"Here's one all the way from Star City. Look, they even sent a
picture." Martha Kent held out the picture of a smiling couple so Pete
could see it clearly.
"A lot of them sent pictures," Clark nodded as he pried open another envelope.
Pete glanced at the small mountain of mail in the center of the Kent kitchen table. Chloe's story in the Ledger had drawn people from all over Kansas (and as far away as the coast) who wanted to adopt Rose.
He rubbed his temples. Five days ago he and Clark had found the little girl. On Monday classes at Smallville High resumed, and the day after that his parents returned from vacation. And yet he didn't feel like they were any closer to a resolution than they'd been that day in the woods.
"I really hoped that story would turn up information about where she came from. I mean, these people all sound nice, but it isn't like I even have the right to choose a family for her."
"I think you do, Pete-you've taken such good care of her I'm sure Child Services will listen to your recommendation." Martha hopped up to check one of the pots simmering on the stove.
Yesterday she and her son had stripped the garden down to the soil, but for her the work had only begun. The pots of jam and jars of cooked vegetables she'd produce would both help keep the Kent's fed and be something they could sell in farmer's markets all winter. But first there would be long, tedious days of chopping, cooking, and canning.
Clark glanced over at the living room, where his father was taking a well-deserved break from the fields. He'd volunteered to give Rose her noon bottle, but Clark could see his father's sandy head nodding slightly as he tried not to doze. What his dad really needed, Clark knew, was to go to bed for a week. But he consoled himself with the thought that most of the hay, corn, and soy were harvested. Buyers from Metropolis and Gotham City had already hauled away most of it. Just a few more evenings of shaping haystacks and filling grain bins in the barn and they'd be done for another year.
And if they were lucky they'd break even.
"Lana and Chloe are still working the runaway angle. They were going to drive into Metropolis this morning," he reminded his friend.
"Like that matters. Whoever dumped her shouldn't be allowed to have her back."
"Pete!" Martha glanced up from her pots and pans in surprise at Pete's heated tone.
"I mean it, Mrs. Kent. At first I was willing to think maybe there were extenuating circumstances. But now, when Rose is sleeping, I watch her and all I can think is, what if Clark and I hadn't been there? What if the weather had gotten worse? What if an animal had gotten to her?"
Martha shuddered visibly. "Don't say things like that, Pete."
"You don't know what whomever left her was thinking," Clark reminded his friend.
"And I don't care anymore. Clark, even your parents had the sense to send you someplace they knew something about, and they weren't even human."
Clark's father spoke up from the living room. "Pete, I know you're angry, but it's this little girl you need to be thinking about now. Life has already dealt her more than her fair share of trouble. But getting riled up about it all over again sure isn't going to do her any good."
Pete sighed heavily and curled his shoulders inward a little. "I know you're right, but I can't help how I feel. And I can't help not being happy about sending her away again."
Clark shoved another stack of letters across the table. "C'mon, Pete. Let's open a few more. Maybe the perfect family is somewhere in here, just waiting."
"Yeah. Maybe."
But even as Pete opened another envelope Clark could see his friend didn't believe his own words.
Stuckey's Bar was on the south side of Metropolis, not too far from the area once known as Suicide Slum. Now the area was home to condominium complexes and upscale sports bars, but only on the well-lit main drags. Off on the side streets, and close to the docks, the area still showed its working class roots. Longshoremen, factory workers on the graveyard shift, and the unemployed made up Stuckey's clientele. And, of course, the kind of men that wouldn't tell you how they made their livings even if you asked. And you'd better not ask.
The bartender didn't even try to make chitchat with any of the men sitting at the bar. Instead he listed to the local newscast on the TV mounted on the wall over his head.
".And in local news the plight of an abandoned infant found in the rural town of Smallville has raised the interest of well-known philanthropists Lionel and Lex Luthor. A statement from LuthorCorp's public relations office reads, 'LuthorCorp has made it its mission to respond to the needs of the family. The Luthor family is only too happy to offer a $25,000 reward for information leading to the reuniting of the infant with her family. Interested parties should contact the Smallville Sheriff's Department.' In other news."
One of the bar patrons chuckled oddly, and the bartender glanced at him.
"Something funny, young feller?'
The man had greasy blond hair and an unkempt, unshaven appearance. He looked a little too young to be in the bar in the first place, but he had produced the requisite ID.
"Nah. Just I was in Smallville the other day, is all."
"Huh."
"Nice town." The young man smiled blearily. "Reckon I might go back there one of these days."
