Groaning, he pulled out a chair, sat down, and buried his face in his hands.
He was exhausted. He felt as if every ounce of energy had been leeched from him.
His strange alien strength helped him physically, but it had done nothing to help him through the emotional and mental trauma of the past year.
If only he could… He fiercely squashed all thought of giving up before the idea had even properly formed. He couldn’t give up. He had to keep going, keep providing steady support, keep being there… until his mom was ready to move on.
He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, trying to decide what he should do now.
Where was Lois? Why had she –
Then, he heard it.
The motor of the rental car.
It was getting closer.
He looked through the walls again and saw the little car decrease speed, indicate, and then turn into their gate and drive towards the house.
Lois was back! His mood lifted; his exhaustion fell away.
He put on his glasses and flew up the stairs to the bathroom to wash up.
Chapter 5
Lois came into the farm kitchen, her bag on her arm and a pizza box in her hand.
She had successfully driven to Smallville, located the pizza store, ordered one she hoped Clark would like, and found her way home along the unlit and unfamiliar roads, despite panicking several times that she had missed the gate to the Kent farm.
She put the pizza on the table, feeling pretty good. She’d found a way around the ‘fix Clark’s supper’ conundrum, and her concerns about Martha weren’t enough to tarnish her anticipation of a meal with Clark.
“Hi, Lois,” he said, appearing in the doorway. “Mom’s not feeling well, so it’s just us.”
“Yes, she told me.” He had changed out of his farm clothes and was wearing jeans and a blue and white striped shirt with the long sleeves folded up to his elbows. The top couple of buttons were loose, giving her a peek at his chest. “I… ah, I got pizza. I hope that’s OK.”
Clark grinned. “It’s better than OK,” he said. “I’m starving.”
“I wasn’t sure which ones you like.”
“All of them,” he said. “Would you like to sit on the front porch to eat?”
“Yes, I would,” she said. “The sunset last night was spectacular.”
“We’ve missed it for tonight,” Clark said as he took down two plates. “But it’ll be nice out there anyway. Would you like a drink? I have some root beer.”
“Yes, please.”
He added two glasses to the plates and took a bottle from the fridge. “All set?”
“Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
Five minutes later, they were seated – Lois on the couch and Clark on the seat, with the pizza between them. Clark had turned on a light at the corner, and it lit enough to see but not enough to dispel the cosy atmosphere.
“Are you cold?” Clark asked.
“Not yet.”
“There are blankets if you need them,” he said, handing her a glass of root beer.
“OK. Thanks.”
They opened the pizza box, and each took a slice.
“Have you checked on Bess?” Lois asked.
“Yes. No change.”
“Did you bring up all the apples?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said with a grin.
“Just checking.”
“You don’t want to be the farmhand, do you?” he said. “You’re going straight for the farm manager position.”
Lois grinned around her pizza. “Of course.”
They ate in silent tribute to their hunger and the quiet stillness of the evening as it closed in around them.
Lois finished her piece of pizza and sat back in her chair, sipping on her root beer. “Will Martha be all right?” she asked.
“I hope so.”
“Do you know what’s wrong?”
“Yeah.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do.”
Lois leaned forward so she could see Clark’s face. “It’s not something bad, is it? Not cancer or something like that?”
He shook his head. “Nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
He picked up the pizza box and offered it to Lois. After she’d taken a piece, he also took one. He put the box on the couch and picked up his glass. He sat back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. He sighed. "She's mourning."
“Mourning?”
Clark nodded. “For my father.”
“Oh no. Clark. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“The first anniversary is next month.” He continued to stare ahead, his pizza and drink seemingly forgotten.
“Clark! Why did you insist I stay here? The last thing she needs is a stranger in her home.”
His head turned slowly towards her. “You are exactly what she needs.” He shrugged, lifting tired shoulders. “Actually, I don’t know what she needs, but I was hoping you being here would help keep her from slipping into the blackness.”
