From: "L-Soft list server at Indiana University (1.8d)" To: "ARTF@MemoryAlpha.nil" File: "LOISCLA-GENERAL-L LOG9812E" ========================================================================= Date: Tue, 29 Dec 1998 13:09:48 -0500 Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: Farah Meitzen Chisham Subject: LISTSERV server maintenance Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" thought you guys would want to know >From: "Bassett, Peg" >To: "'all-request@listserv.indiana.edu'" > >Subject: LISTSERV server maintenance >Date: Tue, 29 Dec 1998 10:46:07 -0500 >Content-Length: 287 > > > >The LISTSERV server will be unavailable Wednesday, December 30th >>from midnight - 2am. The server is scheduled for an operating system >upgrade. > >My apologies for the short notice. If you have any questions or concerns >please let me know. > >Thank you, >Peggy Bassett >UITS Messaging Team > farah :) fchisham@indiana.edu ========================================================================= Date: Tue, 29 Dec 1998 14:00:38 -0500 Reply-To: x-lander@geocities.com Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: Mark Safransky Subject: MacGyver repeat with Teri MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit I know everyone is psyched for Dean's appearance on Fantasy Island so everone ought to appreciate a MacGyver rerun on WGN with Teri guest starring. TUESDAY 1/5/99 11 pm EST WGN MacGyver Cleo Rocks An actress friend's (Teri Hatcher) role in a new musical, produced by MacGyver's chief adversary (Michael Des Barres), could spell trouble. Set those VCR's! Mark x-lander@geocities.com Save the whales. Collect the whole set. ========================================================================= Date: Tue, 29 Dec 1998 15:10:31 -0500 Reply-To: x-lander@geocities.com Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: Mark Safransky Subject: Re: MacGyver repeat with Teri MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="------------1E8025CCCBAB51E7478C997D" --------------1E8025CCCBAB51E7478C997D Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Not realizing that WGN is apparently not seen everywhere, I received the following: > What is WGN? Not knowing where you are, this isn't helpful for us not familiar > with that station. > Sorry. WGN is a superstation that broadcasts from Chicago and is carried by satellite and cable to everywhere in the world. Heck, I was in Belize once and everyone there is a Cubs fan simply because they all watch WGN there. Anyway, check your local listings to see whether WGN is carried by your local cable company. Also, you can check out their website at http://www.wgntv.com and see for yourself. Mark --------------1E8025CCCBAB51E7478C997D Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Not realizing that WGN is apparently not seen everywhere, I received the following:
  
What is WGN? Not knowing where you are, this isn't helpful for us not
familiar
with that station.
  Sorry.  WGN is a superstation that broadcasts from Chicago and is carried by satellite and cable to everywhere in the world.  Heck, I was in Belize once and everyone there is a Cubs fan simply because they all watch WGN there.  Anyway, check your local listings to see whether WGN is carried by your local cable company.  Also, you can check out their website at http://www.wgntv.com and see for yourself.

Mark --------------1E8025CCCBAB51E7478C997D-- ========================================================================= Date: Tue, 29 Dec 1998 20:18:04 -0600 Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: "Raymond, Melody" Subject: Praise of Fanfic MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain Hi everyone, I just finished reading the recent IRC round robin L&C story "All I Want For Christmas". I must say that I have always enjoyed the round robin stories and the last few written since Halloween have been really good. I like the continuation of the story. Another thing I've really liked is Drs. Klein and Fiskin getting together. They make for a very funny but enjoyable couple. Keep up the good work and the continuation of the story. Will there be a New Year's Party story? I was also wondering whether there are any plans for more soutmates stories? Melody raymond@aaos.org ========================================================================= Date: Wed, 30 Dec 1998 16:19:11 MST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: DEBRA GRAY Subject: I'm BA-ack! Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Hi everyone, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you. After several weeks of trying, I am finally re-subscribed to the list, and boy, is it great to be back!!! Thanks to Farah and Zoom for your help. I look forward to some wonderful discussion about our favourite show and super-couple very soon. BTW - I'm missing a few eps from 3rd and 4th season that I'm getting impatient for Vancouver's channel 12 to get back around to, so I can see them - if anyone would like to help impatient me, I'd appreciate hearing from you on private e-mail. Debra G dlgray@usa.net ____________________________________________________________________ Get free e-mail and a permanent address at http://www.netaddress.com/?N=1 ========================================================================= Date: Wed, 30 Dec 1998 19:33:17 -0800 Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: Stacy S Subject: nfic list MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii I hope someone can help me. I see a lot of people talking about nfics, and about being on a mailing list for them, but I don't know how to get on that list. Can someone out there tell me how to get onto the nfic list? Thanks. == Stacy (@ @) --------------------oOOo-(_)-oOOo--------------------------- _________________________________________________________ DO YOU YAHOO!? Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 00:06:21 -0500 Reply-To: bird@sentex.net Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: The Bird & I Company Subject: Re: nfic list MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Stacy S wrote: > > I hope someone can help me. I see a lot of people talking about nfics, > and about being on a mailing list for them, but I don't know how to > get on that list. Can someone out there tell me how to get onto the > nfic list? Thanks. > > == > > Stacy > > (@ @) > --------------------oOOo-(_)-oOOo--------------------------- > _________________________________________________________ > DO YOU YAHOO!? > Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com Hi, have the same problem. Would like to get on the nfics list but don't seem to be able to. Would appreciate if some kind soul can help. Thanks Sue ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:07:09 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: No Name Available Subject: NEW FANFIC ALERT: The Martha Bums Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit I've never sent any of my fanfics out through the list before, but I figure there's a first time for everything. Hopefully it will send well -- I've had problems sending my stories in the past so I'm trying a new, supposedly improved way. Each of the 13 e-mails should be under 20K. The story is the first of a (so far) three parter about Martha's childhood and young adulthood. Enjoy and happy new year! -Christy attalanta@aol.com ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:08:07 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: No Name Available Subject: NEW FANFIC: The Martha Bums: 1/13 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit The Martha Chronicles This started out as a simple explanation of something Martha said in Ides of Metropolis (that Jonathan was the first man she kissed, and would be the last). The story grew so much that I had to divide it into three. The Bible passage quoted is from I Corinthians, 13:9-12 of the King James version version and the lyrics to Somewhere Over the Rainbow are from The Wizard of Oz. All feedback is appreciated. The Martha Chronicles 1: The Martha Bums Christy Kubit (kubitc@kenyon.edu or Attalanta@aol.com) The old woman dried her hands on the soft towel hanging next to the sink and, flipping the light switch off first, left the bathroom. She headed towards her bedroom, only to be distracted by the hint of a light from downstairs. She followed the soft path of light to the kitchen, where a lanky, dark-complected girl stood at the sink, gulping indelicately from a glass of water. "Can't sleep?" The girl jumped visibly, then turned around to face her grandmother. "Nope," she admitted, rinsing the glass out before placing it on the drying rack next to the sink. Sighing, she said, "Nothing new there," and turned to go upstairs. "How 'bout if I tell you a story? Just like when you were a little girl and afraid to go to sleep after a nightmare." The girl smiled, joining her grandmother in recalling the frightening nightmares she'd had as a child, and how her father, or grandmother, if she was visiting her grandparents, would wake up and stay with her until she fell asleep again. It hadn't been rare for them to spend hours trying to get her back to sleep; singing, reading, counting sheep, they had tried it all, but to no avail. She had to wait to grow out of her nightmares and, hopefully, out of her insomnia as well. "A story sounds great," the girl agreed, went into the family room, and settled onto the couch. "What about how you and Grandpa met?" The grandmother nodded. "I was thinking we could go upstairs. In case you fall asleep. Sleeping on this couch all night'll give you a stiff neck in the morning." "'What if I fall asleep?'" the girl repeated, shaking her head in amusement. "I wish! It's a lot cooler down here, though." "Well, then, what if *I* fall asleep?" the grandmother asked her with a smile. "Then I'll carry you upstairs." "You wouldn't be able to carry me upstairs!" the older woman exclaimed, amused at the idea. "And why not?" The old woman looked at her granddaughter, her bare, gangly legs folded beneath her on the couch. Then she looked down at her own body, always small, now shrinking with age. Probably her granddaughter was right; she could carry her upstairs. Then she remembered the girl's developing super-strength. Okay, *definitely* she could. The old woman smiled; her granddaughter would be happy that she'd forgotten about her Powers, even for a split second, so she told her and was rewarded with a pleased smile. The grandmother relented, took a seat next to the girl, and the two found a comfortable position leaning against each other. "Your grandpa and I were very lucky to have met." The girl smiled, remembering the many times she'd heard this story before. There was more to the story every time her grandmother told it; the years had been kind to the grandmother's memory, and the girl guessed that, since she was a teenager, her grandmother felt more and more comfortable sharing the more, oh, *rebellious* parts of the story. "Your grandfather grew up right here in Smallville, and I was born in a big city on the East Coast..." * * * * * "Now you be a good girl and don't give the Websters any trouble, Martha," my grandmother said as we waited for the airplane that would take me to Smallville, Kansas, to arrive. I was twelve years old, on the cusp of boarding school, and complications with my father's poor health sent me to Kansas for the summer. My grandmother, my mother's mother, had decided that the best thing to do with me that summer would be to send me off to visit distant cousins in Kansas. Mother spent nearly all of her time taking care of my father, and this summer they were headed to some clinic in Sweden to try an experimental procedure that wasn't legal in the U.S. I didn't know Frances Webster, my mother's cousin, or her husband or children, but before I could object (not that anyone would have listened), I was on my way to spend three months with them. I nodded at my grandmother's request and blinked back a tear. "Now you know you're very lucky to be flying in an airplane," my grandmother reminded me, as if that could take my mind off my sick father, too-busy-for-me mother, and the strangers with whom I'd be spending the summer. In a way, I suppose I was lucky -- it was 1950 and, even though the Depression had been ushered out by new booming war-time industries, most people still didn't have enough money for luxuries like airplane rides. But I'd already been on an airplane, and, besides, I could think of better places to travel to. Like Sweden. Or better yet, back to Boston. But my grandmother, the uncompromising matriarch of the family, had "suggested" that I'd be better off in Kansas, so that's where I was headed. "First call for flight 526 to Los Angeles with stops in Cleveland, Chicago, Kansas City, and Denver," an official-sounding voice droned over the airport loudspeakers and my grandmother nudged me. "That's your flight, Martha," she reminded me with another nudge, making me think that she was a little too anxious to get rid of me. "Now stand up and let me smooth out the wrinkles in your skirt," she commanded. I stood, she smoothed, and I picked up my tapestry carry-on as my grandmother stood up and turned her fussing hands loose on my hair, smoothing the ribbon that held my long red hair from falling into my face. Grandmother and I headed towards the plane and, although my suitcase-less hand reached for my grandmother's, both of her fisted hands swung sternly at her sides until we reached the stewardess who was checking tickets at the gate. My grandmother explained my situation to the uniformed woman -- "my little granddaughter will be flying by herself to spend the summer with cousins in Kansas" -- and I was allowed to board. The blond-haired stewardess, who smiled at me and introduced herself as "Miss Jones," promised my grandmother that she would "look out for me special," but as soon as Grandmother turned to head back to the parking lot where Joseph, our driver, was waiting in a car for her, Miss Jones passed me on to an older woman wearing the same cotton uniform as she was. The older woman, whose name was Miss Peale, helped me find the seat designated on my ticket and placed my carry-on beneath the seat in front of me. She took the seat next to mine and, thinking it was my first flight, explained what would be happening in the next few hours, how the plane would take off, and where we would be landing first. Finally a man stopped next to Miss Peale's seat and waved his ticket in front of her. It looked as if she had been sitting in his seat, so she let the man take it and she got back to work. I spent the beginning of the flight alternately staring out the window at passing clouds and watching the man next to me, who had fallen into a deep snoring sleep after about five minutes. His head swayed back and forth on his neck like the arm of a metronome while he slept, and every once in a while his snore would be so loud that it would wake him up. But after a few more head- bobbings, he would fall right back asleep. By the time we reached Cleveland I was bored and took out my newest book, The Land of Oz, which Father had gotten for me to read on the plane ride. Grandmother complained that it was "fantastical nonsense," but Father had secretly bought it for me after we saw The