the night. Through the small window column next to my office door I could see the dinner trays assembled by Terrell. I tried to find my way out of this situation, to find ways to negotiate a resolution, to accept what had to be done to keep David safe and Ashwood intact. Anger fueled circular thoughts. So deeply enmeshed in the United States government on a daily basis, I understood I was had even as I rebelled at the blatant manipulation of my civil rights and my fellow citizens’ integrity.

  “Milan, what can you tell me?” From him I hoped for empathy. “At the least, we need to spare the children.” My hands wanted to extend across the table, but I remained still in this high-stake negotiations. “Think of how Phoebe, Noah, John,” I hesitated briefly, “and Andrew could suffer.”

  Bureau protocol demanded absolute shielding of the children of intellectual elites. These vulnerable government investments had attracted kidnappers demanding king-size ransoms. “Surely, you don’t intend to expose David and Tia’s children and risk their safety?”

  Peterson shifted in his chair. “Why don’t we fill our dinner plates and sit at your table to work out the details?” He rose.

  “I’d prefer to eat after we’ve come to an agreement about the children.” I indicated he should sit. “Milan, you’re the legal guardian of three of them. I assume you would be the person who would bear the legal ramifications of abusing their rights.”

  We locked eyes across the desk, the man who reported to two bosses and the woman who mothered two families. Milan trusted my instincts and motivation every time his guardian approval was required. I trusted him to make decisions with both heart and mind engaged.

  Milan blinked first, rolled his eyes down as if contemplating the age spots on his hands. He turned his body in the chair, faced Peterson. “According to the intellectual elite surrogacy laws, I cannot approve any activity that might place the three children under my guardianship in the public media. Phoebe, Noah, and Andrew are protected under law.”

  “Change it, Milan.” Peterson spoke as if the discussion had been finished. “Your authority might trump mine in the DOE, but the U.S. military is not going to accept that some soft-heart HCM Bureau legality is valid in a situation threatening national security.”

  Standing, Milan walked to a wall and leaned against it. I understood that he disliked Peterson from this gesture by a man known for his courtesy toward everyone. “Peterson, you are forgetting that you are the only one who is declaring that this a national security situation. If that were the case, the U.S. military would not be turning over media relations to a crew of young people from the DOE.” He rolled his shoulders, turned his head to one side, and then straightened. “You get me directives from Commander Broadline through my supervisor, then we’ll talk. Until I have that directive, stay away from the kids.”

  “So that leaves me with David’s wife, the second son, and his parents?” I heard a new approach in Peterson’s voice and knew that the directive would not be sought. I also heard of higher vulnerability for John.

  “We treat all our children the same. You hurt John, and Noah will be affected and Phoebe will respond like an angry mother lion.”

  My guests appeared distracted by Milan breaking Peterson’s authority. I tossed my concern toward Milan while he appeared to be in control. “We are in a very delicate place with them right now. Milan, I ask you to protect all David’s children.”

  “Peterson, nothing happens involving any of the children without clearance from me.” Milan, used to commanding, gave the order without fanfare. “Now let’s eat.”

  Terrell had provided an attractive summer dinner—Caesar salad with cold diced chicken, fresh fruit, and oven-warm rolls. Estate food, while simple, trumped what most people could buy or prepare in the city.

  “If we could wrap this up in a half hour,” I said as we carried our plates to my office table, “I need to be with my kids at bedtime tonight. We have had the most difficult day. I wish you brought news about David that could make us sleep easier tonight, but that’s not the case.”

  At the table Peterson ran through a list of support needs his people required, ranging from housekeeping to meals to additional electrical outlets. His ignorance of the general state of our economy surprised me.

  “When you demanded twenty-four-hour kitchen support for up to fifteen people, were you aware that there are developing food shortages? You are increasing our daily diners by twenty-five percent and think we can provide meat and produce on demand?” Little beyond Peterson’s request for three kinds of fruit, a hot and a cold meat, and fresh baked goods every six hours stayed in my mind. “Because the feds increased agricultural product quotas, I am feeding our morning crew oatmeal with fruit every other day instead of eggs and dairy products.”

  Milan stopped eating. Peterson continued, the sound of lettuce crunching between his teeth could be heard when I ran out of steam.

  “The DOE will provide its own canteen service within two days,” Milan said. “Is the estate able to meet the DOE electrical and water requirements?”

  “Listen, Milan,” Peterson said, fork still in hand. “Power and water are plentiful on this estate because of a DOE water reclamation plant and a DOE electrical grid system. I’m not negotiating those.”

  I shrugged as Milan looked my way. “We hold our own. As long as your crew keeps a reasonable showering schedule, I’m sure water will hold.” Peterson nodded. “If you can bring a solar generator for backup, please do. What systems will your crew be running?”

  “Increased security and a communication and media center with ability to transmit audio and video beginning with an interview tomorrow morning with you and your father-in-law about David’s abduction.” Peterson checked his data pad. “Looks like we’ll need the two of you to report at five-thirty for makeup and hair.”