“Has she been struggling with that?” Lois asked gently.
Clark nodded. “I think so. She won’t talk to me. She won’t tell me what she’s feeling. I just know she’s hurting so bad and there’s nothing I can do to help her.”
Lois reached over to put her hand on Clark’s forearm. “I’m so sorry, Clark. This has to be incredibly difficult for you.”
“So, we go on pretending. Pretending everything is OK. Pretending we didn’t lose Dad. Pretending he was never a part of us.”
“I noticed there are no photos.”
“Mom took them all down. She said she couldn’t bear to be reminded of everything she’d lost.”
“They were close? Your parents?”
Clark laughed grimly. “About as close as two people can be. Mom lost her husband, her best friend, her confidante, and her work partner. She lost a part of herself. I don’t know how anyone is supposed to recover from that.”
As much as he was hurting, as much as he had lost, Lois felt a little spray of envy. Imagine having parents who loved each other that much.
Their skin contact under her hand had begun to warm, reminding Lois she was still touching him. She withdrew her hand. “You lost your dad,” she said. “I am so sorry, Clark.”
He nodded, still staring ahead. With a flash of insight, Lois suspected that Clark had been so worried about his mom, he had barely grieved for his father.
“Thursdays are always bad,” he said. “I finally got Mom to go to grief counselling, but I don’t know if it is a good idea or not.”
“It doesn’t help?” Lois asked.
“Not noticeably. Not in the short term. She always feels terrible when she gets home.”
“She… she hasn’t mentioned your dad. Not once.”
“She doesn’t. Not anymore.”
Which meant Clark probably didn’t get to talk about his dad either. “Tell me about him,” Lois said.
Clark settled further into the chair and sipped from his glass. “He was the hardest working man I’ve ever known. He loved every inch of the farm. He knew every bit of it. He could tell you the history of each field – when it was sown, what with, when it was hayed, when it was grazed, when the fences were replaced.”
“The farm was his life,” Lois said, reflecting that a week ago, she wouldn’t have had any notion of what that might mean. Now… now at least she understood it was possible.
“No,” Clark said with a short laugh. “Mom was his life. As much as he loved the farm, he loved Mom more.”
Clark’s broad shoulders had carried a formidable load. He had been trying to work on the farm by himself while also trying to support and comfort his mother through her grief, and, almost as an aside, mourn the loss of his father.
Lois shivered.
“Are you cold?” Clark asked.
She wasn’t, but the thought of a blanket was surprisingly inviting. “A little.”
“I’m sorry. I should have realised. Do you want to move inside?”
She didn’t want to risk their conversation by moving. “You said there are blankets.”
Clark stood, walked over to a chest, and brought out a blanket. He tucked it around her knees. “Better?”
“Much,” she said. “Thanks.” She gestured to the couch beside her. “Sit there so we can share the blanket when you get cold.”
He sat down, just a few inches away. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before,” he said. “I should have. I should have warned you Mom was going to the grief counsellor today.”
“Is that why you took me apple picking? So Martha could have some time and space when she got home?”
“Partially.”
“Partially?”
His mouth flickered to an almost smile. “And partially because the apples needed picking. And because Mom usually does it and it tires her because she has to climb on a ladder to get the high ones.”
“I think you’re an incredible son,” Lois said. “She’s fortunate to have you.”
“I don’t think I’ve been able to make this past year any easier for her.”
“I bet you have,” Lois said. “You probably don’t realise how much difference you’ve made.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.
“What’s one of the best memories of your dad?” Lois asked.
He glanced at her. “Are you sure you want to talk about him? You never even met him.”
More than anything, Lois wanted to give Clark the chance to talk about his dad. “Would you like to talk about him?”
Clark didn’t answer for a long, stretched moment. “Yes,” he breathed.
“Then I’d like to listen.”
He did say anything as the seconds ticked by. Lois looked at his bare forearm and wondered if he’d mind if she reached out to touch him again. She was still debating with herself when Clark started speaking.