Wizard of Oz. The man next to me got off in Chicago, leaving an empty seat where Miss Peale could rest whenever she wasn't needed up by the pilot or in the back readying and passing out meals. She asked me about my family and I told her that I lived with my parents and grandparents in Boston. She wondered whether I was lonely since I was an only child (she had grown up in a house with five brothers and sisters), but I explained that I usually played with Joseph's daughter, Sophie. Joseph and his wife, Nancy, lived with their eleven-year-old daughter in the servants' quarters off of the kitchen. Miss Peale told me about her family - she wasn't married and lived with her mother, who was old and often sick. Soon the plane landed in Kansas City and Miss Peale took my hand and my bag and lead me out of the plane and into the airport proper. I explained to her that even though I'd seen old pictures of Mrs. Webster and her family I didn't think I would recognize them. So Miss Peale waited with me at the desk at the gate until a tall, brown-haired man wearing denim overalls and a plaid shirt approached us. "She Martha Clark?" he asked Miss Peale gruffly, avoiding looking at me. Miss Peale nodded, sizing the man up, and handed him my bag. "I'm Dorothy Peale, one of the stewardesses. You're Martha's cousin?" The man nodded. "She's my wife Frances's relation." "You can pick up the rest of her luggage in the baggage claim area," Miss Peale told the man after he introduced himself as Skip Webster. Mr. Webster nodded again in thanks, looked at me and grunted, "Come on, child, time's a wastin'," and turned, obviously expecting me to follow. I did, quickly, pausing only to shout "thank you!" and smile and wave at Miss Peale, who smiled and waved back before returning to the airplane. Mr. Webster didn't speak to me on our way to get my luggage, and only broke his silence to ask what my bags looked like. I pointed one of the leather bags out to him, and he didn't speak again. We recovered my bags, Mr. Webster nearly rolling his eyes at my surprise when he handed me a bag to carry. I couldn't understand why he wanted me to carry a bag, but I guessed that he didn't want to make multiple trips, like Joseph did at the Boston airport. So I lifted the bag tentatively, hoping it wouldn't be too heavy. I followed him out of the airport, through a parking lot to a beat-up pick-up truck. The truck door stuck and Mr. Webster let me struggle with it for a few minutes before coming around the vehicle to open it for me. Mr. Webster didn't speak during the two-hour-long ride to Smallville either, so I watched the scenery pass by through the mud-spotted window, not knowing that I would one day call this small farming area home. ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:09:17 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: No Name Available Subject: NEW FANFIC: The Martha Bums: 2/13 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit continued from part 1 * * * * * The dirty blue pick-up drove through "downtown" Smallville, and I couldn't stop my mouth from falling open in surprise. Whoever had named the town was clearly not optimistic about its potential for growth. There were only a handful of stores, including an ice cream parlour with a striped awning, a dime store advertising a sale on radios, a half-farm-supply-half-grocery called Harley's Feed Store with fresh produce displayed in barrels in front of the store, and a gray clap-board church whose shiny gold cross presided over the center of town. We continued through the town, leaving dust in our wake as it sped over the flat landscape, traveling for what seemed like hours before pulling into the driveway of an old white farmhouse. The truck roared to a stop and, again without a word, Mr. Webster got out and slammed the door. I waited for him to come around to my side and open my door for me but I realized that he wasn't going to. I struggled with the handle and pushed the heavy door open myself, then jumped down from the truck. Mr. Webster was gathering my bags from the back of the truck and I waited until he finished, fearful he would give me the heaviest bag, but he didn't. I followed him up onto the back porch, where we found a mixed-breed dog lazily guarding a squeaky screen door. The kitchen we entered was sunlit and warm, and smelled like baking. The door lead to the farmhouse kitchen where there stood a woman who, if I used my imagination and squinted hard, just slightly resembled my mother. Her round build reminded me of a set of hollow wooden nesting dolls, complete with a mismatched handkerchief holding back her hair, and it was her familiar strawberry-blond hair that forced me to admit that she was indeed related to me. Seeing us, she wiped her hands on the floury apron tied around her thick waist and grinned. "Martha! My, how big you've gotten!" she exclaimed. "I'm your Aunt Frances, dear," she explained before pulling me into a warm cinnamon- scented embrace. I bit my lip, not sure whether I should put my arms around this unfamiliar woman or simply stand there and let her hold me; handshakes were the usual manner of greeting at home, and I couldn't remember the last time a family member, never mind a perfect stranger, had hugged me. Thankfully, she let go and held me at arms' length, studying me for a minute. "You look just like your mother!" I half-smiled and nodded my head; that was something I'd heard many times before and I guessed that, since my mother was always complimented on her youthful good looks, I should feel honored to be told I resembled her. Mrs. Webster directed her husband as to where he could leave my bags. She then took a big bowl off the kitchen table and patted a wooden chair, which I took as my cue to sit. So I did. She sat down across from me and patted at her face in an attempt at cleaning off the flour, but succeeded only in further decorating her face. "I hope your father's doing better, and that those foreign doctors'll be able to help him," she said gently. This was another compliment I was used to receiving -- well-wishes for my father, who had been sick for as long as I could remember. "Thank you. I'm sure they will." She set a glass of thick yellow-white liquid in front of me, then finally plopped herself ungracefully onto the seat next to mine. She smiled at my confusion. "It's buttermilk, dear," Mrs. Webster told me, and I nodded, taking a small sip of the thick, sour liquid and trying to hide my grimace at its taste. Mrs. Webster reassured me with a pat on the hand, then rose from the table. She grabbed a large copper bell from the counter and stepped outside. "Skippy, Ruth, Adie, Bobby!" she yelled, clanging the bell. The loud sound surprised me and I nearly spilled the glass of buttermilk I had been scooting around the gingham tablecloth. Mrs. Webster waited for a minute, then closed the door and set the bell back on the counter. She smiled at me, unaware of the mess I had made while her back was turned since I had covered it up with a napkin. "Your cousins'll be in in a minute," she explained as four muddy children reached the screen door. "Shoes!" Mrs. Webster yelled, and they removed their dirty sneakers before entering. This done, the four of them pointed at me and giggled, noticing me for the first time. I wondered what Grandmother would have said about them. Probably she would've recommended their immediate enrollment in Miss Mabel's School for Young Ladies, where I'd learned how to be "a lady" while Sophie had gotten to play outside and read. "This here is Skip, Junior." Mrs. Webster placed a hand on the shoulder of the largest child, causing him to settle down. "He's thirteen, your age, right?" I nodded and surveyed the dirty boy who stood in front of me. He shared not only his father's name but his hair color and build, and I was sure that if I stood up he would've towered over me, which wasn't all that unusual since, as everyone liked to remind me, I was rather short for my age. "And this is Ruth," Mrs. Webster said, placing her other hand on the shoulder of the child next to Skippy, a girl with long light brown braids capped off by mismatched ribbons and a dirt-smudged face; Ruth was ten. "And Adie," she told me, gesturing to the next oldest child, an eight-year-old with darker hair that was clipped haphazardly short, barely skimming the nape of her neck. Adie smiled a shy missing-tooth grin. "This is Bobby, who's five." The little boy, dressed in heavily patched overalls and little else, held up a hand displaying five dirty fingers. "Little Kenny is upstairs taking a nap -- you can meet him later on." She paused for a breath. "Now, Skippy and Ruth, why don't you show Martha to her room?" Mrs. Webster suggested, gesturing upstairs with one hand. "Aw, Ma," Skippy began, but his mother cut off his protests. "Skip Terrence Webster, Junior, I don't want to hear any crabbin' from you today," Mrs. Webster reprimanded, wagging a finger at him. "You show Martha where she'll be staying and then you can take her outside and show her the rest of the farm." Skippy hung his head for a moment, muttered "yes, ma'am..." and barely gestured at me to follow him as he headed out of the kitchen. I could see he and I were not going to get along, which I didn't consider too big a loss. "Come on," he ordered me, so I followed Skippy and Ruth out of the kitchen while Adie and Bobby, happy not to have to baby-sit, scampered back outside. Skippy led us through the small downstairs, which consisted only of the kitchen, a living room, and a bathroom, of which I only got a small peak through the slightly-open door. But I had a long look at the living room and I noticed that its furniture, like the kitchen table, was well-worn. The fabric of the two sun-bleached couches, whose backs were covered by crocheted blankets, didn't match. A threadbare oval rug and a slew of children's toys covered the living room floor, and drab-brown curtains hung at the windows. I was sad not to see a piano -- I'd have to find somewhere else to practice if I was going to keep up with my music studies. We stepped around a pile of folded laundry at the base of the stairs, and the loose banister knob came off in my hand when I gripped it. I stuck it back on quickly. When he reached the top of the stairs, Skippy pointed dutifully to one of the three bedrooms. "That's the girls' room," he mumbled before racing back downstairs. Slowly I went into the room with Ruth behind me, noticing that my suitcases had already been placed on one of the three beds, the one without a worn, homemade doll perched on its pillow. It wasn't even a bed -- more of a cot, really, shoved between a dresser and the far wall, and I'd have to sleep on it all summer. "These are mine and Adie's beds," Ruth explained quietly, "and this here one's yours." I thought longingly of my bed at home, which was large, had a brass headboard, and was covered with dolls and stuffed animals. And in its own room. I nodded and thanked Ruth, who stood there looking at me for another minute. I wanted to be alone, to get used to this new house and the unfamiliar people in it, but Ruth just stood there staring at me. Finally she said, "So you wanna come outside with me and I can show you 'round?" "No, thank you. I'd like to get unpacked before lunch," I explained, trying to be polite. Ruth, seemingly happy to be free of me, quickly showed me which drawers I could use before retracing Skippy's path downstairs. When Ruth left I closed the door and sat on the squeaky metal cot, fingering the soft hand-made quilt that fitted the bed and surveying the room. I turned around, taking in each wall and the beds and dressers, wondering how the three of us were going to share a room half the size of my room at home. Covering the walls were framed embroidered cross-stitch samplers of the alphabet, the numbers one through ten, and a rendition of an old building labeled as Smallville City Hall. I opened my bags and concentrated on fitting the many things I'd brought into the few drawers I'd been allotted. After I finished as best I could, stowing the remainder of my belongings in my suitcases and sliding them beneath my bed, I plucked my delicate, porcelain-faced doll from where I'd set her on my pillow. She had been a Christmas gift from my father when I was six, and, after comparing her to the smaller, cheaper cloth doll Sophie had received, I'd begged Father for another one, so that my best friend and I could play with them together. It hadn't taken much prodding for him to agree to send Joseph out to get another one, and to surprise Sophie with the belated Christmas gift. I held the doll tightly to my chest and snuggled into a ball on the bed, covering my eyes before the tears came. ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:10:16 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: No Name Available Subject: NEW FANFIC: The Martha Bums: 3/13 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit continued from part 2 * * * * * "Martha, was dinner not to your liking? Martha? *Martha!