Leaving Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  “You want to plug me into that open box on the organization chart called president?” David’s consultative method of responding with questions began.

  I fidgeted instead of protesting this behavior I found so annoying. “Yes.”

  “Why now?”

  “Because for Hartford, Ltd., to change, it needs to have a leader not so tightly bound to its operations.” The company needed its founder to step aside. I couldn’t say that out loud quite yet. “Maybe we should finish this conversation in the office tomorrow. We can look at the reports and the Deshomm agreement and keep everything more business-oriented.”

  “Only if you promise to keep your shirt unfastened.”

  I looked down, kept my voice all business as I raised my face. “Too many listening devices in that building for mixing pleasure and succession planning.”

  “Annie, I love how you can act like we’re still young enough to take those kinds of risk.” David put an arm around my shoulder for our walk to the dining room.

  Chapter 29

  Family dinner conversations that summer changed our relationships from the level of parents and children to the richness of adult friendships. We spoke about politics, work, the economy, friends, and dreams in between light-hearted matters. Faith matured during unfiltered conversations about life that replaced typical teen chatter with topics that demanded thought. One night she talked about McGill University and what she hoped to do with a law degree.

  “I think you should go to England for college,” Phoebe challenged during a break in Faith’s monologue. “I loved England. It’s the closest to Europe without language challenges. Terrific science labs. It’s not too late. Andrew or I can pull strings and land you a place.”

  “Funny, but I remember pathetic calls from you about how the Brits drove you crazy.” Noah pointed his empty fork toward Phoebe. “I was concerned you were going to take after Tia Regan and almost cashed in all my travel allocations to save you.”

  “That had nothing to do with England. I had other issues and horrible jet lag. Why are you bringing that up? Feeling insecure about something?” Like many coddled intellectual elite, Phoebe had limited social grace in the flow of how regular people lived.

  Noah, her self-appointed tether to the real world, didn’t smile. “It would be nice if we could all show support for Faith’s decision. Today college admission without making a corporate commitment is pretty difficult.” He tilted his head and waved the fork again. “You have dominated everyone’s attention for weeks, now give our little sister her share of attention.”

  “It’s the lifestyle I’m used to, Noah. You could have lived it also.”

  “Not really, Phoebs.” Noah returned the fork to his plate. “I couldn’t give up an opportunity at living a normal life with ordinary people. I loved the witty intellectual conversation, but hated the elite environment. This is where I belong.”

  “You threw away the chance to do something big for the world.” Phoebe’s commitment to that mission anchored her words. “Squandered the intellectual potential you were given.”

  “I walked away from the intellectual elite lifestyle, not from challenging work. Do you feel the same way about Andrew’s choice of work?”

  Phoebe opened her mouth, but made an odd growling sound instead of speaking. She flushed, closed her mouth, and pushed her chair back from the table. Andrew moved faster to help her stand, and then supported her as they left the dining room. She beat one hand against her hip and the other pressed against the side of her head.

  The five of us watched before turning back to each other and our meal.

  “I’d like to permanently install something in Ahlmet’s head.” Noah pushed his plate away. “Andrew says she seldom sleeps more than forty-five minutes without an attack by that animal.”

  “What happens when Andrew leaves?” Faith asked. “Will he take her with him?”

  “Her medical leave requires that Phoebe remains here or returns to a super­vised setting in Chicago.” I gazed down the hall where the two could be seen. They were heading to the back of the residence, probably out to the lower yard to sit by the pond. “I’m pretty sure Phoebs doesn’t want to be in Chicago.”

  Dishes were passed around the table. Pasta from the wheat fields of the Regan South Dakota farms tossed with fresh vegetables from our gardens, cheese from our dairy cows, a new slaw recipe the Hartford, Ltd., kitchen was testing. Some of us sampled the first of the summer ales. Noah and John had gained weight since arriving. Noah’s heavy study schedule kept him pale while John’s wandering of Giant Pines gave him the light golden skin of a healthy farmer.