“This is cattle country,” he said. “Cattle and wheat mostly. About thirteen years ago, Dad decided he wanted to try sheep. The other farmers thought he was crazy, but he bought in twenty ewes and a couple of rams. The very first ewe to lamb had twins – one good size ram lamb and one tiny ewe lamb. She rejected the ewe lamb, so Dad brought the little mite to the barn and bottle fed her. He fed her every couple of hours, day and night, for almost a month. He kept her warm. She survived. She started to grow. When he weaned her at three months, she was almost the same size as the rest of the lambs.”
“Did he give her a name?”
“He called her Sarah.”
“Your dad sounds like a great farmer and a fine man,” Lois said. But she was thinking how easily she could imagine Clark doing exactly as he’d described.
“He believed everything deserved a chance. The small, sickly, weak, rejected, different, alone, vulnerable – he took them all in and did his best to help them.”
“Do you still have that lamb?”
“We lost her a couple of years ago,” Clark said. “But nine of our current ewes are from her – daughters, granddaughters… One of them is called Sarah.”
“That’s a wonderful story,” Lois said.
“That one had a great ending. Others didn’t. Dad tried to help many hopeless cases. Mostly, he couldn’t save them. Occasionally, he did. Either way, they always got his best effort.”
“I think your father would be proud of how you’re continuing his farm.”
“I wish…”
Lois waited, figuring there were many things Clark wished.
“I wish I could do something to help my mother. Dad would have known what to do.”
Lois leaned over and rested her head against Clark’s shoulder. “You’ve been here for her. You’ve supported her.”
“I wish she’d stop pretending everything is OK. I know she’s pretending. She knows I know. Nothing I’ve done or said has changed that.”
“Why were you so adamant that I come up to the house on that first day?”
“Because you didn’t look like you should be driving. Because you looked like you needed some help. And…”
“And?”
“And because that’s what we used to do. Mom has always loved helping people. We used to have guests in our home. People we knew, people who just needed somewhere to stay, people visiting, people dropping in for a cup of coffee, people…”
“Hysterical women sobbing uncontrollably.”
“Yes,” he said, his tone a little lighter. “Hysterical women sobbing uncontrollably, too. Luckily, there hasn’t been any of those for a long time.”
“Liar!” Lois sensed he was smiling at that and wished she could see his face. “Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have interrupted you.”
“I have run out of ideas for how to get us back to where we used to be. Not ‘back’ obviously. But something… something better than what we have now.”
“You told me Martha would be annoyed if you’d let me drive away. And when we got to the kitchen, she seemed really pleased I had come.”
“Mom has always loved having guests. She’s a natural hostess. That’s who she is. But since… since we lost Dad, she has had to work at just being who she’s always been.” He lifted his hands in frustration. “I’m not explaining this very well.”
“Maybe who she’s always been was so tightly tied to your father that she’s having to rediscover herself.”
“Maybe.”
“I guess it feels as if you’ve lost both of them.”
He shifted in the chair, turning his head to her, and his eyes darted into hers. “That’s exactly how it feels,” he said. “I’ve just never thought of it like that.”
“Aw, Clark.”
He settled back, and Lois returned her head to his shoulder.
The peacefulness seemed to descend around them, enclosing them together, and Lois hoped Clark could feel it too. Did he want to be quiet? Or continue to talk? She thought of a question and decided to risk it. “Did you have a different job before your father passed away?”
“An off-farm job?”
“Mm-hm.”
“No. I worked on the farm with Dad.”
So now Clark was doing double the farm work while trying to support Martha.
Most of the men in Lois’s world – her father, various boyfriends, some colleagues – were selfish men, driven only by the need to please themselves.
But Clark Kent, he was different.
“Do you think it would help if I asked Martha to take me into Smallville tomorrow?” Lois said. “Maybe we could have lunch in a café. Or browse some stores.”
