The autumn sun felt warm on Martha’s face as she walked, one hand in the crook of her son’s arm, down the steps of the Tenth Avenue Community Church. He looked very handsome, she thought, in his navy blazer, oxford cloth shirt, and red tie. She could get used to seeing him without his glasses, too. It was nice to have an unobstructed view of his warm brown eyes. “What did you think of the sermon?” she asked.
“I liked it. It was nothing especially new or earth-shattering, but it was just what I needed to hear this week.”
“That even the greatest accomplishments are worth nothing if they’re done without love?”
“Exactly. Without love, we gain nothing.”
“You were trying very hard not to laugh half-way through the service, though. What was so funny?”
Clark chuckled in remembrance. “Did you notice the little boy, maybe four years old, in the pew two rows in front of us—the one who kept wiggling around and kicking the bench?”
“Yes. He reminded me of another little boy I once knew,” she teased. “His poor mother was about fit to be tied. I think she was on the brink of taking him out to the parking lot for a manners lesson. Then all of a sudden he got very quiet and sat straight in his seat. He whispered something to his mother, and after that he didn’t make a peep for the rest of the service.” Understanding dawned in her face. “Wait a minute. That was when you started shaking. What were you were trying so hard not to laugh at? What did the little boy say to his mother?”
“I think the better question is, what did he hear? Do you remember what the Old Testament reading was, just before he got so quiet?” An amused twinkle danced in Clark’s eye.
“It was…” Trying to remember, Martha replayed the earlier scene in her mind. She saw the man who had been chosen to read the Bible passage approach the pulpit. She pictured his crisp grey suit, his dark blue tie against his white dress shirt. She saw his graying hair and neatly trimmed beard. She heard his clear bass voice rolling over the congregation as he read….The penny dropped. “Oh, my!” she chuckled. “And the man who read it had such a loud, booming voice. No wonder the boy made such a quick turn around!” Martha chuckled.
Clark did his best imitation of the reader’s deep, stentorian tones. “’Be still, and know that I am God!’” he quoted. He laughed at the little boy’s misunderstanding. ”That was what the boy asked his mother; ‘Is that really God?’ I’m sure he thought the Lord of Heaven had come down in person just to tell him to stop wiggling in church.”
Suddenly, Clark’s face went blank and his eyes took on a far-away look that Martha had never seen before. He held the pose for just a minute, then turned to her and said urgently, “I have to go. There’s a multi-car pile-up on the Mortimer Bridge. Stay right here. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “You go take care of business and don’t worry about me. I’ll get a taxi and meet you at the hotel. The Peninsula, right?”
“Right. The reservation is under Caleb Knight.” He cocked his head again. “I’ve really got to go.” He bent his head to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll meet you there.”
He ran around a corner into an alley and was gone. A moment later there was a soft ‘swoosh’ and Superman flew overhead in a streak of blue and red. Martha felt a warm current of pride well up in her chest. She’d seen her son as a public figure for years, seen his face on book jackets, magazine covers, and television many times. But seeing him fly off to the rescue—in the suit that she had made, no less—was something else entirely.
She took a long look around her, soaking in the stimulating atmosphere of the city. The neighborhood that the church was in was mixed use, with row-houses lining the side streets and small shops and restaurants along the busier avenue. The sidewalk wasn’t crowded, but there was a fair amount of traffic—couples dining in the cafes, women in twos and threes looking into boutique windows, families with young children on the way home from church or on the way to the park, even on occasional jogger with a walkman.
Keeping a firm grip on her purse, as she knew a woman had to do in the big city, Martha stepped to the curb and looked for a taxi. It wasn’t long before one appeared, and she waved for it to pull over. The cab came to a stop a few feet to her left and the cabbie gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement. Martha headed for the door of the cab, but before she reached it a young brunette in a knee-length burgundy skirt and matching jacket and pumps reached for the handle and opened the door. At Martha’s startled exclamation, the woman gave her a cursory glance, but got into the car nonetheless. “Sorry, lady,” the woman said before she closed the door, “That’s life in the big city.” The taxi pulled away, leaving an irate Martha Kent staring after it.