  “Dad, you’d be really interested in the first research grant we’re hoping to land for Giant Pines. The Italian animal geneticists you and I discussed are looking for a collaborative partner for a feeding project.” John’s enthusiasm lured David out of a pensive state. Faith lost interest in Phoebe. Amber and I chatted about a school picnic for families.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Faith stand up. The sound of her chair hitting another chair underscored her horror as she screamed.

  We all turned to the hall, to the sight of a blood-spattered Phoebe weaving toward us.

  “Andrew’s hurt.” She wobbled. “He’s hurt.”

  David and I pushed back from the table. I fingered my communications alarm, blocking all entrance or exit from our lands and activating emergency protocols. John was the first to Phoebe’s side. Noah grabbed Faith.

  I bolted past them, followed their earlier path down the central hall, out the back doors, David and Terrell close behind, to my son’s side. With adrenalin fueling my own strength I pulled him from the pond, pushed the crisis alarm a second time as Terrell reached my side. Stopped as Andrew gasped. Stopped as I saw blood dripping from a wound in his chest.

  Terrell pushed me aside, performed a physical assessment of Andrew, and gave directions to the lead of his kitchen team to get the estate medical kit. Security backed everyone away. I only watched Andrew, hovered as close as an umbrella over Terrell’s back, dropped back to my son’s side.

  “Where’s Frances?” I carefully picked up Andrew’s hand. His eyelids fluttered open, then closed. “Hold on, Andrew.” Bending around Terrell, my lips touched Andrew’s wet forehead. “Help him, Terrell.” I straightened, kept my voice low. “For God’s sake do something.”

  Alarms buzzed or clanged from every corner of our land, warning the criminal that they would not escape and telling all others to not even dream of entering. Terrell ripped open Andrew’s shirt as Lao drove Frances over the lawn in a small cart.

  She waved me aside and I saw my bloodied hand. Frances motioned to Terrell to serve as her second in assessing Andrew’s condition. In the background, coming from the house, the sound of Phoebe’s keening cry accompanied the alarm. Winged insects created a subtle buzzing.

  “I killed him.” The blood on her face may have been her own, may have been Andrew’s. Her arms flailed against her father’s capturing grasp. “Mom, I’m so sorry. Someone hold me.” She leaned against David’s arms, her voice escalating into a screeching garble of confession and confusion.

  Andrew’s lids opened, closed over eyes like mine. My firstborn stretched on the rock and grass patio with thick auburn hair above a white-gray face. Frances plunged a needle into his chest near the wound, too close to the wound for my sensitivity. His legs rose from the ground, his torso moved. I cried out loud, surprised at the sound.

  David held his daughter. John supported Faith. Noah rushed to the water’s edge. Lao came to my side, stopped me when I would have pushed my way back to Andrew’s side, held me up when my son turned his head to vomit pond water and groan.

  Flies approached. “Why isn’t the bug protection working?” My question carried no further than a dragonfly near Terrell’s head.

  “We need air tra
nsport to Abbott.” Frances threw the command to Lao. “Tell them we have a gunshot wound to the chest. No exit wound. He needs a surgical suite, stat.” Her small hands packed dressing to staunch the bleeding, placed a large clear bandage over the site. She looked up again. “Order it now. And get these bugs away from us.”

  “Milan must be contacted first.” Lao raised his chin toward Phoebe. “Intellectual Corps protocol.” His voice hardened. “You understand?”

  I remained still in his strong hold. “We will not risk my son’s life to honor a crazy protocol. Call air services.” He shook his head and turned away, calmly voicing a code I didn’t recognize. “Frances, please, make Lao understand.”

  She didn’t turn, concentrated on Andrew’s care. Noah joined Terrell, drew on gloves at his direction.

  “Otis, take Phoebe to her room and make sure she doesn’t leave.” I projected my voice over Frances’s terse questioning of Andrew. “You best make sure she isn’t armed. No one beyond the family, Lao, or Dr. Frances should have access to her.” Hysterical wailing and yipping added more torture to the unimaginable scene. “Assign watch until I change orders.” Fighting for control, I lowered my voice. “Terrell, let Noah help Frances and do something to make Phoebe shut up.”

