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Martha stood at the kitchen window, watching her husband as he crossed the yard to the barn. She couldn't help but notice he looked around before he unlocked it and went inside.
The sun was just rising. The smoke that still hung in the air from the meteor shower gave the day a gloomy, overcast appearance. Martha still couldn't quite process everything that had happened. Here she was, cooking eggs and brewing coffee just like she'd done every morning for the last ten years, and yet the world around them was forever changed.
Jonathan had told her what had happened to the town, to their friends. She couldn't believe that, either. At the time she'd been so overwhelmed she hadn't thought about how close she and Jonathan had come to death. If Jonathan hadn't slammed on the brakes when he had they might have been incinerated, like the Langs, or crushed by the impact.
And yet in the middle of all that a child had arrived. Lana Lang, dressed in her fairy costume, had offered to grant her a wish. Martha had gotten her wish, but Lana and Nell had paid dearly. There just didn't seem to be any sense to it at all.
She had just set the platter of scrambled eggs on the table when a pair of little feet appeared at the top of the stairs. The little boy was peering down at her, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his small fists.
"Good morning," Martha smiled. "Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast? You'll have to come downstairs if you do."
Alone in the house with him, all yesterday evening Martha had talked to the child. Even though he hadn't yet made a sound she kept hoping that eventually he'd respond to her voice. He seemed content enough to be here, but she couldn't quite fathom what was going on behind his green eyes.
He hopped down the stairs and came to stand next to the table. Looking around, he frowned and pointed to the window.
"Yes, Jonathan's outside. He's doing chores. Now," she hoisted the child into one of the kitchen chairs, "let's get you some breakfast. My mother always made me eat oatmeal, but we're out so I guess eggs and bacon will have to do."
Martha chuckled as she remembered her first few weeks on the farm. Breakfast for her and her friends in college had been black coffee and dry toast; maybe half a grapefruit, if they wanted to splurge. She had been horrified to see the amount of food Jonathan and Hyrum expected to be on the breakfast table every morning: eggs, ham, pancakes, you name it, they ate it. After her first morning helping her new husband bale hay, though, Martha had understood. She'd nearly passed out from hunger and Jonathan had sent her inside to eat before he'd let her help him again.
"Just another life lesson you city girls need to learn," her father-in-law had laughed. "Eat when you're hungry and stop when you're full."
Martha dished up some scrambled eggs onto a plate for her guest, and handed him a spoon. As she did so she held it up, enunciating carefully. "Spoon."
The child looked at her, puzzled, but had no problem scooping the food into his hungry little mouth.
"Wow," Jonathan said as he came in the back door. "That kid sure can eat."
The little boy beamed at him around a mouthful of food.
Jonathan washed up at the sink. "Smells great, Martha. I'm starved."
"You didn't have any dinner last night," she reminded him. After hiding the strange object in the barn Jonathan had tumbled right into their bed without even taking off his boots. In moments he'd been snoring away, with the little boy sound asleep beside him. They had made such a perfect sight together Martha had stayed up for a long time just watching the two of them sleep. But she wasn't about to tell Jonathan that. She knew how worried he was about where the child might have come from, and who might be looking for him.
Jonathan and Martha sat down at the table, and Martha gave the boy a second helping of eggs. He frowned, though, when she gave him a glass of juice.
"You drink that," she instructed. "Orange juice is good for growing little boys." Martha knew she sounded like a TV commercial, but she couldn't help herself.
Jonathan ate his breakfast in silence. The local paper, the Ledger, sat untouched at his elbow—they had rushed a special edition about the meteors, but clearly Jonathan had had his fill of bad news the day before.
"I've gathered up our extra blankets and Hyrum's old coats—I thought you could take them into town with you. I'm sure people will be needing them."
"Sure. Pop would be glad his things are going to good use." Jonathan's father had passed away almost three years ago, but his son still couldn't bring himself to part with his possessions. Hyrum's old room, across the hall from their own, remained as it had at his death.
Jonathan refilled his coffee cup, but in reaching over for the milk he knocked his teaspoon off the table. "Damn."
"Jonathan!" Martha scolded. She nodded in the direction of the child, who was watching everything Jonathan did with interest.
Her husband blushed a little. "Sorry. Martha, would you grab me a clean spoon, please?"
As Martha fished another one out of the cutlery drawer she saw that the little boy had paused in his eating. He held up his own spoon in a chubby fist.
"Spoon," he announced cheerfully.
"Well, I'll be…darned." Jonathan looked over at his wife. "Did he say anything to you last night?"
"No." Martha shook her head. "I kept trying, but it's almost like he doesn't understand English."
The boy held up the utensil to Martha, and then to Jonathan. "Spoon," he repeated.
