Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037 Read Online Free PDF Page B

you’ve got my support,” David said. “I wanted Dad to know before I left.”
    “Until we’re sure, please don’t tell anyone else.” Paul looked surprised. “I don’t want Phoebe distracted if Andrew is not my son.”
    “Fair. Let’s talk about Phoebe.” David started us down a puzzling path. “I don’t know if you heard last night, Dad. It was bad.” Paul nodded to show that he and Sarah did hear Phoebe’s screams.
    “The psychologist visits again next week. I’m wondering if Phoebe’s having more night terror because of the proficiency tests or if there’s something else going on.” David worried almost excessively about our children’s future. “I know it’s difficult to find pediatric psychologists, but this woman doesn’t have my total confidence. Maybe Milan can find someone stronger?”
    “That’s not Milan’s job, David, and Phoebe does like Dr. Wanda.” Our conversation was repeated each time Dr. Wanda’s visit approached. Paul looked uncomfortable being in the middle of our mild disagreement. “Let’s stay with Dr. Wanda and keep Phoebe’s life as calm as possible. She doesn’t need to know you’re on a different kind of trip.” David straightened in his chair, and I rushed my next sentence. “I’ll call Terrell for advice.” A former member of Ashwood’s team, this friend had a counseling background that could be helpful.
    “How do you deal with my not being able to talk to the kids while I’m gone?” I extended a hand as if touch could ease David’s anxiety.
    “The language testing is early in your trip. She understands time differences and how demanding projects can be on your first days.” I noticed that the time for lunch service was close. “Honey, I’d like to have lunch with the kids, so I have to leave.”
    “Have fun. I’m eating in my office while I do calls.” We all rose. David and I hugged, me resting just a few seconds longer than usual against his chest. “I’ll leave the starred packet on your desk before I leave,” he said into my ear as he squeezed me tight. “I love you.”
    “I know. I love you, too. Take care of yourself and come back quickly.” We kissed again, the starred packet setting this farewell apart. I knew the packet’s contents—his will, directions for accessing DOE funds, a final video.
    Paul and I walked back to the main residence, his talk about the corn, soybean, and grain harvests filling my ears. To him, Ashwood was just another big farm where rain fell or didn’t fall, where bugs caused problems and machinery worked or didn’t work. What kept Paul young and involved lived in our residence—his family.
    “Ms. Anne, Mr. Paul.” Ray, a longtime member of the agriculture day staff, waved us down as we exited the residence to walk to the Ashwood production offices. “Did you know some government agency is here to claim our combine? They got a big rig here to haul it away.”
    “What the hell,” Paul said as he turned to me. “You saw that mail yesterday. The one about requisitioning surplus equipment for national security.”
    “I never thought they meant agricultural equipment.” All three of us covered the ten-minute walk in five. “Did Homeland Security talk with you or Magda about this?”
    Paul slowed. “I talked with a Homer Penfeller last week. Told him we didn’t have anything here but farm equipment and a few used transports. I thought that was the end of the conversation. He had the complete inventory we filed with the estate’s taxes.”
    “The Security people have a lot of paperwork with them. I tried to explain to them that this combine will be used by many of our neighbors in the next few weeks, and crops will rot in the fields if we lose it.” Ray rubbed his hands together, then swabbed his forehead and neck with a pocket kerchief. “City guy obviously. Don’t know his elbow from his, well, you know what I mean.”
    I called Ashwood’s government-appointed lawyer while we walked, then