More than Gold
Disclaimer: Most of these characters aren't mine.
Author's note: I've always wanted to find out more about Jonathan and Martha's courtship. So I finally decided to take the plunge and come up with my own version of their story. (Thanks go to Smallvillian at , where this was originally published, for helping me think of a title, and for her encouragement.)
"Late as usual," Carol remarked as her roommate slid into the seat next to hers in the college classroom.
"Not this time," Martha defended herself, looking up at the clock. "It's only five till."
"Yeah, but aren't note-takers supposed to be the first to show up and the last to leave?"
"Oh, Lord, don't you start on me." Martha set her books on the desk with more force than was strictly necessary.
Carol raised an eyebrow. "Somebody's in a mood this morning."
Martha sighed. "Sorry."
"No problem." Carol held out her coffee. "Here, get a little caffeine into your system. I got extra large. I knew you wouldn't have time to stop and get your own." As Martha gratefully took a long swallow, Carol eyed her knowingly. "Let me guess. Talked to your dad last night, didn't you?"
"This morning." Martha stared at her desk.
"Same conversation?"
"More or less. He'd thought up a few new harangues he wanted to try on me."
Carol hesitated a moment. "I have to say, I don't see what the big deal is about applying to law school."
"Besides the fact that I don't want to go?"
"And why not? You're brilliant, so you'd do great in law school. You argue with everything I say, so we know you'd make a good lawyer. And it's not like you have anything else on your plate."
Martha flinched slightly at the last part. It was her weak point in all her arguments with her father. She knew what she didn't want to do, but it was getting downright embarrassing that in her senior year of college, she hadn't figured out yet what she did want to do. She loved school, would have liked to go on to graduate school—but not law school. Just the thought of the gloomy, book-lined office next to her father's, where he expected her to end up, always made her feel smothered.
She skipped over that and went back to the point before it. "It doesn't take a good lawyer to argue with you. All it takes is someone with half a brain."
"Hey! Just for that, I want my coffee back."
Martha handed it over and started to rummage through her purse for pens. "Sometimes I think that all I really want to do is find someone nice and have a big family," she said thoughtfully.
"In the first place, you'd have to date someone, which you haven't done in two years." Carol ducked as Martha swatted at her.
"I have too, and you know it."
"Duty dates with your father's boring friends don't count. And in the second place, sounds great if you're into dirty diapers and sticky handprints. Not for me, thanks." She glanced idly around the room as she sipped her coffee. "Hey, look, the hayseeds are here."
"Carol, behave," Martha said mechanically, without looking up. "The students from Smallville usually seem nice."
"And they always sit in a clump," Carol scoffed. "Like they're going to be contaminated by us wicked city-dwellers. Look at that one—didn't even bother to change out of his farm clothes. I'll bet he came straight from the cow pasture in that getup." But she let her eyes linger for a moment, letting out a whistle under her breath. "Pretty cute, though, I have to admit."
Martha snorted. "Oh, for heaven's sake." She half-turned in her seat to look where her friend was looking. "Do you like him or don't—" She stopped as abruptly as if she'd run into a wall.
Carol watched her for a second, a grin breaking over her face. "I don't especially like him," she finally said. "I'm seeing someone, remember? Good thing, too. I wouldn't want to get in your way."
Martha didn't respond. She was still staring at the tall, blond young man in the blue plaid shirt a couple of rows over. He turned to speak to someone next to him, caught her eye, and smiled. With a start, Martha realized her mouth was hanging open slightly. Not daring to smile back, she dropped her eyes to her notebook and started to scribble the class title and date at the top of the page, her face redder than her hair.
Carol stifled a guffaw as the professor came in. "That houseful of kids might not be such a bad idea after all," she whispered, opening her own notebook. "Especially if they all took after him."
To be continued . . .