"That's right." Unable to resist Martha kissed the top of his head. "That's a spoon. See, you learned a new word."
Clearly pleased with himself, the boy started mashing the food on his plate with the latest object of his curiosity. "Spoon, spoon, spoon," he crooned softly to himself.
Jonathan watched the boy with amusement. "Well, he picks things up fast, I'll give him that."
"He's a bright little thing," Martha agreed. "When he didn't see you in the kitchen this morning he pointed to the window, like he knew you must be outside."
Leaving his breakfast dishes in the sink, Jonathan patted the boy on the head. "I'd better get those donations loaded and head back into town. See what the government is going to do to help folks."
The little boy followed him back and forth as Jonathan moved bags out on to the porch. The child probably would have followed him out to the truck, but Jonathan stopped him. He pointed at the child's bare feet, then at his own boots.
"It's too cold for you to be running around out here barefoot. Go back inside with Martha where it's warm."
The child stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.
"I mean it. Go along now."
Something in the tone of his voice clearly convinced the boy Jonathan meant business. The child settled for standing just inside the screen door and watching. But when Jonathan waved goodbye and jumped in the truck the boy let out an indignant howl.
The sound, so child-like and yet so unexpected, caused Martha to drop the dish she was washing back into the sudsy water and rush over to the boy.
"What's the matter?"
Pointing to where her husband's truck was disappearing down the road, the boy sniffled loudly.
"Oh, it's all right," Martha said gently, gathering the child in her arms. "He's just going into town. He'll be back for supper, I promise."
Sniffling, the boy continued to pout.
"Cross my heart," Martha laughed, amused by how attached the little boy already was to Jonathan. "C'mon, let's find something else for you to do." She took his hand in hers and led him over to the television.
"Maybe we can watch some TV. I always liked Sesame Street."
Flipping through the stations, however, Martha realized the only thing on was news coverage of the meteors. Reporters must have started arriving as soon as the Interstate was reopened, because there were cameras everywhere: downtown, at Smallville General, at a press conference in what looked like the old Grange Hall.
"It's on every channel," Martha murmured to herself, watching in horrified fascination as scene after scene of devastation scrolled by. When she realized the little boy, hugging her leg, was watching, too, she abruptly turned it off.
"Nothing good on." She tried to smile. "I know—as soon as I finish the dishes I'll take you out to see the animals. You'll like that."
She gave him a magazine to look at while she hastily washed the breakfast dishes. He contentedly paged through it with a solemn expression on his face, periodically stopping to hold up a picture for Martha to see.
Martha still didn't have any clothes for the little guy, but she found a pair of Jonathan's wool hunting socks that covered the child's bare feet and legs. She also put her denim jacket over his sweatshirt. He looked ridiculous but at least he'd be warm.
Balancing him on her hip she carried him across the yard and past the barn. As they walked Martha explained everything they were seeing. "That's the barn—that's where Jonathan keeps all his tools and our tractor. This is my garden; I grow vegetables, but of course it's too late in the year now. The trees you see out there is our orchard—apple trees, mostly, but a few peach, too." She set him down by the chicken coop so he could peer through the wire mesh at the scratching, cackling birds.
"These are our chickens. They made the eggs you had for breakfast. Chickens say 'cluck-cluck.' Can you hear them?"
The child grinned widely, and nodded. He watched the chickens contentedly for a long while, while Martha watched him. When he seemed to lose interest she picked him up again and walked further back along their property line.
"Those are cows out there. Cows say 'moo.'"
The boy struggled a bit to get down, but Martha wouldn't let him.
"Oh, no, cows are big and strong and they don't like little boys they don't know. We'll just have to watch them from here. See the little baby?" She pointed to the calf that had been born last spring. "Her name is Spot."
One of the milk cows approached the fence and lowed. Martha laughed. "Oh, no, Jonathan gave you guys your breakfast. I don't have anything else for you to eat."
"Mooo," the little boy echoed. He and Martha both laughed, and Martha gave him a squeeze.
The child glanced up at the gray sky, where above them a flock of birds flew high and fast. He pointed, and looked at Martha with a puzzled expression.
"Those are ducks, sweetheart. They're going south for the winter, because soon it will be too cold for them here." She squeezed his little fingers. "Shall I tell you a story about ducks?"
He smiled.
"When I was a little girl my cousin gave me some duck eggs he'd found in the park not far from our house. He was trying to be nice, but my dad said birds wouldn't take eggs back after people had handled them. So Dad got me an incubator and said I should try to hatch them if I could. Even though we lived in the city I made them a nice warm spot in the garage, and every day I'd rush home from school to see if the eggs had hatched. And you know what?"
