Frances

40. October 31, 2040.

My schedule today includes two therapy sessions, one for my legs and one for my feet. No visitors are expected today.

In late June 2027, our family had a large reunion at the Canada farm. Grandfather and Grandmother came for two days, Uncle Wilson and his family came for three days, and my three siblings, our parents, and I were there for nine days. The purpose of the reunion was to celebrate Johnnie's twenty-first birthday.

The trip had been planned for months in advance, a fact that had worried my mother. Our grandparents would not tell us when they planned to arrive; they just showed up at the very beginning of the reunion and left the next day.

Although my mother can describe this episode of our family life much more accurately than I, I will set down here what I know myself and what I have heard from others.

I remember my siblings and I rode the farm's horses during the days and played bridge in the evenings. My father read a novel in one corner of the large lodge's gathering room while my mother, in a nearby chair, concentrated on knitting a sweater for Uncle Wilson's daughter.

Fourteen security people arrived with the six of us. Grandfather brought eleven more guards when he and Grandmother visited, and they took those eleven guards back to Pittsburgh when they left. Uncle Wilson did not bring any security guards and did not take any when he and his family left. By the sixth day of the reunion, the only people on the place were the six of us, four domestic workers, seven farmhands, and the fourteen security people. Everyone slept in the main house, which had room for many more.

About nine o'clock one evening, we heard noises from aircraft overhead. Within two minutes, one of the security guards ran into the gathering room and said to my father, "We are being invaded, sir."

My father pointed toward the bridge table and said, "You, all four of you, get into the shelter in the basement."

We were not pleased to hear this. We argued for a minute until my father shouted at the top of his voice, "Now!"

Then, he turned to my mother and said, "Molly, you go, too."

My mother rounded us up and took us to the basement, to a large shelter under the garage. "Kids," she said, "there is enough space and food in here for 90 days for 30 people. The in- structions for the food, water, chemical toilet, oxygen generator, and lights are written plainly. Shut the door and lock it and do not open it until you see me or your father or the Mounted Police through the peephole, telling you to come out."

We were in the shelter for two days. We played more bridge, talked about our childhood, played a little poker, and slept. The household water system continued to work, but the electrical system changed to generator power, with its dim lights, almost immediately.

We talked briefly to my mother on the house phone every waking hour. Her news was not good. I will admit that I cried a bit, but I tried not to let the others see it, running into one of the water closets from time to time to wipe my eyes. Johnnie sat on my bunk next to me and put his arm around my shoulder. "Tough time," he said. "Just what the old man had feared for all these years. So sorry about your Mr. Allyn."

After my mother came to the peephole, we heard the complete story. Seven kidnappers, all Americans, parachuted out of two small airplanes and landed in a nearby field. Our guards saw the parachutes with their field glasses and notified the Canadian police immediately. At this same time, one guard ran into the house to tell my father.

By the time the kidnappers approached the house, we were in the shelter and all the other occupants of the house, except for the security people, were in the gathering room. Shots were fired, and three of our guards and five of the kidnappers died. The police arrived almost im- mediately thereafter, arrested the other two kidnappers, and spent two days looking for evidence that all the parachutists were accounted for. The American police arrested the two pilots at a small airport in northern Minnesota.

That was the last weeklong reunion we had. My father's health started to decline almost immediately thereafter.