“It’s possible we won’t see much of her—she’s not on a vacation. Like John and Noah, she’ll be working. My hope is that we’ll have a few meals together with Grandpa.”
“I told him I’d bring him flowers from Grandma’s garden.” Faith changed directions without forewarning. “Do you mind if I leave my school stuff here? Do you need this table?”
“Go ahead.”
I heard her talk with friends as she walked away. We’d been reluctant to approve a communications implant so she relied on a bracelet communicator. This fall as the only student accepted from our region for the metro language academy, she dreamt of taking public transit to classes. Drones would make the commute too dangerous, but that hadn’t cut through her naïve belief that she’s metro-savvy because she attended her first years of school in Minneapolis.
We hoped to find a way for her to leave Ashwood for a real college and not one of the big corporation-dominated schools that exist to train potential workers. Few options remained in the United States.
“You’re frowning.” David joined me. “I can think of many reasons for that look. Either one of our daughters, my father, Giant Pines, or the thought of having most of us together for dinner.”
“I thought you left to buy new boots before picking up Phoebe.”
“That wouldn’t make you frown.”
In summer, David wore looser cotton-blend pants and shirts. His gray-streaked hair has thinning. He tended to overestimate the physical part of his days when serving himself at meals. Or maybe he found comfort in food as his father faded away.
“Actually I was thinking about Faith’s college plans.” I steered away from Hartford and work. “I read that Argonae and Bio announced exclusive relations with Carleton College. That was the last opportunity in Minnesota for a student who isn’t on employment track with a multi-corp.”
“So we’ll find a good school outside of Minnesota if that’s what she wants.” David sat down in an oak chair made by his father. “Dad hopes to be able to join us for dinner.”
From the pocket of his pants, David slowly withdrew a red-enameled box the size of a deck of cards and twice as tall. “He asked me to give this to you.”
Paul and I had talked about the contents of this box many times since Sarah passed away. David held it toward me, grief over the approaching loss of Paul showing in tightness around his mouth and a dulling of his dark eyes.
I took the box with both hands, my fingers searching for a small chip in the enamel on the left underside.
David sat back in his chair. “He said you wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I knew it would come. Just not today.”
The box in hand, I cleared space to give Paul’s gift full attention. David watched.
“He suggested you open it alone.”
“I know.” I looked up, my face soft with empathy for David. Accompaniment on Paul’s slow passage tired all of us, David maybe the most. “Later.”
He cleared his throat, rubbed the site of an old shoulder wound. “Dad seemed intent on knowing you had this right now, before the kids all returned.”
“That sounds right.” Noise in the courtyard seemed loud between us. “I will open it this afternoon, I promise.”
Being David, he toned down his curiosity. “It’s going to be good to have the kids all here. Dad’s looking forward to spending time with them.”
I couldn’t bear his sadness any longer. I left my chair to put my arms around him. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his arms wound across my back.
“I’ve got to leave to get Phoebe.” His voice, smooth and rich, had fatigue etched under each vowel as they stretched out in upper Midwest style. “I’m looking forward to having time alone with her.” He straightened out of my arms, kissed my forehead and stood.
“Drive safely. Please don’t take any short cuts in the estates region.”
“You worry too much.”
I walked with him to the courtyard. Three men trailed Amber up the main walk to the residence. Each pushed a handcart piled with boxes or suitcases.
“Jim, those go into the Blue Suite of the DOE building,” she directed. “The rest of the things go into the old teachers’ rooms.”
David turned, eyebrows raised.
“Phoebe’s things.” I explained. “One of her support people sent a complete inventory this morning. Everything she would need or want, all in original packaging, to arrive before Phoebe. Clothing, custom pillows, air purification, work out equipment, favorite Chicago foods.” We watched as Amber and the laborers disappeared into the residence’s kitchen entrance. “Our daughter does not travel light. Nothing was specified about traveling with a cares.”
“She can’t carry all this when she’s on research trips.” David could travel to Europe with one bag carried over a shoulder.
“You can ask her about that when you pick her up. Go. Give her a hug for me.”
By the time he drove through Ashwood’s gates, I had gathered my things and walked to the executive offices, a game plan forming along the way. Hartford, Ltd., might outrun Deshomm. I needed every minute before David returned.
Since the Second Great Depression, the Minneapolis-St. Paul metro area boundaries have not expanded even one city block. Hartford’s twenty thousand acres begin at the Ashwood orchard fences, still thirty-five miles from the heart of the cities and ten miles within the estate zone.
Acreage meant little today with multi-story growing sheds producing year-round harvesting of fruits, vegetables, aquatic plants, and fish. High-yield crops and grains matured under rotating sunscreens. Cattle, hogs, and chickens were housed at Giant Pines in environmentally controlled buildings and outdoor spaces.
Beyond the courtyard area of our home at Ashwood, a small village of buildings had developed. A school, a dining hall, workers’ housing, the business offices of Hartford, Ltd., a power plant, a giant garage for storage and maintenance of equipment. Behind Ashwood’s fences, a half-dozen houses had been built for essential employees. A state-owned clinic opened to the road with its small infirmary technically sitting on the estate’s land.
