by Mrs. Marcia Dentist
DISCLAIMER: I don't own these people, but if I did you can bet they'd be coming over to dance for me every night.
Dinner had been quiet. No one was in a particularly good mood and the conversation had not strayed much past "Pass the chicken."
Clark had been in a full-blown adolescent mood swing since being woken up at 5 am to help Jonathan---who himself was in no mood for teenage complaints---with some work out in the fields. Martha couldn't help but be amazed at the constancy of moody teenagers, whether from Kansas or outer space.
Jonathan's mood had been carried over from a couple week's worth of drought. The crops were desperate for water and the rest of the farm was becoming reminiscent of the dust storms that were legendary in Kansas history. In between bites he turned his head toward the window searching for any sign of rain. But the best the forecast could offer was a 20% chance of light rain---sometime next week. Just another August in Kansas: scorching and dry.
Martha was just tired. You might say it came with the territory of being a farmer's wife and the mother of a super-human teenager. The sour moods of her guys did nothing to maker her feel any better.
"Clark, if you're done with your supper you can be excused," Martha said, knowing he was anxious for the solitude of his loft.
"Okay," Clark said, getting up and heading for the door. "I'll be in the barn."
Martha stood up and began to clear the table. She wasn't all that hungry.
She took her plate to the sink; on the way she flipped on the kitchen radio. Smallville's radio programming consisted of little more than the weekly AM farmer's report, but on quiet nights like this they could pick up a country station out of nearby Granville. It had taken Martha---a born and bred city girl---a while to get used to the hokey tone of the music, but over the years the music had grown on her. Jonathan teased her about her conversion to country music, always asking her if she meant two-stepping when she suggested dinner and dancing. But it comforted Martha. It made her feel safe and warm, like she was home.
He watched her clear the table, humming softly along with the radio. Jonathan knew that his mood over the past few weeks had worn on Martha. It made him sad and upset with himself. He had told her that no matter what things she might have to go without, she'd always feel loved. Lately he'd been too wrapped up in the weather to follow through on that promise. He stood up and walked up behind her at the sink and put his arms around her shoulders.
"You know I love you."
"Of course I know it," she looked up at him, forced a smile and then went back to the dishes.
"I haven't been much fun recently," he offered sheepishly.
"The weather..." she gestured to the window and gave him a sympathetic look.
"You don't really think that's a good excuse do you?" he asked. She just smiled at him. "We need the rain---the land needs the rain, God knows. I love this land; I hate to see it dying. But Martha, a part of me dies when I see you sad. I've been rotten lately and I'm sorry. And I do love you. More than you'll ever know."
She had stopped washing and turned to look up at him, her eyes shining. "Jonathan..." she said softly as she went into his arms. They stood hugging each other for a few moments.
"Hey! Listen, they're playing our song!" Jonathan said, reaching over to turn up the music. "Wanna dance?" he asked, winking at her.
"Is there any other way?"
He led her out to the center of the kitchen and twirled her around like there were no dishes to do and plenty of water to do them with.
She was smiling. He had stopped worrying about the rain.
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