Claimed (3 page)

“
Out here,” she yelled back.

He followed he
r voice to the backyard and found her in the garden picking tomatoes.

She shook her head. “
It’s been a bad crop this year. They’re all almost been infected by worms.” She held up a hornworm infested tomato. “Disgusting!” she let out, before throwing it into the trash for incineration.

“I’ve le
ft a bag of flour and meat on the kitchen table,” he informed.

She grunted. “I hate you going there. The longer it lasts the better.”

Like always, she had refrained from calling it ‘the woods’.
She was afraid for her son and Jared didn’t blame her. He’d had a close call today. He didn’t know how long his good fortune would last.  Two months ago, those three poachers had spotted him and they had died before they could kill him. But today, there was another. The young hunter had fled. And seeing he didn’t get anything other than the usual reception in Central, he had inkling he was safe. But these were early days yet and it would be foolish to draw quick conclusions.

“Has Tara returned?” he asked, trying to divert the subject to something more placid.

“No.” His mother bent low down into the ground.  “The lack of water is shriveling the fruit. Hopefully, they’ll rain the forest soon. At least, we’ll get some water from the brooks that run out of it. It’s hard as it is paying for tap water.”

“Mother, why isn’t Tara back home, yet?” A muscle tensed in his jaw line.

She didn’t answer but continued digging into the dirt by the roots of one giant tomato plant.

“Ma!”

“I don’t know,” she yelled back. “She’s working, Jared. She knows; I know, the longer she works, the more she is paid. The dirtier the job, the better the pay.  But it seems you are the only one who does not understand that enough!”

“She’s been gone all morning. I don’t trust the Governor
,” he muttered as he walked back into the house. “I don’t trust any government hog.”

“Where are you going?!” his mother panicked, rushing into the house, chasing after him.

“I’m going to Callum’s Hill.”

“No, you won’t!” she ordered. “We need that money. You don’t know-”

“You want money?!” he snapped. “Here!” He slapped the seven hundred dollar bills onto the table. “That should suffice this month. I told you I’d protect the family, Ma. But I can’t do it if you or Tara keep defying me like this. You’ve got to trust me.”

His mother stared down at the money on the table, her eyes blinking from the tears stinging them.
“Jared please, don’t go. I get scared when you go near that place.”

“You’re scared for me? What about Tara? She’s a woman. And females are not exactly safe whenever there
are government or corporate officials lingering about.”

“It’s different with you, Jared,” she muttered with frustration. “It’s hard to explain. If they found out…”
she stammered, wringing her hands together.

“I’ll be back, Mother,” Jared said flatly as he stepped out of their house.
“With Tara.”

He cut down his pace as he neared the gates leading to the governor’s house. He didn’t want to seem like a rebel on the loose. No matter how much he hated the governor and all his political chums, he had long learnt to keep his emotions to himself.

He approached the guards’ booth, giving them a slight friendly nod. “Hi.”

“Can we help you?”
one of the guards asked him.

“My sister, Tara Ryder works at the governor’s house. I’ve come to collect her.”

The guard scanned Jared with his eyes.  “What’s your name?”

“Jared Ryder.”

“Give me a minute.”

Jared watched him retreat into his tiny
cabin. He was probably making a quick call to Samuel Glover, the chief butler and manager of the house-keeping staff to confirm Tara’s employment.

He put his hands in his pockets as he shuffled a pebble at his feet, waiting patiently for the guard to give him the
go-ahead. Samuel Glover knew him well-enough to know he was far from any threat to the Callum family. He only wanted his sister off the Callum property. He was darned if any of his family would slave for a hog or a dog.

His mind swept through an image of the elderly butler, giving his approval in that familiar firm but polite tone. Samuel
Glover could very possibly be in his sixties with impeccable manners and always buttoned to his neck in a more impeccable suit. He’d never had a problem with Samuel Glover. But he was also quite aware of the differing opinion Samuel carried about his sister working in the governor’s house. He always was expressing it more freely to him than Jared felt comfortable.

“Mr. Ryder?” the guard stepped out of the cabin. “You’re cleared to pass through.
Mr. Glover will see you in his office. I’m told you know the way?”

Jared winced inside. “Yes, I do.
Thanks,” he gave him a short wave and then trudged further up the driveway.

The green luscious lawns were immaculately groomed; a far cry from the world he had come from.
Peach trees laden with fruit covered the hill side with beautiful flowers encircling the base of its trunks. The breeze was cool and smelt of fresh pine. In the distance, he noticed the small pine forest bordering the horizon.

