Clark sat next to her – careful to get near enough for comfortable conversation but not close enough to crowd her.
Lois handed him an omelette inside a bun. Clark took a bite, wishing he’d had the forethought to plan topics of conversation.
She busied herself with pouring the lemonade.
Silence fell.
Clark thought of a series of questions and dismissed each one as being banal. Or intrusive. Or insensitive.
The gap between him and Lois yawned wide and impassable.
She handed him one of the cups.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice sounding dry and strangled.
Lois turned a little more towards him, and he desperately hoped she was about to open a conversation. “What is the most important thing to remember on a farm?” she asked.
Chapter 3
Clark chuckled at her question. “Always shut the gate.”
“Really?” Lois asked, surprised.
“You only need to chase stock down the road once to realise the importance of a closed gate.”
“I guess so,” she said.
“And don’t touch any fence unless you’re sure it’s not electrified.” He pointed to the field. “See that white tape? It will shock you if you touch it.”
“OK. Thanks.” They fell silent again. Lois had hoped they would find something to talk about before she’d completed the business of dealing with their lunch. But now that was done, it still seemed neither she nor Clark could think of one thing to say. Then she remembered his cow. “How’s Bess?” she asked. “Do you know when her baby be born?”
“She’s good. I don’t know exactly. It should be in the next few days.”
“Are you hoping for a girl or a boy?”
“A heifer. That’s a girl.”
“Why?”
“Because Bess is getting old. This could be her last calf.”
“And a girl – a heifer – could replace her?”
Clark nodded.
Lois took a couple of bites in silence. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Martha said Bess has helped you through some tough times.”
“That’s true.”
“I don’t understand how a cow could help.”
Clark shrugged, looking a little self-conscious. “Ah…”
“I mean, she’s just a cow,” Lois said.
“Yes, she is.”
“But?”
He paused long enough to drag in a deep breath. “There’s something about milking her every day. The fact that, whatever is happening – good, bad, busy, tragic, exciting, boring, wonderful – she has to be milked. Whatever the weather – blizzard, heatwave, and everything in between – she has to be milked. And I have to take that time to be quiet and reflective. I can’t hurry. It gives life rhythm and stability.” His brown eyes met hers. “Does that make any sense at all?”
Lois nibbled on her bun for a moment. “Not a lot,” she admitted. “But I’d like to understand. Would you mind if I came with you when you milk her tomorrow?”
“You’ll still be here tomorrow?” he asked quickly, although when she peeked into his face, he was staring into his lemonade.
“Martha said it would be OK if I stayed.”
“Of course, it’s OK,” he said quickly, looking up. “It’s better than OK. Mom will appreciate both the help and the company.”
“I’m not sure if I helped much this morning,” Lois said. “But Martha seemed happy with what we did.”
“How many buckets did you pick?”
“Five.”
“That’s great for one morning.”
“Does she do the tomatoes every year?”
“Every year.”
“Have you ever helped her?”
“Yes. When I was younger. Wash, slice, season, roast, repeat.”
Lois wondered if Clark had also helped his father. “That’s what we did.”
“Did you get bored?”
Lois considered his question as she finished her bun. “No.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“It’s not that. I was thinking about what you said about milking. How the rhythm and repetition is kind of soothing. Maybe it was exactly what I needed today.”
“I’m glad,” he said, sounding sincere.
“Why do they need to be roasted?”
“Mom says it enhances the flavour.” Clark grinned suddenly. “But I think it’s really because that’s the way her mom did it.”
“That’s a good reason,” Lois said, trying – and failing – to think of any similar traditions handed down through the generations of her family.
After a few moments, Clark asked, “Have you made any decisions about Jack?”
No, she hadn’t. “He called earlier,” Lois told him. “He won’t be back until next week.”
Clark briefly touched his fingers on her arm. “Are you disappointed?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Pretty confusing time, hey?”
She nodded, wondering if Jack had said anything that had given Clark a clue as to why she was looking for him. Wanting to shift the spotlight from her connection with Jack, Lois asked, “Will it be all right? Without Jack’s help? Will you be able to get all the work done?”
Clark nodded, grinning. “I’ve had an offer to help with the milking.”