Luckily, another taxi soon followed, and Martha had no difficulty flagging it down. This time she made a quick bee-line for the car door, and was soon on her way to the Peninsula Hotel. Still shaking her head at the rudeness of city folk, she watched the scenery go by, the low rows of houses soon replaced by five- and six-story apartment buildings, then by towering office blocks. Soon she recognized the trendy shops and posh hotels of Metropolis’s uptown. The taxi pulled under the awning of the Peninsula Hotel, and Martha paid the driver. A uniformed doorman helped her out. She was surprised to see the young woman who had stolen her first taxi emerging from the hotel’s front entrance, a cell phone held to one ear.
Unable to resist the urge to eavesdrop, Martha heard the woman say, “Okay, Jimmy, I’m outside now. Can you hear me better? Yeah, okay, but make it quick, because I’m supposed to meet somebody for lunch in five minutes.” The woman rolled her eyes at whatever Jimmy was saying. “No, I do not have Julie’s phone number. Or Stacie’s. Or Karen’s. Good grief, James, do you think I’m best buddies with the entire research department? I don’t care if you can’t find a girl to see a movie with. I’m busy. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodbye.” As the woman closed her phone, she looked straight at Martha, who realized she’d been caught listening in.
The two women looked at each other, both feeling a little sheepish—the one for stealing a cab, and the other for eavesdropping on a private conversation. Guessing who the young woman might be, Martha was about to introduce herself, but she was prevented by the sudden eruption of angry shouts from the sidewalk in front of the restaurant next door.
A well-dressed man and woman were arguing quite loudly, even by Metropolis standards. A boy of perhaps eight years old was crying and shouting for both of them to stop. The crowd of passers-by was divided between those staring in unabashed curiosity, and those pretending not to hear or see anything out of the ordinary. Before Martha could make out what the argument was about, the man raised his arm and cuffed the woman across the jaw. The woman let out a shocked cry, but rather than crumple in defeat, she shouted, loud enough for the entire city block to hear, “That’s the last straw! No man lays a hand on me! Don’t bother coming home tonight. I’m changing the locks. If you ever come near me or my son again, I will sue you for everything you’re worth!”
Turning on her heel, she grabbed the boy by one hand and started across the street. In her haste, she didn’t see the taxi rounding the corner, headed straight for her. There was a screech of tires, a chorus of screams, and a sickening thud. Martha and the brunette both ran toward the scene, the younger woman elbowing the gathering crowd out of her way and Martha following in her wake. The victim lay in an unconscious heap on the pavement, the taxi driver bent over her in alarm. The boy, apparently unhurt, was kneeling next to his mother, tears streaming down his face and sobs racking his body. The man from the argument headed toward the woman, his face a mask of shock and concern.
“You stay away from her! Don’t you touch her!” The boy yelled at the man.
“Stay out of this, Trevor. Get out of my way,” the man shoved the boy roughly aside.
“No! You heard what she said! She doesn’t want you near her!” Trevor’s cheeks were bright red with impotent fury.
No one in the crowd made a move to intervene. Martha looked to the young lady in burgundy and saw that she was talking on her cell phone, a finger stopping up her other ear in an attempt to hear the telephone conversation over the noise of the argument. She closed the phone with a snap and approached the participants.
“An ambulance is on the way,” she said calmly, her look taking in the driver, the man, and the boy. She raised her voice to carry into the crowd of onlookers. “Are any of you doctors? Or at least trained in first aid?”
Martha was about to step forward when a middle-aged woman who had already been pushing her way through the crowd finally reached the front. “I’m a doctor. Let me through,” the newcomer said in the tone of one accustomed to taking charge in a crisis.
As the doctor knelt next to her patient, the boy reached for his mother. The doctor reached out an arm to stop him. “I’m sorry, honey, but I need you to stay back. I’m going to help your mommy the best I can, okay?”
The man from the argument reached to grab Trevor’s hand, but the boy jerked it away. “Trevor! Get out of the way and let the lady help your mom,” the man ordered.
“You can’t tell me what to do! You’re not my father!” Trevor glared defiantly.
“Get over here right now!” Trevor made no move to obey. “You do as I say, young man, or you’ll regret it.” The same hand that had struck Trevor’s mother now loomed threateningly over the child.
