Martha stared out of the window of her father's '80 Mercedes as it rode along the streets of Metropolis, stopping at the odd traffic light every now and then. She might have enjoyed the urban scenery of skyscrapers and city sidewalks if she weren't so furious she couldn't speak for fear of what might spill out.

"Martha, don't sulk. It's not very ladylike," he father commented from the driver's seat while he fiddled with the stereo knob, turning it back and forth.

Maybe it was the afternoon and the fact that he had shown how small-minded and crass he could really be outside the circle of his blue-blood business partners and snobbish associates. What he had done to Jonathan had been nothing short of malicious and it made her stomach turn. She could still see the look on Jonathan's face before he left, and closed her eyes briefly against it.

Maybe it was knowing that the man she left behind would never have made her feel the way she did right then--sick with disappointment and cold with the knowledge that her father hadn't the time nor the inclination to ask about her feelings, only to correct her flaws.

Or maybe she had finally had enough.

Whatever the reason, Martha couldn't remain quiet any longer. "How could you, dad?" she grumbled angrily from beside him, scooting further to one side, positioning herself as far from him as possible.

"How could I what? Change the station? I'll put it back if you like."

Unbelievable. Either the man was incredibly obtuse, or he had even less humanity coursing through his veins she had ever realized. "How could you talk to Jonathan like that? You were dismissive and cruel," she shot back, looking directly at him this time.

Her father kept his eyes on the road and tapped the brakes, causing a whine from the car as they approached another light. "Truth isn't cruel, Martha, it's simply a statement of fact. And the truth is, a boy like that is beneath you. Believe me, I did you a favor," he replied as casually as though he were giving her the day's weather forecast.

"Beneath me?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "How would you know that? You don't know anything about him!"

"That wasn't my doing, was it? If your Jonathan were much to speak of, you would have. Now let's drop the matter."

Martha wanted to scream, to tell him that he had no right to say such things, but his last statement cut short the impending outburst and left her baffled as to what to say next. If she told him the truth about her reasons for secrecy, it would only make everything worse. So, she bit her lip and said nothing. But there was one person who needed to hear them.

-----

Every road in this town looked the same. And apparently there were no such things as road signs. As Martha recalled, the direction given to her were: " Big yellow place. Twenty miles through the corn and five down past the Ross place," which, evidently could be identified by "the two big Shepherd mutts roaming the fence line." With directions like that, it was a good extra hour before she pulled under the large wooden sign that read "Kent Farm," and parked, then opened the door to step out.

A cow mooing somewhere in the distance some time later called her attention to the fact that she was still sitting in the car.

She had thought of calling, but had decided that if she didn't give Jonathan the courtesy of speaking to him face to face after what happened the day before, then she was no better than her father. Only, now that she was actually here, she had to wonder what she hoped to accomplish by any of this. He wouldn't want to see her.

"Excuse me, dear, are you lost?" Martha jumped at the voice and jerked her head around to find a blond woman in a pair of overalls and a sunhat peering down at her through the car window.

Martha hurriedly got out of the vehicle and closed the door, nearly tripping over her own two feet in the process. "No. No, actually, I was lost several times before I found the right place," she stammered and caught her breath. "Mrs. Kent?"

"Why, yes," the woman agreed with a smile, adjusting her hat to a better look at her visitor. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Martha Clark. I was just--"

"Martha--oh honey, it's so nice to finally meet you!" Mrs. Kent exclaimed. "Jonathan talks about you all the time. I'm sorry you had such trouble finding the place. I do wish Jonathan had told us you were coming. Look at me. I'm a mess," she complained with a smile still in her voice as she swiped at her work clothes, then offered her hand. "I'm Jessica Kent, Jonathan's mother, but I'm sure you guessed that."

"Yes, ma'am." Martha forced an answering smile despite her mounting self-reproach. "Jonathan always has such nice things to say about you and your husband. I'm glad to finally meet you, too."

