*hides again*

Sorry, y'all. But here's Chapter 9, and I'll add Chapter 10 too! It's all kinda slow and sweet right now, really. đź’• Thanks for reading.

And if you need it:
Link to TOC
Link to Chapter 8


9


By the time Jonathan arrived home later that evening, it was well past dark, and he was bone-tired. Not only had he gotten little sleep the night before but he’d also been going all day, and the work at Wayne’s had been strenuous. Together, they’d chopped up an entire oak tree that had been uprooted, stacked all the wood into the back of Wayne’s pickup, and moved it to the woodshed on the side of his barn. It had taken multiple trips to get all the logs moved and stacked, and then they’d headed back out just as the sun had gone down to repair the fence so Wayne’s cattle wouldn’t escape overnight.

And even when he got home, he didn’t get to go inside right away. He still had his own chores to do before he could consider his day finished. Mentally listing everything that absolutely had to be done, he started with the easiest thing first: feeding all the animals. Peaches, the elderly horse he’d been given several years ago when the previous owner had passed away, was being particularly ornery, pawing at her stall door, and he muttered a few choice words under his breath while tossing her a couple of flakes of hay. Then, he fed the cows and chickens, who all seemed quite happy to still be indoors, even though the storm had passed. While they all ate, he cleaned the stalls, picking up the soiled bedding and then adding fresh straw. Then he took a few minutes to milk each of the two dairy cows and collect the eggs from the chicken coop.

By the time he finally made his way back to the house, it was quite late, and he was even more exhausted and in desperate need of a shower and a clean change of clothes. He entered the house quietly, well aware that Clark and maybe even Martha might already be sleeping. The light in the entryway was on, however, as was the light in the kitchen, and he heard sounds of dishes clinking in the sink as he removed his muddy boots and dusty coat. He padded straight into the kitchen, where Martha stood at the sink, washing dishes. She hadn’t seemed to have heard him yet; she just continued scrubbing a small pot, her shoulders tense.

He didn’t want to startle her, so he knocked lightly on the wall to announce his arrival. She paused and turned around, and he saw tears on her cheeks. He frowned.

“Martha? Is everything—”

His words cut off as she set the pot down in the sink and rushed over to him, and he immediately wrapped his arms around her as she buried her head in his chest, muffling her quiet sobs.

“Martha, what happened? Is Clark okay?” he asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He glanced down the hallway toward the bedroom where he assumed Clark was sleeping and saw the light off and the door cracked open a few inches.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry, I just…” She trailed off as she pulled away from him slightly, reaching up to wipe her tears.

He shook his head and pulled her back in for another hug. “Shh, now. Here let’s sit, and you can tell me what’s going on.” He released her and pulled out a chair at the table for her to sit. Then he pulled another chair right up to hers. When he sat, he took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. “I’m sorry I was gone so long. The work at Wayne’s took longer than either of us expected, and then I had to take care of our animals when I finished. I hope that wasn’t—”

“No, no…it’s not…” She smiled, although it was accompanied by more tears, and Jonathan reached up with one hand and brushed the wetness from her cheeks. She pursed her lips and then closed her eyes for a moment, and he waited, giving her time. “We actually had a great day together, Jonathan. He’s such an incredible child. We put together that Lego set you bought him, and then I read him The Lorax four times. He wanted me to read it again, but I told him I had to cook dinner… So…so he…”

Jonathan noticed the book sitting on the table for the first time, and he smiled. “Ahh, I like that book. I was glad to see it at Sadie’s. He must have liked it too?”

With a short exhale, Martha nodded and wiped another tear from her cheek. “I don’t think…” She paused and met his eyes, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t think anyone ever read him a book before, Jonathan. He’s…he’s ten years old, and he’d never been read a book before today.” The frown on her face turned into a small smile then, and she blinked back tears as she glanced down the hallway.

“He’s such an incredible child,” she repeated. “While I was cooking dinner, he sat here and looked through the book again on his own. And he started picking out words he recognized from me reading it to him. And…”

Jonathan squeezed her hands again and then reached up and cupped her cheek. “I’m so glad he’s here with us, Martha. I’m sorry I missed that. I’d have loved to have seen it, to have heard him.”

She just nodded, and he knew she had more she wanted to say, but he could also tell she was exhausted. He pulled her in to brush a light kiss on her forehead and then smiled at her.

“Let me finish the dishes and clean up the kitchen, and you can go shower.” He studied her eyes for a moment and smiled again. “You’ll be sleeping out in the living room again tonight?”

Her eyes closed for a long moment, and she nodded. “I need to be close in case he needs me.”

Jonathan wasn’t about to argue with her, so he just kissed her forehead again. “Go get ready for bed, and I’ll finish the dishes for you and get the couch made up. Clark is sleeping, I assume?”

