Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037 (35 page)

“Anne, I’ve read the article. The series is meant to embarrass the secretary of Welfare, the executive directors of the Bureau of Human Capital Management, and the president, whose husband spent his career in the Bureau.” Irritation played under his voice. “We’ve taken the only action we can and shut down the video segments.” He coughed, a morning tendency I’ve sat through during years of early calls.

“I’m keeping our kids close to the residence. We’ve posted specific signage forbidding photographing residents, workers, and all staff.” I already felt tired, wanting just one day to begin without drama. “I suspect this story is big enough to attract photographers to Ashwood for pictures of our kids.”

“Tell Sarah and Paul that I’m sorry.”

“What they want to ask about is why you didn’t tell them about these children.” He didn’t respond. “I think they feel betrayed that they haven’t heard this from you.”

“Anne, my official responsibility is to the children, not to the Regan family.” Again the cough.

“To Sarah and Paul, the children are the family.” My quiet time for the day was over. Long-ago unethical decisions of people in power now threw us into the uncharted legal grounds of this scandal. “They would like all six of these kids brought to Ashwood and might well engage counsel to press their interest.”

“In David’s absence?”

“Perhaps because of David’s absence.” Someone knocked at my door. “Because they believe this is what he will want and because they want to hold on to anything that reminds them of their son. I have to go.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

Paul waited in the hall, a big man made even larger with anger. “Turn on your data pad. There’s a story.”

“I’ve read it, Paul. I talked with Milan. There isn’t anything the government can do.”

“Fine friend. He’s legal guardian for David’s children and hides them from us. Doesn’t even have the decency to let you and David know any of this until it can’t be hidden. He’s a snake.”

I eased Paul into our room, closed the door before the whole estate heard his words through gossip. “How is Sarah?”

“She’s making plans for where they’ll sleep when we get them here. I’m thinking maybe we should take all of our grandkids to South Dakota and the ranch. Life is simpler there. Not so much pressure, not all of this crisis.”

“Sit with me for a few minutes, help me think through talking with the kids.”

He shook his head, ready for action, not talking. “Isn’t that why your friend sent the doctor here? Talk with her, then have her tell Sarah and me what she’s figured out.”

“Milan did not send Dr. Frances here. Terrell made the arrangements on our behalf.” The generally patient, wise Paul left as emotionally tight as I’d ever seen him. I followed, steered off into the kitchen. Dr. Frances sat at the counter, on the stool where I usually sat, talking with Terrell. They both turned.

“You’ve read the news,” she said. Terrell stood up, offered me his stool.

“Yes.” I waved Terrell back to his seat. “Paul and Sarah are overwhelmed. I’m so angry about everything in the past week, I can’t even think straight.”

“How do you do your best thinking?” I thought her lips looked different, her eyes softer. Terrell moved away, touched her knee first.

“Usually on my own, but if you don’t mind moving slowly, I would appreciate company outside.”

She slid from the stool. “Lead the way.”

Terrell handed me a travel mug of coffee, a half sandwich, and two tablets. “Better you take these here with a glass of water and eat that sandwich as you walk.”

So, like a child, I stood next to the counter and took my medicine. “By the way, when you conduct the next medical audit, I’m guilty of self-medicating.”

“We’ll take care of that. I want to rebandage that ankle, then you can take a walk.”

Dr. Frances and I slipped on yard coats. My feet wanted to move fast, to trot or run, but even a rough hobble taxed my strength. I led the doctor around the front of the residence, glanced at the DOE building, where a crew already readied for demolition. We headed to the orchard, where the smell of sun-ripened apples mixed with the overly sweet stink of fallen fruit rotting in tall grass. The bees would be busy when the sun truly rose, but in the half-light of early morning all was still. Bunnies dashed out ahead of us. Across the near silence, sounds from the livestock could be heard.

“Phoebe says walking here with you is one of her favorite activities.”

The comment made me smile. “There was an old orchard here that David and I decided to restore the first year we were married. We are both tree lovers, but every estate investment must support food production and jobs.” I breathed in, held the sweet air in my lungs. “We planted hundreds of fruit trees where we could see the growth from our offices.”

“How do you feel about the story referring to you as a possible widow?”

“It’s not just about how I feel. You do understand that, if David dies, the Bureau could determine that Phoebe and Noah should be raised elsewhere? I’m afraid of losing my kids.”

“You are a powerful influence in your stepdaughter’s life.” Dr. Frances walked like an experienced country hiker, not needing to watch her feet on the uneven ground. “Your resiliency and steadiness give her an important sense of stability. And your sense of humor encourages her to be a child. Phoebe needs you.”

I slowed, relieved to hear this clear declaration. “It’s become a bit more complex because of how Paul and Sarah are responding to this story. If David doesn’t return, they want legal custody of all his biological children.” I slowed to sip coffee. “There has been a lot of pressure on our business to increase production, pay more taxes, and make all that happen with fewer resources. Paul works very hard and he isn’t a young man. Because of all of that, they want to return to South Dakota.”

“How does that make you feel?” She spoke softly.

“I think you can figure it out.” I sipped again, took a few bites of the sandwich, then threw the rest down for the birds. “I know they have no real understanding of how the Bureau managed these gifted kids’ futures.”

Grackles filled the air around us with their edgy heckling. Something about these black winged creatures frightened John as a baby and still made him nervous. They circled near the edge of the trees, possibly fixated on a mouse. I understood their victim’s feelings too well.

“David has never spoken with his parents about the legal requirements we must meet in education, testing, and developmental activities to keep Phoebe and Noah with us.” Rough ground snagged my support boot, making me stumble. Dr. Frances reached for my elbow, steadied me.

