Author's Note: And another big one...I didn't think it'd be that long when I started but that just goes to show you....
"Come on," Greg called. "The treehouse isn't too far away now." It was finally Saturday and Pete and Clark were following Greg Atkins through a clump bushes and down a rocky slope. "I'm not sure," Pete whispered to Clark, "but I think that was poison ivy."
Clark looked at Pete nervously. "How do you know?"
"'Leaves of three' or something like that. We learned it in scouts."
"Ah." Clark adjusted his backpack and quickened his pace to keep up with Greg, not to mention get away from Pete. Pete's memebership in the boy scouts and Clark's lack thereof was not something he wanted to think about right now. It was as irritating to him as walking through a valley of poison ivy would be. He'd begged, kissed up and used everything in his repetoire except for fit throwing to try to convince his parents to let him join the boy scouts with Pete when they were six but to no avail. The answer had been no. His mother had give him a pitying look when she'd said it, which was better than the stern one his father had given him but it had been a no all the same. The bad thing was they hadn't even given him a reason to explain why he couldn't. They usually did that but when it came to cub scouts no was all he'd heard. Pete had not been understanding and had taken it upon himself to try to convince the Kents to let Clark join but he'd come back to Clark with a depressed look on his face. "He said no. And he told me if either one of us asked again, we could spend the next weekend mucking out stalls. And the answer would still be no." He'd given Clark a disappointed look and then promised to share all the cool wildlife and camping tricks he learned with him, whatever consolation it was. That was probably what Pete thought he was doing right now but he was really bringing to mind the events of the past week and the new list of things Clark couldn't do.
Distracted, Clark stepped right into Greg, who was kneeling on the ground. "Ow!" Greg cried, putting his hand on his back where Clark had addicently kicked him. "Sorry," Clark said. "I didn't see you there." He glanced around. "I thought we were going to the treehouse."
"We are. It's straight ahead. I just stopped to pick up these catepillars I just saw. They're usually pretty hard to find."
Clark gave the bugs a cursory glance and scanned the woods. "I don't see it," he said confused.
"That's cause you're not looking up," Pete told him as he came up. "Look's pretty cool, Greg." Clark followed Pete's gaze to a large tree with what looked like a large wooden box with two holes cut in the walls surrounded by a few planks with a railing. His eyes moved down the tree, noting each and every piece of wood that had been nailed into the tree as a foothold. He gulped.
Greg stood up, having finally captured his bugs. "Let's go up."
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Clark preferred not to think about the amount of empty space between the treehouse and the ground as he stepped gingerly into the treehouse. The wood creaked under his feet and Clark could hear and feel the similar creakings coming from Pete and Greg who were already up there.
"There you are," Pete said. "Isn't this place awesome? Man, I wish my dad would build me one of these. It's like your own HOUSE," he gushed, sticking his out of one of the windows.
Greg smiled proudly but it faded in a moment. "You can probably have it," he said glumly. "My mom doesn't think it's safe to play in. Says it's bad enough I run around the woods all day but I don't have to be 15 feet off the ground too."
"It is kind of...high," Clark said slowly, not wanting to seem like a complete weakling.
Pete laughed. "I think your mom shoulda had Clark as a kid instead of you. Then again, his folks are pretty strick too. They wouldn't let him in the scouts either."
Clark groaned to himself. Did Pete have to bring that up? But Greg brightened when he heard this. "Yeah? Cool! Maybe we could play together Tuesday nights or something."
Clark forgot his annoyance at Pete momentarily. "Yeah, that'd be great, I could show you the loft and the farm and stuff." Greg looked thrilled at that idea and agree to talk to his parents about it.
The treehouse walls were lined with aquariums filled with bugs and Greg showed them each and everyone of them. Many of them were spiders, a ton of aunts were in his three aunt farms but the butterfly was nearly empty. "Most of them are dead," he explained. "They only live for a week anyway and it's fall so they're all going south." But after a while, the thrill of looking at all the bugs died off so they unpacked the lunch Clark's mom had given them and sat there eating. Clark nibbled on his food, unsure if his nausea came from the fact he was so high off the ground or from the mayonaise that had turned the bread into a soppy mess.