*" "Huh?" I looked up. I had been pushing my dinner around the yellow-edged plate in front of me, not paying any attention to the conversation until Mrs. Webster called out my name. "Did you not like dinner?" she repeated, and now everyone sitting around the cramped table turned to look at me except for Kenny, who was poking his chubby little fingers into the mashed potatoes smeared across his high chair tray. "Oh, uh, it was fine, Mrs. Webster," I told her, and managed a bite of fried chicken. But Skippy noticed that my potatoes were still untouched. "You didn't eaten any potatoes," Skippy accused, and I poked at them with my fork. "Mother made them for you. She even made her good gravy, the kind that she only makes for special occasions." "Um, well, I'm not very hungry." And I wasn't, but the real reason I wasn't eating was that the 'special gravy' that Mrs. Webster had poured generously over my potatoes was strange-tasting, and I didn't like it. Skippy narrowed his eyes at me, then turned and whispered something to Adie, who was sitting next to him. Just to show Skippy that he was wrong about me not liking his mother's cooking, I refused dessert, a walnut brownie. I could've managed to choke down the brownie; it actually looked pretty good. But no, I decided. I didn't want Skippy to think that he was right, so I sat at the table while the Websters enjoyed their dessert. At home in the evenings I usually watched a television program or two, and then maybe played with Sophie. I hadn't noticed a television in the Websters' living room, but I figured that one of the children would show me where it was before the good programming began for the night. Grandfather and Daddy, when he wasn't napping, liked to watch "Meet the Press" with Lawrence Spivak, and Mother's favorites were the variety shows, like The Perry Como Show, and also Cavalcade of the Stars, with Art Carney and Jackie Gleason. Grandmother pretended not to like television, claiming that her women's club had heard that it could make you near-sighted, or even blind, but I noticed that she always happened to be in the room when Sophie and I were watching our favorite drama, I Remember Mama. But no one mentioned television, and, as it got late, I began to wonder where it was. "Where do you keep your television set?" I asked. Skippy guffawed. That was the only word to describe it - guffaw. "What are you, crazy? We don't have a television set!" he said, as though the fact was obvious. "The only family I know who has a television are the Marshalls, in Danbury." "You don't?" I couldn't believe it. All of my friends' families had televisions, and Sophie's family even had their own set in their living quarters, though Sophie often watched with me in our living room. "No," Ruth said defensively. "At night we play outside, or read stories, or sing, or listen to radio programs." "Radio programs?!" I felt like I'd traveled back in time to the 20s or something! "Yeah, *radio* programs," Skippy repeated sternly, as if he were daring me to criticize. Just then Mrs. Webster turned her head away from the sewing machine that sat near the window in the living room. "Have the radio programs started yet?" she asked. "I'd like to listen to 'My Favorite Husband.' That Lucille Ball is my favorite." "It's not on tonight, Ma," Skippy told Mrs. Webster, and she promptly returned to her sewing. "'My Favorite Husband's' the only show she'll listen to, except for 'Blondie,' sometimes, but Pa doesn't like 'Blondie,' so we don't usually listen to it." "Are you putting that gosh-darned 'Blondie' program on again?" Mr. Webster asked as if on cue, lowering the day's issue of the pathetically thin Smallville Press. "No, Pa," Skippy said, rolling his eyes. "A detective program is on tonight. I'm not sure which one." It turned out to be 'The New Adventures of Nero Wolfe,' whoever *he* was. After being used to television, radio programs were pretty boring. Adie and Ruth didn't like Nero Wolfe either, so the three of us went outside, and Ruth and Adie introduced me to the animals in the barn before it got dark and Mrs. Webster called us in for the night. A few hours later Mrs. Webster called to us from the foot of the stairs. "Children, I'm putting Kenny to bed, so it's time for the story." She was heading into the boys' bedroom, a half-asleep Kenny in tow. The rest of the children raced upstairs behind her, and I followed dutifully. "Ma reads us all a bedtime story before Kenny goes to bed. The rest of us don't have to be in bed yet, but she reads it early so we can all listen. Later Pa'll read from the Bible, for us older kids only, though," Ruth told me conspiratorially, as if I should be proud to be considered an 'older kid.' All seven of us crowded on the two beds in the boys' room, and Mrs. Webster began that night's story, Strawberry Girl, by Lois Lenski, and since I'd already read it, I let my mind drift, thinking of the unfinished copy of The Land of Oz that I'd tucked in my suitcase. That night's selection wasn't very long, and when Mrs. Webster finished she closed the book quietly and slipped Kenny, who'd fallen asleep, into a wooden crib near the window. The rest of us, besides Bobby, who was told to go wash up since his bedtime was next, went downstairs. Even though it was practically dark by then, a group of boys knocked on the door to ask whether Skippy could come out and play. He dashed off behind them. Ruth got out a cross-stitch sampler and bothered her mother to help her get out a rather large knot that she'd managed to work into the floss. And I stood at the foot of the steps, unsure of what to do, until Adie came up to me and tugged gently on my hand. "Want to come upstairs and meet my dollies?" she offered generously, and, since I had nothing better to do, I followed her and was introduced to the dolls who lived in a miniature hand- carved crib beneath her bed. We played with the dolls for a bit, and Adie kindly let me play with her favorite, the one who occupied the place of honor on her bed, and who, strangely enough, was named Malaria. We headed back downstairs just in time to see Mr. Webster rise slowly from his chair, put his paper on a small coffee table next to the chair, and head towards the kitchen. Minutes later his voice barked out the back door. "SKIPPY!" Only one call was needed for Skippy to return inside, and Mrs. Webster warned Adie that her bedtime was next, so she better get upstairs. That seemed to be Ruth's cue to retrieve the family's copy of the King James Bible from a well- stocked bookshelf in the corner of the room. Indeed, after Adie was put to bed, the older Websters and I sat in a circle around Mr. Webster, who had taken his seat in the living room again. He took the thick, much-worn volume that Ruth offered him, and opened it to the bookmarked page. That night was First Corinthians: "'For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then I shall now even as also I am known.' What do you suppose that means, children?" Skippy and Ruth shrugged their shoulders, and Mr. Webster turned to me. "Well, young lady, what do *you* think it means?" His voice sounded a little harsh, like he was daring me to interpret the passage correctly, like the minister at my church at home did with young children. "Uh," I stalled. I hadn't been paying attention to the whole passage, rather, I'd been wondering what time I'd have to go to bed that night, and whether Mrs. Webster would come upstairs to tuck me in the way she had with her own children. So I repeated the last portion of the passage in my head, trying to think what it meant, so that I could show Mr. Webster that I *did* know something, that I wasn't just some dumb kid. I really hated being called "young lady." "I think," I began, "I think it means that when we're young we can only understand a little bit about things, like how the world works, and that when we grow up we'll understand more." Mrs. Webster nodded her head and smiled proudly, and Skippy looked at me with jealous, narrowed eyes, but Mr. Webster still hadn't commented on my interpretation. I knew it was correct, or at least partly correct, because I remember our minister from home giving a sermon on that reading a few months back. I knew I remembered at least a little of what he'd said, even though I didn't like him very much and didn't always pay attention to his sermons. "Close, young lady, close," Mr. Webster said, and I figured that "close" was all the praise he could muster. "What it means, children, is that you must listen to your parents. Always listen to your parents. That is what the reading meant when it said that you will put away childish things when you become a man; when you grow up, when you stop playing like a child, you will know more and will not have to listen to your parents anymore. Then you will be adults and be allowed to move out and have your own jobs and families," he announced matter-of-factly. I knew he was wrong. Father John, our priest at home, hadn't said anything like that, not at all. And he'd been trained to be a priest. Mr. Webster hadn't. I was sure that Father John had been to priest school, or wherever priests were taught, and had learned what everything that was written in the Bible really meant. Otherwise how could he tell us what it meant every Sunday? But Skippy, who had stopped making faces at me, nodded obediently at their father, and even Mrs. Webster, who'd seemed to agree with me, smiled softly at her husband before telling Ruth that she'd better get ready for bed. That left me with Skippy, and Mr. and Mrs. Webster, so I announced that I was tired from the long flight that morning, and headed upstairs behind Ruth. She chattered away about the picnic that was being held after church the next day, and how I'd get to meet all the other kids and the Sunday School teacher, who, >from Ruth's glowing recommendation, seemed to be nearly perfect. At least a disciple, if not God's right-hand man. ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:11:20 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: No Name Available Subject: NEW FANFIC: The Martha Bums: 4/13 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit continued from part 3 But Ruth stopped talking and pressed her forefinger over her lips in a "sh" gesture before we opened the door to the bedroom. "Adie's sleeping," she reminded me, and we went into the room. We couldn't turn on the light for fear of waking Adie, so we found our pajamas (Ruth wore a long flower-print nightgown and I had on a pair of yellow baby doll pajamas), and dressed in the dark. Mrs. Webster came into the bedroom without knocking and watched as we knelt beside our beds and silently "thought" our prayers so that we wouldn't wake Adie, who gave a little snore when I climbed slowly into the creaky cot that had been set up for me. Mrs. Webster tucked us in, giving us both a kiss on the forehead after adjusting our pillows. "Martha?" "Sshh, Ruth, Adie's sleeping," I reminded her. "Oh, Adie - she can sleep through anything, even really loud thunderstorms. We won't wake her." "But I thought you said..." "Just because Ma would've gotten mad if she heard us talking. She's always afraid that I'll wake Adie, but I never have." "Oh, okay." "Martha?" Ruth asked again. "What?" "I just wanted to tell you that the reason Skippy was making faces at you was because *he's* always the one who understands what the Bible passages mean. But since he didn't know this one he was mad that you did. But don't let him bother you," she instructed me. "I think it was great that you understood what it meant, *especially* because Skippy didn't know." Even though the room was dark I knew that Ruth was smiling at me from her bed. I smiled back. "Thanks, Ruth." Then I heard her turn over in her bed, and a moment later a high-pitched snore joined Adie's in chorus. But I couldn't fall asleep. I kept hearing strange noises coming from out the window. All the familiar noises of home were gone, replaced by what were probably wild animals trying to climb up the side of the house and into the bedroom. It was a warm summer night, but I felt a shiver run through my body, and got up to close the window, even though a nice breeze had been blowing in and tickling my toes. I turned my thoughts to the prayers that I had thought a few minutes ago. I had prayed for Mother and Daddy, that they'd get to Sweden safely and that Daddy's experimental treatment would finally make him better. Grudgingly, I'd also said a prayer for Grandmother and Grandfather. When I was younger I used to not pray for them, since Grandmother especially liked to be mean and boss me around, but I always felt guilty about it. So I'd rectified the situation in my mind by praying that Grandmother and Grandfather would be nice. That night I'd added the Websters to my prayers, backwards and unsophisticated as they were. I had added my grandparents clause when I prayed for Skippy and Mr. Webster, that they be nice to me, but hadn't felt it to be necessary for any of the other Websters. Then I had thought about Sophie and what she and her parents were doing back in Boston. It was an hour later there, so probably she was in bed, too. I wondered what television program she'd watched that night (for I was pretty sure that she hadn't listened "The New Adventures of Nero Wolfe," as the Websters had), and what she was planning to do tomorrow after she went to services at the Catholic church across town that her family attended. Finally I had thought, loudly, but only in my head so I wouldn't wake Adie even if she *was* a sound sleeper like Ruth claimed, to please let me go back home real soon. * * * * * "You about ready, Martha? Make sure you dress nicely. Remember, all of Smallville's going to be at the picnic." Mrs. Webster knocked softly on the open door of the bedroom I was sharing with Ruth and Adie. It was Sunday, my second day with the Websters, and I was dressing for church. "I know, Mrs. Webster," I intoned dutifully, quickly gathering up belongings and placing them in my purse. I'd been in Smallville for less than a day by then, but had heard Mrs. Webster's reminder to "dress nicely" a million times already. I knew she was used to having to remind her heathen-like children to dress up -- Skippy's whiny moans that accompanied Mrs. Webster's reminders made that obvious -- but she didn't have to remind me. From the glimpses I got while Adie and Ruth were dressing earlier this morning, my everyday clothes were nicer than the Websters' dress-up ones anyway. Before dinner last night Mrs. Webster had explained to me that today, besides usual church services and in lieu of Sunday School, which I would be attending next week, the church would be sponsoring a summer picnic. It would give me a good opportunity to meet other children my age, she said, and promised I would have a wonderful time. So I had dressed carefully, wearing my nicest summer clothes, an apple green dress with matching hair bows, and a new pair of white patent shoes. I was still checking the contents of my purse when Mrs. Webster again reminded me to "hurry up, Martha." It seemed strange that she, and all of the Websters, were in such a hurry this morning. Their eagerness to get to the picnic seemed strange considering their limited preparations for the event. I knew that Skippy, despite playing outside the day before and making himself filthy, hadn't taken a bath. Ruth and Adie hadn't even combed their hair before sprinting downstairs to wait in the truck, and Adie was in such a hurry that she didn't even bother switching from sneakers to dress shoes. I, on the other hand, took my time and made sure that my hair was combed and tied back neatly after my morning bath. Now I was trying to switch my things >from my everyday purse to the special one that matched my favorite dress, and I snapped shut the clasp of my purse and joined Mrs. Webster at the doorway. She led me down the steps, through the house, and outside. When we got outside I could see that the Webster children were crowded in the back of the same pick-up truck that their father had driven to the airport to pick me up the day before. Didn't they have another car? What happened when it rained or snowed? Didn't they all get cold and wet? That morning everyone was dressed up (at least compared to the previous day) and they had to sit in a dusty pick-up all the way to church. Mr. and Mrs. Webster up front with little Kenny, keeping themselves clean, but the rest of the family was hanging out the back of the truck like a bunch of monkeys. Accompanied by a groan from Skippy due to my cautious movement, I climbed uneasily into the truck, careful not to let the skirt of my dress fly up in the dusty Kansas wind. When I finally sat myself down inside the truck I was glad that Mr. Webster had set a fresh, fairly clean-looking, blanket down on the hot metal floor of the truck, because otherwise my dress would have gotten dirty before we even pulled out of the Websters' driveway. The ride to the church was bumpy in the back of the Websters' truck, which smelled just slightly like manure. Before yesterday I hadn't had any idea what manure smelled like, but since then I'd quickly become well-acquainted with the aroma. Though early June, the air was hot and dry, and I could taste the dust as we sped towards the "downtown" area. I wasn't impressed. I tried to get a better look at this dusty small town as we drove through, but wasn't really able to since I had to dodge the red rubber ball that Skippy and Adie were throwing back and forth across the back of the truck. I did manage, however, to