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Link to Chapter 4

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Martha didn’t sleep much, especially after 3 a.m., when she’d gotten up to check on Clark and found him huddled up in his bed, desperately trying to appear as though he was sleeping. Even now, at about 6 a.m., as she got a pot of coffee started for Jonathan and pulled out all the ingredients to make some pancakes and eggs for breakfast, her heart still broke for the child.

She couldn’t be sure, of course, but it really seemed to her as though he’d been scared—terrified, actually—to get up to use the bathroom, or even to ask whether he could get up to use the bathroom.

After she’d helped him back to bed, tucked him in again, and assured him one more time that he was allowed to use the bathroom whenever he needed to, she’d tried to get back to sleep. But she just hadn’t been able to stop herself from seeing his sad, scared little face, cheeks streaked with tears, and she’d had to check on him several more times.

Finally, at 5:30 a.m., when she knew Jonathan would be getting up soon anyways, she’d headed upstairs for a bit, taken a quick shower, changed her clothes, and headed back down to get breakfast started.

It would be a long day, she knew. The storm was still raging outside—rain pounding down—and that meant extra chores for Jonathan. Plus, Ms. Jones would be over around 9 a.m., and…

Martha shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and stop herself from worrying. She had to believe the outcome would be what she wanted, that Clark would be able to stay with them. Because any other option…

“Good morning, love.”

Startled, Martha turned around. Jonathan stood a few feet away at the kitchen table, his fingers resting on the folder that she’d moved there this morning.

He looked up at her, concern in his eyes. “How was Clark’s night? I heard you up several times.”

She just nodded, unable to explain right away, but when he moved to her and wrapped his arms around her, she melted into his embrace and let out a shuddering breath.

“He slept most of the night, except…” Pulling out of his arms, she shook her head, and she turned back to the counter. Quietly, she began preparing breakfast, Jonathan working alongside her, as she told him about how she’d had to reassure Clark that it was okay for him to get up to use the bathroom and how she’d had to help him and how…scared he’d been.

They fell into silence as she finished flipping the pancakes and Jonathan cooked the scrambled eggs. When everything was ready, they moved the food to the table, and Jonathan sat and opened up the folder. Martha, however, leaned back against the counter and bit her lower lip, lost in thought again.

Every moment since she and Jonathan had happened upon the accident the day before had been filled with worry, and now that she had more knowledge, more pieces to the puzzle, she found herself unsure about their decision for the first time. She wasn’t qualified to be Clark’s mother. She had no idea how to handle this—how to handle the undeniable fact that something had been terribly, terribly wrong with how his parents had treated him, with how he had lived. She didn’t know how to talk to him, what to do, what not to do. He needed…someone much, much more confident than she was.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she reached up and wiped them away as Jonathan looked up at her.

“Martha?” He stood, closing the folder, and stepped over to her. She reached out to him, and he embraced her again, pulling her up against his solid chest.

“Oh, Jonathan, I…I don’t know how to… Can we really give Clark what he needs? I don’t even know—”

“Martha,” Jonathan cut in, his hand rubbing her back gently, “he needs love. And you have so much love to give. I know it’ll be rough, especially at first, but Martha, I know of no one, no one, better to love him than you. And…” He squeezed her a little tighter. “…and me too. I…already love that boy like he was our own.”

She nodded into him and wrapped her arms around his waist, letting her head settle on his shoulder. His strength gave her strength of her own, and she closed her eyes.

“You really think we can do this, Jon?”

“Oh, Martha, it’s more than that. I know we can do this, and somehow, I know we were meant to do this.” Jonathan shifted her in his arms, and she looked up at him. His eyes shone with resolve and love. “And anything we need to do, we’ll do. He needs love, Martha. Love and patience.”

She let out a breath and nodded slowly. “And he needs to feel safe. More than anything else.”

Jonathan smiled softly at her and then brushed a kiss on her lips. “Do you want to wake him up for breakfast, or should we let him sleep?”

Martha pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest as she looked toward the hallway. If she had to guess, as terrible as it was to think about, she suspected that he wouldn’t just come out of the bedroom when he woke up, and she swallowed hard as she glanced back at Jonathan.