  “Mom, she’s not herself.” No scold accompanied Noah’s words.

  “Let’s hope not.” Color began chasing pallor from Andrew’s face. “Using a gun against another person is a felony. She could serve time.” I reached to swat an insect approaching Noah and he ducked away from my bloodied fingers. “You have a bug on your neck.” I waved it off. Noah knelt next to Frances. “How is Andrew doing?”

  “He needs air transport. We can’t know where the bullet settled.” Frances checked his heart and blood pressure. “Use a wipe, then you can hold his hand. He’s conscious.”

  My hands shook as I wiped away blood and pond residue. I folded my knees to one side, sat by Andrew and gently picked up his fingers. My thumb felt for the bump on the side of his forefinger where he was deeply cut while working with the cattle. A fly circled his head. I waved it away. His eyelids flickered. Frances urged him to stay quiet.

  “Speak to us, Lao.” I called my friend and turned away from the bloody packing Frances removed. Terrell filled in a fresh packet without a word. Finally David joined us, put his hand on my shoulder.

  “We’re both here, son.” David laid his palm on Andrew’s thigh, applied light pressure, and removed it. A two-inch wasp like bug approached then fell to the ground and began crawling toward us.

  Before Lao turned to speak, Otis ran from the residence carrying a sealed bag containing a small handgun. It was old-fashioned, the kind occasionally found in the estates of elderly who risked the possibility of time in prison for the forbidden comfort of a gun in their residence. I hadn’t seen any guns like it since the depths of the great 2020s depression.

  “This was in her pocket, Mr. Lao.” Paul’s former aide extended the bag.

  Buzzing insects, bubbling water, Andrew’s ragged breathing amplified as Lao finished his conversation to accept the compact weapon. My groan grounded us back into crisis management.

  “A portable surgical suite will be here in ten minutes.” It was clear that Lao’s statement could not be questioned. He looked our way, a commander leading weaker civilians. “This is best.”

  “Best for Andrew or best for Phoebe or best for the Bureau?” David stood. “Who made the decision?”

  “Dr. Frances is in agreement.”

  “I didn’t hear Dr. Frances say anything after you started that conversation, Lao. What do you think, Frances?”

  “I’ve never treated a gun wound. Have not seen one in twenty years. I can’t make that call.” She brushed a supersized fly with the wingspan of a monarch butterfly away from the wound. “Damn it, what’s with the bugs? We need protection.”

  “Milan can’t trade my son’s life for Phoebe.”

  Lao did not answer me, just gave his assistant directions for location of the portable hospital suite. Listening to their conversation, I understood that unless he died, Andrew would not leave Ashwood.

  “Sounds like you’re setting up a field hospital unit back here.” David’s hand rested lightly on the top of my head. “The cost of doing that is insane.” Insects ceased their attacks, our perimeter re-instated.

  Lao carefully laid each word among us. “Phoebe’s safety is a matter of national security.”

  “Then someone should take care of the criminal in Chicago dominating her brain.” David waited for response from Lao who appeared to be following protocols beyond our estate. “I want Anne to speak with Milan. Taking this risk with Andrew’s life makes no sense.”

  “The best field surgeon has been assigned to Andrew.” Noah sat back on his heels, reading his communicator. “My advisor has access to assignment rosters. She says someone cherry picked the best out of rotation. He’ll be in good hands.”

  Andrew’s eyes fluttered and I felt his fingers tighten. Frances bent low, her stethoscope pressed to his chest. She motioned for Terrell to hand her something from the medical kit.

  “What’s happening?” I asked Frances, Terrell, maybe God.

  “Andrew’s blood pressure is dropping. He’s bleeding internally.” Terrell moved items to Frances without looking at me. “He’s holding his own, Anne.”

  I reached toward Lao. “Get Milan.”