catch sight of several old farmhouses that, like the Websters' house, were in need of either a fresh coat of paint, a new roof, or the talents of a professional gardener. We passed several fields decorated with inches-high crops, and I was surprised not to see anything resembling the patchwork patterns of crops depicted in books. As the truck approached the church I could hear organ music drifting through the air, and when we pulled into the church parking lot I saw that unless there were townspeople packed like sardines inside the church, "all of Smallville" wasn't very impressive. I realized that Mrs. Webster meant that the whole town was the same religion, some denomination of Protestant, I remembered Mrs. Webster telling me last night. This struck me as odd; many of my friends from Boston practiced different religions and in addition I knew of others who, while Protestant, went to churches other than St. Matthew's, where gold placards labeled with both our last name and that of my grandparents adorned our pew. The truck had hardly pulled to a stop before Skippy jumped out, running to join a group of boys who were gathered near the back entrance of the church. The rest of the Webster children followed him in quick succession, but I hesitated for a minute, trying to remember how I'd held my dress when I climbed into the truck so that I could do it again. Mrs. Webster noticed my delay, and I took the hand she offered to help me climb out of the truck. Because she was the only one, besides baby Kenny, who hadn't run off, I had no choice but to follow Mrs. Webster to a group of women, each of whom was either holding the hand of, or was large-waisted with the expectations of, children. continued in part 5 ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:12:24 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: No Name Available Subject: NEW FANFIC: The Martha Bums: 5/13 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit continued from part 4 "Frances!" one of the women exclaimed, "we were beginning to think that you all weren't coming!" Mrs. Webster laughed, re-secured her grip on a wriggling Kenny, who seemed to want to take off after his older siblings, and greeted each of the women. "Now this must be Martha," a woman Mrs. Webster had addressed as "Mrs. Lang" said in a smooth voice. Her comment caught me off guard, and I carefully surveyed Mrs. Lang's face, seeing curiosity and... was that judgment? I had been prepared to play the part of the stranger, suffering through countless introductions during that day's church social and perhaps a few reminders during next week's Sunday School class. But, as I scanned the gaggle of women, I realized it wasn't just Mrs. Lang - they *all* knew who I was. Each woman aimed her prying eyes at me, taking in my red hair and pale, freckled skin, my dress, and finally my shoes in their scan down my body. I crossed my arms over my chest uncomfortably -- what were they looking at? -- I concentrated my gaze on each of them in turn, taking in graying housewife hair, well-sewn but out-of-style dresses, and small runny-nosed children attached by hip or hand. "Yes, this is Martha Clark, my cousin Elizabeth's daughter. *You know,* the one from Boston," Mrs. Webster said with a knowing grin. I bit my lip to keep >from screaming; I was used to downtown Boston, where you saw more strangers than friends, and where people walked busily down freshly-paved streets without acknowledging passersby. It was lonely sometimes, but at least I knew how to act. This was a whole new world and I was having a hard time deciding if these women were trying to be friendly or if their interest in me was just crude curiosity. I surveyed the rest of the church-goers. Most of the children were off playing, but many of the adults and some older children's eyes were focused on the small group of women gathered around me. I was the only stranger here, I realized, and if all of these women already knew about my family and why I was here, probably all of their husbands and most of their children also knew. This put me at a distinct disadvantage, I realized, since the only people I knew, and those just barely, were the Websters. I didn't want strangers knowing the kind of intimate details of my life that Mrs. Webster had probably passed along. It was none of their business that my mother and my sick father had been forced to dump me with strange relatives for the summer. I wanted to share those details in my own time and in my own way or maybe not at all. "How old are you, Martha?" one of the women asked me, smiling as though she was genuinely interested in me, and not just the gossip I was generating. I smiled back; this woman, even though she was part of the group in front of me, wasn't scrutinizing me. No, this woman's eyes were kind and, even though she probably knew the answer, she'd asked my age anyway. "I'm twelve, Mrs..." My voice trailed off since I hadn't been formally introduced to any of the women in front of me yet. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear," Mrs. Webster said. "This is Mrs. Kent," she told me, and proceeded to introduce the rest of the women, but I tuned out after the fourth one, realizing that even if I did remember the names, I wouldn't be able to connect them with the correct prying faces. Just after Mrs. Webster finished her introductions, the church bell clanged and the parishioners all hurried inside, taking their assigned seats in placard-less rows. During the service I tried to concentrate on the minister's sermon and the readings and different traditions of the church, but the whole time all I could feel was the curious eyes of strangers drilling into me. After a while I just gave up trying to pay attention since I couldn't help wondering what Smallville had been told about me. They had to know more than the simple fact that I was coming to visit, I could tell that from the way Mrs. Webster had introduced me to her friends. Did they know how sick my father was? That my mother was always taking care of him? After the services were over, I followed Mrs. Webster to a pew where one of the woman was quieting a crying baby. The rest of the women also gathered there and began whispering about Mrs. So-and-So's dress and Mrs. Someone Else's husband who had been seen with the schoolteacher last night. I felt bad for Mrs. So-and-So and Mrs. Someone Else, but at least they weren't talking about me. No, these women weren't rude enough to discuss me while I was there. "We must be boring you to death, Martha!" Mrs. Webster said, interrupting the flow of the conversation. "Why don't you go find one of the children... There! Ruth, dear, why don't you take Martha and go play? Introduce her to some of the other children, maybe some who'll be in her Sunday School class next week," Mrs. Webster suggested when she saw her eldest daughter head towards the door out of the church. "Sure, Ma," Ruth said and, taking my hand, led me away from the women. "I guess I can introduce you to my friends," Ruth told me as we headed out into the bright June sun, "but I don't know many girls your age. Skippy might, but good luck finding him. He and some other kids are exploring the creek behind the church," Ruth told me. "Probably all the boys your age are there now, and the girls are most likely in the kitchen helping get the stuff ready for the picnic. But those girls are silly -- all they ever do is talk about boys. We can go play with my friends, okay?" Ruth offered shyly, as if she were expecting me to spurn her friends just because they were younger than I was. I smiled back at Ruth and nodded, following her to a group of ten and eleven year old girls. She introduced me and I was pleasantly surprised to see that most didn't seem to know who I was already. I introduced myself and said I was visiting for the summer, and that was enough for them. They looked at me in awe: I was older and came from a big city. For a while I joined the girls in sometimes-familiar games, and when the games weren't familiar, they took the time to teach me. We played jacks following different rules than I'd every used, and I looked forward to getting back to Boston to teach them to Sophie. A little while later I excused myself, explaining that I needed to find a powder room. I had to explain what a "powder room" was before receiving directions from Ruth and funny stares from the other girls. I headed back into the church following Ruth's directions and found not only the powder room but a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade when I passed by the table of refreshments watched over mostly by girls my age and a little older, supervised by one of the women I recognized from the group of Mrs. Webster's friends from earlier. I took the glass of lemonade they offered me and explored the rest of the church, eventually finding myself on a screened-in porch that seemed to be used for storage, even though I couldn't find a light switch to see the contents of the room very well. I turned to head out of the darkened room but stopped when I heard voices mention my name. "... name's Martha. She's related to Mrs. Webster, I think, and she's staying the summer with them. She *flew* here. In an actual airplane!" "Wow - an airplane! I thought only people in the Army got to ride in those. I wonder what it's like to fly..." another voice marveled. "Did you catch that get-up she had on? What would a rich girl like her be doin' spending the summer in Smallville with the Websters?" "My mother said that Mrs. Johnson said that Mrs. Webster told her that she's *practically* an orphan. Her daddy and momma dumped her off with the Websters cuz her daddy is sick and is goin' all the way to Europe to see some doctor. I wonder how they got all their money, if the father's so sick," a girl's voice wondered. "Maybe her whole family is rich and they passed the money down or somethin', like the Marshalls over in Danbury," a different voice said knowingly. "Or maybe they stole the money!" another voice speculated. "Kinda like that radio program last week, with the rich family everyone liked until they found out the father was a thief!" "Wow, maybe her family's in the mafia or somethin'!" "No, the mafia's made up of Italians, stupid!" a boy corrected. "And she don't look Italian, not with her red hair and white skin. And her name isn't Italian, either." "Yea, Pete, like you know lots of Italians," a voice joked. "Did you hear the way she talks? 'I'm from 'Bah-stun.'' That's actually what she said! Could you believe it?" a voice snickered, and laughter erupted from the group of unseen strangers. I found myself blinking back tears, as though what they said mattered to me. "Yea, and she called the bathroom the 'pah-dah room!'" "You should hear what Skippy said about her. He said she brought all these new dresses in fancy matching luggage and there wasn't even enough room for all her things in the bedroom. He said she has this fancy-schmancy doll that looks like it has real human hair! I wonder where she got it from." "Skippy told *me* that he's gonna have to teach her to do chores around the farm cuz she doesn't know anything," a different voice put in. "She didn't even know how to wash dishes or cook or *anything*, and she told Skippy it was because her family has a whole other family who lives in their house and cooks for them!" "Wow! I wish we had a family to cook for us!" They kept making fun of me, but I couldn't hear it anymore because my heart was pounding in my ears and I was trying to keep from being heard as I cried. I sunk down onto the floor, no longer caring about dirtying my apple green dress, and dug my fists into my eyes to stop the tears. What did those stupid kids know? So what if my family had money? It's not like it made my life any better -- my father was still sick and my mother had to spend all of her time taking care of him. I sat there, wiping my eyes and runny nose with my hand because I had been so hurried getting ready I'd forgotten my handkerchief back at the Websters' house -- darn that Mrs. Webster, anyway. Suddenly I heard footsteps and an overhead light went on. I jumped to my feet and turned to face the intruder, expecting to see Ruth looking for me since I'd been gone so long, but instead a strange boy stood in the door frame. He was tall, with wavy dark hair. He looked older than me, maybe fourteen or so, and seemed embarrassed to have found a strange kid crying in the storage room. "Hey, you okay?" he asked me after noticing the tear tracks that must have been running down my cheeks. I nodded, then sniffed and recovered my breath >from my sobs so that I could answer him. continued in part 6 ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:13:15 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: No Name Available Subject: NEW FANFIC: The Martha Bums: 6/13 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit continued from part 5 "I'm fine," I assured him, and tried to push my way past him through the door. But he didn't move to let me by so I looked at him with raised eyebrows, then eyed the door. "Here," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief, which he handed to me. "You look like you could use this." "Thanks," I sniffed and accepted his offering, using it to clean up. He turned away, picked up a box sitting just outside the door, and brought it into the storage room. He must have been in the process of moving the box in here when he found me. "What happened?" he asked in a soft voice, and for some reason he gently set one hand on my shoulder and patted reassuringly. That was something my father did to comfort me, and the gesture nearly collapsed me into tears again. As it was, I leaned into the unknown boy's shoulder, and he rubbed my back as my tears began to flow again. I explained, between sobs and pathetic hiccups, what had happened, starting with Mrs. Webster and the women this morning, and ending with what I'd just heard the group of kids say. When I finished I looked up at him, embarrassed and ready to apologize for telling so much without even knowing this boy's name, but something familiar and friendly in his face made me swallow my apology. "It's okay," he reassured me. "Those kids are just stupid -- they don't even know you. Probably most of them haven't even met you. What do they know about your life?" I thought for a minute and realized he was probably right. But it didn't make their comments hurt any less, and I told him as much. "You're right, I'm sure what they said did hurt, but kids aren't used to new faces. They're probably just scared -- they don't know you and people are always afraid of what they don't know." "But what about the adults?" I asked him. "Most of the women Mrs. Webster introduced me to were the same way," I lamented. "I don't think those women were trying to be mean -- I think they were trying to be friendly. If they were gossiping behind your back, well, that *would* be rude, but I think they were just trying to be nice." I looked at him through narrowed eyes. He hadn't been there. He didn't know. Considering my skepticism, Jonathan thought for a minute before continuing. "Well, here in Smallville we don't see many strangers. When someone new comes into town it's always a big thing and everyone gets all nosy and gossipy. But we're