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Link to Chapter 2

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3

Jonathan took his time driving home from the sheriff’s station, both because the weather was still quite stormy—the rain from earlier mixed with high winds and occasional thunder and lightning—and because he needed time to process what he’d just learned.

And what the implications of that knowledge were.

And how he was going to explain it all to Martha.

The most important thing that Jonathan had learned in the last two hours he’d spent with Sheriff Harris and a social worker who’d been sent in from Emporia was that Clark Peterson had no living relatives who might be able to take him in. Abigail and Jacob Peterson had no siblings, and Clark’s only living grandparent—Abigail’s mother—was nearly ninety-five years old and living at a hospice care facility in Jackson, Mississippi.

He glanced over at the passenger seat in the front of his pickup, where a white folder with Clark’s name printed neatly at the top, followed by the words Foster Care Application, sat next to an oversized duffle bag. When the opportunity had come up—when the social worker had indicated they’d follow Jonathan to his home to pick up Clark and take him to Emporia temporarily until a suitable foster home could be found—Jonathan hadn’t hesitated in the slightest. He’d immediately said he and Martha would like to foster the boy, with the intent of adopting him. And his resolve had definitely seemed to surprise both the sheriff and the social worker. Hell, it had even surprised Jonathan himself. But really, there hadn’t been any doubt in Jonathan’s mind that it was the right thing to do, that it was what needed to be done. In fact, he thought maybe he hadn’t been more sure about anything since the day he’d met Martha so many years ago.

So, he’d set up an appointment for the social worker to visit them at home mid-morning tomorrow, when she’d be able to speak with Clark and go over all of the paperwork with Jonathan and Martha. Then, Jonathan had accompanied Sheriff Harris out to the Petersons’ house…

A shiver ran through him, and he shook his head as he slowed the truck and turned off the main road and onto the long dirt driveway leading up to the farmhouse. The pickup bumped and jostled around as it splashed through mud puddles, and he frowned as he realized he’d have a lot of work to do to repair the road after all the damage the storm had caused. But that was definitely something to worry about another day. Tonight, he and Martha had some talking to do. After Clark was asleep, that is. Because Clark definitely didn’t need to hear everything they had to talk about.

Jonathan stopped the truck as close to the house as he could and then closed his eyes for a moment. He’d never seen anything quite like what he’d seen when the sheriff had escorted him through that house. They’d only intended to pick up clothes and such for Clark so he’d have something to wear, a toothbrush, and maybe school supplies or books or something. But what they’d found…

Jonathan still couldn’t believe it, and he couldn’t wrap his head around any of it.

A picture-perfect farmhouse. Spotless, inside and out. Everything neat and tidy, nothing out of place. Warm but neutral paint colors and décor. A refrigerator full of food.

And almost no evidence that a child had lived there.

Almost.

Except for what was behind the two padlocked doors—one leading to the tiny upstairs bedroom and the other leading down into the basement.

A wave of nausea hit Jonathan, and he pushed the memories away, not wanting to relive the moment Sheriff Harris had returned from his squad car with a set of bolt cutters and then opened up the bedroom door. Instead, Jonathan grabbed the folder from the passenger’s seat, stuffed it under his coat to keep it from getting wet, and then hefted the duffle bag and hurried inside the farmhouse. He’d relive it all later…when he’d have to tell Martha. And that was really not something he was looking forward to.

He managed to stay fairly dry as he jogged from the truck to the front porch, and he then entered the house as quietly as he could, hoping the child was already asleep. He set the duffle bag down near the front door, glanced in the living room, and, not seeing Martha, made a short detour into the kitchen to set the folder down on the table. Then, taking a deep breath to steady himself, Jonathan made his way down the hallway toward the guest bedroom.

The door was ajar just enough for a thin band of light to illuminate the hallway, and as Jonathan got closer, he heard Martha singing a soft tune that he didn’t recognize. He paused just in front of the door, closing his eyes again as he listened. There was something to her voice and the words of the song that just made his heart fill with love and hope.