The house
loomed like a large white castle on the crest of the hill, its foyer double doors marking the end of the driveway. But those doors were meant to greet the finer gentry of society. He took the usual turn to the side and walked round to the back of the house and through the kitchen.

The kitchen staff rattled busily as they prepared the next sumptuous
Callum meal. The stainless steel bench was dusted with flour while one of them kneaded and punched at his ball of dough.

“
John,” he greeted the head chef.

The chef looked up at him, his toque still remarkably balanced on his
head despite the entire rigor with which he handled his dough.

“What
are you doing here, Jared? Come to get Tara?” the cook asked him back, not at all surprised to see him appear so suddenly in his kitchen. “We were betting on how long it would take for you to get here?” He grinned at his staff.

“Is Sam in his office?” Jared asked, trying to ignore their
jibing.

“He should be. Now
that he knows you’re here,” the chef smirked, dusting off some stray flour from his double breasted jacket.

He left them laughing behind him as he headed into the lavish spacious corridor of the building. He had been here only a handful of times but he was already strangely abreast with the plan of the house. It had always been like that for Jared. He never did put much
effort into learning anything. Instead, his skills had come naturally to him, such as his archery lessons from his father.

He stood outside
the wooden door across him. He pulled in a deep breath before knocking onto it. He hated confrontations; particularly with Samuel Glover who always managed to make him look like a fool. He’d almost always leave his office feeling twice the idiot than he’d have felt when he walked into it.

The door swung open. “Jared,” the butler said in his deep, baritone voice. “Come on in. The guard
told me you were here.”

“Is Tara here?” Jared asked, as he entered it.

“No,” the butler replied flatly, moving lithely around his table. “Why don’t you sit down for a minute?”

“I’m here for Tara. If you don’t mind letting her know that I’m here, I’ll grab her and
get out of your way.”

Sam studied him thoughtfully and then settled himself into his chair. “Sit down, Jared.”

Jared stood obstinately at the door, refusing to let the older man have his way. He wanted to get out of there as soon as he could. And standing as close to the door was as comfortable as he could get in Samuel’s small office.

“If you’re trying to leave quickly, you sure aren’t doing a good job of it,” Sam said sternly.

Jared looked back at the man with annoyance. Seeing that his stubbornness was going to be futile, he relented and pulled out a chair. He slumped into it with his arms across his chest. His knee bounced uncontrollably under the table as he tried to keep his impatience in check.

“Coffee?”
Sam offered.

“I’m okay.”

“It’s polite manners for a guest to accept a drink when he is offered one by his host,” Sam said, filling two cups of coffee.

“I’m not here for etiquette lessons, Sam.”

“Everyone needs etiquette lessons at some point in their lives. Milk?”

Jared sighed. “Thanks.”

He handed the cup over to Jared. “Nice day outside.”

Jared looked
down at his cup of rich milk coffee steaming in the palm of his hand. He couldn’t afford such luxury. Not anyone he knew in Sector 8 Central could afford it. Had his mother ever tasted it? He put his lips to the thin edge of the dainty cup. He felt a sip of the hot drink run down his throat and he relished the smooth chocolaty taste.

“You like it?” Sam asked
, his brow rose with curiosity.

Jared shrugged, still not com
fortable enough to share his intimate feelings about a cup of coffee.

“It’s called civet coffee; produced first in the beautiful island country of Indonesia. Story had it that Asian palm civets or toddy cats used to feed on coffee berries. They’d scour for days looking
for the best, the tastiest and the ripest of the berries. The poor locals who worked for coffee plantations discovered that civets ate the berries and then defecated the undigested seeds. Craving for a drink they couldn’t afford, some brave souls collected the droppings and plucked the seeds out of it.”

“You’re giving me coffee pooped out of some wild cat?” Jared looked at him gravely over his tea cup.

Sam ignored him and continued. “Well, it so happened, these poor locals had discovered a coffee that tasted far richer than anything their rich employers could produce. Coffee experts explain that the one reason that it tastes so good is because civets have the knack of munching on the best berries. The other reason was once the seeds are inside the digestive tract of the animal; it absorbs its acids and enzymes. It is this fermentation process that gives it its distinctive flavor.”

“All this money and you rich people prefer coffee shat out of a cat,” Jared put down his cup with a sigh.

“You’ve just had a drink of one of the world’s most expensive coffee,” Sam said, resting leisurely into his chair, observing him.

Jared lay back also, mirroring the older man. “That was interesting. Unfortunately, I don’t give a crap as to where
you guys get your coffee from.”

“
Well, you should.”  Sam leant forward, his elbows on the table as he peered at him. “Why are you so hell bent against working for the Callums?”