usually okay once we get to know you," he added. I attempted a smile and slowly moved away from him. I felt unexpectedly at ease being comforted by this boy, but my city-brain kept telling me that I didn't know him, that I should beware of the stranger in front of me no matter how nice he seemed. Suddenly I realized, had the situation been reversed, I would have been as wary of myself as everyone here was. I wanted to be careful around this boy because I didn't know him, a cautious attitude I'd previously attributed to my being from a city, but these small town people were careful, too. The only difference was that they already knew about me; if I were at home I wouldn't have any foreknowledge about strangers. "I guess I can understand why they'd be cautious," I admitted. "But I *still* don't like that they know everything about me and I don't even know their names." The boy smiled and ushered me out of the storage room, leading me towards the building's back door. "Where are you taking me?" I asked with a curious smile. "You'll see," he promised me as he led me away from the building and near a grove of trees. "Why should I go with you?" I asked him cautiously. "I don't even know your name." And those trees over there look suspiciously like a dark alley, I added to myself. What was this boy up to? Probably he was in cahoots with the other kids, and his part in their plan was to get me over to those trees where they would knock me down and take my purse... "Jonathan," he told me, cutting through my admittedly unlikely train of thought. "Jonathan Kent," he said as he stopped walking and turned to me, offering me a hand to shake. I took it and, for some reason, my hand lingered in his for a minute. "And your name is," his voice trailed off. I smiled; I knew he knew my name -- everyone here knew my name and my mother's name and why I was here and... But I played along anyway. "I'm Martha Clark." "Pleased to meet you, Martha," he said, not letting go of my hand as he led me towards the clump of trees. Once we reached them, he let go and gestured up towards one of the thicker-branched trees. I looked at him expectantly. "After you," he insisted, completely ignoring the fact that I had on one of my best dresses and a good pair of shoes, as well as new silk stockings and nice white gloves... But I found a toe-hold in the tree's trunk and, with his gentle hands giving me a boost, I settled onto a thick low branch of the tree. Climbing expertly, he followed behind me and sat next to me. "What are we doing here?" He grinned again and I couldn't help but grin back at him. "You said it bothers you that everyone here knows all about you but you don't know anything about them," he repeated, and I nodded. "Well, we have a bird's eye view here, and no one to overhear us, so I can tell you all about everyone in Smallville. I don't want you to be at a disadvantage," he said. I couldn't tell whether he was teasing me or not, thinking that I had to have some sort of advantage over everyone. I didn't want an advantage. I was just upset that everyone here knew all about me -- about my father's sickness and he and my mother sending me to Kansas since they couldn't take care of me. And I hadn't even had a chance to defend my life to them. These people know the worst things that have ever happened to me, and the most painful, but I don't even know their names. Whether my life was as good as these Smallvillians, or Smallvillains, I thought with a smile, thought, or whether it was as bad as I was feeling, surely wasn't any of their business. But none of that was Jonathan's fault, and he'd tried his hardest to help me, a stranger, understand his town. I realized that those kids who had been making fun of me might have been friends of Jonathan's; was he betraying them by befriending me? I didn't know what to think about this town or the people in it, so I just listened as Jonathan "introduced" everyone to me from the safety of the tree. * * * * * The next day, a Monday, was my first day helping Mrs. Webster out with the meals. Before coming to Smallville, the only baking I'd ever done was making scones with my mother, and I'm sure scones were the only thing she'd ever baked as well. Mother made an exception in her no-cooking policy for the special raisin scone recipe that had been in her family for generations. That first morning I showed the Websters how to make scones, and Mrs. Webster and Ruth helped me see that cooking wasn't so bad after all. But I'd been stunned when Mrs. Webster first gave me a list of weekly chores. Sunday nights were when the Webster family, with the exception of Kenny, who was already upstairs in bed, met to plan their weekly chores. Even Bobby, who was only five, had responsibilities around the farm, Mrs. Webster had said at the start of the meeting, so *of course* I would be expected to help out, too. I couldn't believe I was being asked to do *chores*! I had never had to do chores at home! I opened my mouth to protest, but Mrs. Webster continued, explaining that she and the rest of the family would show me what to do. I looked around the kitchen table where we were all gathered, and noticed that Skippy was making a face at me. Yea, I thought, it really looked like he was "happy" to help me out. But I hadn't been the only one who'd noticed Skippy's reaction; Mr. Webster frowned and sternly reprimanded his son. Skippy nodded grudgingly, and Ruth pointed out that my doing some of the chores would decrease the chores he'd would have to do, and that made Skippy smile again. Mrs. Webster was still looking at me, probably waiting for some sort of response to her "suggestion" that I take on some of the family chores. She probably thought I was going to complain. Well I'll show her, I thought, finding a bit of bravery; I won't argue or make a fuss. I nodded, and Mrs. Webster smiled and consulted the list lying on the table in front of her. The first thing I needed to learn was how to cook. At first I was to join Mrs. Webster and Ruth in the kitchen, then soon Ruth and I would be allowed to cook meals on our own. I would also have to baby-sit the younger children if needed. And once in a while, Mrs. Webster explained, I would have to help with the outdoor chores usually done by Mr. Webster, Skippy, Adie, and Bobby. I didn't dread helping Mrs. Webster in the kitchen as much as the prospect of having to help her husband. Most of the time Mr. Webster was quiet, only finding a voice when one of the kids did something wrong, so he could yell at us. He scared me, and I was sure I would enjoy my time with Mrs. Webster in the kitchen more. After helping Mrs. Webster prepare beef stew, corn on the cob, and my raisin scones for lunch that first Monday, I planned out the menus for lunch and dinner, with a little help. When Skippy, Mr. Webster, and the rest of the family came inside after finishing the morning chores, I served lunch to the family as Mrs. Webster looked on with a proud grin. I suppose she thought she was preparing me for life as a farm wife, and, unbeknownst to me, she was right. continued in part 7 ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:14:16 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: No Name Available Subject: NEW FANFIC: The Martha Bums: 7/13 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit continued from part 6 "How're you doing?" he asked me. "I'm fine. Thanks for your help yesterday, by the way," I said. It was nice to know not everyone was gossiping behind my back. "Are you busy?" he asked. I shook my head; while making lunch, Mrs. Webster had said I could use the rest of the day, until dinner, as I wished. She suggested making sure I was all unpacked and taking a walk around the farm to familiarize myself with it, but spending the afternoon with Jonathan would probably be more pleasant. "So you wanna do something?" "Sure, but I'm not sure what. I don't really know what's here to do." He nodded and suggested that he show me "the sights" of Smallville, unless I'd already seen them. I told him, no, I hadn't, but I'd love to. Mrs. Webster had "suggested" Skippy show me around the "downtown" area the next day, but Skippy rolled his eyes at that idea. I had decided to ask Ruth to show me around instead, but Jonathan's offer was too good to pass up. He warned me that there wasn't much to see, but it beat tagging around after the Webster kids all day, so I went upstairs to change and ask Mrs. Webster's permission before leaving. * * * * * A short tour of Smallville later, Jonathan and I found ourselves in Maisie's Restaurant enjoying ice cream sodas. "So, do you have any brothers or sisters back in Boston?" I shook my head. "I'm an only child," I explained, "and I'd be pretty lonely if I didn't have Sophie to play with." I was happily surprised that Jonathan, though I had only mentioned Sophie briefly the day before, seemed to remember her and nodded. "What about you, brothers and sisters?" He nodded. "Two older brothers and a younger sister. Jerome's nineteen, Richard's eighteen, and Josie's ten." "Josie -- that's a pretty name." At this point, Maisie checked to see if we needed anything. I had discovered that she was the granddaughter of the Maisie who opened the restaurant and that she was only a little younger than Jonathan and me. At first I was surprised someone my age would be waiting tables, but, according to Jonathan, the restaurant was a family business and, like family farms, everyone pitched in. Jonathan smiled at Maisie as she approached, as he had at nearly everyone we had passed on our bicycle ride around Smallville. His friendliness, so completely opposite what I was used to, surprised me. "It's short for Josephine, but she hates that name so we call her Josie," he explained as he sipped the last of the ice cream from his frosty glass mug. "Do Jerome and Richard still live at home and help out with the farm?" Like most of the other residents of Smallville, Jonathan's family ran a farm. And >from the many chores Mrs. Webster had doled out last night, farming seemed to be hard work. No wonder farm families had more kids than families in Boston -- they needed them to help out on the farm. "No," Jonathan told me. "Jerome and Richard are in the Navy. They just finished their basic training. Now they're stationed in Japan, I think. We don't hear from them much, especially Richard. Jerome writes a lot but Richard doesn't really get along with my dad. Dad thought Rich was going to take over the farm -- he always knew Jerome wanted to do something else, so he had his hopes set on Rich -- but a few years back they had this big blow up over it, and they both joined. My mom's always worried that some fighting'll erupt over there, and she's been even more scared lately, with all of the trouble with North Korea being Communist and wanting to convert South Korea. But Jerome always says it's his 'duty.'" "What do you think?" It was interesting that Jonathan, who had been a patient listener while I cried and complained yesterday, was now the one who needed a shoulder to lean on. It was nice that he trusted me enough to share his feelings, like I'd trusted him the day before. "I guess it's fine for them to join, but I wouldn't want to. They don't know what's going on there, whether there's a real threat of war or not. They don't even know what they'd be fighting for. They just want excitement. They also don't know how tough it is on the rest of the family now that they're gone. My mother cries every time she hears about fighting anywhere near Japan, and I think Josie and Dad do, too, but they just hide it better," Jonathan said gruffly. Now I thought I understood a little better -- it was probably tough for him to have the role of oldest son in the house suddenly thrust upon him. It was up to him to bear the brunt of the worry, care-taking, and, probably, work. "So what do you want to do?" I asked, hoping to change the subject to something less dreary than possibilities of war. He grinned. "I wanna take over the farm when my parents retire. Jerome and Richard don't want it, so I guess I'm next in line, and I really like helping my dad with everything." I licked the last of my chocolate soda off my spoon and grinned. "That's great. About farming and that you know what you want to do with your life even though you're only fourteen," I told him. "I don't know what I want with my life, or even where I want to live, but I'm only twelve. I guess I'll figure it out when the time comes." Jonathan nodded and smiled. "Tell me about your father, Martha Clark," he said, staring at me. I swallowed hard and looked back at him. I was surprised by the straightforwardness of his request, but I couldn't stop myself from answering him; there was something about Jonathan Kent that made me want to tell him everything about myself. "He's an attorney," I began. "Well, he was before he was sick." "How long as he been sick?" "As far back as I can remember. Mother's always taking care of him, so Grandmother runs the house. She doesn't have much to do besides order everyone around, though. Sophie's parents do everything." "What about your grandfather?" "He was an attorney, too, but he's retired now. He introduced Mother and Daddy when Daddy joined Grandfather's law firm right out of law school. He must not have been sick then, my father, that is, because I've heard law school is really tough." Jonathan nodded and I continued. "When I was little I used to get mad at Daddy because he couldn't play with me and because he takes up all Mother's time so *she* couldn't play with me either. So I play with Sophie and her mother, when she isn't busy around the house." As I finished, Maisie, the older one this time, came and slid our bill over to Jonathan. He took seventy cents from his pocket and we rose, he paid the tab at the cash register near the door, and we continued our tour of Smallville. "So what exactly is wrong with your father?" "Viral cardiomyopathy," I sounded out carefully. I had grown used to hearing the medical jargon, but the words sometimes tripped over my tongue when I said them. "What's that?" "Well, in my father's case, he caught a virus, sort of like the flu or a cold, but it attacked his heart. It's making his heart really weak, so he's tired and dizzy all the time and has a hard time breathing. His heart's getting really big trying to make up for being weak, but it still doesn't seem to be strong enough." Jonathan nodded but didn't ask any more questions. "You know," I said to Jonathan as we passed a seedy-looking place called Morris's Garage near the outskirts of Smallville, "someday you have to come to Boston so I can show *you* around. There's so much to see: theaters, department stores, universities, you name it, we've got it." He nodded, excited, and we strolled back to where we'd parked the bikes we'd ridden. Jonathan had his own bicycle and I was borrowing his sister's since, of the Websters, only Skippy had his own bike, and, despite it being sternly "recommended" by his mother, he wasn't willing to part with it for the afternoon. We peddled back towards the Websters'. When we finally pulled into their long dirt driveway, I jumped off of Josie's bicycle and turned to Jonathan. "Thank you. I had a really great time today -- it's nice to know I have at least one friend here and that there's someone