Since I arrived, we had moved buildings farther from the main residence to create a security zone with a second gate where transports must be cleared before approaching the front door. Soccer fields and a softball diamond were now behind the residence instead of outside our front windows. Each change challenged my sense of peace, but life continued without interference.
Working on the screen porch lining half of the residence’s front, the air was heavy with the smells of growing plants and trees. Night and day windmills on the lands and fans in the giant growing facilities whirled. Depending on the time of year, the porch was anything but quiet.
Chapter 7
People who knew Phoebe came out of Ashwood’s offices and kitchen and barns to follow the transport up the drive and welcome her home. Others who could wander away from work joined for the novelty of viewing an Intellectual Corps member. With the transport making its way through the second security gate, I was caught near the back of what became a crowded courtyard.
She opened her door in a hurry, a knapsack falling to the pavers before shiny black boots could be seen, then thin legs covered by the black pants metro dwellers favored. I moved faster, the sight of those spindly legs sending warning that all was not well with our daughter. Beyond our protective canopy drones hummed like a swarm of flies approaching fresh food.
She jumped from the transport, looked through the waiting crowd. I knew she needed to see me. When I called her name, Phoebe smiled at Terrell and John, but pushed past them into my arms. With her head bent to my shoulder, a sprinkle of gray hairs could be seen running through her dark curls. Her body felt as thin as a young apple tree, her shirtsleeves pulled up on equally bony arms.
“Phoebe, I’m so glad to
have you standing here,” I said into her ear. “You look tired. Let’s get you in the house.”
“I should say hello to everybody.” Under her words I heard David’s gravelly tones announcing sleepless days. “It’s been a long time.”
She leaned against me as we walked through the gathering. Magda, a family friend and Hartford leader, and her partner stepped forward. One picked up the forgotten knapsack while the other wound another arm around Phoebe’s waist. Terrell’s large voice softened as he fell into step with us. I looked over my shoulder and saw David hand the transport control pack to a worker. When he looked up, a mask of neutrality controlled his face.
“We’ve put you in the old teacher quarters.” I spoke loud enough that Magda could help me steer my daughter. Up our home’s long front steps, past the large white geraniums standing in front of the tall red wooden doors, the three of us matched stride. Inside, in the quiet of the foyer, Phoebe’s sigh floated across aging wooden floors. “Let’s go to your room first. Amber had someone unpack the boxes your people sent ahead. Did you bring anything, or anyone, else?”
She straightened out of our loose arms. “Just my knapsack and a small bag.” Her solo steps straggled, unsteady. Phoebe shrugged her shoulders then pointed at the knapsack Magda carried. “I can take that. Why not my old room?”
Twenty-five years old, many years away from here, and she still wanted the small room on the east side of the residence, a room she had shared with her little sister.
“I knew you’d like looking out at the orchards.” We turned left after the dining room and walked down a narrower hallway toward a collection of rooms added twenty years earlier to accommodate the estate’s teaching team.
“What’s wrong with my old room?” Phoebe knew stubbornness wore people down.
“Faith filled it with her things years ago.” I wondered how she had forgotten Faith’s bulletins on decorating. “She still has those obnoxious English posters you sent from London.”
“I met a man there who sold my mother a large mirror. He remembered all the details because Tia was so strange and shipping that large an item to the states was unusual around the depression. Do you know where it might be?” Phoebe now walked independently with a wobbly swagger.
“The big mirror that stood in the reception room?” I remembered David in front of the mirror with an infant Phoebe, how she loved to inspect her own image. “You played yoga teacher in front of it?”
Her laugh, all high notes like a soprano, filled the hall. “My God, that big old black framed thing. My mother had that shipped from England. You must have thought she was crazy.”
“Actually it was here when I arrived. Your parents had a feng shui expert who placed all the furnishings in that room and it was perfectly angled to reflect the outside light.” My first walk through Ashwood, the mirror captured a bleak November evening. “Now it’s doing that in your grandfather’s suite.”
I opened the door to her temporary quarters. After decades of austerity, our ability to purchase a new double bed and modern furnishings for a guest still amazed me. When Phoebe was born the entire residence was painted government white and we stocked bed coverings in simple primary colors.
“We’ve made sure security has Phoebe’s codes active in Ashwood’s systems.” Magda gave Phoebe a hug. “I need to leave, but if you’d like a tour of any of our new buildings or want to visit the greenhouses call me.”
Phoebe surveyed the room, not even looking out its windows. “Someone at Ashwood has a good eye,” she said. “I could stay here for a long time.” Summer sun slipped through her clothes. I looked away, my feet not moving. From ten feet away, the outline of her body suggested an eating disorder, or drug abuse, or emotional distress.
“In case you’re hungry.” Phoebe would be with us for weeks or months so other conversations could happen at leisure. “Ashwood is still on country time with dinner at five thirty. There’s still fruit and snacks in the kitchen during the day.”
