Free Harvesting Ashwood Minnesota 2037 by Cynthia Kraack Page A

local school district. A dozen kids.”
    Without looking in Jason’s direction, I continued. “We’d also eliminate two full-time laborer positions in order to hire a full-time supervisor for the new workers. Depending on which laborers we choose, our school’s enrollment will be reduced by another three or four.” I saw Jason’s upper body tense as he followed my logic. “That would break our county contract and affect local families financially, as well as change their kids’ educational experience.”
    My managers became still. “Or, if it would make Ashwood less attractive as a dumping site for these assignees, I’d be willing to dismantle some part of our school program—perhaps the postsecondary preparation courses could be closed to all but students identified early as college eligible.” I ignored the discomfort of my staff. “If our numbers alone are not convincing for the assignment team, would restructuring of the famous Ashwood education system help change minds?”
    I knew the very idea pained Jason, who over the past years in Ashwood’s school built curriculum used throughout the national estate system. Appearing to trust my direction, he nodded my way.
    “If we are assigned ten underperforming older urban students, the Bureau will need to provide funding and staff resources for a remedial program,” Jason offered. “We now teach with larger teacher-student ratios than the Bureau requires because of our proficiency with early learners. We do not currently have remedial curriculum or teachers.”
    “Anyway, Joel, what about the gifted offspring provisions of the DOE contract that allows estate schooling?” Only Jason and I had thorough knowledge of these protocols. “How do we meet requirements for preparing David’s daughter and son for their long-term education if we dilute Head Teacher Jason’s system?” Joel’s forehead wrinkled, one eye slightly closed. “I wouldn’t want to ask the DOE for permission to offer less academics for two future intellectuals.”
    The argument ran along a thin line—boarding schools existed for gifted teen-age offspring, but Phoebe wouldn’t be eligible for admission for another five years. When Joel didn’t respond, I decided to pull a second DOE contract into the discussion.
    “If the negative business and community effects of assigning these workers to our estate is not convincing, Hartford, Ltd. will also apply for a hardship stipend to replace income anticipated from DOE contract 11301217 for our privately incorporated school.” My office became quiet.
    Counsel had been caught unaware, his face worked into a tired, neutral bureaucratic pose. He was a decent sort and in the moment I felt bad about springing the DOE contract into the conversation.
    “Did you say that contract began with 1130?” He rubbed a hand over the side of his face. “One of the new gifted arrangements?”
    I nodded. “Yes, we’ve been selected as a regional site.”
    “That would change everything about the urban youth assignment.” Glancing at something in his office outside of our view, he was distracted. “Give me a minute,” he turned away to say to someone. “DOE 1130 contracts trump regional youth assignments. I suggest this call is over. If you don’t mind, I can make the last transport home if I sign off.”
    “Go ahead, Joel. And thank you.” The screen darkened, our conference room stayed quiet. Paul raised one hand and slapped Magda’s extended hand.
    “Well, a dozen smart kids who need a challenging academic experience are probably a better match for this place than ten troubled urban kids,” Magda said. “Trust those kids won’t take jobs from local workers or laborers.”
    “These kids will add labor requirements.” Jason picked up the details. “We’ll add at least one half-time teaching professional and a chaperone/ housekeeper.”
    The soccer girls disbanded. Phoebe looked toward the office even though one-way glass hid us from her view.