“I’ll go wake him up and see if he’s hungry. But he might still be full from dinner. I think…”

“…he ate much more than he usually would,” Jonathan suggested, and she nodded. “I’ll start working on these forms, then?”

“Yeah.”

He placed a light kiss on her forehead and then moved back to the table as she started toward the hallway. She could see the bedroom door partway open, as she’d left it the last time she’d checked on him a little over an hour ago, and she slowed as she approached, not wanting to startle him if he was already awake. His tiny figure was curled up, the blanket pulled tight up to his chin, and his head was buried in the pillow, but he appeared relaxed with sleep, and she smiled, her heart filling with love, as she stood just inside the doorway and watched him.

His expression was so peaceful, and he looked comfortable, his dark curls falling over his forehead and his lips slightly parted as he slept.

Such a sweet child. An innocent, sweet child. Her heart wrenched almost painfully as she remembered the fear in his eyes the night before, and for a moment, she felt angry. How could those whom he was supposed to have been able to trust the most have mistreated him so? How could anyone mistreat any child?

She stepped farther into the room and then over to the bed, where she sat very slowly, trying to not disturb him still. Then, she reached over and gently brushed the hair off his forehead.

“Beautiful, perfect, sweet child,” she whispered. Then she raised her voice just a little. “Clark, sweetie…”

His little body turned away from her, and he groaned as he tugged the blanket up around himself more. She started to speak again, hopefully to rouse him gently, when he stiffened and froze. Her heart ached as she saw him start to tremble, and she closed her eyes, taking a moment to reassure herself that time and love were what he needed and that she and Jonathan could give both of those things to him. She took a deep breath before she started again.

“Good morning, sweetie,” she said softly. “I know it’s early, and if you want to stay in bed and get some more rest, you can do that. But Jonathan and I made breakfast—pancakes and eggs—and you’re welcome to come and join us if you’d like.”

He didn’t respond right away, choosing instead to curl up more, which shifted him a few inches farther away from her.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to get up yet, sweetie. I just…” Martha paused as a rush of uncertainty hit her. Maybe she shouldn’t have come in and sat down here. Maybe she should have just let him sleep. She quickly clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking. No, this was the right decision. She’d just let him know of his options. And then, she’d hope—desperately—that he’d feel safe enough to come out to the kitchen when he was ready. She cleared her throat. “I just wanted to let you know, in case you were hungry. I’ll be out in the kitchen, and Jonathan is out there too, and we’ll be eating now. But there’s plenty of food, if you want to come out later. Whenever is…fine.”

He still didn’t move or speak, and as she watched him carefully, she could see that he was still holding his breath, keeping himself as motionless as possible. Pursing her lips together and trying to hold her tears back, she stood, straightened out her apron, and started out of the bedroom. When she reached the door, she set her hand softly on the doorframe and turned back around.

“You can come out whenever you’re ready, sweetie. There’s no rush. Okay?”

She heard a muffled sound, which might have been an acknowledgement, but Clark didn’t make any move to get up. Surreptitiously reaching to brush a tear from her cheek, she made sure the door stayed propped open about halfway and then walked back down the hallway toward the kitchen.

Jonathan looked up as she came in, his reading glasses falling a bit down his nose. He gave her a gentle smile as their eyes met. “Give him time, Martha,” he said quietly. “There’s going to be a lot we need to do to build trust.”

She sniffled and nodded as she moved to sit next to him at the table. He’d prepared each of them a plate and had even topped her pancakes with powdered sugar and sliced strawberries rather than syrup, just the way she liked them. She reached over and set her hand on top of his. “Thank you, Jonathan.”

“I betcha he’s gonna like strawberries on his pancakes just like you, love.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“You think—”

Her eyes darted up as she heard the old floorboards creak in the hallway, and Jonathan turned slightly in his chair so his gaze could follow hers. A tiny head of tousled black hair and huge, deep brown eyes peeked out around the corner. She smiled as warmly as she could, even as Clark’s fearful gaze jumped around the room, taking everything in.

“Hey, buddy, those PJs sure look like they fit you well! How’s the color? Is red okay?”

