Her eyes blinked open, taking a second or two to adjust to the darkness. The disorientation of waking in someone else's bed lasted only a short time, until she breathed in the scent that was uniquely Jonathan. It still clung to the much too large shirt she had barrowed to sleep in: the light fragrance of Old Spice he wore only on occasion but that still seemed to linger in his clothes, the soapy smell of a fresh shower, mixed with something else all his own. Martha savored its familiarity once more, then sat up, and looked about the shadowed corners of the room.

Something wasn't right.

A nagging pang of something she could not quite place, but was nonetheless persistent, had stirred her from a dreamless sleep. Her feet were on the floor, her hands gathering together the extra top blanket around her shoulders before she really had any idea of where she might be going.

The clock on the wall downstairs chimed one.

Moonlight spilled across the hard floor and cast the kitchen in an eerie, silvery glow as she took each step, one by one. What was warm and welcoming in the daylight now seemed bleak and unfamiliar in the shroud of night. Cautiously, she rounded the corner into the living room and peered over the back of the couch...to find a discarded blanket draped off the end, bunched at the floor.

Where was Jonathan?

She blinked a few more times and rubbed at her eyes, as if that might cause him to appear. The feeling that had drawn her this far quickly turned to alarmuntil the movement of a shadow across the front window caught her eye. The front porch light was still on, and the dark form paced back and forth once more, then stopped. Martha tiptoed noiselessly across the room, slowly eased open the front door, and looked out...

Then exhaled a relieved breath.

Jonathan was standing at the far end of the porch, leaning forward over the rail, resting his weight on his forearms, and staring thoughtfully off into the expanse of starry sky.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, taking a step outside.

He turned his head and raised an eyebrow at her unexpected appearance. "I could ask you the same," he said matter-of-factly.

"You could," she agreed, coming up beside him, almost brushing against his shoulder. They stayed that way for a while.

"It's quiet out here, gives a person a chance to think," he said, after a long silence. Her hand wandered along the back of his shoulder, making small, comforting circles.

"We could lose the farm, Martha."

She stopped and stared blankly at him, waiting for some kind of amendment or qualification. He avoided looking directly at her, instead focusing on the night view. "My father knew it, and he never told me."

That wasn't what she was expecting to hear, and she mentally stumbled a little before answering, "Maybe he didn't want to worry you."

Jonathan didn't respond at first, but it was obvious his thoughts were far from the scenery. Then he shook his head, both hands tightening into fists.

"He should have said something...This is just like him," he muttered harshly. "Always thinking he can handle everything himself. Why does he have to be so damn stubborn?"

But the anger ebbed just as quickly as it had risen when he realized he was still speaking of his father in the present tense. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'll be okay, but what about mom? It would kill her to leave this place. All these years, all this work, and she's worse off than she was the day they were married," he sighed, turning his eyes to the ground, shoulders slumped.

"I'm sure she doesn't see it that way."

"Maybe not, but..." Clearly, he was about to argue the point, but thought twice, straightened and looked back at her, a peculiar expression on his face. Then it was gone, and he placed a guiding arm around her shoulder. "...It's getting cold. We should go inside."

She would look back on that moment later and wish that she had stayed right where she stood.

"Mrs. Kent, I hope you don't mind my cooking breakfast." Martha offered an awkward smile to the older woman who came into the kitchen in search of the source of the aroma of coffee. No matter if both women knew the reason, wearing only Jonathan's shirt and the robe he had gotten for her earlier still felt unseemly somehow. "Jonathan's been out and about for hours now, and I wanted to make myself useful."

"Don't be silly. Make yourself right at home. It's early, though. I hope you didn't think you had to be up with the sun like the rest of us." Mrs. Kent poured herself a cup of coffee and stood at the counter next to her.

"No." Martha thought for a second about how much to say on the subject and decided on "I was already awake."

The woman nodded and took a sip of her coffee. "Well, I'm glad Jonathan had some company. Maybe he'll talk to more than just that little calf out there."

Martha tried not to show her surprise as she stirred the sugar into her own coffee, but it must have been apparent. "Oh, he doesn't think I know. I'd bet he hasn't had more than four hours sleep combined in the last few nights. He keeps so much inside. I'm afraid that's one trait I wish he hadn't gotten from Hiram."

The mention of her husband was obviously difficult for her.

"And how are you doing?"