Out of sheer instinct, Martha found herself between the man and the boy. “Don’t you lay a finger on that child.” She barely recognized her own voice, low and steely.
The man’s angry gaze shifted from the recalcitrant child to the petite blonde woman who dared to get in his way. “Move aside, lady. I’m in charge of that boy.”
“No you’re not!” Trevor shouted from his refuge behind Martha’s back. “My mom said she’s through with you, so I don’t have to do anything you say.”
The man took a step toward Martha and made a move as if to shove her out of his way.
“Oh, no you don’t. Back off, buster.” Lois planted herself in front of the brave older woman and took a position that would allow her to make any of several different Tae-Kwon-Do moves, depending on what the cretin did next. Given what had passed between them earlier in front of the hotel, Lois had a hunch who the child’s protector might be, but, whether she was Martha Kent or someone else, Lois wasn’t about to let her get pushed around by the bully who had already slugged his now-ex-girlfriend.
***
Clark didn’t know what he had expected to see as he flew toward his rendezvous at the Peninsula, but he was almost certain that this wasn’t it. Traffic in front of the hotel was at a complete standstill. The crowd of pedestrians which filled the street was making way for a departing ambulance. A police car was parked haphazardly behind a dented taxi, and the officer was standing, arms outstretched in supplication, between a very angry man and two women, one of whom held her arms protectively over the chest of a small boy. As Clark got closer, he wasn’t really surprised to see that the women in question were his girlfriend and his mother.
Keeping his features carefully schooled, Clark landed a few feet away from the confrontation and addressed the officer. “I was just passing by and noticed the commotion,” Superman explained. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yes, Superman, you can tell this flatfoot and those two busybodies to give me back my child!” The man looked like he was rapidly reaching the end of his rope.
“I’m not your child!” the boy shouted. Lois and Martha both glared defiantly back at the man.
Martha opened her mouth to speak, but Superman preempted her. Addressing the man, he explained calmly, “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that. I’m not an officer of the law, and I have no authority to override the police, nor would I want to.” Turning again to the policeman, Superman repeated, “How can I help you?”
“If you can keep these three from tearing into each other long enough,” the officer’s scowl took in the man and the two women, “I’d like to call in the Child Welfare department. Mr. Lyon here claims the boy belongs to him, but the boy says that Mr. Lyon is not his father. I can’t just send the child home with someone who may not have legal custody of him.”
“I’m sure we can all be patient while you call in the rightful authorities.” Superman’s stern gaze travelled from Mr. Lyon to the two women and back again. All three adults nodded in reluctant agreement. Superman knelt down and smiled gently at the frightened little boy. “Hi. What’s your name?” he said.
The boy stared, wide-eyed. When he remained silent, Martha said, “Superman, this is Trevor. He’s a very brave boy. His mommy got hurt, but the ambulance is taking her to the hospital, and the doctors are going to take very good care of her.”
Clark raised a questioning brow at his mother over the child’s head. She gave an infinitesimal nod. Trevor’s mom would be okay. Superman smiled at the boy. “I know the doctors at the hospital. They’ve helped a lot of people that I’ve rescued. I’m sure they’ll do their very best for your mom.”
The officer made his call and the crowd began to disperse. All that was left to do was to wait for the Child Welfare representative to arrive. The taxi driver got permission to leave, but not before giving Lois, who now had a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other, his version of events. Lois was now talking quietly with the officer, asking questions about the standard procedures in cases like this and what would happen to Trevor if it were determined that Mr. Lyon was not his legal guardian.
Clark looked at his mother, then down at the boy still protectively encased in her arms. He figured that the child was about 8 or 9 years old. He’d obviously been dressed up for lunch at a nice restaurant. His khaki pants now sported dark stains from kneeling in the street and his blue and tan plaid shirt was untucked. His freckled face was smeared with dried tears and the smudges his fingers had left in the vain attempt to wipe them away. His light brown hair was in disarray, and his green eyes were still puffy from crying, but his mouth had the firmness of a boy determined not to disgrace himself by crying in front of his hero.
Superman rose to his feet and spoke to the reporter. “Excuse me, Ms. Lane.”
“Yes, Superman?”