The little boy blinked up at her.
"One day they did. Five little fluffy yellow ducklings, with tiny little wings and tiny little beaks. My dad called the animal shelter and a man came out to show me how to feed them with an eyedropper until they got big and strong. And when they were big enough and strong enough to live on their own my dad and I let all the baby ducks go in a big pond outside of town. He said I'd been a real good mother for them, as good as any mother duck. I've never forgotten that; it's one of the few really happy memories I have from before I met Jonathan." She rested her forehead against the strange child's. "I knew then I wanted to be a mother, but I was starting to think I never would be."
Martha held the child tightly. "I'm so glad you came," she whispered in his ear.
p
Lionel Luthor paced up and down in the hallway outside his son's room. He was still absolutely livid over the treatment—or lack thereof—he'd received in Smallville. But just like that quack in Smallville, the doctors in Metropolis said there wasn't much that could be done for Alexander. Just keep him warm and comfortable, they said.
Warm and comfortable. For what Lionel paid his doctors you'd think they could come up with a better solution than that.
The elevator at the end of the hall opened, and two orderlies wheeled out a gurney containing his son's still form. His wife walked beside it, holding Lex's hand in her own. Lionel had insisted the doctors run every test they could to see if whatever damage Lex had suffered would be permanent.
Dr. Samsara, the brain specialist Lionel had had flown down from Central City, smiled at him. "Good news, Mr. Luthor. The CAT scan shows no abnormalities. There's no swelling, no hemorrhage."
The two men stepped out of the way so the gurney could be wheeled into the private room. The pediatric ward was actually two floors down, by Lionel wasn't about to expose his son to prying eyes, especially those of other children. He looked away as the orderlies lifted Lex's limp form back into bed, carefully not to tangle the IV lines in his arms.
"Then why won't he wake up?" Lionel nodded to where his wife sat by the bed, patting her son's hand absently. "He should at least respond to his mother."
Lex had always been much closer to Lillian than to him, which Lionel recognized was partially his own fault. Lionel had been away on business for most of Lex's early childhood, and hadn't noticed his wife was spoiling the child rotten until it was almost too late. Lillian had bowed to Lionel's insistence that she allow him to take a firmer hand with the boy, and Lionel had hoped that his advice and training were starting to pay off. And now this.
"I would suggest that it's probably more psychological than physical, Mr. Luthor." At his patron's withering look the doctor corrected himself hastily. "Of course the blood tests do indicate a huge jump in his white cell count. That suggests he may be fighting off some kind of massive systemic infection. We'll know more when Dr. Carter has the rest of the tests analyzed."
"And his hair? Will it grow back?" The last few wisps of Lex' red hair had fallen out overnight. The child was now as bald as he had been in infancy.
Samsara frowned. "It's impossible to say at this point, Mr. Luthor."
"Impossible to say," Lionel repeated to himself. When the doctor and orderlies left he went into the room.
The machines all indicated his son's vital signs were normal, but Lex no longer looked like a nine-year-old boy. Lying helpless in bed, his shorn scalp as white as the pillow, he looked like an old man.
Lillian looked up at her husband with eyes full of tears.
"Did the doctor say when he'll wake up?"
"No."
Lillian looked away, but Lionel could see her lips tighten, a sure sign of anger.
"Don't start again, Lily."
She looked back at him hastily. "Don't tell me what to do, Lionel."
Lionel sighed. His wife was a beautiful women, but she could be extremely petulant sometimes. And she had a temper to match her red hair, the red hair that she had passed on to their son.
"Why weren't you watching him, Lionel? You know how Alexander gets into trouble if he's not watched."
"Might I remind you, Lily, it was your idea for me to take him to Smallville in the first place. I couldn't have known this would happen," Lionel said defensively.
Lex had been what some of the gossips called a "honeymoon baby," born barely eleven months after their wedding. Lionel had hoped for a least two sons, but Lily had never been strong and another child seemed unlikely at this point. Alexander was his heir—what would happen if he didn't survive? What would happen if he did? The child was willful, spoiled, sickly, and now possibly permanently disfigured.
Lionel rubbed his eyes. "At least we got the sales contract with the Ross' signed."
"How can you think of business at a time like this?" Lily scolded.
Lionel shook his head. Lily came from old money; her father had never worked a day in his life. She didn't understand what it took to maintain LuthorCorp. He'd hoped to make his son understand, but now…
"Without LuthorCorp we have nothing, Lily," he corrected. "Lex will have nothing."
Lionel couldn't stand being in this room any longer, with a resentful wife and a sick child. He needed to return to the world he understood.
"I'm going in to my office. Call me if his condition changes."
His wife looked at him, but said nothing. There was nothing she could say.
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