"Oh, well, thank, you sweetheart," Jessica said happily. She looked past the house toward the barn off in the distance and frowned. "That boy of mine, I swear sometimes I don't know what goes through his head. I thought I taught him better manners than that--having you drive out here all by yourself. He's out at the barn doing some cutting. I'll get him."

"Uh--actually, Mrs. Kent, Jonathan didn't know I was coming here. I kind of needed to talk to him about something. Do you think it would be okay if I went myself?" Whether it was woman's intuition or a mother's sixth sense--or perhaps it was Martha's own guilt that gave her the impression--Mrs.. Kent seemed to experience about three emotions in just as many seconds--surprise, concern, then understanding.

"So that's why the wood chopping took an extra hour last night," she said knowingly. "It's usually his least favorite chore. The barn's right around there, honey. I'll just leave you two alone."

"Thank you, Mrs. Kent." And Martha was thankful. It would have been easy for a mother to ask a lot of questions, to make presumptions, but Mrs. Kent did neither.

"Oh, and Martha, why don't you both come inside and have some lunch when you're done with your talk? I'll see you in a bit." The two exchanged one last smile before Martha headed off, glad that at least one of them was sure she would be able to make good on the offer.

The sound of a buzz-saw led the rest of the way to the large red structure where she peeked around one of the doors to find Jonathan hunched over a workbench, cutting several planks of wood. Sawdust covered the floor at his feet and the burnt smell of freshly cut lumber lingered heavily about. She took a step forward then back again, worrying her fingers over the grain of rough wood along the entrance. While she stood silently watching, he flipped a switch and the grating sound of the saw eventually died. He removed the work goggles he had been wearing and tiredly wiped his face with a towel that had been laying on the table beside him, then tilted his head back, apparently enjoying the cool December air.

"Jonathan."

He spun around at the sound of her voice and regarded her with a mixture of surprise, hope, and a small amount of trepidation. "Martha, what are you doing here?" Both hands fell to his front, still holding the towel between them, and she took a few tentative steps in his direction.

"I was in the neighborhood? Well, after stopping four times for directions and passing the same goat six more times."

The beginnings of a smile had started to show, but he seemed to catch himself and refocused his attention on his hands, methodically wiping them with the towel while he spoke. "Was there something you wanted?"

She swallowed and crossed the rest of the space between them. "I wanted to talk about yesterday. My father was so awful to you, Jonathan, and I'm so sorry. I know what you must think, but I need you to know that my not telling my father about us has nothing to do with how I feel about you. Well, that's not exactly true, but it doesn't mean what you probably thought. It's not about that."

Damn it, this wasn't the way she had rehearsed it in her head, and now she had started to sound about as articulate as a child who'd taken the microphone at a public function and wouldn't give it back to the grown-ups. His uncharacteristically straight-faced expression didn't help matters.

"What I mean is," she tried again, "I didn't tell my dad about you because I knew what he would have to say, and I didn't want to listen. I knew he wouldn't approve. He would want me to stop seeing you...and I couldn't do that."

Jonathan's eyes were steady on her now, but he said nothing.

"I should have told him. I know. You're right," she went on, as though he had actually given an answer. "He should know how I feel about you. It's nothing to hide. I made a mistake." She took his hand and added shakily, "I love you, Jonathan, and I'm so sorry that I hurt you."

He only continued to stare, and for a moment Martha worried that he either hadn't been listening or didn't care for what she had to say. In the next breath, though, he was holding her, his chin resting in its usual place atop her head. "That's all I wanted to hear," he said quietly, his own voice unsteady.

A muffled laugh-sob soaked into his cotton shirt as she rested her head against his warm chest and stroked idly at the fabric there. "You could have jumped in any time, you know."

"I thought I stood a much better chance letting you do all the talking," he teased, falling easily back into their usual banter. "But there is one thing you should probably know, though..." He paused, leaning back to get a clear view of her face, and studied it closely, then licked his lips. "...I love you, too."

"You better," she informed him with a grin and pulled him into a long and heated kiss.

"You think you can just walk in here and have your way with me? What kind of man do you take me for?" He smiled down at her, his arms still loosely circled around her.

" My kind...no matter what my father says."

TBC...