The following days were a blur for Clark. In the span of twelve hours, he'd gone from a happy thirteen-year-old with a wonderful family to an orphan. He'd had to instantly grow up and start making adult decisions, and those decisions started with the arrangements for his parents' funeral.
The community took pity on him and donations quickly poured in to help him cover the cost of the burial plots, caskets, and the burial itself. Mr. Lister, the owner of the Smallville Funeral Parlor, even went so far as to waive his fee for the wake, donating his time and space so that the community could have a chance to say their final farewells to the Kents. Clark was humbled. It seemed like everyone in town had known and loved his parents. Of course, he'd known that his mom and dad had always been there to lend a hand when it was needed, no matter how they and the farm might have been struggling. Whether it had been helping with building a new barn or cooking up a large quantity of food to serve at the local soup kitchen, his mother and father had always gone the extra mile to help others. Clark had such vivid memories of those moments - his father grabbing his tool belt to help a neighbor with a broken fence, his mother baking pies for the local church bake sale - with all the proceeds going to charity - and his father heading into town in the middle of the night to buy baby formula for a neighbor who'd run out and couldn't get out with their newborn. Those were just a few, fleeting examples of his parents' generosity. Now, it appeared that everyone in Smallville wanted to be a part of sending Jonathan and Martha into the hereafter, though they had all helped the Kents in their own ways, Clark knew.
The gratitude Clark felt for the town and people he'd known all his life made his heart soar. He only wished his parents could have somehow seen the outpouring of love. But, for all of that, his heart still ached more than it ever had in his life. Despite being surrounded by friends and people who cared about him, he felt all alone and lost. He felt small and insignificant in the world.
It isn't fair, he thought to himself as he tackled each task in turn.
It wasn't fair that he had to pick out caskets for his mother and father - a task he'd never once imagined he'd need to do. It wasn't fair that he had to pick out outfits for the funeral home to dress his parents in. It wasn't fair that, at thirteen, he had to pick out flower arrangements for the grave. It wasn't fair that he'd needed to choose the spot in the cemetery where his parents would be laid to rest. It wasn't fair that it was his responsibility to pick the inscriptions for the back of those little laminated cards the funeral home set out for people to take as they said their final goodbyes. It wasn't fair that, once the funeral was over, he had to face an uncertain future where he didn't even know where he would live. It wasn't fair that his parents would never see their son grow to be a man. It wasn't fair that he would never again hear their voices, hug them, talk to them, get their advice and perspective on things.
It just wasn't fair.
And he was sure now that he would have needed them for their advice on his strange abilities. As he stood talking to various people who stopped by the wake to pay their respects, he began to become more and more aware that something was going on with his hearing. At first, he wasn't sure what was going on. He kept hearing things, and, after looking around, expecting to see the speaker standing nearby, he'd find them on the other side of the room. After the fifth such event, he knew it wasn't mere coincidence. Another power had manifested, and he was catching bits and pieces of private conversations he wasn't meant to hear. Two of his teachers, discussing their summer vacation plans. The local barber, recounting stories of his parents with several other men. Lana Lang, talking to several of their schoolmates, wondering if Clark would stay in Smallville, now that he had no family there. His friend, Pete, scolding his younger brother after the five-year-old started whining about wanting to go home. And, of course, endless comments expressing pity for Clark.
It was another power. Somehow or another, his ears had the ability to hear over great distances - he even caught a few snippets of the preacher's homily at the church several miles down the road. Later, when things had settled down a bit and he'd the chance to think about and test out his newest power. He supposed it should have scared him, at least a little, to find out that there was yet another way in which he was set apart from the rest of the world. But at the time he simply didn't have enough focus or desire to think too hard about his changing hearing. All he knew was that each unexpectedly eavesdropped conversation had torn new wounds into his heart. It wasn't that he resented the pity people were expressing, but rather that it just made him feel more depressed about his new status as an orphan.
Still, all the comings and goings of the funeral kept him busy and distracted him from what lay ahead - when he was truly on his own, with more than enough time to brood over his losses.
There were offers to take him in, of course, from friends in Smallville - people Clark had known and loved all his life, people who were family by choice instead of by blood. But it wasn't that simple. Instead, he found himself placed in a group home for boys, while the courts tried to find him a more permanent foster home. He arrived with a few bags stuffed with his things - clothing and a few keepsakes he couldn't bear to be parted with. A blanket his mother had made in preparation for a baby, before she'd gotten the devastating news that she would never conceive a biological child. His dad's favorite winter coat, warm and soft, lined with sheep's wool and several sizes too big for Clark. But when he wore it, it almost felt like being in his father's embrace. A manila envelope, found in the cedar chest at the foot of his parents' bed, stashed with the baby blanket he'd been wrapped in when they'd found him. A mysterious globe of the Earth, which somehow drew him in and nagged at his mind until he felt compelled to take it with him.