“It’s good to see you again,” he said in his most professional manner. She gave him a courteous nod in response. “Would you mind if I borrowed a piece of paper from your notebook and a pen?” Her eyebrows rose slightly, but she readily gave him what he asked for. “Thank you.”
He turned back to the little boy with a warm smile. “Trevor, what is your mother’s last name?”
“Nichols, sir.” the boy managed.
Superman wrote in clear manuscript letters, “Dear Ms. Nichols, Your son, Trevor, is a very brave young man. It was a pleasure to meet him. I am sorry to hear of your injuries. I wish you a speedy recovery. Sincerely, Superman.” He showed the note to Trevor, whose eyes got wider and wider as he read until it seemed they must pop out of his head altogether. “Do you think you could give this to your mother for me, Trevor? I’d very much like her to know what a good job you’re doing.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy beamed, his chest swelling with pride at the compliment.
As the child folded the note carefully and put it in his pocket, a thirty-ish woman in blue trousers and a yellow knit top approached the group. Smiling cheerfully, she said, “Is this Trevor?” She glanced at Superman and Martha, acknowledging them briefly, but her attention was on the child. The boy looked up at Martha, who gave the newcomer a nod and Trevor a reassuring squeeze. The young woman knelt down and said gently, “My name is Kristy. It’s my job to help kids when their moms and dads are having trouble. I heard that your mom got hurt. Officer Dean tells me she’s going to be okay, but she can’t take care of you right now. Do you know another grown-up we can call to help us? Maybe your daddy or your grandma or grandpa or aunt or uncle?”
Trevor looked around him at all the unfamiliar faces, and the one famous one, before giving his head a forlorn shake.
Looking up at Martha, Kristy asked, “Who is this lady, Trevor?”
“I don’t know,” Trevor admitted, lifting his hands to grasp Martha’s so that she wouldn’t let go of him. “She wouldn’t let Marcus hit me. And then the other lady wouldn’t let Marcus hit her.”
“I see. Well, the number one rule of my job is that nobody is ever allowed to hit anybody else. Okay?”
Trevor nodded, but didn’t leave the circle of Martha’s embrace. Clark looked around for Mr. Lyon, and saw that Officer Dean was keeping him at a distance from the child. Kristy continued in the same friendly voice, “What about the man who’s standing with Officer Dean. Is he your daddy?”
“No. My daddy left last Christmas. That’s Marcus. He pretends he’s my daddy sometimes, but he really isn’t.”
“Did Marcus and your mom get married?”
“No. He sleeps over sometimes, but they aren’t married.”
“Marcus wants to take care of you while your mom is in the hospital. How would you feel about that? Do you feel safe with Marcus?”
The boy frowned, but didn’t answer.
“Does Marcus ever hit you, Trevor? Does he ever hit your mom?”
Trevor stared at the sidewalk and remained silent. The social worker appealed to Martha. “Did you see what happened? Is there anything you can tell me that will help me decide whether Trevor would be safe with Mr. Lyon?”
“I saw Mr. Lyon strike Trevor’s mother in the face. I heard him threaten Trevor. I’ve seen how terrified Trevor is of him. That man is not fit to have a child in his care.”
“Thank, you, Ms.?” In a moment of panic, both Martha and Clark looked around for Lois. Thankfully, she was deep in conversation with the restaurant manager, her pen scribbling in her notebook.
“Martha Kent,” Martha said quietly, “but I’d rather not have my name used, especially in front of the reporter. Isn’t there some provision for keeping me anonymous?”
“Don’t worry, ma’am. I won’t say another word about it.” She turned back to her young charge. “And don’t you worry either, Trevor. You won’t have to go anywhere with Marcus. I’m going to take you with me. I know a very nice family who love to have kids visit them when their moms can’t be at home. I’ll take you to their house, and then I’ll go see how your mom is doing at the hospital. As soon as the doctors say it’s all right, I’ll come get you and take you to see her. Okay?”
“Can I stay with her?” Trevor asked, holding onto to Martha tighter than ever. Kristy gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Trevor. Martha has been very nice to you and helped you lot today, hasn’t she? But I don’t know her very well. It’s my job to keep you safe. I have to take you to someone I know will do a very good job taking care of you until your mom feels better. Do you like football?”
