Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037 by Cynthia Kraack Page B

waved his other hand as he disappeared under the table. I took the wave as a sign to continue the meeting.
    “Let’s pull together our report using yesterday’s data as Lao recommends. If anyone has difficulties locating those numbers, talk with Andre.” I stretched as I looked out a window. “Hot as hell out there again. Magda, I’m so pleased we put up tents for sun shelter and the misting station. I trust everyone’s using maximum UV protection?”
    “They’re wearing our gear.” She gazed out the same window. “Too many of these metro day laborers come with silly city sun shades and have no idea how quickly they could be burned or get sick.”
    “Magda, Jason, Paul, and Lao, I’d like you to join me for the five-thirty call. Jeremiah, you’ll be needed in the kitchen.” I reached for the water. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be working at my desk the rest of the afternoon.”
    They filed out, Lao hanging back. “Would you have time for a walk through the orchard, Anne?” His tone told me nothing, and that alone told me he had serious information to discuss away from possible security issues within our complex. “We will have a good crop, Magda says. I have an idea about irrigation that needs your approval.”
    “Let me say good-bye to my husband first.” He waited as I headed to David’s office just in time for a hug and a kiss. “Let me walk you to the transport.” His morning anxiety raised my own.
    “Better if we do everything normally.” David hitched his case over his shoulder and extended his free arm. “I can tell you’re having a wicked day.” He pulled me close. “Take some time to think through this Smithson situation. I had one of the DOE folks do a little file searching, and I think our family would be good for Andrew.” We kissed again. “No pressure, Annie.”
    “You’re a great guy, Mr. Regan.” David preferred humor when a departure might become emotional.
    “That’s why the DOE tells me I have to go to Paraguay.”
    “Seriously, take care of yourself. I love you.” I backed away.
    “I know.” He left, waving his left hand but not turning again.
    Work demanded that I be a calm wife. I return to the conference room and Lao. He directed our walk back across the courtyard to the estate’s business office. Andre stood deep in discussion with staff, but Lao lifted a thumb and Andre joined us.
    “Out to look at the apples?” our business manager asked.
    Lao nodded. “The three of us need to discuss something now. Won’t hurt for Anne to get some sunshine at the same time.”
    I never, never questioned Lao’s intentions. From our earliest days of working together I knew he took his responsibility for watching over Ashwood as a deep commitment. With a wife and a toddler living here, he also called the estate home.
    Afternoon September heat blasted my face as we left the building. Instinctively I lifted my face upward for the sun’s warmth, then tilted my face back toward the ground as I reached into my pants’ pocket for sunglasses. “Is this the seventh day above ninety degrees? I thought yesterday’s rain might have snapped the heat.”
    “Back-to-back fronts from the south, Anne.” Lao lifted his hat to his head from his neck, where it hung by strings. “We’ll pick up hats for you and Andre at the workers’ station.”
    My boys stood side by side next to a long table with a group out in a sorting shed. They were workers as good as any young kids. I gazed at my watch, surprised that most of the afternoon was already gone. Having missed lunch with the family, I needed to be with them for dinner even if I could only spend a few minutes at the table.
    Ashwood’s dusty footpaths led us to the orchards, where high tech and low tech combined to keep hungry birds out of the low-hanging trees. Weather patterns this growing season gave us potential for a record harvest of apples, pears, and raspberries. Apples provided us with a solid income and valued food