There were, of course, some other odds and ends that he'd taken with him. The rest of the things he'd wanted to keep had been stored in Wayne Irig's shed. It hadn't been much, but Clark hadn't been able to part with it yet. He wished he could have left everything in the house he'd grown up in. But the house was to be taken by the bank and sold - the house had a second mortgage, which his parents had taken out of necessity, after a harsh winter and exceedingly dry summer had all but destroyed their crops. Clark had been six at the time, but still remembered it well. His parents been forced to take a loan against the house in order to keep food on the table and the family afloat. Though the farm had picked up after that, couple of recent years of less than stellar crop yields had left the Kents' bank accounts fairly lean again, leaving Clark with no way to pay off the balance, even if he'd been old enough to.
It hurt Clark deeply, to see his childhood home yanked away from him. It was the final nail in his past, driving home the point that he could never return to the way things had once been.
But there was nothing he could do, except to try and accept the upheaval in his life. So he bit back the tears until he was alone, and put on his bravest face for the world to see, wearing it like a mask to hide his heart from everyone.
***
He arrived at the home for boys one dark, overcast evening. The air was heavy and damp - rain would come pouring down before long, he knew. He could feel electricity in it too, indicating that the night would be wild with thunder and lightning. It felt only right, somehow, that the weather reflected his mood - somber on the outside and raging within. He didn't want to be there, in that place, as pristine and inviting as the large, old house looked.
A grandmotherly old woman greeted him mere moments after the court liaison rang the doorbell. Instantly, a smile was on her face and she was beckoning them both inside.
"Come, come," she urged, waving them indoors. "Come on in out of that dreadful weather."
"Thanks," the man said. "Julian Marsh, from the Smallville court. We spoke on the phone this morning."
The woman nodded. "Yes, yes. I remember. Nice to meet you." She turned to Clark. "And you must be..."
She left the statement open, unfinished, beckoning for him to speak up.
"Clark," he said obligingly. "Clark Kent."
"I'm Alice Tillerson. But everyone just calls me Grandma Tildy," she said pleasantly. "I hope you'll be comfortable here, Clark."
Clark bit back the urge to express his doubtfulness about that.
"Thank you, Mrs. Tillerson," he said instead.
She clucked her tongue. "None of that Mrs. Tillerson stuff, young man. Grandma Tildy or Alice, if you please. Or even just Grandma, if you'd like."
She'd probably meant the admonishment as lighthearted and friendly, but it made Clark feel self-conscious.
"Okay...Grandma Tildy," he said quietly.
She favored him with a bright smile. "I'll show you to your room in just a few minutes," she promised. "I just need to speak with Mr. Marsh first."
"Sure," Clark said with a shallow nod.
He wandered across the sizable living room and looked out the tall windows into the deepening night. A few splashes of wetness on the panes of glass told him that the rain was already beginning to fall. He allowed himself to get lost in his own thoughts while Grandma Tildy and Julian spoke in hushed tones. He knew he could attempt to use his budding hearing powers to listen in, but he was beyond the point of caring. Besides, he reasoned, what good would it do him? He was stuck in this place for however long it took the courts to decide who, if anyone, would be taking him in as a foster child until he turned eighteen. And he knew it would be a case of being just a foster child. He was far too old for most people to consider adopting, his heart told him.
That was just fine with him. He didn't want to be part of a family that wasn't the Kents.
"Clark?"
He started a bit at the sound of his name. Apparently, he'd gotten a little too lost in his thoughts.
"Huh?" he asked, purely by reflex.
Grandma Tildy smiled. "Would you like to see your room, and meet the other boys?"
"Oh, uh, sure."
"I'll give you the grand tour," she announced happily. "Grab your things. We'll start with where you'll be sleeping."
"All right," Clark said agreeably. He picked up his bags. Even Grandma Tildy grabbed one to help. "Oh! I can get those," he said, remembering his manners.
Grandma Tildy chuckled. "Well, aren't you the perfect gentleman! Don't worry, Clark, I don't mind helping. I'm younger and tougher than I look." She winked and then gestured to the staircase. "Right this way."
She led him up to the second floor and down a long hall to the room on the end. She opened the door with her free hand and let Clark walk in first. The room was painted a pale, but bright, blue. Two identical beds sat on opposite sides of the room, beside which stood matching wooden dressers. The beds were made up with dark blue sheets and fluffy pillows. It was both cozy looking and desolate.
"Kevin just left two days ago," Grandma Tildy explained, though Clark didn't know who Kevin was. "So, for now, you have the room to yourself."