When they were finished, Greg stood up abruptly and started climbing down from the treehouse. "Hey, where're you going?" Pete called.
"Come on! I wanna show you guys something!" Pete looked at Clark curiously but Clark merely shrugged, put his backpack back on and braced himself for the climb down. They finally reached Greg again on a path that had been almost entirely reclaimed by the plants that grew aside it. He pointed off into the distance. "You see that?"
"See what?" Pete asked.
Clark squinted off into the distance. "It's a building."
Greg nodded. "It's an old foundry. I go in there to collect sometimes. It usually has the best bugs."
Pete looked puzzeled. "Shouldn't it be locked up, I mean if it's closed down..."
Greg laughed. "Yeah, sure it's locked up but when you're small and skinny, you can squeeze through most bars. I'll show you how."
Getting in was as easy as Greg promised. Clark noticed the lock on the gate was already rusting over and considered knocking it off all together but Pete and Greg were already disappering behind the corner of the building and he decided to follow. He caught up as Greg started pulling a door with a chain and padlock on it forward. "I can't hold it very long. Usually I just use a piece of wood...come on, sleep through." Pete darted through like a cat and was in a split second before Greg lost his grip and it came slamming shut again. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans before turning to Clark. "You next?" Clark shook his head. "I'll hold the door," he said, "Just show me where the wood is you want me to brace it with." Greg nodded and Clark held the door open for him without a hint of a struggle, kicked the piece of wood in place and the slipped through before it slid out place.
The first thing that struck Clark about the foundry was how big it was. The place was a huge half cylinder that looked like the other half was buried in the ground right beneath it. Part of the floor may have been concret, but sand lay strewn over it and here and there, a few plants were poking up. The second thing that struck Clark was a sick feeling that nearly brought him to his knees. He gasped and leaned heavily on the wall. Pete and Greg were already moving away from him, running through the sand and tripping over roots every once in a while. Clark gritted his teeth and stood up only to feel as though he was going to wretch and fell down again. "Pete..." He called out, but his voice was weak and strained and Pete wasn't sure if they could hear him over the noise they were making themselves. Groaning, he picked up the nearest rock and threw it, but it only went a couple feet. He picked up another one and aimed at the nearby metal wall....this time it sent a vibrating sound through the foundry that cause the other two boys to look up.
"Hey, where's Clark?" Pete suddenly asked.
"I dunno...he made it in," Greg replied, looking around. Pete saw him then, lying there on the ground and ran as fast as he could over to him. "Clark! What's wrong? What happened?"
"Did something bite you?" Greg asked as he knelt down.
"It hurts..," Clark whispered.
Pete looked scared. "I'm gonna go run and get his dad. You watch over them. Hold the door open for me!" Greg nodded and got up to open the door, his eyes never leaving Clark. "What's wong with him?" Greg asked.
"I don't know but I've never seen him like that before." And with that Pete was gone. Greg came back and sat next to Clark and talked to him. Clark didn't have a clue what he was saying but he just gripped onto the voice and held onto it, even as the face speaking the words swarmed in his eyes and the light waved and everything grew dark until it sounded as though there was a permanant wind blowing in his ears then suddly he felt himself being dumped on the ground. In the distance he heard a voice calling him but it was so far away, Clark didn't think it would be worth it. 'Wait,' a small voice inside him said. 'Isn't that Dad?' He listened a bit harder. "Clark! Clark! Come on, wake up! Open your eyes." It spoke with such urgency Clark had a hard time resisting it. "Should we take him to the doctor, Mr. Kent?" a younger voice asked. "No, he'll be fine...come on! Clark!" Clark blinked and saw the world, fuzzy and out of focus before his eyes. His father was leaning over him, his hand, on his face. When he saw Clark's eyes were open, the concerned look on his face turned into a relieved one. "Thank god," he said. "Come on, we gotta get you home." He picked up Clark in his arms and carried him like a baby while Greg and Pete followed silently, but still threw Clark concerned looks.