“Anne, don’t underestimate what your parents-in-law know. They’ve done a bit of their own research over the years. For example, Sarah told me you pay a handsome salary for Teacher Jason to keep her grandchildren at home.”

“But she can’t really understand how the Bureau plans to manage these kids’ adult lives and keep them as intellectual employees.” A large rabbit dashed ahead on our path. “We just act like parents and hope for some major change before Phoebe and Noah grow up.”

“You’re sensitive to Sarah’s feelings about surrogacy. Why?”

“How do you think a woman who gave up her career to raise five boys on an isolated ranch would respond to a government program requiring a woman to have her tubes tied and allow her babies to be carried by a surrogate?” I took a wrong step again and my ankle twisted. “Damn.” Distant sounds of machinery and animals and voices drifted through the trees, a life I never sought. “They didn’t have to make the tough personal decisions our generation made to pull this country out of the depression. Financial stuff changed on the ranch, but not freedom. They don’t want to know the hard fact that their surrogate grandchildren are not truly free citizens.”

I tossed most of my coffee in a high arc into the grass. The air was warming, the sun showing beautiful fruit nearly ready for harvest. “It stinks. David and Tia got a good education, comfortable housing, and generous compensation but lost the most fundamental rights of human beings—choosing their own mates and raising their own babies.”

“Everyone sacrificed to bring the United States back to stability.” Logical tenacity appeared to be Dr. Frances’s strength. “You wanted to be a teacher, I wanted to do research, Terrell wanted to be a therapist. This is what happens when countries tank.”

“I’m fine making those sacrifices for myself—but not for the next generation. Our rights weren’t taken away before we were born. Our DNA wasn’t manipulated to make us supposedly superior individuals.” I stopped. “Let’s go back. My ankle’s not quite up to another half mile.”

We turned around, walked in silence. “Dr. Frances, I am grateful for how my life developed, but it’s hard to set my mind at peace with what might be expected of our children.” Grackles flew up in front of us. Dr. Frances startled.

“I feel betrayed by somebody.” I wandered into sharing thoughts I never felt free to speak before. “The government did a bang-up job hauling this country out of the depression. Somehow I thought if my generation worked really hard, our kids would have a life more like what we knew before this all happened.”

Dr. Frances stood at my side, her face warmed by the sun. She toed an apple, bent to pick it up. “This one looks good,” she said. “You’re not alone with those sentiments.” She wiped the apple on her jacket. “So back to what to tell the children. I’ll be with you, but you know how to speak from the heart. They know the basic story already.”

“And how do I comfort Phoebe, who will read that last paragraph about the possibility of being an orphaned surrogate child?”

“With love, Anne.” A breeze rustled tree branches around us. The grackles gone, birds sang in the trees. “You can only assure her that there are people here who love her. No promises about her father. She’s not as fragile as you think and she needs honesty.”

With that opening, Dr. Frances began to speak about Phoebe’s night terrors. “You know Phoebe is a genius. But she’s still a little girl. I’m working with her to help her manage her intellect. On a very basic level, she is also very creative, with no outlet for her artistic side. So she and I are starting a quilt project this afternoon—fun activity in no way connected to academics, although she’ll use all her math skills without knowing it. Right now she needs to make things with her hands.”

“Like David. You know about his woodworking.”

“About time someone mentions that she is her father’s child as well as her mother’s. Yes, like David.” The doctor nodded. “How are you doing now?”

We left the orchard, heading back to Ashwood’s morning bustle. I realized that my complaints about the country’s direction could only be made by someone whose life had improved significantly, that most of the folks working at Ashwood still faced a daily struggle to feed their kids.

 “I’m going to take everything one day at a time for a few weeks,” I answered. “Today is going to be difficult.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

The children listened as I talked about the morning news story. Noah and John asked age-appropriate questions about their siblings. Perhaps the ease of Andrew’s arrival led them to think their grandparents and mom could easily spread love and attention over six more kids. Phoebe read through the story as I answered the boys.

“News writers like to be mean.” She cut off Noah’s theory that Teacher Jason would have to hire more teachers if all the Regan kids attended our school. “They just like to make people feel bad.” She waved a hand in my direction. “How can they call us all orphans when people saw Dad
and
we have a mother?”

“I know he’s coming home.” John whispered. “I know it, but he could be hurt.” His chin quivered. “He’s coming home.” I kissed the top of his head, felt hair as coarse as David’s under my lips.

In a quiet moment, they each processed our discussion, and then acted like kids as they chose to put absolute trust in John’s sense that their father would come home. Sarah and Paul sat by silently, their morning anger not entirely spent.

“Mom, maybe we should get a dog now instead of waiting until Christmas,” our youngest child suggested. “At night it could sleep with Phoebe so she doesn’t have bad dreams, and it could chase writers away when we’re in school.”

“Grandma says we need a distraction,” Noah added. “If we got a dog today, we could teach it tricks to surprise Dad.”

Paul smiled. “We’ll do it,” he announced without looking my way. “Not a big dog, but some nice smallish mutt that needs a home. I have one in mind.” He remembered to show political sensitivity. “Your mother is right that pets are a luxury as long as there are hungry people, but we’ll figure out a way to make this happen.”

I sat with my kids during the morning devotions service. Sarah’s words flowed past me as my mind wandered. Andrew and Phoebe joined a crew gathering vegetables from the kitchen gardens and the young boys brought their weekly lesson plans to me for review. By lunch, my head hurt more than my ankle and I rested for a few hours. After a quiet dinner, Paul and Sarah asked me to their quarters.

Their sitting room was my first room at Ashwood. The view of meadow and trees still made me pause. They named a wingback chair near the windows “the Annie seat.” Tall-stem glasses waited next to a bottle of white wine. I gave Sarah a small kiss on the cheek, turned down a glass from Paul because of my medications.