Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Not my characters.

Author's note: A short sequel to "More than Gold."

Independence

"Martha? Come here, please."

Martha sighed as she turned and walked back toward her father's study. She had thought she'd made it past the doorway without his seeing her. But she knew better than to pretend she hadn't heard. Not when he spoke in that tone.

She stopped in the doorway. Her father was sitting behind the desk. Her mother was perched in one of the tall leather chairs in front of it, nervously twisting a ring on her finger. She tried to smile at her daughter, and patted the chair next to her. "Come sit down, honey."

Martha obeyed, seating herself on the extreme edge. She had always disliked those chairs. They made her feel smaller than she already was. She looked steadily at her father, knowing what was coming.

He spoke abruptly. "I talked to your boyfriend today."

Martha nodded. "I know, Dad."

"Then you know what happened."

"Yes."

Her father went on as if she hadn't spoken. "Or rather, you know what he chose to tell you."

Martha flushed and drew herself up. "He told me all of it." She paused for emphasis. "Including what you did to him. He wasn't going to tell me that part, but I had to know."

Her mother lifted her head, and for an instant she thought she saw her father's gaze flicker. But he spoke slowly and clearly. "I would hope that my daughter would have more respect for herself and her family than to marry a man who could assault her father."

Even if her father assaulted him first? Martha bit her lip hard to hold back the words. They would only make things worse.

She forced herself to speak as deliberately as he had. "Dad, Jonathan is really sorry for what he did." She didn't add that Jonathan had been so distraught over it that she had thought she'd never be able to calm him down. She knew her father wouldn't care. "He tried to apologize to you before you threw him out. He wants to come back and apologize again, if you'll let him."

"'Sorry' doesn't change what the young man did, Martha." Her father raised his voice slightly. "You know that."

"Dad, if you could just stop being a lawyer for one minute—"

"Please don't be flippant."

Martha bit her lip again and searched for something to say that wouldn't be flippant. "Dad. I know Jonathan has a temper—"

"And suppose he lost his temper with you?" her father asked sternly. "Suppose he hit you too?"

Martha almost snorted, but stopped herself just in time. Her parents didn't like snorting. It wasn't ladylike.

"Jonathan would never do a thing like that. Trust me." Even as she said them, she knew the words were useless. When had he ever trusted her opinion on anything important? But she went on doggedly. "You don't know him, Dad, or you'd know that would be impossible for him."

"I know all I need to know, Martha." He glanced at her hands in her lap. "For instance, I know that your fiancé can't even afford to buy you an engagement ring."

Martha's eyes narrowed, and her voice turned icy. "That is between Jonathan and me."

Her mother made an anxious, fluttering movement with her hands. Martha caught it out of the corner of her eye, and with a great effort she moderated her tone. "But if it matters that much to you, he's saving up for one. I told him he didn't have to, but—"

"It's not the ring that concerns me, Martha," her father interrupted. "What concerns me is that Jonathan—" he said the name as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth—"does not make enough money to support you."

"The farm makes a living, Dad. It's not much, but it's enough. And Jonathan works hard, and I can always get a job if I need to."

"In Smallville?" Her father spoke the word with even more contempt than he'd put into Jonathan's name.

"Yes, in Smallville. It's not Siberia. I'm sure I can find something." Martha leaned forward and looked at him earnestly. "We won't be starving in the gutter, Dad, I promise."

"And that's all you want out of life. Just to avoid starving in the gutter."

The heavy disappointment in his face and voice made Martha shrink in spite of herself. He was doing it again. For a father who had always preached about the importance of being strong and independent, he was incessantly finding ways to pierce her armor and undermine her confidence. And he knew she couldn't bear it when he was disappointed in her.

She could never be sure if he meant to do it, or if it was an unconscious habit. But the constant, subtle manipulation had become such a staple of their relationship that Martha had come to dread any father-daughter conversation that went beyond "How was your day?" Whenever she came into his presence, she felt herself turning into something stiff and lifeless—a completely different person from the girl who had kissed Jonathan in full view of half the student body (as her roommate had teasingly pointed out to them later), the girl who more than once had nearly got caught flirting shamelessly with him across the classroom. She found herself wondering if her parents would even recognize that girl if they ever saw her.

"Martha, you know I've always been very proud of you." His tone was anything but proud.

"Yes, Dad, and I really—"

"You have one of the best minds in your class—probably in the entire university. You could do anything you want."

Martha's lips suddenly twitched, and she looked down hastily. Those were almost exactly the same words Jonathan had once used. Wouldn't that thought make her father's day?

And how could the same words sound so different when her father spoke them?

She controlled herself and looked up again. But the lift in her mood stayed with her, strengthening her resolve.

"I am doing what I want," she said stubbornly. For the life of her, she couldn't resist adding, "I think the real problem here is that I'm not doing what you want."

"Martha, don't speak to your father that way," her mother said quickly, in a low voice.

Martha reached out and took her mother's hand. "I'm sorry, Mom," she said quietly. She looked at her father again. His eyes were cold. She knew she'd crossed the line. But for once, she realized, she didn't regret it.

"Dad, this is what I want," she repeated. "Jonathan is a good man—a responsible man—and I love him. We're getting married in the fall."

He was silent for a moment, those eyes still fixed on her face. "If you do," he finally said, "your mother and I will not be at the wedding."

A small, stricken sound came from her mother's throat. Martha tightened her grip on her mother's hand. "Dad, please don't do this."

She looked at her mother pleadingly, but her mother only lowered her eyes and gave her hand a slight squeeze in return.

"You leave us no choice, Martha," her father replied firmly. "I'm sorry. You are my only child and I care about you very much. Too much to stand by and watch you make the biggest mistake of your life."

Martha sat still for a long moment, holding her mother's hand. Then she gave it one more squeeze, let go, and stood up.

"Then I'll have to make it without you," she said resolutely, but with a little choke in her voice.

"Martha," he said sharply, his eyes widening a little. It was as if he had just realized for the first time that she was serious. "I don't understand why you're doing this!"

Martha stood there and looked at the dim, stuffy room with its imposing furniture, at the man sitting tall and unyielding in his chair, at the woman huddled in hers.

"I know you don't, Dad," she said softly.

Then she turned and walked out.

The End