"I can walk," Clark said.
"No," Jonathan told him in a voice that left no room for arguement so Clark just let himself be carried while he felt stronger all the while.
When they finally reached the farm, Martha rushed out. "My god, is he okay? What do you think happened?" She asked as they lay him down on the couch.
"I don't know," Pete answered. "He was alright when last I saw, then we turned around and saw him all keeled over."
"They were in the foundry," Jonathan informed Martha.
"I thought that place was locked up! How could you guys go in there? There are dangerous things in there!"
Pete looked irritated. "It wasn't anything dangerous that harmed Clark in there. He was right by the door." Jonathan nodded in agreement. "He was as weak as a baby. I had to carry him out, Martha. It took five minutes til he came to."
Clark lay there on the couch feeling not only infirm, but as though he had suddenly disappered. "I'm not deaf," he protested. "I don't feel sick now any more either." He didn't and it was true but he said it mostly to try to ease the concerned looks that were on both his parents faces.
"Maybe it was the sandwich he ate," Greg provided helpfully.
"The sandwich?" Martha sounded puzzeled.
"Yeah," Pete took on that call. "We didn't eat them til late and they were pretty mushy."
"Gooey."
"All messed up. And it was hot, too," the two of them attempted explained.
"Alright, we get the idea," Jonathan interrupted harshly. "You two can go now. You've helped enough." As Clark's two friends headed out, Jonathan stopped Pete. "Thanks for getting me, Pete."
"No problem, sir. Is Clark going to be okay?"
"I don't know. We'll see."
Jonathan sat down in the arm chair by the couch and Martha came in with a thermometer which she promptly stuck in Clark's mouth when he opened it to protest that he did not have a fever and did not feel sick. The whole minute it was in his mouth, no one said a word. His parents just sat there looking at him worridly and Clark made the desicion never to get sick again. It wasn't worth it. Martha took out the thermometer when it beeped and shook her head. "His temperature is as normal as it could be. No fever," she touched his forehead with the back of his hand to make sure."
"Clark, I want you to tell me everything that happened when you guys entered the foundry. Leave nothing out," Jonathan ordered. So Clark began to talk. He told them how they saw it, how Greg said he always collected bugs there, how they got in, how he'd held the door open for Greg and then used the wood to prop it open so he could come in and how he'd felt ill as soon as he did. "I tried to throw a rock to tell the others cause they were already so far away they couldn't hear me but I could only throw a few feet. I felt so..." he searched around for a word. "So weak I guess." Jonathan stood up and walked over to the mantelpiece at this and Martha pursed her lips. "And after that?" she asked. "They saw I was sick and came over...then Pete said he was going to go get dad and I sort of blacked out. Next thing I was outside and on the grass." She nodded. "So am I going to the doctor?" Clark asked tentitively. He'd never been to the doctor before, not even for a shot like the rest of the kids in the class and from what they'd told him, the thought of it made him feel nervous. His dad turned from the mantelpiece. "No, Clark, you're not going to the doctor."
His mother nodded in agreement. "Why don't you just lay there quietly for a while to make sure you don't get sick again, okay? I'll bring you some books and something to eat and drink."
Clark nodded and lay back on the couch. Oddly enough, he didn't feel sick anymore but he did feel very hungry and was satisfied enough to leaf through books and read while his parents talked quietly in the other room.
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"Jonathan, what do you suppose happened? He's never, ever been sick before."
"I don't know," Jonathan answered Martha. "I've never seen him like that before either. He was all pale and sort of clammy to the touch. He couldn't hear me, it was like he'd fainted or something."
"God, what would have happened if Pete hadn't come and gotten you? Do you think he would have--"
"No," Jonathan said sharply, cutting off Martha's question before he could finish it. "Don't even think about that." She nodded, but it did nothing to answer the questions she had nor ease the worry.
"He seems fine now, in any case," she said, hoping to change the conversation.
"I know. He seemed to get after a while and now, I don't think he's much sick at all."