Martha wasn’t sure how Jonathan seemed so much more at ease than her, but she felt the smile in his words, even though she couldn’t see his face. Clark’s eyes shot back toward them, and for just a second, his gaze shifted back and forth between her and Jonathan, before he ducked his chin and nodded.

“Y-yes. Y-yessir. I-I…like red. A lot,” Clark stammered, and he stepped out from around the corner of the hallway, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.

“Wonderful,” Jonathan declared, and he reached over and pulled out the third chair at the table, just enough to give Clark some room. “Wanna find out if you like Martha’s pancakes, too?”

Clark looked up and then back down so quickly that Martha thought maybe she’d imagined the flicker of interest in his eyes. But then he nodded and started slowly toward the table, still looking down at the floor. He slid almost silently into the seat and then sat just as quietly as he stared at the plates of food. Managing a small smile, Martha stood—her movement careful and deliberate so she didn’t startle him—and moved around the table closer to his chair to help serve him.

“Would you like one or two pancakes, sweetie?”

He bit his lower lip and tensed as she stopped next to him. “J-just—just one p-please.” His voice trembled along with his hands, even though they remained clasped together in his lap now.

“Sure, sweetie. One sounds like just the right number,” she assured him, and she used a spatula to place a medium-sized pancake on the plate in front of him. “And then, would you like it topped with syrup or strawberries? The strawberries are really sweet right now. They’re my favorite.”

She’d turned back to the counter for a moment to grab the bowl of cut-up strawberries Jonathan had left there, and when she turned back, Clark was staring at the bowl in her hands, his beautiful dark brown eyes wide with awe. His mouth fell open, and he looked up at her and then back at the bowl.

“I can…have…those?”

“Of course, sweetie. Do you like strawberries?”

He scrunched his eyes shut and nodded.

Martha let her gaze drift to Jonathan, who was looking at Clark, watching carefully over the top of his reading glasses. His expression tightened ever so slightly, but then softened again as he looked at her, offering her a gentle smile and nod.

“Great. Me too.” She grinned, hoping it didn’t seem too forced, and then spooned out several nice-sized heaps of strawberries on top of Clark’s pancake. “There we go!”

Cautiously, as though he wasn’t sure whether the pancake would still be there, he opened his eyes, and Martha watched, her eyes brimming with fresh tears and her heart overflowing with joy, as his expression flickered with the tiniest sparkle of light.

Beautiful, sweet child.

“Those are some good strawberries, buddy. I think you made the right choice,” Jonathan said, and he quietly closed the folder and reached out to pick up his coffee mug.

Clark looked up at him briefly and then glanced at Martha, although he didn’t ever really meet her gaze. He blinked and lowered his eyes to the plate in front of him. He seemed to hesitate and then said, his voice low but his words careful, “May I please eat now?”

“Of course, sweetie,” Martha answered, barely able to keep the hitch out of her voice. She smiled softly. “Would you like milk or orange juice also?”

His eyes darted up to the pitcher of orange juice on the table as he wiped a tear from his cheek. “Orange—orange juice, p-please.”

She didn’t say anything—she wasn’t sure if she could speak anyways—and instead, she just quietly poured him some juice, filling his glass to just a little more than halfway. When she was finished, she poured herself a glass as well and then sat back in her chair across from him.

Just like the night before, he was so careful, so cautious, all of his movements stiff and slow, and she could see the tension in his shoulders. Every time he made some sort of a noise—the clinking his fork made when he set it on his plate, the thump of his glass on the table, the scrape of his chair on the floor when he squirmed around a bit—he flinched, his eyes filled with fear.

At the same time, she saw it again—that little flicker of light in his eyes—when he took his first bite of strawberries and then again when he took his first sip of orange juice. Those little hints…her heart held them tightly, needing to believe they meant something and could grow into something.

When she and Jonathan were finished eating, Martha stood and began gathering their dishes, trying to pretend she didn’t notice Clark flinch again. “I hope the fixes you made to the barn roof over the summer held up. This is the biggest storm we’ve had since,” she said quietly, addressing Jonathan.

He cleared his throat and set down him coffee mug, nodding. “I’ll find out soon. I’ll just do the minimum today, though. Don’t need to be out in this weather any longer than necessary.”