  The late September evening sky suggested we’d been at this discussion too long. Little outside sound penetrated the DOE offices. “I’ll bring Paul up to speed on your plan,” I said, wondering when I could find time or strength to do that.

  “What Mr. Regan needs to know is that a communication hub is being established at Ashwood to manage media interest in this unfortunate situation and that we want to give the media a glimpse into how the ambush is affecting your family.” Peterson placed his hand in a strange, spiderlike position on the table. “You do understand that everything else we talked about in this room is confidential and may not be discussed outside?”

  “You’ve made your point.” I rose and picked up my dinner tray. “Now I need to spend time with my family.” At the door I stopped. “Perhaps I could ask the two of you to move to the small conference room so I can lock my door?” It was a symbolic question since DOE security staff could open any space in the building. Milan and Peterson stood.

  Light flowed from David’s office, unnerving me. I set my tray in a bin and moved toward the light. A young woman with the most astonishing violet eyes stopped me.

  “I’m Anne Hartford, David’s wife,” I said as if that should earn me entrance into the place where he and I spent many hours. “I just want to see his desk.”

  “Is there something specific you are looking for, General Manager Hartford?” Her voice held Blue Mountain smokiness.

  My husband, I wanted to whisper, I’m looking for my husband. “No,” I responded. “We often work together at his table and I miss seeing inside his office from my desk.”

  “I understand.” She looked behind me where Peterson and Milan waited. “I’ll be interviewing you here in the morning, so why don’t we plan where we will sit?” Her hand, gentle on my arm, exerted more strength than I expected.

  The first time David showed me this of
fice, he told me he never felt like he was really home until he unlocked its door. That all changed as our family made the residence his haven. On a top shelf his high school baseball cap kept company with a photo of Joe Mauer signed in 2011. Pictures of the kids, of me, of his parents’ South Dakota ranch clustered above his work surface. I knew where he hid a dish of chocolate caramels, where he kept his favorite pen, how the seat of his chair held the imprint of his butt, how to shake the upper desk drawer when it stuck.

  “I know who you are, but I didn’t introduce myself.” High cheekbones and thick, coarse hair hinted at native people heritage. “Tabitha Sweetwater.” She tipped her head forward, engaging me with those beautiful eyes as she straightened her neck. “I’m a media specialist for DOE and will be spending time with your family.” Her voice, warm and comforting, suggested she could be a great best friend. “I’m looking forward to getting to know all of you. If you’d consider including me in a meal, I’d find the kind of insights viewers appreciate and it would help me better present your family’s interests.”

  “Thank you, I’ll consider that.” I breathed in, expecting to find the essence of my husband in the purified air.

  “You should wear your hair down for the interview,” she offered. “With those big brown eyes, viewers will fall in love with you. I know you have an important job running this big place, but what viewers want to see is the beautiful wife of a missing intellectual. We want them to like you.”

  Looking around David’s space one more time, I knew I needed my kids. “Have a good evening, Tabitha. I’ve got to get back to the residence.”

  “I understand. You could bring your little girl with you in the morning. Even if she’s not dressed for the day. She’s a beauty.”

  “You’ll need to rethink that, Tabitha. The kids are legally off camera.”

  Slender brows rose above her eyes. I knew she wanted to know more, far more than I would ever share with a government-hired media personality. “Good night,” I said and left for the residence.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Memories made me feel lonely as I walked between the DOE building and our residence. David encouraging Phoebe and Amber as they learned to ride bikes here, the boys’ laughs while playing catch with him, a rainy afternoon when we ate Noah’s birthday picnic dinner on a blanket spread over slate tiles. Fearing for his life fueled my anger at the manipulation of this strange man who claimed to be concerned about keeping us safe.

  Young workers’ voices practicing a foreign language or reading out loud or reciting memorized lists from geography lessons played in the background while I debated whether I wanted to talk with Paul or calm myself with my kids. I headed for our family quarters.

  “Will Dad be home tomorrow?” Noah scrambled to his feet for a hug when he saw me. Phoebe, sitting cross-legged on the floor with John, raised her head, two worry creases showing on her forehead.

  I wrapped my arms around Noah, kissed his hair. “No, even if the soldiers found him tonight, he wouldn’t be home for a few days.” I released him. “We have to be patient.”

  “Why weren’t you at dinner? Grandma waited for a long time before she let us start without you.”

  “Business. Cook Terrell knew I couldn’t be with you. Didn’t someone tell Grandma?”

  Phoebe answered. “Cook came out and talked with Grandpa, but nobody would tell us what was happening. We were afraid those people came to tell you something bad.”

  Three worried faces looked to me for reassurance. I made a decision. “There’s nothing new. I think it would be helpful to spend tonight together.” Phoebe slipped a hand into mine. “Do you agree?” No hesitation sounded in any of their voices. “Since Daddy and I have the biggest room, we’ll stay there.”

  “Will you read to us? Maybe that old Harry Potter book?” John’s words came slowly. I ran a hand over his head, felt feverish warmth.

  I pulled him closer. “Do you feel all right?”

  “I have a headache.” He pulled away.