He smiled encouragingly at Martha, "but no matter what Pete thinks, I'm pretty sure it wasn't the sandwiches. Whoever heard of salamonela poisoning that ran it's course in half an hour?"
"I don't know if I'm relieved to hear that or not, Jonathan," Martha said in response. "If it were salomonella, at least we would know what it was. But other than that, I don't have any idea. I've just never seen him sick before. We almost lost him."
"I know," Jonathan told her soothingly, holding her in his arms. He put his head on top of hers. He had been just as worried. Clark had never been sick his entire life. Never had an immunization, never had a scrape or anything. Then suddenly to find him as week as a kitten, sprawled on the floors of the foundry floor...unsettling did not begin to describe what Jonathan felt. And the other two boys..."Whatever it was, I think it was something that only affects Clark."
Martha looked up at him. "You mean because of his origin?"
Jonathan nodded. "I don't know what it is but we need to keep him away from it. What if we're not here the next time this happens? We need to make sure the boys don't go into the foundry again."
"Or at least make sure they can get out of it easier if they do," Martha added. "They could have all three been trapped in there."
Jonathan nodded and stepped away to go look on Clark. "He's just reading," he reported back. "And he's eaten the entire plate of food you brought."
Martha laughed. "Well, it didn't harm his appetite that's for one thing. So, what do we tell him?"
"Not to go there again."
"Obviously," Martha said with a bit of annoyance in her voice. "I mean, what do we tell him made him ill? Something in the foundry?"
"We'll have to or else he won't have any reason to stay away from it."
"And when he asks why it didn't make Pete and Greg sick to?"
"Martha, let's just hope he doesn't ask that. I'm running out of answers. I'm afraid either we're going to have to come up with some very creative lies or just use the 'do as we say' method. I think that one's the safer one. Less thinking."
Martha snorted at this statement. "I won't say that's inaccurate. Suppose we ought to go tell him?"
"Yeah."
The both of them headed back into the living room where Clark was happily reading away with not a hint of the clammy sweat that had covered him about an hour ago and it was all Jonathan could do not to shudder. 'How are you supposed to react when the healthiest child in the world nearly dies of unexplained causes?' he asked himself. He didn't bother waiting for an answer. Instead he sat down on the footstool while Martha made herself comfortable on the edge of the couch. She touched his forehead again to make sure he had no more fever but Jonathan already knew he wouldn't. "How you feeling, son?" He asked.
"Better," Clark responded. "Do I have to spend the whole day lying here?"
Martha shook her head. "No, not if you don't want to. But we would like it if you could stay on the farm for the rest of the weekend."
Jonathan nodded in agreement. "If you want to have your friends over, that's fine but we'd like to keep an eye on you."
Clark frowned as he sorted this out. "What made me sick?" he asked finally.
"We don't know," Jonathan admitted. "But until we did, we don't want you going into the foundry."
"Why?"
"Just as a precaution," Martha assured him. "It could have just been the sandwiches like Pete suggested but we want to make sure." She pinched his cheek playfully. "We can't have you getting sick on us all the time!"
Clark pulled away, "Moommm," he complained and Martha smiled and Jonathan felt himself relaxed. 'Martha's not worried anymore,' he told himself. 'That has to mean something.' He had to admit that when he saw Clark after he pulled him out of the foundry, his first worry was how he was going to tell Martha their son was dead. He had felt so cold. So distant. After they had tried time after time to have children with no results, finding Clark had transformed their lives and it had pained him to think how it would change again with Clark gone. "Well," he finally said to Clark standing up, "Don't be in any rush to get up. Just get up when you want to."
"I don't have to help with chores tonight?" Clark asked.
"Nah, not unless you feel up to it."
Clark spent a few seconds clearly weighing his options before saying, "I think I can do it." Jonathan smiled. "Sure you can," and then left the room to finish the day's work on the farm. He threw one more look over his shoulder and saw Martha mouth, "He'll be fine," at him and Jonathan knew it was true.
Next Chapter: Well, that's about it guys. Unless I decide to write something more when Clark's 12, that is. I dunno. If I come up with anything else to say, I'll write it.