"Do boys often come here?" he asked, looking at the plump older woman.
"Depends," Grandma Tildy said, shrugging. "Sometimes we get a lot of boys and all at once. Usually after a big storm or accident or the like. But for the most part, it gets pretty quiet around here. You're the first new boy we've had in...oh, I guess it's six or seven months now."
Clark nodded. "Oh." He moved to the bed on the left, the one that sat beneath the room's large window, and set down his belongings.
The woman did the same, putting the bag she carried down on the bed. "Look," she began, her voice soft and gentle. "I know this is hard for you. To lose your family. To be shipped off to a place you don't know, full of people you don't know. I know you'll need some time to make your peace with everything. So...if you aren't up to meeting everyone else tonight, none of us will blame you. A lot of boys are too overwhelmed to do much the first day they're here."
"Thanks," Clark said, touched. He hesitated as he mulled over her offer. "But...I think I'd like to at least give it a try, meeting everyone and seeing the house tonight...if you don't mind."
"Of course I don't mind!" Grandma Tildy said, laughing a little. "But if it gets to be too much, you let me know and we'll take a break until you're ready to do more."
"Okay," Clark agreed. "And...thanks. You know...for taking me in for however long it's going to be. Uh...do boys...stay here for long?" He dreaded the answer, but a part of him had to know.
"It depends," Grandma Tildy said with a soft sigh. "Some are here for a few weeks. Others for a few months. And we've had a few who have been with us until they were old enough to get a job and a place of their own."
Clark nodded in understanding, but his heart was conflicted. Part of him wanted to be out of this orphanage as quickly as was humanly possible. He already missed Smallville and all of the friends he'd been forced to leave behind. He craved the normalcy that went along with living in the town he'd known for all his life. On the other hand, a part of him could be at peace with not returning to Smallville. The place was a painful reminder of all that he'd lost. He'd felt like an intruder the days and nights he'd spent living at the Harris' house. His own childhood home was already up for sale. There was nothing to return to, if he went back to Smallville.
"Ready?"
"Huh? Oh...yeah," Clark said, coming out of his thoughts. Grandma Tildy was looking at him expectantly. "Let's do it," he said with more conviction as he stood from the bed.
They began on the second floor, which was where all the boys' bedrooms were located. Clark learned that he was one of twelve boys living in the house at the moment, but up to three more could be accommodated, should the need arise. He prayed silently in his heart that no other boys would need to live in that place. They did not go into the other rooms unless the door was open, figuring that those with closed doors might well be asleep at that late hour, or at the very least want some privacy.
Then they moved down to the first floor again. Grandma Tildy showed Clark the living room - though he'd been there before - first. The den was next, where a small knot of boys were engrossed in watching a hockey game on the television. There was a sizable rec room next to the den, with a stack of old board games neatly sitting on one shelf, and a worn, but serviceable, billiards table. Two boys were sitting at the coffee table in the room, engaged in a furious game of knock-hockey. They stopped and looked up when Clark and Grandma Tildy walked into the room. Alan and Jared, they introduced themselves, and Clark shook their proffered hands. They were just about his age, and seemed to be genuinely open and friendly. They went back to their game as Clark's tour continued.
There was a large dining room that could seat everyone in the house, even if the place was at maximum capacity, with a couple of extra chairs to spare for guests. It had old, well-cared for furniture that Clark was sure Martha would have loved. The kitchen was right next door, and the pantry was filled with snacks that Clark was encouraged to take if he ever felt hungry. Off the other side of the kitchen was a large all-season room with huge windows that Grandma Tildy said overlooked the garden, though there was not much to be seen in the stormy black night. Some padded patio chairs and glass topped tables were there as well, so that the boys could sit, eat, talk, and enjoy the view if they so chose.
There was a large library room on that floor as well, stocked with books of every sort. That lifted Clark's spirits a little. He'd always been an avid reader, and lately he'd noticed that he could read faster than anyone else he knew. That allowed him to practically devour books overnight and his appetite for knowledge on any and all subjects was insatiable. He made a mental note to really check out the selection later on that night, or at the very least in the morning.
The only other room on the first floor was Grandma Tildy's bedroom. She merely pointed out where her room was, but they had no need to go inside. And, of course, both floors were equipped with a few bathrooms each, to accommodate the large number of people that were living there at any given time.
At the end of the tour, Grandma Tildy sat with Clark in the living room. He took up a spot on the couch, while Grandma Tildy sat, hands neatly folded in her lap, on one of the plush armchairs. She smiled warmly.
"So? How do you like the place?" she asked kindly.
"It's beautiful," Clark complimented. "I've never seen a house so large before. It's at least...I don't know. Four times bigger than the farmhouse I grew up in, back in Smallville."