Slowly, he lifted one hand and pushed the door open about halfway, grateful that the hinges didn’t squeak. And his heart skipped a beat as he saw her, sitting on the edge of the bed, her singing fading into even quieter humming as she rubbed gentle circles on Clark’s back with one hand. When she glanced up at him, she smiled, although it was definitely tinged with sadness. As he’d expect, given…everything.

He watched, his heart still soaring with love, as Martha turned back to the small child, tucked the blanket around him a little tighter, and then leaned over and kissed his forehead ever so softly. She stood carefully to avoid waking the boy and lingered for another moment before turning toward Jonathan and making her way across the small bedroom. He opened the door enough for her to slip out, and then he shut off the light and closed the door almost all the way, leaving it cracked enough for some light to get through, just in case Clark had to get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or…anything else.

Together, he and Martha walked out into the kitchen in silence, and when they stopped next to the kitchen table, Martha turned back toward him and looked up, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“What did…” She trailed off and shook her head, then stepped closer to him, and he immediately wrapped his arms around her. She seemed to melt into him, needing his comfort.

He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes. Part of him wanted to protect her from the truth—the house, the padlocked doors, the…evidence of how Clark had lived. But he knew he couldn’t do that. She needed to know everything he did. And she needed to know about it tonight. This wasn’t something that could wait, something that they could put off and talk about later.

“It’s…bad, Martha,” he said, holding her just a little tighter. “I mean…”

How could he tell her? Her heart was already broken enough. And once she heard what he’d seen…

“Tell me first, Jonathan…” Martha pulled away from him and picked up the white folder he’d set on the table. “You wouldn’t have brought this home if…”

With a nod, Jonathan took her hand. “Let’s sit, Martha. There’s a lot to talk about, and… You’re right. This is the first and most important.”

He led her over to the couch and got her settled, then returned to the kitchen and prepared each of them a cup of tea—Oolong, her favorite. When he eventually made his way back to the living room a few minutes later, he found her flipping through the contents of the folder, tears running down her cheeks. She glanced up at him and then back at the folder.

“He has…no one?”

“One grandparent, but she’s elderly and in hospice care in Mississippi,” Jonathan said quietly, sitting down on the couch and placing their tea on the coffee table in front of them. He scooted closer and wrapped one arm around Martha’s shoulders, and she leaned against him as she reached up to wipe away her tears. “Sheriff Harris is still looking into things, but that much is clear.”

The breath she let out then was nearly a sob as she turned another page and ran her fingers lightly over their names, which were printed at the top under the heading “Applicants.”

“I’d…given up, Jonathan,” she whispered.

“I know. And I know this wasn’t our plan. I know you wanted a baby. But—”

“He needs us.”

“Oh, Martha, you have no idea,” Jonathan murmured, and he buried his head into her hair as the sting of tears threatened him. But he couldn’t cry, not now. Screwing his eyes shut, he fought it, if only for her—to stay strong for her. “I don’t know his whole story, Martha. Something tells me we might not ever know. But I do know one thing—this boy is going to need someone who can show him all the love and kindness he deserves. And I know of no one better to do that than you. Than both of us.”

They sat there for a few minutes, Martha clinging onto him, obviously trying her best to not cry. But he felt her trembling in his arms, and he closed his eyes again. He still had so much to tell her. They still had so much to talk about. And it was late—already after midnight. Reluctantly, he straightened up a bit and cleared his throat.

“Emma Jones is the social worker who was assigned to his case. She was already here in town for personal reasons, and she was supposed to be heading home tonight, but after we spoke, she agreed to stay the night and come here first thing tomorrow morning. She has to…” Jonathan paused to take a breath and then reached forward and picked up the folder Martha had set on the table a few minutes before. He flipped it open to an informational sheet that Ms. Jones had included in the packet. “We’ll have to…take these steps here, she said. Usually this would have to be done before the child is placed in our care, but given the circumstances…”

Martha took the sheet of paper from his hands and began reading it, nodding as she went.