who actually wants to show me around Smallville. Someone who doesn't have to be forced to by their parents, that is." Jonathan grinned and suggested we go for another bike ride later that week, but he'd have to check with his father to see when he'd be free from chores, and with Josie to make sure she wouldn't need her bicycle. I nodded happily and watched Jonathan walk both bikes back before I went inside. * * * * * I was on the last chapter of The Land of Oz on Wednesday night when Ruth called to me to come downstairs. "Phone call," she told me. "Phone call? For me?" She nodded and handed me the phone, along with a reminder to keep the call short. The Websters, like every other family in Smallville, got their phone service through a party line, which meant a whole bunch of farms shared the same phone line. I'd never heard of such a thing and even thought Adie was making it up when she explained it to me the day before. Why in the world a bunch of people would want to share one phone line was beyond me. "Hello?" "Martha, how are you doing, darling?" "Mother! I'm fine. How are you and Daddy?" Mother had told me that she and my father would call sometime the first week, but Mother's memory tended to be erratic at best. So even though I had been hoping for one, I hadn't really been expecting a call. "Oh, we're just splendid, dear. We're in London now, and we're having a wonderful time." "London?" They had left Boston on Sunday, and were supposed to be in Sweden already. "Yes, dear, London. We decided that since we're already here, we'll just stop in London for a week. We really should bring you here, Martha. London's just gorgeous. We've seen Big Ben and Buckingham Palace and, oh, I've been shopping at Harrod's, too. I've gotten you the most adorable clothes. Wait until you see." "So when do you leave for Sweden?" continued in part 8 ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:15:09 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: No Name Available Subject: NEW FANFIC: The Martha Bums: 8/13 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit continued from part 7 "We've decided to stop off at a few other places before Sweden, darling. We leave for Paris on Saturday, and after that we're planning on hitting Brussels, Amsterdam, and Copenhagen before we get to Stockholm. I'll call you every week, darling, to let you know where we are and what we're doing." "How's Daddy feeling? Can I talk to him?" "Oh, he's asleep, dear. He's weak, and quite jet-lagged from the trip over. But he's seen a doctor here in London, just for a check-up, you know, and the doctor said he's doing just fine. The was someone your Aunt Opal recommended, darling." Aunt Opal, my mother's sister, was years younger than Mother and had a reputation for being the family jet-setter. She had left Boston for Oxford University and had never returned for more than a few weeks. But she always brought me interesting presents. She had been married once, for a few years, but it hadn't worked out and she was divorced. But she had two sons, Charles and James, who went everywhere with her. I envied their lives, traveling from place to place, living in a different country every few years. "How do you like Nebraska so far?" "It's Kansas, Mother." "Oh, well, Nebraska, Kansas, what's the difference?" I could almost see my mother dismissing her mistake with a wave of her slender, braceleted wrist. "I hate it, Mother, I absolutely hate it. All of the kids here, except for one, hate me, and they make fun of me because I'm not from this boring old farm town. And I have to help out with the cooking and cleaning and everything. And they don't even have a television so I'm going to miss 'I Remember Mama' the whole time I'm here." "Well, I'm sure Sophie will fill you in on what happened," Mother assured me. "But that's not all, Mother. This town is so small -- there are practically no stores or anything -- and they're all farmers who talk in funny accents. And they all hate me!" "You said that already, dear, and I'm sure they don't hate you. You just have to get used to them. I wish we could've brought you with us, Martha, but this trip is no place for a child, gallivanting around Europe, spending the rest of the summer in a Swedish hospital..." I am not a child! I wanted to shout at my mother, across the ocean. "But Charles and James have lived in Europe and they're even younger than I am!" I protested. "Martha, you know if we could have taken you, we would have. It's better for everyone with you in Neb... er, Kansas. There's lots of green grass and open spaces for you to play; children need lots of room to play. I've always worried that you didn't play outside enough at home. Just give it a chance, dear." I wanted to tell my mother I wasn't a child, I didn't need lots of room to play anymore. Besides, Sophie and I had always managed to play just fine back home in Boston; we didn't need green grass or smelly farm animals or mean old farm children. "I've got to go, dear. Your father'll be up in soon and I have to give him his pills. Have a marvelous time and remember that we love you. See you soon!" Mother said joyously, and hung up the phone without waiting for my reply. "I love you, too," I answered quietly as I hung up the phone and headed back upstairs to finish my book. "Took you long enough." Skippy. I should've known. "Well, I'm sorry I was on the phone too long! I'm sorry I only get to talk to my mother once a week, and I don't get to talk to my father at all because he needs his rest because he's sick! I'm sorry I have to stay on this stupid farm all summer in a town with a bunch of mean kids! I'm sorry, okay?!" By that time I was screaming at Skippy, who had a startled look on his face, like the deer we almost hit one night coming home from a symphony concert in Boston. And, like the deer, he ran off, through the screen door and outside. And I sped back upstairs. * * * * * After church the next Sunday, the Websters had a barbecue and invited Mr. Webster's brother's family, who lived just across town. From the week I'd been in Smallville, I could already tell many of the residents of the small town were related, in some way or another, to each other. Sooner or later, I guessed, they'd have to ship in some warm bodies or else they'd be forced to inbreed. Mr. Webster's brother's family had four children, so it was like a zoo with messy little kids shouting, crying, and running around. Actually, a zoo would have been more orderly, I thought, remembering when my fifth grade class went on a day trip to the zoo. All the animals *there* were caged. I had been safe at the Boston Zoo, but I wasn't too sure about the Webster Zoo. Mr. Webster and his brother had to push together two picnic tables to fit everyone, and dinner was noisy and messy. We had hamburgers, and the two Mrs. Websters had set the food inside on the dining room table. I was one of the last in line and by the time I got there, the tomatoes were gone and the ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise were all mixed together from someone using the same spoon for all of them. I was also one of the last to get a seat at the picnic tables, and I was almost pushed off the end of the bench when some of the Webster kids started pushing and fighting. And they fought a lot. Bobby, who was five, had a cousin who was four, and Bobby kept trying to take the four-year old's corn on the cob since he'd finished his already. Eventually both Mrs. Websters ended up sitting between the two boys so they couldn't reach each other. After dinner was finished (I think more food ended up in the mouth of Marlon, the Websters' slobbery dog, than in the mouth of any of the Websters) and the tables were reasonably clean, Mr. Webster suggested everyone play baseball. I went in the house to get my new book, Caddie Woodlawn, which was about a girl living in pioneer times. I thought it might help me to get used to Smallville, which, in many ways, was like pioneer times, what with the Websters not having a television set and all. So far the book wasn't helping. When I came back outside, I took a seat next to Mrs. Webster at the freshly cleaned picnic table and cracked open my book. I could hear Mr. Webster and his brother dividing their offspring into fair teams, and they were having a tough time of it. The two youngest kids (two- year old Kenny and the other Mr. Webster's newborn baby girl) were too young to play, so there was an odd number of people on each team. "Hey, Martha!" I heard Mr. Webster yell over to me, and I braced myself for the worst. "Why don't you come over and play?" "No thank you," I said, holding up my book to show him that I was busy. "Oh, come on, you can read any old time," Skippy complained. "She's always reading," he told his oldest cousin, Rachel, who was ten. Mr. Webster headed over to where I was sitting, and I knew then that I wouldn't be able to get out of playing baseball. "Come on, Martha, be a sport and join the game." "I've never played baseball before," I said softly, more to my book than to Mr. Webster. "What?" "I said, I've never played baseball before," I repeated, louder this time. Mr. Webster looked stunned, as if I said I came from another planet or something. "Well, uh," he tried to recover from his surprise, "that's okay. I'm sure you've seen the game played. Boston's got a great team this year, after all." I shook my head and Mr. Webster's eyes grew even wide with surprise. "Well, uh, okay, then, you'll just have to learn. Come on." He grabbed my hand, and I barely had time to put a bookmark in Caddie Woodlawn before he pulled me over to where the rest of the kids were waiting. "Now, kids, Martha's never played baseball before and she doesn't know the rules, so we're going to have to teach her. Be nice," he warned the kids, looked at me as if I were an alien. Mr. Webster propelled me over to where Skippy, Bobby, and Adie were standing. "You'll be on this team," he explained. "And you four'll be up to bat first, so I can explain the rules to Martha." Skippy nodded his head and smiled triumphantly, as if being up to bat first was the most important thing in the world. Or maybe it was, I didn't know. So Ruth and her cousins ran out to stand far away from Mr. Webster, who sat down and patted the grass next to him. "Come sit over here, Martha." I sat and we watched Skippy grab a long piece of wood ("that's called a bat," Mr. Webster told me, like I was an idiot or something. Maybe I was from Boston, and maybe I hadn't ever played baseball before, but I knew what a bat was!). He explained that his brother would be the pitcher for the other team, tossing Skippy the ball until he hit it. Then Skippy would run over to near where Rachel was standing, where thick, hard-covered book sat on the grass. So this was what the Websters did with the books they kept in their bookcase; they used them as first base! I had wondered why, except for the Bible and nightly story time, I hadn't seen any of them touch the enticing (to me) books in their living room. Skippy hit the ball past Ruth, who was playing furthest from where Skippy was standing, and he got to run all the way to second base, which was marked by another book. Mr. Webster explained that you should run to as many bases as you could after hitting the ball, but that you didn't want to get tagged by a player from the other team who had the ball, and you didn't want the ball to reach the base before you did, either. There were four bases (all books), and the last, where the batter stood, was called home plate and you scored by touching home plate. Mr. Webster promised he would explain fielding to me once we got there; for now I should just watch Adie, who was up next. Adie let her uncle toss the ball to her a few times before swinging, but once she did she hit the ball it went pretty far, though not as far as Skippy's had. She ended up at first base and Skippy ran all the way to third. continued in part 9 ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:15:35 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: "Eileen F. Ray" Subject: CLASSIC FANFIC: "THREE CAPES TO THE WIND" Part 1 of 4 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit THREE CAPES TO THE WIND (an IRC round-robin fanfic by: Zoomway, ChrisM, CKgroupie, ChrisnDor, Eraygun, and sharper) Rated: PG-13 ________________________ Lois left Perry's office, breezed through the news room and was halfway up the landing to the elevator before Clark caught up to her. "Honey--" Lois, not looking at him, rang for the elevator. Clark shoved his hands deep into his pockets and rolled his eyes. "What choice did I have?" Lois stepped into the elevator, and Clark reluctantly followed. It suddenly resembled a refrigerator as Lois lowered the temperature. Then, as always happened, Lois responded, and Clark wondered if the silent treatment was not in fact better. "Choice? We're partners, right?" "Yes, but--" "We're married, right?" "Of course, and I--" "Then please tell me why you took it upon yourself to volunteer *us* to take over that bloated, dull, bigwig soiree when Perry had to back out?" "Wait a minute," Clark said as the doors opened on the lobby. "Weren't you the one telling me that you wanted to make up for all those times you invited people to dinner and then forgot?" "That's different." "Uh huh." He smiled as they passed through the revolving door. "Weren't you upset that you were suffering from ... from, what did you call it?" "MTMS," Lois replied flatly. "Right! Mary Tyler Moore Syndrome," he laughed. Lois, not wanting to, found herself laughing too. "Okay, I guess I did." Clark drew his arm around her waist. "You 'guess'?" "All right, I did, Mr. District Attorney." Lois turned and faced her bemused husband and placed her hands on his chest, "But you have to *promise* to help make this thing come out right." "I promise," he said softly, but still was a bit full of himself. He knew Lois. "You know you thrive on pressure, and you know you want this thing to be a success." "Well--" She shrugged. "I don't want it to be a failure." "You know what I mean. You want this to be a *success*. You want people talking about it. You want this to be the high water mark of parties and--" "Clark, if you stop now, there's a good chance I may still sleep in the same bed with you." Clark laughed. "I think I'd better get to STAR Labs then and see what Klein was so excited about." Lois pulled herself up a bit using Clark's lapels and kissed him. "Okay. It sounded like something that could help ... you know who ... in an emergency." "I hope so," he said, returned the kiss, and they both hurried down opposite sides of the street. Lois pulled out her notepad as soon as she got into her Jeep. She tried to focus on her hurriedly scribbled notes, but in her head she was still replaying the recent scene in Perry's office. She'd been looking forward to *going* to a party ... not *giving* one. Grumbling to herself, she tossed the pad onto the passenger seat and started up the engine. First stop ... the caterers. Perry had promised to have everyone on the guest list notified of the change of venue, so as least she wouldn't have to worry about that. ***** The sign outside the "Metropolitan Catering Emporium and Bowling Alley" made numerous extravagant claims about their services ... most of which