"But?" she asked knowingly.
Clark sighed. "It's not home. I don't mean to sound rude or ungrateful, but..." He left the statement hanging.
"Believe me, I understand," the older woman said with a shallow nod. "I was once in your shoes. My father left home when I was six months old. We never heard from him again. Then Mama took sick when I was seven. After she died, I was sent off to a home like this, for girls. Only it wasn't nearly so nice a place to live as I've tried to make it here. I might have been young, but I remember exactly how I felt the morning I arrived at that place. The despair. The yearning for home and what had once been. The way I was grateful for a roof over my head and food in my belly, but how, no matter how much time had passed, it still wasn't home."
"Really?" Clark blinked, surprised.
Grandma Tildy nodded, her gaze far off in her memories. "There was nothing wrong with that place. Most of the girls were friendly enough. Some were mean-spirited and catty. The woman who ran the place - Mrs. Fitzpatrick - was a gentle, caring woman. But...something about the house itself felt...cold. Uninviting. Uncomfortable. That's why my husband and I put so much effort into turning this place into a home that was as comfortable as possible. A place where the boys who came to us could feel safe and loved, not just simply taken care of."
"Your husband?" Clark asked.
Grandman Tildy nodded. "The boys called him Grandpa Rudy while he was alive. He's gone two years last Wednesday." For a moment, her expression changed. The smile she wore wavered and her eyes misted over before she mastered her emotions once again.
"I'm sorry," Clark said, feeling sad for the woman sitting before him.
Grandma Tildy shook her head, as if clearing away the memories. "He was the one who suggested that we build a home for boys in need. It was to honor his troubled, late younger brother. That's why we opted for boys, rather than girls."
"I see," Clark said kindly.
The woman sighed sadly. "He was so proud of this place."
"He should have been. It's beautiful," Clark replied.
"Thank you." She paused, then smiled. "Anyway, did you have any questions for me?"
Clark thought for a moment. "I guess...what kind of rules do you have here?"
Grandma Tildy chuckled lightly. "Well now, aren't you polite and well-raised! I was just about to get into all of that with you."
He nodded once. "My parents always told me how important rules are," he said with a shrug.
She nodded in turn, then began to tell him the rules of the house, which weren't as many as Clark would have thought. For the most part, the boys could do as they wished. They could grab a snack whenever they were hungry. They could go outside whenever the mood struck them. They could, within reason, watch what they wanted on the television. They could quietly read in bed after lights-out. But, as Clark had anticipated, there were some restrictions. All the boys had to finish their schooling. Homework had to be completed - and Grandma Tildy would check! - before they did anything else, like playing games or watching television. All of the boys were expected to do chores around the house - helping with the cooking and cleaning, folding laundry, tending to the younger kids, as much as was age appropriate. Lights out meant that the boys had to be in their bedrooms, even if they weren't yet asleep, and they had to be quiet out of respect for those who were asleep.
There were other rules too, but nothing that Clark hadn't really anticipated on some level. Everything made sense to him, and actually felt close to the way his parents had raised him. In a way, it was nice. It almost felt like his normal routine was coming back. He immediately agreed to follow the rules of the house and swore to not cause any trouble. Grandma Tildy looked relieved that he was being so compliant with the rules. She smiled and clasped him on the shoulder once she stood.
"Thank you, Clark," she said. "I know this is hard on you, to be here, to follow rules that weren't set down by your family. I appreciate that you've agreed to respect them."
"It's your home," Clark replied. "I wish I didn't have to be here," he admitted. "But I'm glad to have a place to go to. And as much as I wish I was still at my home, well, I appreciate how nice a place it is here. Agreeing to your rules is the least I can do."
"Thank you. And try not to worry. Everything will work out in time," Grandma Tildy assured him. "It may not feel like it now, but I've always believed that everything in life happens for a reason."
"What reason could there be for my parents dying?" Clark said, recoiling from Grandma Tildy's words.
"I don't know," the woman said, sighing. "But...I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry if it seemed like I meant it that way. I meant...perhaps there's a reason why you were sent here, instead of a different home."
"No one else had room to take me?" Clark offered as a weak explanation. He wasn't sure he believed in some cosmic reasoning behind him landing in this particular orphanage.
Grandma Tildy shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Time will tell. For me, though, I believe you're here for a reason. Maybe there's something we can learn from you. Maybe..." Her voice trailed off for a moment. "Maybe there's something you need to learn about yourself, while you're here. I know this place isn't where you really want to be. I know you'd rather be back in your own home. But maybe, in time, you'll grow to be comfortable here, if nothing else. At least, I hope you will."
"Maybe," was the best Clark could offer in response.
To Be Continued...