"Come on," Greg called. "The treehouse isn't too far away now." It was finally Saturday and Pete and Clark were following Greg Atkins through a clump bushes and down a rocky slope. "I'm not sure," Pete whispered to Clark, "but I think that was poison ivy."
Clark looked at Pete nervously. "How do you know?"
"'Leaves of three' or something like that. We learned it in scouts."
"Ah." Clark adjusted his backpack and quickened his pace to keep up with Greg, not to mention get away from Pete. Pete's memebership in the boy scouts and Clark's lack thereof was not something he wanted to think about right now. It was as irritating to him as walking through a valley of poison ivy would be. He'd begged, kissed up and used everything in his repetoire except for fit throwing to try to convince his parents to let him join the boy scouts with Pete when they were six but to no avail. The answer had been no. His mother had give him a pitying look when she'd said it, which was better than the stern one his father had given him but it had been a no all the same. The bad thing was they hadn't even given him a reason to explain why he couldn't. They usually did that but when it came to cub scouts no was all he'd heard. Pete had not been understanding and had taken it upon himself to try to convince the Kents to let Clark join but he'd come back to Clark with a depressed look on his face. "He said no. And he told me if either one of us asked again, we could spend the next weekend mucking out stalls. And the answer would still be no." He'd given Clark a disappointed look and then promised to share all the cool wildlife and camping tricks he learned with him, whatever consolation it was. That was probably what Pete thought he was doing right now but he was really bringing to mind the events of the past week and the new list of things Clark couldn't do.
Distracted, Clark stepped right into Greg, who was kneeling on the ground. "Ow!" Greg cried, putting his hand on his back where Clark had addicently kicked him. "Sorry," Clark said. "I didn't see you there." He glanced around. "I thought we were going to the treehouse."
"We are. It's straight ahead. I just stopped to pick up these catepillars I just saw. They're usually pretty hard to find."
Clark gave the bugs a cursory glance and scanned the woods. "I don't see it," he said confused.
"That's cause you're not looking up," Pete told him as he came up. "Look's pretty cool, Greg." Clark followed Pete's gaze to a large tree with what looked like a large wooden box with two holes cut in the walls surrounded by a few planks with a railing. His eyes moved down the tree, noting each and every piece of wood that had been nailed into the tree as a foothold. He gulped.
Greg stood up, having finally captured his bugs. "Let's go up."
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Clark preferred not to think about the amount of empty space between the treehouse and the ground as he stepped gingerly into the treehouse. The wood creaked under his feet and Clark could hear and feel the similar creakings coming from Pete and Greg who were already up there.
"There you are," Pete said. "Isn't this place awesome? Man, I wish my dad would build me one of these. It's like your own HOUSE," he gushed, sticking his out of one of the windows.
Greg smiled proudly but it faded in a moment. "You can probably have it," he said glumly. "My mom doesn't think it's safe to play in. Says it's bad enough I run around the woods all day but I don't have to be 15 feet off the ground too."
"It is kind of...high," Clark said slowly, not wanting to seem like a complete weakling.
Pete laughed. "I think your mom shoulda had Clark as a kid instead of you. Then again, his folks are pretty strick too. They wouldn't let him in the scouts either."
Clark groaned to himself. Did Pete have to bring that up? But Greg brightened when he heard this. "Yeah? Cool! Maybe we could play together Tuesday nights or something."
Clark forgot his annoyance at Pete momentarily. "Yeah, that'd be great, I could show you the loft and the farm and stuff." Greg looked thrilled at that idea and agree to talk to his parents about it.
The treehouse walls were lined with aquariums filled with bugs and Greg showed them each and everyone of them. Many of them were spiders, a ton of aunts were in his three aunt farms but the butterfly was nearly empty. "Most of them are dead," he explained. "They only live for a week anyway and it's fall so they're all going south." But after a while, the thrill of looking at all the bugs died off so they unpacked the lunch Clark's mom had given them and sat there eating. Clark nibbled on his food, unsure if his nausea came from the fact he was so high off the ground or from the mayonaise that had turned the bread into a soppy mess.