Lois doubted. Only Perry, Lois thought with a grimace, would have picked a place like this. The interior was unprepossessing ... and noisy. Eventually Lois was ushered into the manager's office. He was a large man, and Lois found herself wondering if he'd gotten that way from eating his own cooking. It would be an understatement to say that the two of them did not hit it off. Five minutes later, the caterer/bowling alley impresario was out of a job, and Lois was back outside, sitting in her car with her car phone trying to get a list of available caterers. Three hours later, she was in the townhouse and regretting her hasty termination of the catering contract. She'd called *everyone* in the phone book, but they were all already booked for New Year's Eve. Even Ralph's Pagoda. What was she going to do now? Perry was counting on her and all those people would be coming to her house expecting to find food--*lots* of it--and drink--*gallons* of it--and she didn't have a caterer. Then it dawned on her. She had an ace in the hole ... she had super help. The more she thought about it, the better she liked the idea. That would serve Clark right! After all *he* was the one who had been so eager to have the party! Now he had the party and the whole responsibility for the food. Should be no problem for her superhusband, should it? She gave up phoning around and instead started looking forward to telling him the good news. Speaking of telling him...where in heavens name was he? Didn't he mention that he just wanted to go over to STAR Labs? He'd been gone for more than four hours! She turned on the TV, her usual way to find out about the actual location of her husband's doings, but the world seemed to be really quiet today. No explosion or bank alarm or anything like that. Nothing that cried for Superman's help. So where was he? Well, there was nothing she could do about it right now. Maybe she should just concentrate on the big challenge: making this damn party a success. She got the location, she got the guests, and food was Clark's problem now. That left only the beverages. She had no idea how much she had to buy for so many people, but she guessed right, that the friendly guy from the liquor store would be delighted to tell her and she just had to trust him. So she decided to make a final call, after all. And then she would look for her missing husband. Meanwhile at STAR Labs, an excited Dr. Klein had provided Clark with something that looked like a Walkman of some sort. Some time back, Dr. Klein had started to work on a device that was supposed to help Superman keep and recharge his energy if he was ever out of the sun too long. His encounter with the Press brothers a while ago had reminded Superman that even his invulnerability had limits. Without sunlight, his superpowers could be cut off. Thus, although a little warily, Superman had agreed to participate in Dr. Klein's recent research project. So far, it hadn't produced anything of use though. Dr. Klein had spent the better part of three hours explaining the technicalities to him. Clark, although fairly well read in physics and other natural sciences, had soon not been able to follow the enthusiastic scientist anymore. Klein was jumping from one idea to another so fast, Clark felt he was trying to catch a grasshopper or cricket in tall grass. His superpowers were of no use there. What it came down to was that the little gadget acted as a "solar energy collector". In the end, when Dr. Klein had returned to Earth from his lofty flight, he had needed just five minutes to explain how to operate it. Not much bigger than a pocket pager, Clark could easily wear it on his belt. He had been sent off with instructions to try and use it and report back to Star Labs the following week--or sooner should problems arise. Clark breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally back out in the street. He liked the good doctor and had come to consider him a friend, but when Klein got enthusiastic and took off soaring, he was amusing, but also a little exasperating. In the end, Clark couldn't help smiling at the thought, though. And it wouldn't be a week till he would see him again, for he remembered seeing Klein's name on the list of invited guests. The thought of the party made him look at his watch. Realizing how much time had elapsed, he decided to get home the fast way. ***** Lois thought she must have worn a permanent path into the floor by the time she heard the familiar *whoosh* and thud of Clark landing. When Clark came downstairs, he braced himself for the tornado that welcomed him. When Lois was going in high gear like this, there was nothing to do but ride out the storm. And Clark did learn that there was no catering service hired after all. Fortunately, when he didn't show up earlier, Lois had had a variety of groceries delivered. In the end, once she had gotten the frustration out of her system, Lois was even able to respond to his gentle teasing, claiming that she had only unhired the caterers because she, too, was eating and wanted to enjoy his cooking--as well as get even with him. Even at superspeed, preparing the food for the reception had taken its time, and it was nearly time for the first guest to arrive when everything was arranged as it should. Thus Clark all but supersped when he hurried upstairs to freshen up and change into the tuxedo that Lois had already laid out for him. He smiled recalling how much she liked seeing him in it, and couldn't help feeling excited at the prospect of seeing her in the new evening dress he had given her for Christmas. Hurrying into the bedroom, he bumped against the sun lamp her mother had given Lois for Christmas. Although she hadn't particularly wanted one, in the end she had tried it out so as not to lie to her mother when answering her repeated questions of how it *felt*. Clark noticed that lamp was still plugged in since it began to hiss and spit in protest when the switch hit the wall. As he zoomed in to assess any possible damage, the lamp suddenly came to life. The bright glare surprised and momentarily blinded him. He lost his balance and stumbled backwards against the bed. He sat down on it somewhat disoriented, which was how Lois found him when she came into the bedroom having heard the noise of the lamp falling over. "Clark, what happened?" she asked. Continued in part 2 ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:15:45 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: "Eileen F. Ray" Subject: CLASSIC FANFIC: "THREE CAPES TO THE WIND" Part 4 of 4 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit THREE CAPES TO THE WIND Continued from part 3 _________________________ Clark immediately focused his attention on her, kissing her intently while she fumbled with his shirt buttons. "Hola!" Clark exclaimed. Misinterpreting her attention to his buttons, he swept her off her feet and whisked back up the stairs at slightly more than normal speed. In his current state, opening their bedroom door was more than he could handle while carrying Lois, so Clark pressed her up against the door, kissing her and asking, "So how did that rescue make you feel?" His hips were pressed tightly to hers and one hand was reaching for her zipper while the other was sliding under her skirt and up her thigh. She figured she had about two seconds before any of their guests wandering upstairs in search of a bathroom got the show of a lifetime. She reached behind her for the doorknob and turned it, praying that she remembered enough of her martial arts training. Under the pressure of their combined weights, the door swung open, and they fell inward. Lois twisted and rolled, but Clark's reflexes were abnormally slow--which is to say they were about on par with a normal human male--and he landed heavily on the floor beside her. She kept rolling and was on her feet even as he reached for her, a grin spreading across his face at this new game. For an instant, she was free, but she had about as much chance of staying out of her husband's reach as a snowball had of maintaining a solid state in the devil's domain. Lois glanced around the room desperately--and saw the bathroom door. Inspiration struck. Pressing a hand to her stomach and putting all the day's frustration into her grimace, she held Clark off with one weakly waving hand. "Ohhh," she moaned, "I don't feel so good." Clark had risen to his feet and had his arms out to scoop her into them, but he stopped short at her words. His smile wavered and faded. "You don't?" She wasn't sure that a mere upset stomach would hold him off for long--not in the state he was in, so she decided to up the ante. "I think I'm going to be sick." His forward motion came to a complete stop. At his horrified look, she turned and stumbled into the bathroom. With the door safely closed, she turned on the water in the sink. God, what a mess. Here she was, holed up in the master bathroom, while her amorous spouse waited outside the door and a score of Planet bigwigs wandered around downstairs. If only she could think of an errand that would send Clark away or that would give her an excuse to go downstairs--an excuse that he wouldn't simply ignore. And where was the author of her problems, Dr. Bernard "I love using Superman as a guinea pig" Klein? ****** The party was actually doing quite well, considering that both the host and hostess were inexplicably absent, Dr. Klein noticed as he sidled between two very large men in well-fitting tuxedos. Most of the guests were either pretending that Lois and Clark *weren't* absent (those were the administrators, he guessed), or they were placing bets on what excuse the Kents would use to explain their absence. Since most of the people involved in the latter activity seemed to be younger and wearing less custom-fitted evening clothes, he guessed that they were staff members. Before he was reduced to searching the house room by room, he saw a face he recognized. "Jimmy ... Olsen, isn't it?" Jimmy turned and smiled at Dr. Klein. "Hey, you're with the Lab Rats, aren't you?" The doctor nodded. "Have you seen Lois and Clark?" Jimmy rolled his eyes ceilingward and jerked a thumb toward the stairs. "They went thataway." "Thanks." Dr. Klein patted his shoulder. You could always depend on a fellow biker. Klein noticed the bedroom door was not closed. He craned his head to the side and saw Clark, by himself, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'm in time. Lois won't kill me." He pushed the door open gently. "Where's your wife, Mr. Kent?" Clark looked up, his expression forlorn. "She's not feeling well, Doctor Klein." "Ah." Klein nodded and rapped on the bathroom door. "Ms. Lane, it's Klein. I might be able to help you feel better." "Thank God," she whispered and opened the door. To her surprise, Clark took her in his arms and swayed gently. It seemed his emotions, whether amorous or sympathetic, were on override. He kissed the top of her head. "You'll be okay, honey." Klein smiled. "She'll be all right, Clark," he said and then turned to Lois. "I just happen to have the pocket edition interositor with me." Clark looked up at Klein. "And that will make her better?" "Trust me." Lois shot a conspiratorial glance at Klein. "So what do I do, doctor?" "Well, Lois, first Clark needs to move a bit back." Clark obediently stepped back and reseated himself on the edge of the bed. Klein removed the interositor and handed it to Lois. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "All you have to do, Ms. Lane, is turn it on and aim it." "At?" "Oh, well, anywhere skin is exposed. The face would be fine." Lois nodded, turned, and pointed the interositor at Clark and turned it on. Clark began to stand, but sat back down when the dark light poured over his face. He closed his eyes a moment. Klein walked over and shut off the machine and then continued forward to Clark. "How do you feel?" Clark looked at him. "Where'd you come from, Doctor Klein?" Klein shrugged and looked over his shoulder to Lois. "Complete binge blackout. He's all right, but he likely won't remember much of what he did this evening." Clark stood up and groaned, "My head feels like it weighs as much as a battleship." Lois stroked his cheek. "And instant hangover." "Hangover? Was I ... drunk?" "I'm tempted to ask 'does a bear take Reader's Digest in the woods', but I'll just leave it at yes, you were drunk." "But how ... I mean, it can't be possible." Klein sighed. "It seems we still have a bug or two to work out on that energy boost thing, Superman." Clark's heart began to pound. "Lois, did you tell him I'm--?" "No," Klein replied quickly. "I'm afraid you were a bit liberal with your secret ... but don't worry, only I caught it ... by accident ... um, in the kitchen." Clark sat back down, and Lois walked over and put her hand around his shoulder. "It's okay, sweetie. You don't remember what you said to the mayor or Mr. Stern, so it's all for the best." Clark fell back on the bed and covered his eyes. "At least my parents weren't here." He uncovered his eyes slowly. "They weren't, were they?" "No," Lois laughed, "but I can send Martha an e-mail now since we gave her that computer for Christmas." Clark propped himself up on his elbows. "If I'd never met your mother, I'd always wonder where your sadistic streak came from." Klein laughed, but covered his mouth quickly and blushed. Clark turned and looked at the bemused doctor. "I don't suppose there's any way for you to forget all of this too, Dr. Klein?" "Frankly, Super ... er, Clark, you and your wife have a problem hiding your affection for each other when you visit me. I see you and her together more often when you're Superman. It may be the only reason your co-workers don't suspect. They see you together as Lois and Clark," he said and folded his arms. "I'm afraid I've suspected as much for quite some time." Clark let out a long sigh. "We're that obvious?" "Only to me," Klein reassured him. "I've gotten to the point I ask technicians and assistants to leave when the two of you are likely to endup together in my lab." Clark smiled and shook his head. "You were protecting the secret, even from us." "You and Ms. Lane are the best friends I have. I'm afraid I'm not much of a social butterfly ... or maybe you hadn't noticed." Lois kissed his cheek. "It's society's loss." Clark smoothed back his hair and straightened his tie. "Well, I guess we'd better go back and face our guests, and I'll apologize if you just point out the people I offended." "Good, I made flashcards." Clark laughed and put his arm around her shoulder. "I really said something offensive to the mayor?" "Not really," Lois soothed. "But she did say you and I would have a beautiful baby." Klein opened the door. "I'm sure she's right. We'll know in a few months anyway--" Klein grimaced at Lois. "Or was that a secret, too?" THE END ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:15:32 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: "Eileen F. Ray" Subject: CLASSIC FANFIC ALERT: "THREE CAPES TO THE WIND" Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit Hi everyone , New Year's Eve seemed like the perfect time to repost this story, particularly since it's a favorite of the IRC round robin writers. To quote the description of the story from the archive: "Take one New Year's Eve