"Uh huh." Indifferent, the bartender went back to wiping glasses with a dirty rag. But his patron continued to stare at the television screen.
"Yep. I think I'll have to go back there. Yes indeedy."
Tossing another pitchfork full of hay up to his parents, Clark wondered idly if Lana and Chloe had had any luck. He'd called Mr. Sullivan only to find out that the girls weren't back yet. Clark figured they must have found out something, or they wouldn't be still be in Metropolis.
But he didn't bother discussing all this with either of his parents. In spite of the cool night air both were sweaty and a little breathless.
They were out in the back field trying to stack the last crop of hay for the winter. They'd brought out both Kent trucks so they could work by the light of the headlamps. The weather service had predicted the first hard frost for that night, and the work had to be done now or never.
There was an art to making haystacks. If you didn't build them just right they wouldn't shed water, and rain and snow would make them rot. Then you couldn't use it for animal fodder. Clark took on the task of gathering up the hay and mounding it as best he could. Once it got higher than his head his parents climbed up to the top to do the more precise task of rounding the tops.
Clark didn't get tired, but he tried to adjust his pace to that of his folks as he worked. As always the rhythm and routine made it easy for him to get lost in his own thoughts.
Which was why he didn't notice someone approaching until they were practically on top of him.
Pete shut off the water and quickly swiped a towel over his wet head. He peeked around the shower curtain.
Rose was still asleep in the small car seat Lex Luthor had set over, and Pete grinned. He wasn't sure about the etiquette of the situation, but after Rose's first disappearance he wasn't about to leave her alone in the Kent house even while he was in the shower. Rose was too little to know the difference, but he pulled on his sweats before he got out of the bathtub, just in case.
The steam had made Rose's cheeks as pink as her namesake's, and though Pete had intended to give her a bath he didn't have the heart to wake her up. She'd been so fussy all day that, truth be told, he was glad of the quiet. Maybe he could put her to bed and sneak downstairs to watch television .
His planning was interrupted by the sound of something breaking. He couldn't be sure, but it sounded like glass.
Rose's small face scrunched thoughtfully, but to his relief she didn't start to cry.
Pete could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He knew the Kent's were out working in their fields. There wasn't supposed to be anyone in the house except the him and the baby.
He cautiously opened the bathroom door, but from his angle he could only see the top of the stairs. And there wasn't anything there.
He glanced over his shoulder, unsure what to do.
Then he heard the unmistakable sound of boots crunching on glass downstairs.
"OK, Rosie, don't panic. I'll take care of everything," Pete said as he quickly picked up the car seat.
When he stepped empty-handed out into the upstairs hallway Pete listened closely for any more sound. He wished he'd thought to bring his cell phone upstairs, and devoutly hoped the Kent's were already on their way back to the house.
Inching his way towards the stairs Pete decided to play it cool. He had to remember the baby. Maybe he could scare off whoever it was.
"Hey, Mr. Kent? Clark? What did you guys break?"
No answer.
Pete slipped past the stairwell and headed for the Kent's master bedroom, where he knew there was a phone. He'd almost gotten there when someone grabbed him around the legs, slamming him to the floor.
Pete struggled with his assailant, who though bigger than him didn't seem that much stronger. In the darkness it was hard to see, but he swung out with his fist and felt the satisfying crunch when it connected.
He rolled onto his back, but a metallic click stopped him in mid- movement.
Pete looked up into the barrel of a gun. He tried to stay calm.
"Look, man, you broke into the wrong house."
The gun moved closer to Pete's forehead. "Where is it?"
Pete had a sinking feeling in his chest.
"Where's what?"
His assailant, a young man Pete had never seen before in his life, leaned so close he could smell the rank beer on his breath.
"Don't play dumb, kid. Pete, ain't it? Your name was in the paper. I want the baby."
"She isn't here. Child Services has her."
The man swung back the hand holding the gun. When it struck the side of his head Pete tasted blood trickling down the back of his throat.
"Don't play the hero, Petey. That's how stupid kids like you get killed."
"You can hit me all you want. She isn't here. Look if you don't believe me."
The man was kneeling on Pete's chest, but after a moment his weight eased. "Oh, you bet I will."
"What do you want with her anyway? She's just a baby."
In the darkness he could still see the other man smile. "No, she's my baby. And I want her back." The man stood up, and Pete acted instinctively.
He used the tackle he'd learned on the JV squad to slam into the other man's solar plexus. Pete felt the whoosh of air leave the other body, and the even better sound of the gun skittering away down the hall.
Pete didn't give himself anytime to think before he shoved hard. All he could think about was tossing the man back down the stairs, away from Rose.
