Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037 by Cynthia Kraack Page A
Authors: Cynthia Kraack
Tags: United States, Fiction, Suspense, Fantasy, Thrillers, Genetic engineering, Terrorism, Dystopia, Children, Minnesota, Great Depression, economic collapse, Birthmothers, Birthparents
Ads: Link
reminded me how fortunate we were to still have David’s parents in our lives.
“The media will be reporting the ambush of a mixed U.S. consulting and military leadership group at the Asunción airport overnight. No one knows who is responsible for that action.” Paul’s face lost elasticity giving him the look of a general facing battle. “That’s all we know, or at least all the DOE will say.” Shakiness started in my upper legs, a forgotten reaction to extreme danger. “The DOE sent Milan and one of their executives to tell me before news stories are released.”
A chair whirled on its casters as Paul pushed it aside on his way to where I stood. His arms folded around me, blocking the morning sun with well-worn cotton over well-developed muscles. I closed my eyes in the safety he offered. We leaned on each other in silence.
“So he’s alive?” A father’s voice mixed defiance and doubt, not unlike David’s challenging the Bureau’s therapist about treating Phoebe’s night terrors.
“No one said anything else.” My lips quivered, and I brought one fisted hand to my mouth. “He has to be alive.” On Paul’s chest I let tears fall even as I released my fingers to stretch my own arms around his body. “We need to tell Sarah and the children before one of them hears the morning news.”
“If you’ve told me all you know, I’ll talk with Sarah.” He brushed a hand down my back as we moved apart. “If you want to wait, we’ll join you and the kids.”
“What am I going to tell them, Paul? Watching Phoebe these past two nights already has me worried. David’s her rock of strength.”
“You’re wrong about that. She worships David, but she leans on you. You’re the one she wants when the night is bad. You’re the one she calls mother, and there’s no role more sacred.”
Family breakfast would be served in twenty-five minutes—sleepy boys, Phoebe reading at the table, Sarah drinking strong coffee. “Paul, there are two more things I need to tell you.” I took a deep breath before touching the first painful topic. “Milan is legal guardian for Phoebe and Noah. If David …” I faltered, looked to the floor for words before telling David’s father hard information about our world. “The way Bureau protocol works for children of intellectuals, legal guardianship is usually not held by their parents. Because of Tia’s instability, protocol ruled.”
“Phoebe doesn’t need to know that.”
A horse-drawn wagon carried laborers to produce gardens on the far edge of Ashwood where a single farmer had tried to make a living. Potatoes grew right up to a small yard area remaining around his two-bedroom house. “You’re right, but I’m trying to tell you that if anything happened to David, Phoebe and Noah could become wards of the Bureau.”
I had no magic bullet to change this reality. Paul now knew one of our secret burdens.
“David and I explored every possible legal action to break the contract that was signed before the kids were conceived. No one is willing to take on the case.” I drew in a breath, saw Paul’s unwillingness to accept that his grandchildren could be taken away. “No one,” I repeated. “Milan assured me he expects everything to remain unchanged.” I didn’t tell him about the temporary waiver. “Sometimes it’s uncomfortable to remember that, beyond being a friend, Milan represents the Bureau’s interests.”
“Well, let’s take him at his word.” Paul, on his way to the door, stopped. “What else?”
The words came out like the impatient question of an action-oriented man already thinking of the immediate task of breaking the news to his beloved Sarah.
“Andrew Smithson is my biological son.”
He blew air through his nose and made an undecipherable sound before speaking. “Goddamn if timing isn’t everything. Three kids who need you now and an orphan boy dropped into our house with a whole different set of needs. When does he arrive?”
I
“The media will be reporting the ambush of a mixed U.S. consulting and military leadership group at the Asunción airport overnight. No one knows who is responsible for that action.” Paul’s face lost elasticity giving him the look of a general facing battle. “That’s all we know, or at least all the DOE will say.” Shakiness started in my upper legs, a forgotten reaction to extreme danger. “The DOE sent Milan and one of their executives to tell me before news stories are released.”
A chair whirled on its casters as Paul pushed it aside on his way to where I stood. His arms folded around me, blocking the morning sun with well-worn cotton over well-developed muscles. I closed my eyes in the safety he offered. We leaned on each other in silence.
“So he’s alive?” A father’s voice mixed defiance and doubt, not unlike David’s challenging the Bureau’s therapist about treating Phoebe’s night terrors.
“No one said anything else.” My lips quivered, and I brought one fisted hand to my mouth. “He has to be alive.” On Paul’s chest I let tears fall even as I released my fingers to stretch my own arms around his body. “We need to tell Sarah and the children before one of them hears the morning news.”
“If you’ve told me all you know, I’ll talk with Sarah.” He brushed a hand down my back as we moved apart. “If you want to wait, we’ll join you and the kids.”
“What am I going to tell them, Paul? Watching Phoebe these past two nights already has me worried. David’s her rock of strength.”
“You’re wrong about that. She worships David, but she leans on you. You’re the one she wants when the night is bad. You’re the one she calls mother, and there’s no role more sacred.”
Family breakfast would be served in twenty-five minutes—sleepy boys, Phoebe reading at the table, Sarah drinking strong coffee. “Paul, there are two more things I need to tell you.” I took a deep breath before touching the first painful topic. “Milan is legal guardian for Phoebe and Noah. If David …” I faltered, looked to the floor for words before telling David’s father hard information about our world. “The way Bureau protocol works for children of intellectuals, legal guardianship is usually not held by their parents. Because of Tia’s instability, protocol ruled.”
“Phoebe doesn’t need to know that.”
A horse-drawn wagon carried laborers to produce gardens on the far edge of Ashwood where a single farmer had tried to make a living. Potatoes grew right up to a small yard area remaining around his two-bedroom house. “You’re right, but I’m trying to tell you that if anything happened to David, Phoebe and Noah could become wards of the Bureau.”
I had no magic bullet to change this reality. Paul now knew one of our secret burdens.
“David and I explored every possible legal action to break the contract that was signed before the kids were conceived. No one is willing to take on the case.” I drew in a breath, saw Paul’s unwillingness to accept that his grandchildren could be taken away. “No one,” I repeated. “Milan assured me he expects everything to remain unchanged.” I didn’t tell him about the temporary waiver. “Sometimes it’s uncomfortable to remember that, beyond being a friend, Milan represents the Bureau’s interests.”
“Well, let’s take him at his word.” Paul, on his way to the door, stopped. “What else?”
The words came out like the impatient question of an action-oriented man already thinking of the immediate task of breaking the news to his beloved Sarah.
“Andrew Smithson is my biological son.”
He blew air through his nose and made an undecipherable sound before speaking. “Goddamn if timing isn’t everything. Three kids who need you now and an orphan boy dropped into our house with a whole different set of needs. When does he arrive?”
I
Similar Books