  He tapped his earpiece, spoke to someone, and then nodded toward me.

  “Anne.” Milan’s voice brought me back from emotion to action. Releasing Andrew’s hand, I got to my feet and moved away. From around the corner of the residence an Ashwood transport carried a load of field tenting materials to an entry near our lower level storage facilities and safe room. “Andrew will have the same medical field team that would be sent if a government official needed high level care.”

  “Tell me that Ahlmet’s been taken into custody.” I looked to the sky, impatient for the copter’s arrival.”

  “Special protection has been ordered for Phoebe and your entire family. Ava Smith will arrive with the medical field unit.” I heard the buzz of other voices from his side of our conversation. “Phoebe must be kept safe.”

  “I won’t sacrifice either Phoebe or Andrew.”

  “You are all in my thoughts, Anne. I have to go.”

  The sound of a med copter ended our conversation. I turned back to Andrew understanding that we were immersed in a crisis created by a brilliant madman in a lab.

  “How’s he doing, Frances?” A medical blanket had been pulled over Andrew.

  “No change.” She looked up to the sky. “They’ll have him in surgery in five to ten minutes.”

  “I want to greet the team, make sure they have everything they need.”

  “You’re looking at everything they need.” Using her chin, she pointed to the med copter hovering above our lower yard where the younger kids’ soccer field had been merged with a grassy area to create Ashwood’s “parkland,” the only unplanted acreage on the estate.

  “What you can do right now is bend low over Andrew while they land. Plenty of dust and debris is going to be churned up. We need to keep him covered.” Frances gestured for David to join us.

  We formed a human blanket above my son. The med copter blades tossed dust and recently mown grass our way while shutting down. I looked over Terrell’s back at medical staff running our way and knew fear instead of relief. A stocky man trotted first to Lao.

  David pulled me back as the first medical crew reached Andrew. One conferred with Frances, two began assessment and inserted an IV line, others brought a gurney to his side. Frances introduced Noah, worked him into the team caring for Andrew.

  “Ms. Hartford, I’m Chief Medical Officer Rizzi.” A stocky man separated from the crew. He had blue eyes, a shaved head and did not smi
le. “Your son will be in good hands. We’ll let Dr. Frances and Noah observe but need to have you remain outside. Dr. Frances will keep you informed. The wound appears clean, we’ll have to see what the bullet has done internally. The pond water is being analyzed for contaminants.”

  I wanted to walk with the gurney, but Andrew was nearly to the med copter with crew performing procedures and prepping him as they moved. Rizzi nodded and was gone. The side doors closed. My legs shook.

  “Easy, Annie.” David spoke next to my ear. “We can sit here by the pond or go in the house.”

  Inside seemed too far away. To sit by the pond meant waiting next to medical refuse and Andrew’s blood. Neither choice felt right.

  Terrell followed my eyes over the pond-side scene. “We’ll move chairs and a bench where you can keep that big bird in your sight,” he offered and gestured for Lao and David to help. I pitched in, fear giving me energy and strength. David, Terrell and I sat. Lao excused himself. John, Faith and Amber joined us.

  We had few experiences with family medical emergencies. Beyond the large field, sunshields waved slightly in an evening breeze. Our bug zapping system once again offered protection. Faith sat on the ground, her head resting against my leg. I ran my fingers through her hair until I couldn’t sit still. “I’m going to walk around the med copter. I have to move.”

  Faith slid her hand into mine. “We’ll walk together. I saw an interesting wildflower in this field a few days ago. It might be a mutant, but it is pretty. Come see it.”

  Terrell excused himself, kissed my cheek, and headed back to the residence. Blood on his pants made me look away.

  David finally stood, walked on Faith’s other side. We paced the width and length of the field area, sometimes exchanging small talk about a bird or what we knew little about guns. Twenty minutes, then thirty minutes passed. The early evening light changed. The family dinner table discussion about Faith’s college choice drifted through my mind to be chased away by Dr. Rizzi’s page to the copter’s door.