She grinned, too. “When will you do it? Later today? Or tomorrow?”
He took a moment before answering. “We have to wait until Bess calves,” he said.
“Oh.”
“A couple of months before a cow is due to calve, we dry her off to give her a rest before the new calf is born.”
“You won’t be milking until after the calf is born?”
“That’s right.”
“Won’t the calf need milk?”
“Yes, it will. Bess will have too much for the calf. We’ll take the excess.”
“The milk we had in our coffee this morning… did it come from the store?”
“No.” He gestured in the direction of the house Lois had seen from the bedroom window. “The Irigs. They’re our neighbours. When Bess is dry, we use their milk.”
“Do they use your milk when their cow is dry?”
He nodded.
“That is a good arrangement,” Lois noted.
Clark picked up a bunch of grapes, offered her some, and said nothing.
“No, thanks.” Lois took an apple and bit into its crisp sweetness. As she munched, she studied her surroundings, something she rarely did in Metropolis as she raced from lead to source to witnesses to research to her office, on repeat, every day. “It’s so peaceful here.”
“Different than Metropolis?”
“The exact opposite.”
“You think so?
“Of course.”
“Maybe they’re not so far apart,” Clark said. “Not in some ways.”
Maybe Clark had never visited Metropolis. “What do you mean?”
“The farm is like a small world. It’s all interlinked. It’s a world where many live – humans, animals, birds, insects, plants, all interacting. It’s a world that can, at times, seem to be all there is. A world where you can forget there is anything beyond the boundary fences. Is Metropolis anything like that?”
Lois thought for a long moment, her apple forgotten. “Yes,” she said finally. “It can be like that. I can get so caught up in a story that everything else passes by unnoticed.”
“Me, too,” he said. He shot her a smile. “Different sorts of stories, though.”
“I figure Bess is the main story right now?” Lois said, before taking another bite of her apple.
He nodded. “And the hay. Rain is forecast for next week. All the hay must be finished before then.”
“Kind of like ‘Make hay while the sun shines’?”
“Exactly.”
“Can I ask another question?”
“You can always ask questions.”
“Why are you mowing the grass? Don’t you have animals that eat it?”
“Yes, I have animals that would enjoy it,” he said, “but then I’d have nothing to feed them in winter.”
“It’s not about cutting the grass? It’s about preserving it? Just like the tomatoes?”
“Got it,” Clark said.
“Are you going to leave it lying there in the field?”
“No. I’m going to let it dry for a few days and then I’m going to rake it. Then I’m going to bale it. Then I’m going to bring it into the barn and store it for winter.”
“That seems like a lot of work.”
“It is.”
“But you’ve got spare grass now and not enough in winter?”
His smile filled her with warmth. “If you ever decided to stop being a reporter, you’d make a great farmer.”
Lois smiled, too. Never once in her entire existence had she given one thought to being a farmer. That hadn’t changed. But there was something profoundly satisfying about Clark Kent’s assessment that she’d be a great farmer.
He stood from the seat. “I’m going to check on Bess before I go back to the field,” he said. “Would you like to come with me?”
“Yes,” Lois said, surprised at how much she wanted to see this particular cow.
“Thanks for bringing my lunch,” Clark said with a smile. “And for the company.”
“You’re welcome.”
They packed the remains into the basket and left it on the log. As they moved away, Lois asked, “Where is Bess?”
“In the field near the barn,” he replied as he led them away from the barn.
“That barn?” Lois asked, pointing forty-five degrees away.
Clark grinned. “We need to go via the vegetable garden. Mom grows sugar beets for Bess.”
“And you’re going to take her one?”
“Yep. Can’t disappoint her.”
At the garden, Clark considered a patch of green leaves and pulled out a clustered group. A large cream coloured root emerged, attached to the leaves.
Clark went to a faucet and washed the dirt off the beet. Then he turned towards the barn.
“How old is Bess?” Lois asked.
“Twelve. She’s a grand old lady.”
Martha had said that Bess had been born when Clark was sixteen so he must be twenty-eight – a year older than she was.