Jared let out a puff of air, his eyes wandering over the pictures on his desk.

Sam followed his eyes. “My family. I have three sons and a daughter.”

“Do they live on the property?”

Sam chuckled. “No. They live in Sector 8 Central, just like you do.”

Jared raised his eyes in surprise. “I’ve never seen them. Surely, if they were as well dressed as you were, I would have noticed them.”

“I try and give them what’s important. And that is food on the table and the will to endure.” He bent to the side of his desk and pulled open his drawer. He lifted out a book, well worn-out from over-use, and laid it on the table. He opened the pages, revealing several old photographs “Two centuries ago, black slaves were kidnapped from ancient Africa, shackled and bundled into ships and brought here to work as laborers on the white man’s plantations. They were demeaned, raped, murdered and de-humanized at all levels. It took them two hundred years of endurance before they finally were legally recognized as equals to the white men and three centuries later before a black president would finally be elected. But for that first generation of black slaves in America, they never would have dreamt those days were ahead of them.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jared shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“History has a terrible habit of repeating itself. It’s a chameleon disguising its several forms; you don’t even realize that it is the same animal.” He tore out a picture of a black African slave, shackled in irons and chains and gave it to him. “Tara is an honest hard worker. She is doing what she thinks is best for her family. Her contribution to her family is important to her. It gives her some value, some worth. It gives her perseverance to continue on with her life despite how bleak her future may seem at present. I know how she feels because I feel it too. So does all the others who have no choice but to work for the government or the corporations to survive. That doesn’t mean they don’t dream of a better world.”

Jared looked at the picture in his hand. It was obvious Sam treasured his old book. Then why had he torn a picture out of it?

“I don’t judge your choices or that of anyone else’s. But as long as I can protect my family, I will do so. When I can no longer do that, they will be the first to know,” he said aloud.

“It might be too late for them then. Don’t you think you’re letting your pride get in the way of
your survival and the sustenance of your family?”

Jared’s eyes grew dark, a muscle clenched
in his jaw. “How long will Tara be?”

Sam nodded and picked up the phone. He punched in the extension
number. The phone line buzzed at the other end before it was answered by a frail, matured voice. “Nessie, send Tara over to my office. Her brother is here for her.”

“Yes, Mr. Glover. Right away, Mr. Glover,”
Nessie mumbled rapidly into the phone.

Samuel placed the receiver back onto the handset
. He made a noise in his throat. “If there is ever anything you need, Jared, you know where to find me.”

Jared pushed back his chair and rose out of it. “I’ll wait for Tara in the hallway.”
He strode over to the door, slightly impetuous to leave behind the discomfiture Sam had deliberately caused in him.

“Jared,” Samuel said before he could turn the door knob. “This suit- it doesn’t belong to me. It is and never will be mine.”

*****

Tara bustled quickly through the large, opulent bedroom. “Your
bath is ready, Miss,” she said as she laid out a soft, white cotton robe on the bed.

“Thank you, Tara,” the woman replied.
She gathered her long hair into her hands and swiftly tied it into a bun at her nape. “How long have you been working at the house?”

Tara fumbled through the dressers, sorting through the clothes. “I’m just a temporary maid, Miss.
A casual. I come whenever Samuel,” she hesitated and corrected herself. “Mr. Glover needs an extra hand.”

The woman leant against the
tall bay window, watching her. “Samuel must like you a lot to have you on board his casual staff. He’s pretty draconian about who he hires.”

Tara chuckled. “Draconian would be just the word to describe him.”

The woman frowned and Tara immediately regretted her impulsive remark about her senior. “I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean it that way. Of course, I’m very appreciative of Mr. Glover’s generosity,” she bit her lips, hoping that her employer’s daughter would not take offence of her chuckle.

The woman smiled. “How many are there in your family?”

“My mother and my brother. And I also have two children,” Tara answered, feeling a little uncomfortable with the privacy of the question. 

“You live together with your mother and brother?”

“Yes.”

The woman pursed her mouth in deep thought. “Do you want me to put in a word for you to Sam about getting you permanent here?”

Tara stepped back, startled. “No, Ma’am! I’m absolutely fine with the arrangement.” She swallowed nervously. The woman was frowning again. But how could she tell her it was due to her brother’s resentment that she couldn’t work at the Callums more than she would have liked? “Children…,” she sputtered the excuse. “They need all the attention you can give them. It wouldn’t be fair if I leave them entirely to my mother to take care of. I am grateful that she does as much as she can already.” Thankfully, the woman nodded. “Miss Callum, if you don’t mind me asking, how is the Capitol?”