Party for Metropolis's rich and famous, add a well-meaning experiment by Dr. Klein and mix well. Result: Just another day in the life of Lois and Clark. ;)" Hope you enjoy it . Comments are welcome ;). Cheers, Eileen ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:15:38 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: "Eileen F. Ray" Subject: CLASSIC FANFIC: "THREE CAPES TO THE WIND" Part 2 of 4 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit THREE CAPES TO THE WIND Continued from part 1 _______________________ When he didn't respond immediately, she pulled the plug from the socket since the lamp continued to hiss and spit angrily. "Clark, are you all right?" she repeated as she crossed the distance between them. The blinding light gone, Clark blinked, looked at her in a somewhat dazed way for a moment, but then smiled. "Yeah, sure, honey. I'm fine." "Good. You better hurry up and change." "Change...?" Clark looked at her questioningly. "Yeah, the tuxedo. Good thing you didn't sit on it. You barely missed it." "Oh, the tuxedo," Clark said slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "You like to see me in it, don't you?" He reached out and pulled her into an embrace, kissing her deeply. She blushed. "Yeah, of course, I do--" The doorbell interrupted her. "I like that dress you're wearing, too, "Clark began, playfully reaching around and pulling the zipper down just a little. "But I like what's in it even..." "Clark, please!" She smiled, but had to disentangled herself from his embrace as the doorbell rang again, more insistently this time. Getting up, she looked at him. "Please hurry up. I'll meet you downstairs." "Downstairs...? Here would be fine with me ... but whatever you like best." Lois giggled. "Well, we don't want a reception up here, do we?" With that she was out the door. Several of the guests had arrived by the time Clark finally came downstairs to join her. Lois had begun to feel rather agitated as well as just a little annoyed at being left to her own devices for so long. But seeing Clark standing at the foot of the stairs, hands in his pockets surveying the scene, she felt her resistance melt as their eyes met and locked. Making his way through the crowd, he came over to her and, taking her in his arms--suddenly smacked her butt. "Ow!" Lois rubbed her backside. "What's gotten into you?" "Nothing," he whispered in a gravelly, low tone. "I feel ... great. Really good ... top of the world--" Lois patted his shoulder. "I get the picture. So, let's mingle." Clark pulled her close. "In front of everyone?" Lois shook her head. "Are you sure you're okay?" "I'm better than 'okay', honey. When we get to that mingling thing you'll find out." Lois started to reply, but the mayor walked over. Lois shot Clark a sobering look, though the term might be relative this evening. "Mayor, good to see you," Lois shmoozed. "How's the baby?" "Oh, a treasure, Ms. Lane. Are you and your husband planning a family?" Clark winked. "One day, but for now the practice part is really great." The mayor's eyes widened, but Lois tapped Clark in the stomach with her elbow and faked a laugh. "He's always been such a kidder." She then rubbed her sore elbow. The mayor nodded and laughed politely. "Well, you are such an attractive couple, you'd have a beautiful child." As the mayor droned on, Clark moved up behind Lois and started kissing her neck. Lois bit her lip. "Affectionate tonight, isn't he?" The mayor smiled. "Why, yes, how ... lucky you are. I think I'll be heading back to my own husband." "Mingle, mingle," Clark whispered next to Lois's neck. "Clark, what is the matter with you!" she said, spinning around to face him. "I love how you dance," he said airily. "Please come into the kitchen with me ... *now*" Clark shrugged and followed his wife, but not before Klein grabbed his sleeve. "Nice party, Mr. Kent. "Bernie!" Clark said loudly. "Call me Clark. That guy in tights has said some 'super' things about you." Klein blinked. "I'm flattered." Clark nodded. "I used to be soooo jealous of Superman. My wife was so hung up on him." "Oh, God," Lois whispered. "Um..really?" Klein said and began to perspire slightly. "You *bet* really. The funny thing is, Bernie, I had a little secret Lois didn't know about." "Clark!" Lois called, and everyone turned to look at her. She smiled. "I need your help in the kitchen." Clark gave Lois a lopsided grin. "Sure, sweetie, I'll be right there. I was just chatting with Bernie here...." "I know that, *darling*," Lois said with a tight smile, "but it really is important." Clark shrugged. "Okay, see ya later, Bernie." And he lightly tapped Dr. Klein on the back, nearly propelling him across the room and into the mayor's husband's lap. Lois grabbed Clark by the hand and dragged him into the kitchen. As the door closed behind them she grabbed him by the lapels of his tux. "What is the matter with you?" "Nothing, honey," Clark said as he wrapped his arms around Lois waist. "I feel just fine." With that he began nuzzling Lois's neck and one of his hands began rubbing up and down her spine. Lois groaned. Clark heard Lois's groan and thought she was beginning to respond to him, so he was astounded to hear the groan turn to a growl of exasperation and to feel her small hands pushing him away from her. "Clark!" she hissed at him, her voice verging on anger. "*What* is wrong with you?" The silly smile he'd had on his face all evening reappeared as he reached for her again. "Nothing's wrong with me, sweetie. And," he paused for a moment to look her over appreciatively, "there's certainly nothing wrong with you, either. Come here, gorgeous." Lois retreated to the other side of the cooking island, relieved that none of their guests were there at the moment. There was no telling when they might be interrupted, however, so she needed to get Clark straightened out .... pronto! She raised a reprimanding finger at him and used her sternest tone of voice. "Clark Kent, you behave yourself right now, or--" "Or what?" Clark asked with a grin, following her around the island and entering into the spirit of this game. "Or ... or ..." Lois searched her mind desperately for a deterrent that would have some effect on a guy who could pick up buses and stop tidal waves. "Or, I'll tell your mother on you!" Clark paused, as if thinking about the consequences of her threat. Then he grinned again, immediately seeing the hole in her argument. "But my mom's not here," he reminded her in a sing-song voice. "So that won't work." Lois moved around the island some more. "Clark Kent, I'm not kidding!" Clark followed her, the grin on his face getting wider, and he was starting to giggle. "I'm not kidding either, Lois. Stop trying to run away, and I'll show you." "No, Clark, we have guests." He stopped and looked around. "Where?" "What?" "Where are they? I don't see them." Lois watched in disbelief as her husband opened the broom closet as if to look for the lost guests. This was unreal. If she didn't know better she'd think he was drunk ... or crazy. "See ...? Clark paused for effect, then giggled again. "Nobody there." He then turned and proceeded to open a few more cabinet doors, peeking into the cabinets and giving Lois a wink with each of them. Lois had never known Clark to be affected by alcohol. But she was beginning to wonder. She turned around and got closer to Clark, intending to smell his breath even though she knew he hadn't really had any time to have more than a sip of anything. Clark grinned as she came closer, suddenly whisking her into his arms. "Changed your mind?" he whispered into her ear as he held her tenderly yet securely. "Clark ..." She couldn't smell any alcohol on his breath. Yet he wasn't paying attention to her as he began to systematically rain light kisses on her face, soon focusing his attention on her right ear. Now it was her turn to try and keep from being distracted. He knew exactly which places to touch, and was nibbling away at her with great enthusiasm now. Although she was enjoying the attention, she was also aware that she seemed to be the only one of the two who was conscious of the party in full swing right outside the kitchen door. She knew that even more guests had arrived since the doorbell had rung three times since they went to the kitchen. Fortunately, somebody seemed to have answered the door for them. Clark was not to be distracted, however. He was holding her close to him and kept nibbling her earlobe while his hands had started a single-minded exploration of their own. Lois was trying hard not to respond too much, when suddenly the kitchen door opened and in burst Jimmy Olsen, a little out of breath as usual. "Oh, here you are!" he exclaimed. For once, Lois didn't mind the Jimmy interruptus that much. She smiled at him as she greeted him a little overenthusiastically. "Oh, Jimmy, good to see you!" After a few moments, his presence registered with Clark also. "Hey, Jimbo!" Clark shouted, his mouth still half filled with Lois's ear lobe. Lois winced at Clark's volume so close to her ear. Jimmy blushed a little taking in the scene. "Your timing's bad as usual, though, buddy," Clark said as he continued to nibble. "Well, I'm sorry, guys, but ..." Jimmy was definitely embarrassed. "Mr. Stern just arrived and wants to meet the top reporter team of his Planet. Said something about special honors...." Lois rolled her eyes heavenwards. Lois nodded. "Be right there, Jimmy." The moment Jimmy exited, Lois turned back to Clark. "You have *got* to pull yourself together. Now it's our *jobs*." Continued in part 3 ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1998 18:15:42 EST Reply-To: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" Sender: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman Fanfic" From: "Eileen F. Ray" Subject: CLASSIC FANFIC: "THREE CAPES TO THE WIND" Part 3 of 4 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit THREE CAPES TO THE WIND Continued from part 2 _______________________ Clark smiled. "I never noticed how much your eyes sparkle in this light." "Clark, *please* focus." Clark's eyes unglazed for a moment. "Focused. I like that lilac underwear." "Oy," Lois sighed. "Let's go visit Mr. Stern, and do *not* x-ray anyone else." Clark walked with her to the door. "I only have eyes for you.... Do you know I think of that as 'our song', honey?" "That's nice," she said, took a breath, and opened the door. The assembled guests laughed when Clark quipped, "Bet you didn't think you'd see the Lois and Clark expedition again." Lois tugged her besotted husband over to Franklin Stern, an imposing man whom even Perry approached with caution. "Here are my star reporters." He smiled. Clark reached out his hand to Stern. "Lois is the star, sir. I just hitch my wagon to her," he said, and then winked wickedly. "Every chance I get." "You're too modest, Mr. Kent," Stern said, shaking his hand. "You, after all, got the first exclusive interview with Superman. I'd love to know how you managed that scoop." Clark laughed. "I just gave myself a good talking to." Lois laughed nervously as panic set in. "Clark likes to give himself pep talks." "Well, whatever works, I always say." Clark raised his eyebrows. "'Quota, revenue, or else' is what Perry says you always say." The silence in the room thundered in Lois's ears. After a beat, Stern laughed loudly. "Lord, Kent, Perry must have put you up to this. I heard he had to back out on the party." "Yes," Lois interrupted. "Good old Perry. He just didn't want this evening to go by without some little reminder it was *his* party and *his* idea. I hope this party will be remembered as *his*." Stern chuckled. "My dear, that's very unselfish of you. But I'm sure Perry would want you and Clark to take credit for this extravaganza. The food is fantastic by the way. Who's the caterer?" Clark grinned. "Oh it's just something I ... er ... we whipped up in the kitchen." "Really I had no idea you were so talented in the kitchen, Lois." "She's talented in lots of rooms," Clark interrupted. "Particularly in the bed--" "Clark!" Lois said and quickly placed a hand over his mouth. "Do you smell something burning in the kitchen?" Clark shook his head. "Well, *I* do," Lois said between clenched teeth. "We need to go see about it *now.* We'll be right back, Mr. Stern." And once again Lois dragged Clark out to the kitchen. "Have you lost your mind completely?!" she hissed as the door swing shut. Clark shrugged, but before he could give a response, the kitchen radio crackled with an incoming news bulletin. "This just in. Police report that there is a hostage crisis taking place at the main post office." Lois raised her eyes to heaven and briefly contemplated indulging in a primal scream. A rescue! Of all the wrong times for a rescue, this had to be the wrongest! She pulled Clark to the back door and opened it, then turned to face him. "Clark!" He was looking at her hair and reached a hand up to play with the curls at her right ear. "Hmmm?" "Clark! Did you hear that? Hostage situation ... you have to go." His eyes came back to her face, and she could see how unfocused his gaze was. His condition seemed to be worsening. She shook him. "Clark! Did you hear me?" He blinked a few times with great deliberation and took a deep breath."Sure. Hostages. Go." Then he looked around the kitchen again. "Where?" "Great Shades of Elvis!" Lois muttered with great emotion. What in the world was going on here? "Clark, you have to go save those people." "I do?" "Yes." She made their hand motion for flying. "You know ... go ... do what you ... do. Super--" She was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat behind her. "Could you use my help?" She turned and looked into the friendly, albeit guilty face of Dr. Klein. Clark broke into a big grin. "Oh, hi, Bernie!" The hostage situation temporarily forgotten, Clark made his way around Lois and eagerly shook the doctor's hand. When he moved to slap his back again, Klein quickly ducked out of the way. Clark, hitting thin air, was off balance momentarily, but quickly steadied himself holding onto the doctor. "Well, you know, the treatment is working. But maybe you need to give Lois here a treatment, too." Klein looked from Lois to Clark and back again. If he assessed the situation correctly, his help was needed ... although he didn't quite know how to help. "Ms. Lane," Klein said, looking from her to Clark again, "I don't think your husband should be out ... in traffic." Clark gave Klein a slow smile. "Thanks, doc. I don't want to be out at all.... Maybe you could ... you know ... prescribe some ... er ... rest?" "Clark ..." Lois didn't know what to make of the situation. Lois tried to assess everything quickly. If there was one repetitive theme with Clark this evening, it was his amorous obsession. "Clark," she whispered. "I think it's so sexy when I hear about you 'saving the day' on the radio." "Really?" "It gets me--" she glanced at Klein and blushed-- "hot." Clark spun into the Superman outfit. "Keep the radio tuned to channel WHOT," he said, now leering more than gazing at her, and then was gone in a blur. Lois wiped the plastered smile from her face and grabbed Klein by the lapels. "What the *hell* did you do to my husband?" Klein grimaced. "I didn't know the *hell* he was your husband until a few minut