He hadn't counted on being pulled along with him.
"A lot of them sent pictures," Clark nodded as he pried open another envelope.
Pete glanced at the small mountain of mail in the center of the Kent kitchen table. Chloe's story in the Ledger had drawn people from all over Kansas (and as far away as the coast) who wanted to adopt Rose.
He rubbed his temples. Five days ago he and Clark had found the little girl. On Monday classes at Smallville High resumed, and the day after that his parents returned from vacation. And yet he didn't feel like they were any closer to a resolution than they'd been that day in the woods.
"I really hoped that story would turn up information about where she came from. I mean, these people all sound nice, but it isn't like I even have the right to choose a family for her."
"I think you do, Pete-you've taken such good care of her I'm sure Child Services will listen to your recommendation." Martha hopped up to check one of the pots simmering on the stove.
Yesterday she and her son had stripped the garden down to the soil, but for her the work had only begun. The pots of jam and jars of cooked vegetables she'd produce would both help keep the Kent's fed and be something they could sell in farmer's markets all winter. But first there would be long, tedious days of chopping, cooking, and canning.
Clark glanced over at the living room, where his father was taking a well-deserved break from the fields. He'd volunteered to give Rose her noon bottle, but Clark could see his father's sandy head nodding slightly as he tried not to doze. What his dad really needed, Clark knew, was to go to bed for a week. But he consoled himself with the thought that most of the hay, corn, and soy were harvested. Buyers from Metropolis and Gotham City had already hauled away most of it. Just a few more evenings of shaping haystacks and filling grain bins in the barn and they'd be done for another year.
And if they were lucky they'd break even.
"Lana and Chloe are still working the runaway angle. They were going to drive into Metropolis this morning," he reminded his friend.
"Like that matters. Whoever dumped her shouldn't be allowed to have her back."
"Pete!" Martha glanced up from her pots and pans in surprise at Pete's heated tone.
"I mean it, Mrs. Kent. At first I was willing to think maybe there were extenuating circumstances. But now, when Rose is sleeping, I watch her and all I can think is, what if Clark and I hadn't been there? What if the weather had gotten worse? What if an animal had gotten to her?"
Martha shuddered visibly. "Don't say things like that, Pete."
"You don't know what whomever left her was thinking," Clark reminded his friend.
"And I don't care anymore. Clark, even your parents had the sense to send you someplace they knew something about, and they weren't even human."
Clark's father spoke up from the living room. "Pete, I know you're angry, but it's this little girl you need to be thinking about now. Life has already dealt her more than her fair share of trouble. But getting riled up about it all over again sure isn't going to do her any good."
Pete sighed heavily and curled his shoulders inward a little. "I know you're right, but I can't help how I feel. And I can't help not being happy about sending her away again."
Clark shoved another stack of letters across the table. "C'mon, Pete. Let's open a few more. Maybe the perfect family is somewhere in here, just waiting."
"Yeah. Maybe."
But even as Pete opened another envelope Clark could see his friend didn't believe his own words.
Stuckey's Bar was on the south side of Metropolis, not too far from the area once known as Suicide Slum. Now the area was home to condominium complexes and upscale sports bars, but only on the well-lit main drags. Off on the side streets, and close to the docks, the area still showed its working class roots. Longshoremen, factory workers on the graveyard shift, and the unemployed made up Stuckey's clientele. And, of course, the kind of men that wouldn't tell you how they made their livings even if you asked. And you'd better not ask.
The bartender didn't even try to make chitchat with any of the men sitting at the bar. Instead he listed to the local newscast on the TV mounted on the wall over his head.
".And in local news the plight of an abandoned infant found in the rural town of Smallville has raised the interest of well-known philanthropists Lionel and Lex Luthor. A statement from LuthorCorp's public relations office reads, 'LuthorCorp has made it its mission to respond to the needs of the family. The Luthor family is only too happy to offer a $25,000 reward for information leading to the reuniting of the infant with her family. Interested parties should contact the Smallville Sheriff's Department.' In other news."
One of the bar patrons chuckled oddly, and the bartender glanced at him.
"Something funny, young feller?'
The man had greasy blond hair and an unkempt, unshaven appearance. He looked a little too young to be in the bar in the first place, but he had produced the requisite ID.
"Nah. Just I was in Smallville the other day, is all."
"Huh."
"Nice town." The young man smiled blearily. "Reckon I might go back there one of these days."
"Uh huh." Indifferent, the bartender went back to wiping glasses with a dirty rag. But his patron continued to stare at the television screen.