They walked to the barn, stopping in a small room with a bench and two walls lined with shelves. On the shelves were an array of tools and multiple containers, most of which were unfamiliar to Lois. Clark cut up the beet with a large knife and then led her through the barn and into the adjoining field.
A tan coloured cow with a black face and legs was standing under a far tree. She came towards them as they passed through the gate. She was as round as a barrel but seemed to move easily. She stopped next to Clark and nuzzled his hand. He offered her a piece of beet, and she crunched it loudly.
“Hello, Bess,” Lois said, completely unsure as to the etiquette when meeting a cow.
Bess ignored her, nuzzling Clark’s hand for another piece of beet.
Remembering Martha’s discussion about vegetables earlier, Lois asked, “What variety is she?”
She saw Clark try to cover a smile. “She’s a Jersey,” he said.
“From New Jersey?”
“Not exactly. Her breed originated on the Island of Jersey, just off France.”
“She’s pretty,” Lois said, partly because she thought Bess was pretty and partly because she thought Clark would like her saying that.
“She is,” he agreed.
When all the beet and the leaves were gone, Clark started stroking Bess’s neck. The cow stood still, seeming to enjoy his touch. He worked down her shoulder and to her abdomen. “Would you like to feel her calf?” he asked Lois.
“Will she mind?”
“Not Bess.” Clark held out his hand and gestured for Lois to move into the space between him and the cow. “She won’t hurt you.”
Lois stepped forward, and Clark took her hand in his and guided it down Bess’s sleek side. He stopped below her ribs and gently pressed Lois’s hand into the soft hide. “Can you feel that solid mass?” he asked.
“Yes,” Lois said. “Is that the calf?”
“Yep.”
Under her hand, the mass heaved a little.
“Did you feel that?” Clark asked.
Lois nodded. “I’ve never touched a cow before,” she said. “I’ve never been closer than seeing them in a field. They are bigger than I realised.”
“Bess is on the smaller side for a cow,” he said. “Some of the other breeds are much bigger.”
“Breeds,” Lois said. “Not varieties.”
“You learn quickly and notice detail,” he said with unmistakable approval.
“I’m a reporter.”
“Those skills are useful in many areas.”
The cow turned her head and licked the thigh of Lois’s jeans.
“She likes you,” Clark said. “She only does that to people she likes.”
Lois wasn’t sure how she felt about receiving affection from a cow, but she figured it beat being attacked.
“It’s probably best not to allow her to lick your bare skin,” Clark said. “Her tongue is like sandpaper. Very coarse sandpaper.” He backed away, releasing Lois’s hand from between his bigger hand and the side of the cow.
Lois thrust her hand into her the pocket of her jeans, trying to ignore tingling warmth that lingered from Clark’s touch.
He’d turned away. “I should get back to the tractor,” he said. “Will you be OK taking the lunch stuff back to the kitchen?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Thanks. You can stay and chat with Bess if you want to. Just make sure –”
“To shut the gate,” Lois cut in.
He grinned. “Could you tell Mom I won’t be in for supper, please? There’s a fence down in the eastern field.”
“Clark!” Lois said. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? Why did you stop to have lunch with me? Why did you let me hold you up? You –”
“I wanted to have lunch with you,” he said simply.
“But now you’ll have to work so late you’ll miss supper.”
He laughed. “No, I won’t. Mom will put something in the fridge for me. I can heat it up.”
“I feel terrible,” Lois said. “You’re so busy and –”
“Don’t feel terrible,” he said. “It was my choice.”
“I guess Jack being delayed hasn’t helped.”
Clark shrugged. “Thanks for lunch, Lois,” he said. With a farewell smile, he started walking towards the barn.
“Don’t forget the replacement for the bent screw,” Lois called.
He raised his hand in acknowledgement, and Lois was left alone with the cow.
“He’s a nice guy,” she said to Bess. “But I suppose you knew that already.”
~~~~
That afternoon, Lois helped Martha can the tomatoes. As the lines of glass jars grew with each batch coming out of the canner, Lois felt her admiration escalate. Martha had grown these tomatoes. She had grown enough for the summer and extra to provide food through winter and beyond.
It was simple. Traditional. Durable.