“She’ll do an initial home inspection tomorrow, tell us what, if anything, we need to fix up or do. She said she’d go over everything with us then—the frequency of home visits and the whole process timeline and—and other things. And she said she’ll want to talk to Clark, too.”

“He’s…scared to talk, Jonathan.” She frowned as she looked up at him. “He answers direct questions with as few words as possible, and otherwise…there’s a fear in his eyes. Like…”

The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach—the one he’d had earlier when he’d refused to let himself relive the walk through the Petersons’ home—returned then, and he shuddered as he closed the folder. “I have no doubt he is scared, Martha. I don’t know exactly… They didn’t treat him well. There was…”

“Jon…?”

He swallowed tightly and pulled her into his arms, needing her close. And then, he began to recount his trip with Sheriff Harris. The trip where they’d only intended to get him clothes and things. The trip that had instead ended with Jonathan and the sheriff calling up Sadie, who owned the general store in town, and asking whether she’d be able to let them stop in, despite the late hour, to buy a few things to get Clark through the night. Because at the Petersons’ house, there had been all of one dirty T-shirt, two pairs of pants that had to be much too small for him and were ragged and torn, and no toothbrush or books or crayons or toys. No stuffed animals or blankets or pillows. No extra shoes or clean socks. No backpack or school supplies.

Nothing.

He told her about the padlocks on the room at the top of the stairs and the door leading to the basement. And he told her how the upstairs bedroom had contained a tiny mattress, like one that would fit in a crib, but nothing else, except a used bucket in one corner. He told her how the window had been boarded up so that there was no natural light in the room. Then he described the basement, which was much the same as the upstairs bedroom, with the exception that there was no electricity or heat and that the floor had been damp, the air musty. There had been a mattress, but no blanket. No functional lights. No…

“God, Jonathan…did they…lock him down there?”

“I don’t know, Martha,” he admitted. He kissed the top of her head. “I’ve never… Er, Sheriff Harris says he’s never seen anything like it. And…though the Petersons have lived here for decades, Clark isn’t enrolled in any school in Smallville. Never has been. They’re going to see about medical records, but you heard from Doc too… He doesn’t remember Abigail at all. Never saw her while she was pregnant, or after she gave birth. Never saw any child of theirs.”

“Maybe they took him to a doctor out of town,” Martha said quietly.

All Jonathan could do was nod. And they both grew silent again. Martha was lost in her thoughts, he could tell, and that wasn’t necessarily a place he wanted her to be right then. But his own thoughts were not much better. He sighed as he rested his head against hers, a sudden weariness washing over him.

“I don’t know how we’re going to do this, Martha,” he said. “But…all the uncertainty in the world wouldn’t change my mind. We’ll take it one day, one minute at a time.”

Martha nodded into him. “We’ll show him love, Jonathan. That’s…”

“Exactly what he needs.”

“I hope so.”

After a few more minutes, Jonathan breathed another kiss into her hair. “We should try to get some sleep. Although—”

“I’ll sleep downstairs here, on the couch,” Martha said without hesitation.

He thought about protesting. After all, she’d had a headache earlier in the day, and she was probably just as tired, if not more tired, than he was. But he knew it would be futile. “Let me grab you some pillows and blankets?”

She lifted her head and looked up at him with a small smile. “Thank you.”

His heart felt just a little lighter as she leaned into him for a brief kiss, and together, they stood. Martha cleared the table and then headed upstairs to get changed and ready for bed while Jonathan snuck quietly down the hallway toward the downstairs closet. He risked a quick glance into the bedroom, propping the door open a few more inches until he could see the child, wrapped up in soft blankets and sleeping soundly.

“You’re safe now, buddy. I promise you that.”

Clark shifted a bit in the bed, but didn’t wake, and Jonathan took a deep, steadying breath, pulled the door mostly closed again—being sure to leave it open several inches—and padded the rest of the way down the hall to get Martha pillows and blankets.


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