“That’s a great idea,” Clark said, although his tone was less enthusiastic than his words. “But please don’t be offended if she refuses. She hasn’t been into the café since… well, for a long time.”
“She might say there’s too much work to do,” Lois predicted.
“Lois, there’s always too much work to do,” Clark said, sounding weary. “Sometimes, you have to put the work aside and do something that isn’t work.”
“I’ll ask her.”
“Thank you.” He shifted a little, and somehow, they edged a little closer. “You obviously found Smallville OK? And the pizza store?”
“Uh huh.”
“On the road to Smallville, there’s a sharp turn then a steep hill leading to a bridge.”
“Yes,” Lois said, “I remember that.”
“It’s OK when it’s dry, but once the rain comes, it gets very slippery. The locals know to slow right down.”
“Thanks for the warning,” she said, wondering if he was trying to tell her she was welcome to stay until the rain came next week.
They fell silent. Lois arranged the blanket over Clark’s knees and then settled against his side, appreciating his warmth as the temperature dropped. It was more than warmth, though. There was a feeling of togetherness, of sharing. Something hard to describe, but definitely there. Definitely real.
Half an hour later, Lois could feel lethargy creeping through her body. “I’m tired,” she said.
“Me, too.”
She stood and dropped a quick, awkward hug to his shoulders. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” She took the blanket and folded it, depositing it on the couch. “You and your mom will find each other again,” she said. “You’ll both keep working at it until you do.”
He looked up. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
“How?”
“Because that’s what your dad would want.”
He stood and stepped towards her. “Thanks, Lois,” he said. “Thanks for listening. And for the pizza.”
She lightly patted his chest. “Goodnight, Clark.”
“Goodnight, Lois.”
~~~~
Clark sat on one bale of hay, leaning back into another, and watched Bess twenty yards away as she sat chewing her cud.
There was no sign of labour, but that wasn’t why he was here.
His mind was full of Lois.
And the effect she had on him.
He hadn’t talked to anyone about losing his father. No one. In the early, horrific days of shock, his only thought had been to try to help his mother. A few friends had enquired after him, but he’d brushed them away.
When the funeral was over and the friends had drifted back to their own lives and he and his mother had begun the impossible task of rebuilding something salvageable, it had become clear that Martha had changed.
Talking about his father, even in the most everyday way, had inflicted unbearable pain on his grieving mother.
Therefore, Clark had learned to say nothing. He’d learned to pretend that everything was OK. That nothing had changed. That his dad had never been a part of their lives.
But Lois…
Lois, seemingly without any great effort or intent, had loosed his tongue and got him talking.
That was earth-shattering enough.
But then there was her compassion. Her understanding.
Her touches.
Soft, gentle, touches that had felt as if she’d taken hold of his tired and aching heart and saturated it with…
Something.
Concern? Compassion?
Maybe love. In a strictly platonic sense, of course.
But he couldn’t dwell on that. He couldn’t even allow ‘Lois’ and ‘love’ to co-exist in his mind together.
Because he knew how precariously he was teetering on the edge of falling in love with Lois Lane.
And that…
That was simply asking for more heartache.
He couldn’t allow himself to be that foolish.
Lois was possibly involved with Jack, although the more he knew Lois the less he thought that was likely.
Lois was a modern, city-loving, independent woman, with a successful and exciting career.
He was an old-fashioned farmer, who devoted most of his time to soil, land, animals, and crops.
She would never consider living on the farm. He couldn’t leave it.
Even if they both wanted something between them – which was highly unlikely – it simply wasn’t possible.
Tomorrow, he had to work on the new fence in the sheep field. It should have been done last week. He would have to start at dawn and continue by the lights of the tractor after dark.
He didn’t mind the long days.
He did mind that he probably wouldn’t see Lois for the next two days.
He would be gone before she was up and get back after she’d gone to bed.
He could have done the whole job in five minutes.
But that would cause his mother a lot of stress and anxiety, and he couldn’t do that to her.