"Yep. I think I'll have to go back there. Yes indeedy."
Tossing another pitchfork full of hay up to his parents, Clark wondered idly if Lana and Chloe had had any luck. He'd called Mr. Sullivan only to find out that the girls weren't back yet. Clark figured they must have found out something, or they wouldn't be still be in Metropolis.
But he didn't bother discussing all this with either of his parents. In spite of the cool night air both were sweaty and a little breathless.
They were out in the back field trying to stack the last crop of hay for the winter. They'd brought out both Kent trucks so they could work by the light of the headlamps. The weather service had predicted the first hard frost for that night, and the work had to be done now or never.
There was an art to making haystacks. If you didn't build them just right they wouldn't shed water, and rain and snow would make them rot. Then you couldn't use it for animal fodder. Clark took on the task of gathering up the hay and mounding it as best he could. Once it got higher than his head his parents climbed up to the top to do the more precise task of rounding the tops.
Clark didn't get tired, but he tried to adjust his pace to that of his folks as he worked. As always the rhythm and routine made it easy for him to get lost in his own thoughts.
Which was why he didn't notice someone approaching until they were practically on top of him.
Pete shut off the water and quickly swiped a towel over his wet head. He peeked around the shower curtain.
Rose was still asleep in the small car seat Lex Luthor had set over, and Pete grinned. He wasn't sure about the etiquette of the situation, but after Rose's first disappearance he wasn't about to leave her alone in the Kent house even while he was in the shower. Rose was too little to know the difference, but he pulled on his sweats before he got out of the bathtub, just in case.
The steam had made Rose's cheeks as pink as her namesake's, and though Pete had intended to give her a bath he didn't have the heart to wake her up. She'd been so fussy all day that, truth be told, he was glad of the quiet. Maybe he could put her to bed and sneak downstairs to watch television .
His planning was interrupted by the sound of something breaking. He couldn't be sure, but it sounded like glass.
Rose's small face scrunched thoughtfully, but to his relief she didn't start to cry.
Pete could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He knew the Kent's were out working in their fields. There wasn't supposed to be anyone in the house except the him and the baby.
He cautiously opened the bathroom door, but from his angle he could only see the top of the stairs. And there wasn't anything there.
He glanced over his shoulder, unsure what to do.
Then he heard the unmistakable sound of boots crunching on glass downstairs.
"OK, Rosie, don't panic. I'll take care of everything," Pete said as he quickly picked up the car seat.
When he stepped empty-handed out into the upstairs hallway Pete listened closely for any more sound. He wished he'd thought to bring his cell phone upstairs, and devoutly hoped the Kent's were already on their way back to the house.
Inching his way towards the stairs Pete decided to play it cool. He had to remember the baby. Maybe he could scare off whoever it was.
"Hey, Mr. Kent? Clark? What did you guys break?"
No answer.
Pete slipped past the stairwell and headed for the Kent's master bedroom, where he knew there was a phone. He'd almost gotten there when someone grabbed him around the legs, slamming him to the floor.
Pete struggled with his assailant, who though bigger than him didn't seem that much stronger. In the darkness it was hard to see, but he swung out with his fist and felt the satisfying crunch when it connected.
He rolled onto his back, but a metallic click stopped him in mid- movement.
Pete looked up into the barrel of a gun. He tried to stay calm.
"Look, man, you broke into the wrong house."
The gun moved closer to Pete's forehead. "Where is it?"
Pete had a sinking feeling in his chest.
"Where's what?"
His assailant, a young man Pete had never seen before in his life, leaned so close he could smell the rank beer on his breath.
"Don't play dumb, kid. Pete, ain't it? Your name was in the paper. I want the baby."
"She isn't here. Child Services has her."
The man swung back the hand holding the gun. When it struck the side of his head Pete tasted blood trickling down the back of his throat.
"Don't play the hero, Petey. That's how stupid kids like you get killed."
"You can hit me all you want. She isn't here. Look if you don't believe me."
The man was kneeling on Pete's chest, but after a moment his weight eased. "Oh, you bet I will."
"What do you want with her anyway? She's just a baby."
In the darkness he could still see the other man smile. "No, she's my baby. And I want her back." The man stood up, and Pete acted instinctively.
He used the tackle he'd learned on the JV squad to slam into the other man's solar plexus. Pete felt the whoosh of air leave the other body, and the even better sound of the gun skittering away down the hall.
Pete didn't give himself anytime to think before he shoved hard. All he could think about was tossing the man back down the stairs, away from Rose.
He hadn't counted on being pulled along with him.