A new animation came over the boy. “I love it. I watch the Tigers every Sunday. But my friend, Dylan, says Kowalski stinks.”
“Well, the lady I’m taking you to has a boy just two years older than you. His name is Jeremy, and he loves football, too. I bet he’d love to play catch with you, and I’m sure they’ll have the game on the TV at their house today. They always have pretzels and soda when they watch the game. I think kick-off is in forty minutes. If we hurry, we can get there just in time. Come on.” She held her hand out with the no-nonsense attitude of one who expects to be obeyed, not out of fear, but as the natural course of things. To Clark’s astonishment, Trevor complied readily, slipping out of Martha’s arms to take Kristy’s hand.
“Say goodbye to Martha and Superman,” Kristy directed cheerily.
“Bye,” Trevor waved.
“Goodbye, Trevor. I know your mom will be very happy to see you when you come to visit her,” Martha said.
“It was nice to meet you, Trevor. Don’t forget to give my note to your mom when you see her,” Clark smiled.
Lois, her notebook full of statements from various witnesses as well as her own notes, made her way back to the dwindling knot of people. Mr. Lyon had been released once Trevor was safely away from him. Any decision about pressing charges would be a long time coming. Superman was talking with Officer Dean and the blond woman, obviously making his farewells. Turning to give Lois a parting nod, he rose into the air and disappeared behind an office tower. The last few bystanders decided that there was nothing left to see and went back to their errands. The officer tucked his own notebook into his pocket and took his leave.
Just as Lois was about to introduce herself to the woman she was almost sure was Martha Kent, Caleb came jogging up to the pair. “There you are! They said they hadn’t seen either of you at the restaurant.” Lowering his voice for their ears only, he said, “That was a little adventure, wasn’t it? I see you two have already met.”
The women smiled broadly at each other. “Not formally,” Martha said. She held a welcoming hand out to the young lady. “You must be Lois. Thanks for watching my back.”
“Any time,” Lois grinned. Her smile turned sheepish and she said, “I hope it makes up for stealing your cab earlier.” She reached to shake her comrade-in-arms’ hand. “You must be Mrs.…” she stopped with the sudden realization that she had no idea what to call Caleb’s mother.
Martha knew exactly what Lois’s dilemma was. She only knew Clark as Caleb Knight, but she also knew that his mother’s name was not Mrs. Knight. Well, there was an easy solution for that problem.
“Fiddlesticks!” she said briskly, “I’m not *Mrs.* anything. Honey, you just call me Martha.” She gave her son a pointed look as if daring him to challenge her use of her real first name. He was wise enough not to.
They were almost an hour late for their reservation, but the maitre-d’ was very accommodating. After their orders for coffee and juice had been taken, Martha sat back in the padded chair and took a good look around. The dining room was built to impress, with high ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and tall windows that looked out into a landscaped courtyard. The cream-colored walls were covered with 1920’s-era reliefs depicting the glory of the captains of industry who had made Metropolis great. Agriculture, manufacturing, shipping, and railroads were all represented in the artist’s homage to the thriving port city.
Besides the dining tables for couples, foursomes, and larger groups, there were several long buffet tables at various locations around the room. Martha turned to her son and said quietly, “Give us the lay of the land, honey. There are so many choices I don’t know where to begin.”
Caleb scanned the room. After a moment, he reported, “The table in the corner has made-to-order omelets. Next to that are the American hot breakfast foods—pancakes, French toast, bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs. To the left of that are pastries—bagels, bread with a toaster, muffins, Danishes, and croissants, including almond and chocolate. There’s also hot muesli with various toppings and yogurt parfaits with fresh berries. The table in the center of the room has luncheon foods—roast beef, ham, green salad, some kind of dish involving couscous and olives, shrimp cocktail, oysters, smoked salmon, sushi and…yes, I think that’s pot stickers.”
“Sushi and pot stickers for brunch? I never heard of such a thing. What’s on that pyramid set-up over there?”
“That’s the dessert table. I see chocolate mousse, crème brulee, petits fours, fruit tarts, and assorted chocolates.”
“I’ll save room. I think I’ll try the sushi first. I can have eggs and sausages at home.” Martha headed for the buffet table, with Caleb and Lois right behind her.