“I think that’s wise.”

She glanced over at Clark, who still had at least half of his pancake to eat, and then back to Jonathan. He gave her a knowing smile.

“When the rain stops, Clark, I’d love to show you the barn,” Jonathan said. “We’ve got chickens and cows and even a horse. She’s a stubborn mare, but she’s really gentle. Have you ever ridden a horse?”

Martha set the dishes in the sink and turned back around just in time to see Clark shake his head.

Jonathan laughed lightly. “Well, maybe we’ll have to fix that sometime.” He turned to look at Martha and then stood up, his smile a little tight. “I should get moving so I have time to clean up before Ms. Jones gets here.”

“Of course.”

Then, with a nod, he promised Clark he’d be back in a while and headed out, the sound of the front door opening and closing signaling his departure a moment later. Martha occupied herself by starting to clean up the kitchen as she gave Clark time to finish eating, and by the time she was putting away the extra pancakes, he’d taken his last bite, cleaning up every crumb on his plate. She smiled and closed the refrigerator door.

“All done?”

He nodded and reached with both hands to pick up his plate. “S-sorry,” he said, his voice so quiet she almost hadn’t heard it.

“Oh, no, sweetie, it’s fine. I want you to take as much time as you need.” Her attempt at reassuring him hadn’t quite worked, and she frowned as she watched him shake his head again.

“I-I mean…s-sorry about the—the dishes.” Holding the plate, he stood and wobbled his way over toward the sink, his legs seeming like they were barely able to hold him up, just like in the middle of the night. Yet he made it all the way to the sink and then stood there for a moment, searching until he found a sponge and the dish soap.

Only then did she realize what he’d meant.

Immediately, she shook her head, and then she cautiously joined him at the sink. “I’m very happy if you want to help, sweetie, but right now, Doc says you need as much rest as you can get. That bump on your head there was pretty bad,” she said. “How about you let me finish cleaning up here, and you can get dressed and brush your teeth? Then, maybe… Do you like to draw or color?”

She almost regretted her innocent question—that’s all it was, really, an innocent question. After all, didn’t most kids love to color and draw? But as soon as she asked, Clark’s eyes clouded in confusion, and he stepped back from the sink as he let her take the plate from his hands.

“I-I don’t…know.”

His little hands had balled up into fists, and his gaze had dropped to the floor.

“Oh, well, that’s okay, sweetie. I know, how about we find out together?”

“’Kay.”

She set the plate down in the sink and very gently placed a hand on his shoulder, trying not to react as he flinched slightly from her touch.

“Here, let’s go pick out some clothes for you,” she suggested. Steering him toward the living room, where the duffle bag Jonathan had brought home with him the night before still sat, Martha continued. “Jonathan got a few T-shirts and some pants for you when he was in town yesterday. And he got a toothbrush and some toothpaste too. But—here’s what’s really neat—they also had some crayons and this coloring book that Jonathan thought you would like. It’s got dinosaurs and other prehistoric animals, and—”

Clark grasped her waist suddenly, and she turned toward him as he stumbled, shifting to support him so he didn’t fall. All the color had drained from his face, and when she moved to help steady him, he felt cold and clammy. Quickly, she lifted him into her arms and carried him to the couch, murmuring quiet words to sooth him. But his breaths continued in rapid pants, and he trembled.

“S-sorry,” he said between breaths, and he sagged against her as she sat on the couch, still cradling him in her arms.

“Shh, sweet boy,” she murmured, holding him just a little tighter. When his breathing had leveled out, she reached up and felt his forehead, taking a moment to brush back his hair and inspect the cut along his hairline as well. It still looked clean and uninfected, although Doc hadn’t been able to bandage it because of its location. And his temperature seemed to be normal again. “What happened there, sweetie? Are you…feeling better?” She tried to keep her voice soft and pleasant, but she heard the hesitation in her words.

No answer came, but Clark squeezed his eyes shut and curled up against her more, his little body still stiff and shaking. And it was somehow painful, to see him hurting so much. She closed her eyes as the aching in her heart grew.

Beautiful, sweet child. Please talk to me.



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