  “Grandma says he’s worried himself sick,” Noah volunteered.

  “All of you get ready for bed and bring your things to my room in a half hour.” I checked for time, not sure if I’d sent them off to change hours early. It was eight. “I have to talk with Grandma and Grandpa, then Terrell. I’ll ask him to help me make us a bedtime snack.”

  They left with no whooping or hustle. Children were resilient, but not immune, to frightening events. I found Paul and Sarah in their quarters, talking about the day. Paul stood and pulled a chair closer to theirs.

  “What’s the government doing here?” I knew by his voice that he expected to hear that David was dead.

  “There’s really no news. The tracking chips are still working and soldiers are looking for David and the others.” Sarah’s face released some of her worry as I spoke. “We’ve been designated a communication hub for the DOE and the military. The good news is that they are assigning security to keep the media from hounding us. The bad news is that they expect us to become part of the public face of this situation.”

  Paul’s reaction was quick and true to his personality. “Tell them to go to hell. They don’t own David or us or this estate.”

  I tried for a smile. “I’m afraid I tried that and they played some very tough hardball. Let’s put it this way—if we want to keep our farm implements safe from requisition, we’ll cooperate within a limited parameter.”

  “Holy damn. They can’t put us in that position. This shit-for-brains idiot wants to pull our business apart.” He pounded on his knee with a closed fist. “Goddamn it. He has absolutely no legal foot to stand on.”

  “I know, Paul, but he threatened to confiscate first and let the courts rule later.” My voice stayed steady even though my body felt dirt-tired. “There are too many estates and farms relying on our equipment to play chicken with these people.” I leaned back in the chair, slumped for comfort. “I’ve been around the block so many times already that I know they’ll do what they threatened. Milan was here and helped negotiate.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Sarah asked. “You look terrible.” She tried to smile. “Like us.”

  “No thank you. I just needed to tell you what I learned before I check in with Terrell. Then the kids and I are going to close our door and stay together for the night.” I rose and walked over to give each of them a hug and a kiss. “Paul, you and I are going to be interviewed in the morning. Five-thirty in the DOE offices. Can you do that?”

  “I’ll know better in the morning.”

  “Well, we’ll start without you if you don’t choose to come. Don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” I started for the door. “Try to sleep tonight. I’m so thankful you’re here.” Sitting side by side, Paul’s arm resting on Sarah’s, they were the picture of what I hoped for our future. “I love you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lao waited with Terrell in the kitchen. Following their hand directions, we left the residence for a walk outside.“I only have a few minutes. The kids are waiting for me for bed.” The soft silence of day’s end on a farm surrounded us. “What did you hear?”

  “Everything.” Lao looked straight ahead as he walked. “This is a big problem.”

  “You could both be in trouble if Peterson gets wind of the listening device.” I saw their heads bob in agreement. “I think the worst is over. You need to remove it.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Lao replied. “With your friend Milan out of sight, this Peterson could be devious.” In the gathering dark, I saw Terrell nod in agreement.

  “But if we’re caught?” I paused. “What could happen to us?”

  “Don’t worry about that, Anne. You should be thinking about keeping your family together, about your son coming home, about Ashwood. Lao will worry about defending your right to protection.” Terrell put an arm around my shoulder. “Let us take care of this one.”

  “These look like threads,” Lao handed me a brown envelope not much larger tha
n my thumb. “Weave them into your clothes. They’ll dissolve in the wash so don’t worry about removing them.”

  Transports and a satellite dish parked near the DOE building. My office windows remained dark, but lights shone out other windows.

  “Sounds like our visitors will be bringing their own meals and need kitchen space,” Terrell said in a more casual tone. “How did that happen?”

  “I blew up when I read their request for restaurant-style service for up to fifteen people a day. Obviously the DOE doesn’t understand that the food growing on this place isn’t entirely at our disposal.” We walked in easy strides back toward the residence. “Will their cook cause problems in the kitchen?”

  “Everything is a problem in the kitchen at this time of summer, but their lead food person seems reasonable.” Terrell coughed and laughed at the same time. “If I were younger, I’d hope she was reasonable in other ways.”

  I stopped walking and turned to face my friends. “I have a feeling something is under the surface with you two and I don’t know how much to ask.”

  “Don’t ask anything,” Lao answered. “We’re doing our jobs.”

  “Now let’s get you back to your kids,” Terrell said. “Those boys will probably hog the snack I put together so I hid one in my pocket.” He held out my favorite small filled pastry treat. “How about you turn off your mind for a few minutes and enjoy that, the company of two fine men, and this breeze. Maybe the heat will break.”

  They filled our last few minutes with small talk about the evening’s softball game. I nibbled and listened. Their advice was good, and I disciplined my mind to turn off the problems of the day by the time I opened our bedroom door.

  The king-size bed David and I shared easily accommodated three small children and their assorted stuffed animals and personal blankets. Phoebe and I took turns reading from a chapter of an old children’s favorite, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, then turned off the light. Sleep came quickly for them. I wondered if Terrell spiked their milk or if children’s minds more naturally calmed when their bodies demand rest.