“He has been for a couple of hours now. After dinner, he was so tired… I had him take a quick bath and helped him brush his teeth, and then tucked him in. I think he fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.”

The soft smile on her lips now gave him just a little boost of energy, which he knew he needed if he were to keep moving. “Poor little guy. Was he able to eat dinner?” The two of them stood up together, and Martha hugged Jonathan again.

“Yeah. I made chicken soup. I didn’t give him too much, but he ate it all. And then another cookie,” she said.

“Good.”

She thanked him for offering to finish cleaning up and then headed up the stairs to get ready for bed, and he made his way quietly down the hall to check on their sleeping boy—their boy! he grinned at the thought—before getting started on the dishes. Just like the night before, he inched the door open carefully, light from the hallway filtering in to partially illuminate the room. Clark lay on his side, facing Jonathan, one arm hanging partway off the bed, his dark hair falling over his forehead. Jonathan stood there, mesmerized by the way the young boy’s chest rose and fell rhythmically, his mouth slightly parted. He wore the same red pajamas Jonathan had bought for him the night before.

And he looked like an angel, Jonathan thought. A perfect little angel child, who had come to them to…to fill the void, the emptiness.

They’d been perfectly happy. They’d moved on long ago, he thought—long after finding out she couldn’t have children, long after trying to navigate the complex adoption system that had dismissed them outright as potential adoptive parents because, at the time, they hadn’t had sufficient records showing they had a reliable income source in the farm. But in truth, being here now, watching this child sleep, Jonathan realized how much he’d been missing—how much he and Martha had been missing, and how much love they both had yet to give.

He smiled and carefully closed the door, all but that few inches, and then padded back out into the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, the dishes had been washed, and all the blankets and pillows Martha needed for the night had been stacked neatly on the couch for her. Then, after his stomach growled to remind him he hadn’t yet eaten dinner, Jonathan sat and quickly downed a bowl of soup, followed by a couple of cookies.

By the time Martha came back down, dressed in her nightgown and with her hair still damp from her shower, he’d washed and dried his dishes from dinner and felt himself swaying on his feet.

Another late night. And he had another early morning tomorrow, with even more work to do. But more importantly, he wanted to be there this time.

He glanced at the book still sitting on the kitchen table and then again at Martha, who stood just at the foot of the stairs, watching him.

“I’ll go get him some more books tomorrow. Maybe from the library. Are they open on Sundays?”

Martha nodded. “Sue opens up early Sunday, but for just a couple of hours. I think eight to ten?”

“Perfect.”

With another small smile, he moved across the room toward her, his beautiful wife and now, hopefully, finally, a mother… And he gathered her up in his arms, kissed her cheek, and held her tightly.

“I love you, Martha Kent.”

“Oh, Jon, I love you too.”

He pulled back, smiling down at her. “I’ll see you in the morning, love. I’m gonna fall asleep faster than Clark tonight, I’m afraid.”

Martha nodded. “Tomorrow is French toast and eggs for breakfast.”

“Ahh, my favorite.”

He kissed her one more time, for good measure, and then shuffled up the stairs to bed.

***


Jonathan slept soundly, but when he woke up before the sunrise the next morning, he rolled over to reach for Martha, only to find her side of the bed cold and empty. Yet he smiled, reminding himself why she wasn’t there, and hauled himself up and out of bed, the sore muscles in his arms and back complaining.

A few minutes later, he padded quietly downstairs, listening for sounds from the kitchen, but hearing none. And when he poked his head into the living room, expecting to see Martha sleeping on the couch, he again found the room empty. Curious, and just a little concerned, he headed down the hallway to the guest bedroom—now Clark’s bedroom—and peeked through the open door.

The tiny bit of morning light shining in through the curtains brightened the room just enough that he could make out the two sleeping figures in the bed—little Clark curled up in Martha’s arms. Jonathan just stared for a few moments, transfixed, as his heart filled with love.

He had no idea what had transpired overnight that had led Martha to be in bed, holding the small child. Perhaps he’d had a nightmare and had needed comfort. Or perhaps some other reason. But he thought he’d maybe never seen anything quite as wonderful in his life.

Very quietly, he backed out of the room, closing the door almost all the way, and headed back out into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee—the minimum he needed to get his day going. Five minutes later, a thermos of hot coffee in one hand and an apple in the other, Jonathan headed out to the barn to get his morning chores started.

When he finished up about an hour and a half later, the house was still quiet, and Jonathan silently slipped off his work boots, exchanged them for a pair of regular shoes, wrote Martha a short note, and grabbed the keys to the pickup truck.

Then he headed out toward town, on a mission to get Clark some more books from the library.



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