When they were finished, Greg stood up abruptly and started climbing down from the treehouse. "Hey, where're you going?" Pete called.
"Come on! I wanna show you guys something!" Pete looked at Clark curiously but Clark merely shrugged, put his backpack back on and braced himself for the climb down. They finally reached Greg again on a path that had been almost entirely reclaimed by the plants that grew aside it. He pointed off into the distance. "You see that?"
"See what?" Pete asked.
Clark squinted off into the distance. "It's a building."
Greg nodded. "It's an old foundry. I go in there to collect sometimes. It usually has the best bugs."
Pete looked puzzeled. "Shouldn't it be locked up, I mean if it's closed down..."
Greg laughed. "Yeah, sure it's locked up but when you're small and skinny, you can squeeze through most bars. I'll show you how."
Getting in was as easy as Greg promised. Clark noticed the lock on the gate was already rusting over and considered knocking it off all together but Pete and Greg were already disappering behind the corner of the building and he decided to follow. He caught up as Greg started pulling a door with a chain and padlock on it forward. "I can't hold it very long. Usually I just use a piece of wood...come on, sleep through." Pete darted through like a cat and was in a split second before Greg lost his grip and it came slamming shut again. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans before turning to Clark. "You next?" Clark shook his head. "I'll hold the door," he said, "Just show me where the wood is you want me to brace it with." Greg nodded and Clark held the door open for him without a hint of a struggle, kicked the piece of wood in place and the slipped through before it slid out place.
The first thing that struck Clark about the foundry was how big it was. The place was a huge half cylinder that looked like the other half was buried in the ground right beneath it. Part of the floor may have been concret, but sand lay strewn over it and here and there, a few plants were poking up. The second thing that struck Clark was a sick feeling that nearly brought him to his knees. He gasped and leaned heavily on the wall. Pete and Greg were already moving away from him, running through the sand and tripping over roots every once in a while. Clark gritted his teeth and stood up only to feel as though he was going to wretch and fell down again. "Pete..." He called out, but his voice was weak and strained and Pete wasn't sure if they could hear him over the noise they were making themselves. Groaning, he picked up the nearest rock and threw it, but it only went a couple feet. He picked up another one and aimed at the nearby metal wall....this time it sent a vibrating sound through the foundry that cause the other two boys to look up.
"Hey, where's Clark?" Pete suddenly asked.
"I dunno...he made it in," Greg replied, looking around. Pete saw him then, lying there on the ground and ran as fast as he could over to him. "Clark! What's wrong? What happened?"
"Did something bite you?" Greg asked as he knelt down.
"It hurts..," Clark whispered.
Pete looked scared. "I'm gonna go run and get his dad. You watch over them. Hold the door open for me!" Greg nodded and got up to open the door, his eyes never leaving Clark. "What's wong with him?" Greg asked.
"I don't know but I've never seen him like that before." And with that Pete was gone. Greg came back and sat next to Clark and talked to him. Clark didn't have a clue what he was saying but he just gripped onto the voice and held onto it, even as the face speaking the words swarmed in his eyes and the light waved and everything grew dark until it sounded as though there was a permanant wind blowing in his ears then suddly he felt himself being dumped on the ground. In the distance he heard a voice calling him but it was so far away, Clark didn't think it would be worth it. 'Wait,' a small voice inside him said. 'Isn't that Dad?' He listened a bit harder. "Clark! Clark! Come on, wake up! Open your eyes." It spoke with such urgency Clark had a hard time resisting it. "Should we take him to the doctor, Mr. Kent?" a younger voice asked. "No, he'll be fine...come on! Clark!" Clark blinked and saw the world, fuzzy and out of focus before his eyes. His father was leaning over him, his hand, on his face. When he saw Clark's eyes were open, the concerned look on his face turned into a relieved one. "Thank god," he said. "Come on, we gotta get you home." He picked up Clark in his arms and carried him like a baby while Greg and Pete followed silently, but still threw Clark concerned looks.