They washed all the equipment and then Martha showed Lois how to test that the lids were sealed, how to rinse and dry the outside of the jars, and finally label each one. While Lois worked through the jars, Martha cooked lamb chops and fried potatoes for their supper.
The delicious aromas reached Lois, and she realised she was hungry.
When the meal was ready, Martha suggested they eat on the front porch, catching the last of the sunshine.
It was beautiful there, the serenity only interrupted by the occasional car travelling along the distant road. After the busyness of the day, the stillness seemed particularly soothing.
“This is wonderful, Martha,” she said. “Thank you.”
Lois closed her eyes. She was tired. A few of her muscles were complaining about the ‘yoga’ session that morning. It was a different tiredness than she usually experienced. It wasn’t the draining exhaustion that numbed her brain but a pleasant feeling that settled like a fine shawl.
“Look at that sunset.”
Lois opened her eyes and gasped at the panorama of reds and oranges that decorated the western sky. “That is magnificent.”
“The worst thing about being inside is you miss so much beauty,” Martha said.
Lois couldn’t remember one single time she had noticed the sunset in Metropolis. Not one. “Is it always this good?”
“Not every day. But most. It will be different in a few minutes.”
Martha was right. The colours intensified, moved through many shades, all equally stunning, and then slowly faded into the twilight.
“Let’s go inside,” Martha said. “It’s getting dark.”
It was, and Clark was still out in the fields.
Lois and Martha cleaned the kitchen and stored away the tomatoes in a huge pantry that already boasted jars containing many different foods.
Despite her long sleep the night before, Lois felt herself tiring and made her excuses.
“Goodnight, honey,” Martha said. She patted Lois’s hand. “Thank you for your help today. It's lovely having you here.”
“You’re welcome,” Lois said. “I enjoyed it.”
As she climbed the stairs, she realised it was the truth.
When she’d left Metropolis in such a fluster, the last thing she had expected was to find herself in a rural kitchen surrounded by tomatoes.
But the whole place exuded a kind of peace that had permeated her soul and become a buffer between her and the troubles that had seemed insurmountable just yesterday.
As Lois got into bed, she realised she was looking forward to the following day. She usually didn’t look forward to much at all. Each day was merely the means by which she achieved – a new lead, a big story, another front-page by-line.
Martha was great company, knowledgeable, and generous with her home and her appreciation.
Then there was Clark.
Lois had no idea what to think about him.
As she pulled up the sheets around her shoulder, she told herself she didn’t need to know what to think about Clark. This was a pleasant interlude. Surprisingly pleasant. But it didn’t change that in a couple of days, she would be gone.
~~~~
Lois woke up, reached through the darkness for the lamp, and checked her watch.
It was just after three.
Why had she woken up? Was it somehow related to her long sleep the night before?
She felt wide awake. She stood from the bed, went to the window, and looked out over the moon-lit fields. She could easily make out the shadows of the trees and the barn.
In the city, the lights diminished the effects of the moon. Here, it gave an eerie, shadowy presence to everything, but she could see surprisingly well.
Looking to her right, she realised there was a light on in the barn.
Bess!
Could she be having her calf?
Was Clark down there in the barn?
Before she could talk herself out of it, Lois pulled on her jeans and sweater over her pyjamas and slipped into her sneakers. She picked up the flashlight, tiptoed down the stairs, crossed the kitchen and went out the back door.
When she entered the barn, she saw Clark sitting on some hay, leaning against the wall.
“Lois!” he said, jumping to his feet. “Are you all right?”
“Where’s Bess?” Lois asked, looking around anxiously.
“Over there,” Clark said, pointing through one of the large doorways to Bess’s field.
“Is she having the baby?”
“Is that why you came?” he asked. “No, nothing yet. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Then what are you doing here?” she fired at him. “Have you finished the fence? Have you been to bed yet?”
“I’m checking Bess,” he said calmly. “Yes, I’ve finished the fence. Yes, I’ve been to bed.”
“Not for long.”
“Long enough,” he said. “I got in a bit after ten.”
“You ate your supper?”
He grinned at that. “Yes, I ate my supper.”
“Are you sure Bess isn’t in labour?”