His parents had always worried that people would discover his strangeness and he would be taken away from them. But they had always assumed that, as terrible as it would be, they would face it together.
Now…
Now, if that ever happened, his mom would be alone.
He couldn’t risk that.
He couldn’t add further fear to her overload of grief.
So, he worked at a pace that would seem entirely reasonable to any and every neighbour who happened to look over Clark’s fields.
The work was piling up.
His frustration was escalating.
And all he wanted to do was spend time with Lois.
~~~~
When Lois walked into the kitchen the next morning, Martha was sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee.
“Good morning, Martha,” Lois said. “I hope you are feeling much better.”
“I am, thank you, honey,” Martha said. “And I’m sorry I was short with you yesterday.”
“You weren’t short with me,” Lois said, sending her a smile.
“Would you like some breakfast? Clark has taken his. He went out early.”
“Is it Bess?”
“No. He has a week’s worth of fencing to do and two days to do it. The jobs keep adding up when he’s busy with something like the hay.”
“Can I get breakfast for you?” Lois asked.
“I had breakfast with Clark,” Martha said. “I can cook bacon and eggs for you.”
“Toast is fine, and I can get it,” Lois said. “You stay there and enjoy your coffee. What are you planning to do today?”
“Firstly, pick the apples and then start processing them.”
Lois cut two slices from the loaf and dropped them into the toaster. “We picked them yesterday,” she said.
“You and Clark?” Martha asked, not sounding particularly pleased.
“Yes. Is that OK?”
Martha smiled, but Lois saw that it was a little forced. “Of course, it’s OK, honey,” she said. “I just worry Clark won’t get all his work done, so I don’t like him doing mine.”
“We filled six baskets,” Lois said, getting a butter knife from the drawer.
“That’s great,” Martha said. “We can make a start on cutting them up as soon as you’ve finished your breakfast.”
“I know we have a lot to do,” Lois said, “But would you like to go into Smallville today? We could have coffee at a café. Maybe look at some stores. I need more clothes.”
“Of course, you can go to Smallville,” Martha said. “But I won’t.”
“It’s not much fun having coffee by yourself,” Lois noted.
“No. Thank you,” Martha said, her tone final.
Lois and Martha spent the entire day cutting and peeling the apples. They started the apple cider vinegar with the peels and cores. They cooked and canned applesauce. The canned pie apples. Martha made a variety of apple cakes and apple puddings to put in the freezer.
She was a little subdued and not particularly talkative but did answer politely whenever Lois asked her a question. Lois wondered where her thoughts went during the silences.
To memories of her husband?
To her session with the counsellor?
To her future… without the man she loved.
As Martha prepared a quick supper for them, she told Lois that Clark had taken his with him and wouldn’t be in until long after dark.
It was a little after nine when Lois hauled her aching back and tired shoulders up the stairs. Her thoughts turned to the previous evening spent on the porch with Clark.
She had missed him today.
She had enjoyed their evening together – enjoyed their closeness as Clark had opened up about his father’s death and his concerns for his mother.
Today, in the quietness, Lois had found herself thinking about the family she had stumbled upon. She’d thought about the missing husband and father. She’d though about the grieving widow. Mostly, she’d thought about the son who was trying so gallantly to fill the void left by his father.
As far as she could see, he’d done it alone.
Lois wished she could help him in some way.
He – and Martha – had done so much for her.
Once in bed, Lois’s thoughts went through the darkness to somewhere on the farm where Clark was building a fence, working by tractor light.
Was he cold?
Hungry?
Lonely?
Annoyed at Jack’s continuing absence?
Frustrated at being behind in his work?
Martha had said that tomorrow was to be a repeat of today. Apples for them, fencing for Clark.
Maybe if they were able to get the apples done by mid-afternoon, Martha would let Lois take some lemonade and cake to Clark.
She would ask.
Because a day without seeing Clark had felt strangely empty.