"I can walk," Clark said.
"No," Jonathan told him in a voice that left no room for arguement so Clark just let himself be carried while he felt stronger all the while.
When they finally reached the farm, Martha rushed out. "My god, is he okay? What do you think happened?" She asked as they lay him down on the couch.
"I don't know," Pete answered. "He was alright when last I saw, then we turned around and saw him all keeled over."
"They were in the foundry," Jonathan informed Martha.
"I thought that place was locked up! How could you guys go in there? There are dangerous things in there!"
Pete looked irritated. "It wasn't anything dangerous that harmed Clark in there. He was right by the door." Jonathan nodded in agreement. "He was as weak as a baby. I had to carry him out, Martha. It took five minutes til he came to."
Clark lay there on the couch feeling not only infirm, but as though he had suddenly disappered. "I'm not deaf," he protested. "I don't feel sick now any more either." He didn't and it was true but he said it mostly to try to ease the concerned looks that were on both his parents faces.
"Maybe it was the sandwich he ate," Greg provided helpfully.
"The sandwich?" Martha sounded puzzeled.
"Yeah," Pete took on that call. "We didn't eat them til late and they were pretty mushy."
"Gooey."
"All messed up. And it was hot, too," the two of them attempted explained.
"Alright, we get the idea," Jonathan interrupted harshly. "You two can go now. You've helped enough." As Clark's two friends headed out, Jonathan stopped Pete. "Thanks for getting me, Pete."
"No problem, sir. Is Clark going to be okay?"
"I don't know. We'll see."
Jonathan sat down in the arm chair by the couch and Martha came in with a thermometer which she promptly stuck in Clark's mouth when he opened it to protest that he did not have a fever and did not feel sick. The whole minute it was in his mouth, no one said a word. His parents just sat there looking at him worridly and Clark made the desicion never to get sick again. It wasn't worth it. Martha took out the thermometer when it beeped and shook her head. "His temperature is as normal as it could be. No fever," she touched his forehead with the back of his hand to make sure."
"Clark, I want you to tell me everything that happened when you guys entered the foundry. Leave nothing out," Jonathan ordered. So Clark began to talk. He told them how they saw it, how Greg said he always collected bugs there, how they got in, how he'd held the door open for Greg and then used the wood to prop it open so he could come in and how he'd felt ill as soon as he did. "I tried to throw a rock to tell the others cause they were already so far away they couldn't hear me but I could only throw a few feet. I felt so..." he searched around for a word. "So weak I guess." Jonathan stood up and walked over to the mantelpiece at this and Martha pursed her lips. "And after that?" she asked. "They saw I was sick and came over...then Pete said he was going to go get dad and I sort of blacked out. Next thing I was outside and on the grass." She nodded. "So am I going to the doctor?" Clark asked tentitively. He'd never been to the doctor before, not even for a shot like the rest of the kids in the class and from what they'd told him, the thought of it made him feel nervous. His dad turned from the mantelpiece. "No, Clark, you're not going to the doctor."
His mother nodded in agreement. "Why don't you just lay there quietly for a while to make sure you don't get sick again, okay? I'll bring you some books and something to eat and drink."
Clark nodded and lay back on the couch. Oddly enough, he didn't feel sick anymore but he did feel very hungry and was satisfied enough to leaf through books and read while his parents talked quietly in the other room.
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"Jonathan, what do you suppose happened? He's never, ever been sick before."
"I don't know," Jonathan answered Martha. "I've never seen him like that before either. He was all pale and sort of clammy to the touch. He couldn't hear me, it was like he'd fainted or something."
"God, what would have happened if Pete hadn't come and gotten you? Do you think he would have--"
"No," Jonathan said sharply, cutting off Martha's question before he could finish it. "Don't even think about that." She nodded, but it did nothing to answer the questions she had nor ease the worry.
"He seems fine now, in any case," she said, hoping to change the conversation.
"I know. He seemed to get after a while and now, I don't think he's much sick at all."