When they were all seated again with their plates full Lois said, “I saw Martha arrive alone earlier . Was there an emergency?”
“Yes, a pile-up on the Mortimer Bridge,” Caleb answered. “The rescue crews couldn’t get through the traffic, and there was no place for a helicopter to land, so they needed some help. Superman flew several people to the emergency room at Met General.”
“Was it bad?” Lois said softly, reaching for Caleb’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“No, nothing serious. A couple of broken bones at worst.”
“Good.” Lois’s smile was warm, and Martha thought she looked…relieved? Yes, that was the word.
Martha had watched the quiet exchange with interest and a growing regard for the young lady who had turned her son’s life upside down. She’d been a little worried about Clark’s obvious fascination with the reporter who had broken the Superman story. Lois’s romantic interest in the flying hero seemed a little too convenient when Martha first learned of it. But, seeing the two of them together, and Lois’s genuine concern for her son’s welfare rather than the newsworthiness of the story, she relaxed.
“So, Lois,” she said, “tell me what you do when you’re not busy protecting busybody old ladies and little boys from threatening men.”
Lois swallowed a bite of shrimp before answering, “Nothing as glamorous as you might think. A lot of reporting is research. I might skim through reams of records and make dozens of dead-end phone calls before I have enough material for a story that takes two hours to write up. I suppose most jobs are like that—lots of grunt work before the big payoff. My dad is a sports surgeon, and I know that the athletes he works with put in hours of practice drills and weightlifting that the public never sees—not to mention physical therapy for the injured ones.”
“Wait a minute,” Caleb put in, “You mentioned your dad before, but I didn’t make the connection. Your dad is Dr. Sam Lane?”
“So you’ve heard of him.”
“Anyone who reads the sports pages has.” For Martha’s benefit, he explained, “He practically invented reconstructive surgery for athletes. He builds them a new hip, a new knee, and they come back better than before.”
“Yeah, that’s my dad.”
“He must be very proud of you,” Martha said. At Lois’s questioning look, she added, “Three Kerth awards before thirty. You’re obviously a top-notch reporter.”
Lois didn’t know what to say in response. Her dad had never given any indication of pride in Lois’s work, but it would be embarrassing to admit as much to Caleb’s mother. She obviously supported her son in a way that made Lois a little envious.
Seeing Lois’s predicament, Caleb saved her from having to answer by chiming in, “So, what does the top-notch reporter have coming up this week?”
“Funny you should ask,” Lois grinned. “As it turns out, I have a ceremony to cover tomorrow morning. Superman is being given the key to the city.”
“Really? I hadn’t heard.” Martha threw her son a pointed look. He had the good grace to look down at his plate and blush. “Isn’t that quick? I mean, Superman’s only been in Metropolis for a few weeks.”
“That’s true,” Lois answered, “but it’s a savvy move on the Mayor’s part. Superman has done more for the people of Metropolis in the last month than anyone else could do in a year. And he hasn’t publicly committed to staying here. There are rumors that other cities are starting to make bids for him.”
“Is that true?” Martha asked Clark.
“Only Cleveland,” he mumbled.
“So giving him the key to the city is the mayor’s way of showing his appreciation,” Martha said.
“Yes,” Lois agreed, “but it will actually be the Deputy Mayor giving the award. The Mayor is in Atlanta at a national conference.”
“Too bad Lex Luthor isn’t in Atlanta, too,” Clark put in.
“What makes you say that, honey?” It wasn’t like her son to be so derogatory toward anyone.
“I’m sorry. That was rude.” He gave a bite of sausage a particularly vicious stab. “I’m just not looking forward to sharing the stage with him; he’s a real snake. But I can keep up a cordial front for now, at least in public. One of these days I’ll have something I can use to expose him for what he really is.”
“You mean *we’ll* have something,” Lois corrected. “That’s my next project.”
“Superman *is* planning to stay in Metropolis, isn’t he?” Martha asked.
She watched as Lois and Clark exchanged glances, the meaning of which only the two of them knew. It looked to her like there was also some under-the-table hand-holding going on.
After a moment of this silent communication, Clark smiled widely and replied, “Yes. He’s staying.”