Gracefully she lowered herself to the bed. “I need to check in with the lab. Could someone bring a tray?” One hand smoothed the coverlet. “In fact it would be helpful if we could set up a call system. I hate eating sticks and o’s. You know I never keep regular hours.” She raised one shoulder, a gesture filled with womanly sensuality. “Like Dad.”
Always a Daddy’s girl, her words projected into the space between us like a brick thrown through glass.
“The agency sent a list of your needs to Amber. She’ll go over everything with you after dinner.” Phoebe eased off her boots and shed her jacket. “I’ll have someone bring a tray now. Terrell’s got a few of your favorite things ready.”
How I wanted to kidnap my daughter, take her across the border and ward off anyone who might suggest she think of work. “I’m so glad to have you here, Phoebe. Thank you for coming.”
A look, maybe annoyance or maybe discomfort, crossed her face. She turned her head away for a second. When she turned back, her words and features were out of synch.
“I love Grandpa. You just had to ask.”
Chapter 8
David waited for me on the screen porch, a glass of water in his large hands hardened by outdoor labor. Our faces mirrored the same worry. He stood.
“Your office is cleared.” His hand gripped the glass as if it held a great weight. “Sadig’s crew told me they found two packets of pollen stuffed into the air vents.” His voice was low, conscious of how sound could carry beyond the screened area. “Do you have time to talk?”
Truthfully I didn’t, but I couldn’t work productively while ruminating about Phoebe on my own. “There’s nothing I’d like to do more than spend time with you.” I took his glass. “Industrial espionage, most all of our children about to meet under our roof and our daughter’s grand arrival kind of made this a big day.” I pointed toward the outside entrance. “Could we walk through the orchard?”
“If you won’t start coughing. The cities’ smog is blowing our way.”
“I’ll take the risk.” We walked comfortably. “How was your time with Phoebe?” David’s face melted into sadness. “Maybe one of our offices would be a better place to talk?” His stress was more visible under the open sky. “Doesn’t look like a cares accompanied her. Maybe she’s been freed from supervisory oversight?”
He confirmed what he knew about her work from a discussion early that morning with her research coordinator about securing lab space in the DOE building. The irony that Tia’s daughter would be leading scientific discussions about clean water was bittersweet. On this day, each of the fragile bonds between Phoebe and her biological mother pointed us toward darker thoughts.
Inside my office, David walked to the windows. He worked the thumb of his right hand into the palm of his left while watching birds at a feeder. Our girls had built it for him for Fathers’ Day a decade earlier. I gazed at my monitor, saw Phoebe remained in her quarters. Internal identification chips changed everything about parenting from the days we relied on kids to tell us where they were going. On the other hand, it was nearly impossible to become invisible even on an estate the size of Ashwood.
“This Ahlmet guy seems to have filled Phoebe’s head with stories about roadway attacks and security issues in the estate zones.” David turned, pulled out a chair and sat. “She suggested we should have a full-time bodyguard-driver and made a number of comments about not feeling safe until we were inside Ashwood’s second gates. Almost obsessed with the whole deal.”
What he shared supported my first impression of Phoebe, now an ultra-thin, stressed-out woman. “I don’t think she’s happy that we put her in the teachers’ suite. She forgets Faith has had full use of their old room for almost ten years.”
David ruefully smiled. “I sense she thinks I’m old-fashioned and not entirely approving of her lifestyle.”
“Don’t be hard on yoursel
f. Phoebe always reminds me that you understand the expectations she faces better than any of us. I suspect Ashwood will be a difficult adjustment after living in the intellectual quarters.”
“True, but I think she’ll work just as hard while here.” He was thoughtful. “Maybe she can reconnect with regular people and discover more balance. If she doesn’t, she’ll crash in a bad way.”
I wondered if he remembered the only time I’d traveled to Paris, to be with Phoebe in one of her darkest times. One of her cares reported that Phoebe was talking about dying. While the idea that the Intellectual Corps members had watchers always jarred me, that time I was thankful. How the Bureau of Human Capital Management would continue their watcher routine inside Ashwood unnerved me. There were no strangers within our gates. Someone we trusted had been tapped, and trained, for this possibility. David didn’t need to be brought into my discomfort.
“Well, I think she’s better for ditching Ahlmet. You met him the last time you visited. Was he kind of a jerk?” David was a father again.
I remembered a different response. Ahlmet treated Phoebe like a beautiful woman, like a peer. We went to a wonderful private dining club, listened to music and talked about their two short vacation trips. She relaxed at his side.
“I didn’t sense that he was anything other than a respectful, fellow intellectual who found her attractive on many levels. But, I know something went very wrong. Maybe even in the last day.”
My beloved David finally sat back and looked at me. Even when his mother died I had not seen the deep sadness now darkening his eyes and robbing his face of the fullness that normally made him appear younger than his years.
“When I said that maybe she’d sleep better at Ashwood, she laughed at me.” His voice broke up. “Said I should know better. That the lab managers were always chopping weeks off multi-corps deadlines.” He swallowed as if the words that were coming might drown him. “And that sometimes she regretted being born.”
Leaving Ashwood Page 4