“Pretty sure.”
Lois looked around the barn. There was no obvious reason why Clark was here. “Are you working?”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m unwinding.”
That, she understood. “This is a great place to unwind.”
“Yeah.” He dragged another hay bundle and positioned it close to the first. “Want to unwind, too?”
Lois sat down on the hay. Clark picked up a folded blanket. “Up you get,” he said. “Hay is scratchy.”
Lois stood, and he placed the folded blanket on the hay. She sat on the blanket, and Clark sat on the opposite hay.
The first moments of silence caused Lois to question her wisdom in coming here. They had struggled to find a topic earlier, and that had been in daylight.
She thought of something safe. “Has your mom really lived here for almost forty years?”
“Yep.”
“I can’t imagine doing that.”
“Why?"
“I can’t imagine having so much stability. Being so content. Being able to find new challenges and satisfaction from one thing instead of needing to flit from thing to thing.”
“You’ve stuck at your career. You’ve done incredibly well.”
She might not have the choice to stick at her career for much longer. She decided to shift the topic away from her life. “Does everyone around here stay for years and years? Even the kids?”
“A few of the families have been here for generations. But even in those families, the kids are usually a mix.”
“A mix?”
“Farm kids usually fall into one of three categories. There are those who love it and know from a really young age that they want to stay. Then there are those who can clearly see all the drawbacks – the long hours, the times when the weather doesn’t cooperate, the times when you do everything you can and an animal still dies – and know they just want to get away.”
“Who are the third category?”
“They’re the kids in the middle. The kids who love the farm, but always wonder if there is something else they would enjoy more.”
“Is that you?”
Clark didn’t answer for a long time. “No,” he said. “I love the farm, and I can’t imagine something I would enjoy so much it would make up for being away from here.”
“You’re lucky. To have those roots, those ties, that belonging – you’re very lucky.”
“Yes, I am,” he said gravely. “I know how lucky I am.”
But there was something in his tone that made Lois wonder how many times he thought about doing something else. When he was on the tractor, driving the mindlessly repeated rows, did he think about a different life?
“What about you?” Clark asked. “Did you always know you wanted to be a reporter?”
“Not always. From about thirteen or fourteen onwards.”
“Why a reporter?”
“I always enjoyed writing. I found it easier to express myself when I could re-read and edit.”
Clark nodded as if he understood.
“And I always, always hated not knowing everything about everything.”
He chuckled. “I guess that’s helpful in being a reporter.”
“Sometimes,” she acknowledged. “Are you sure Bess is OK?”
Clark glanced over to the field. “I think so.”
“Are you worried something could go wrong?”
“Things can always go wrong, but there’s no reason to think they will.”
“She’s older, isn’t she?”
“A bit.”
“Is that likely to cause a problem?”
“More so after the birth. There’s a condition called milk fever.”
“Do you know what to do if she gets it?”
“Yes. But it’s better to prevent it than to try to treat it.”
“Martha asked me to stay tomorrow. Is that OK?”
He was smiling as he said, “I’ve already told you, Lois, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“Thanks.” She could feel lethargy starting to creep through her body, and she could not risk falling asleep again. She stood, stretched, and said, “I need sleep. You should get some, too.”
“I will,” he said. “I’ll turn off the light once you’re in the house and be right behind you.”
“Goodnight, Clark.”
“Goodnight, Lois. Thanks for checking on Bess.”
After a final shared smile, Lois headed out of the barn and through the moonlight towards the house.
~~~~
Clark leant back against the barn wall. Was it wrong that he’d wondered if there was any chance that Lois would fall asleep on the bale?
He’d carried calves, lambs, children in his arms. But nothing and no one had left the impression that Lois Lane had.
He’d already been fascinated.
Then he’d lifted her into his arms, and it had felt as if she belonged right there.
And when she’d snuggled closer against his chest…
That was a moment he would never forget.
He laughed quietly, recalling how Lois had questioned him about whether he’d eaten his supper.
Did she – even the tiniest bit – care for him? Or was she merely parroting his mom?
Possibly neither, he accepted, as he stood, cast a final eye over Bess, switched off the lights, and headed home.