"I'm doing all right," Jessica answered vaguely, looking down at the floor, probably not believing it herself. "I guess I still half expect him to come wandering through that front door and ask me what all the fuss was about, that he just went to town for a while. When he doesn't, it's a little more real."

"I'm glad I got a chance to meet Mr. Kent," Martha said after a pause, not entirely certain why she had chosen to say that just then, but somehow glad she had.

Jessica Kent smiled. "I'm glad he got to meet you, too."

"Hey, farm-boy."

Jonathan turned, then took a second look at Martha who was dressed casually in jeans that were a little too big for her and a long-sleeve green shirt. "Your mom let me borrow some clothes," she explained, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious and nervously sweeping a strand of hair behind one ear. She hadn't thought about it, but he had never seen her dressed quite like that before. She'd been raised since the time she was born to dress and look a certain way, so aside from the rare occasion of rummaging through a friend's closet, jeans and the like weren't exactly abundant in her wardrobe.

His only reply was a short, almost dismissive "Oh." He stared a moment longer, then picked up another sack of feed and poured it into the feed bin along the fence.

"Well, umanyway, your mom wanted me to tell you that if you don't come in soon to eat, she's coming out here after you."

"I'll be in in a bit."

His back was to her again, and he hadn't bothered to look up from his chore. She was about to say more when she was interrupted by a long, squeaky cry. Over in the corner, Little Joe made it known that he was not at all happy with not being the center of attention, and came moseying toward her.

"Joseph," she said brightly, walking up to the fence to pet her calf. He happily flipped his ears forward and back while she stroked him, as if to say: "It's about time you noticed me." "Someone's been taking very good care of you," she observed, and his tail swished in agreement. Martha glanced over at Jonathan, who was pretending not to listen.

"Look how big you've gotten," she crooned, as though she was talking to a nephew she hadn't seen in several years. "And aren't you just the handsomest thing? I haven't been a very good mom, have I? It's a good thing you have such a good dad." The last thought was out of her mouth before she could stop it. She looked over again at Jonathan, who was still diligently working and not looking at her.

"Tell my mom I'll be in shortly, okay?"

One last pat and she stood and wiped her hands on the front of her jeans. "Okay," she replied softly, wondering to herself if her foot could have possibly fit any further into her mouth. She hesitated a step, looking back once more, then started back toward the house.

When Jonathan did finally come in for breakfast, he barely said two words before he took a seat at the kitchen table and picked up the morning paper.

"Martha, honey, everything looks very good, thank you," Jessica remarked, to which Jonathan dropped the edge of his paper and looked about the table.

"You cooked?" he asked, surprised.

Between school and work, the only things he ever seemed to have time to eat were sandwiches and a quick apple. And when they went out, he'd always insisted on providing the meal, so this was the first time she'd really had the opportunity to cook for him. Looking at the mounds of eggs, bacon and fruit, she wondered if perhaps she had gone a little overboard.

"It's the least I could do," she said modestly, scooting in her chair. She wasn't sure exactly what she expected him to say, but what she certainly did not expect was the look of a man who'd suddenly lost his appetite.

He swallowed uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "Oh, uh, you know what? Um, I forgot about the fence that came down in the north pasture. I still have a lot to do. I think I'll have something later." He got up from his chair, pushed it in, and dropped the paper onto the table.

"Jonathan" Mrs. Kent tried to interject.

"I really have to get this done. Excuse me," he said quickly and headed hastily to the door.

"Jonathan Richard Kent," his mother called after him. The slam of a closed screen door was the only answer she received.

Martha pushed out her chair and walked out into the yard after him, having to almost jog to keep up with his long, hurried strides. "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," he replied flatly, keeping his fast pace, eyes averted to the field ahead of him.

"Well, then I don't understand. Last night you wanted me to stay and today you act as if you can barely stand to look at me. I was only trying to do something nice for you and you just" her right hand gestured back behind them.

He stopped abruptly and rounded on her, inches from her face, almost causing her to stumble. "I don't want you to do anything for me!" he shouted, his towering form almost frightening, its shadow looming large and dark over her, as she stared back, wide-eyed. Though she knew he would never hurt her, the sheer shock alone was enough to send her back a few steps.

At her reaction, he instantly shrank back himself, and the consuming fire of anger receded into the blue of his eyes, replaced with immediate regret.

"Then maybe I should go home," she said calmly, despite the tears gathered at the corners of her own eyes.

Jonathan placed his hands on his hips and studied the ground. "Yeah, maybe you should."

TBC...