He smiled encouragingly at Martha, "but no matter what Pete thinks, I'm pretty sure it wasn't the sandwiches. Whoever heard of salamonela poisoning that ran it's course in half an hour?"
"I don't know if I'm relieved to hear that or not, Jonathan," Martha said in response. "If it were salomonella, at least we would know what it was. But other than that, I don't have any idea. I've just never seen him sick before. We almost lost him."
"I know," Jonathan told her soothingly, holding her in his arms. He put his head on top of hers. He had been just as worried. Clark had never been sick his entire life. Never had an immunization, never had a scrape or anything. Then suddenly to find him as week as a kitten, sprawled on the floors of the foundry floor...unsettling did not begin to describe what Jonathan felt. And the other two boys..."Whatever it was, I think it was something that only affects Clark."
Martha looked up at him. "You mean because of his origin?"
Jonathan nodded. "I don't know what it is but we need to keep him away from it. What if we're not here the next time this happens? We need to make sure the boys don't go into the foundry again."
"Or at least make sure they can get out of it easier if they do," Martha added. "They could have all three been trapped in there."
Jonathan nodded and stepped away to go look on Clark. "He's just reading," he reported back. "And he's eaten the entire plate of food you brought."
Martha laughed. "Well, it didn't harm his appetite that's for one thing. So, what do we tell him?"
"Not to go there again."
"Obviously," Martha said with a bit of annoyance in her voice. "I mean, what do we tell him made him ill? Something in the foundry?"
"We'll have to or else he won't have any reason to stay away from it."
"And when he asks why it didn't make Pete and Greg sick to?"
"Martha, let's just hope he doesn't ask that. I'm running out of answers. I'm afraid either we're going to have to come up with some very creative lies or just use the 'do as we say' method. I think that one's the safer one. Less thinking."
Martha snorted at this statement. "I won't say that's inaccurate. Suppose we ought to go tell him?"
"Yeah."
The both of them headed back into the living room where Clark was happily reading away with not a hint of the clammy sweat that had covered him about an hour ago and it was all Jonathan could do not to shudder. 'How are you supposed to react when the healthiest child in the world nearly dies of unexplained causes?' he asked himself. He didn't bother waiting for an answer. Instead he sat down on the footstool while Martha made herself comfortable on the edge of the couch. She touched his forehead again to make sure he had no more fever but Jonathan already knew he wouldn't. "How you feeling, son?" He asked.
"Better," Clark responded. "Do I have to spend the whole day lying here?"
Martha shook her head. "No, not if you don't want to. But we would like it if you could stay on the farm for the rest of the weekend."
Jonathan nodded in agreement. "If you want to have your friends over, that's fine but we'd like to keep an eye on you."
Clark frowned as he sorted this out. "What made me sick?" he asked finally.
"We don't know," Jonathan admitted. "But until we did, we don't want you going into the foundry."
"Why?"
"Just as a precaution," Martha assured him. "It could have just been the sandwiches like Pete suggested but we want to make sure." She pinched his cheek playfully. "We can't have you getting sick on us all the time!"
Clark pulled away, "Moommm," he complained and Martha smiled and Jonathan felt himself relaxed. 'Martha's not worried anymore,' he told himself. 'That has to mean something.' He had to admit that when he saw Clark after he pulled him out of the foundry, his first worry was how he was going to tell Martha their son was dead. He had felt so cold. So distant. After they had tried time after time to have children with no results, finding Clark had transformed their lives and it had pained him to think how it would change again with Clark gone. "Well," he finally said to Clark standing up, "Don't be in any rush to get up. Just get up when you want to."
"I don't have to help with chores tonight?" Clark asked.
"Nah, not unless you feel up to it."
Clark spent a few seconds clearly weighing his options before saying, "I think I can do it." Jonathan smiled. "Sure you can," and then left the room to finish the day's work on the farm. He threw one more look over his shoulder and saw Martha mouth, "He'll be fine," at him and Jonathan knew it was true.
Next Chapter: Well, that's about it guys. Unless I decide to write something more when Clark's 12, that is. I dunno. If I come up with anything else to say, I'll write it.