[fic] Occult Couture; or An American in America | 11
Smallville was aptly named. It wasn’t even on the rail lines. To get there, Bart had to take a mail coach from another station. Perched precariously on the wagon, rattled between a cage of chickens and a couple of crates of dry goods, Bart wondered if Grayson had somehow known and changed their assignments accordingly.
The other occupant in the mail coach was sadly uninteresting. He was a good example of the benefits of good, clean country living, with the sort of physique that appeared on posters advertising the benefits of voting labour, but his jacket had seen better days, his hat was an atrocity and he hunched a little when he walked. Furthermore, his posture bespoke a lack of resolve at odds with his manly appearance. That hesitation was probably due to the thick lensed glasses he wore that almost totally hid his eyes. Clearly a case of a countryman struggling to break into the city. If it hadn’t been for his cursory resemblance to Kon, Bart would not have noticed him at all.
As the mail cart jolted uncomfortably down the country road - dirt, Bart noted with incredulity. Who still used dirt for roads? - the driver leaned back to talk to his companion. “S’been a long time,” he drawled. “Didn’t expect to see you home for some time.”
“You know what they say,” the passenger replied, adjusting the second crate of chickens on his lap so he could turn to talk to the driver without dislodging them. “No place like home. How is the harvest this year doing?”
And Drake said he was no detective. Bart smirked; pleased at his observational prowess, before settling back to watch the cornfields give way to … more cornfields. Bart traced the expanse of golden ears of corn all the way back to the horizon, feeling distinctly uneasy. It was quiet. Peaceful. Serene.
Could Kon really have wanted to trade London for this?
“And how’s the Ross baby?”
“Baby? You’ve been away longer than you realise, son. The kid’s starting school in the Spring.”
“It’s hard to believe it’s been years. The place doesn’t look any different.”
Five years absence and the place hadn’t changed at all? That wasn’t pleasant, idyllic country life. That was stagnation. Bart owed it to Kon to get him out of here.
The mail coach stopped at what appeared to be the general store. As Bart’s travelling companion helped the driver unload the mail cart, Bart inspected the store and found it underwhelming. There was little beyond the basic necessities on its shelves, and the publications were limited in range, if up-to-date. The telephone line was a positive development, meaning that he should still be able to reach Grayson to report that nothing at all of interest had happened in Smallville, and a primitive example of an electric light.
Bart was regarding the Town Inn without great enthusiasm when a throat cleared behind him.
His travelling companion motioned to a cart behind him. An old man regarded Bart curiously, holding the reins of an equally elderly plough-horse. “Pardon me, but you wouldn’t happen to be travelling to the Kent’s place now? ‘Cause we’re heading that way too. Plenty of room for you and your bags in the back.”
The back of the cart was littered with straw and smelled strongly of what Bart hoped was earth. It was for Kon, he reminded himself.
“All right back there?”
“I can endure.”
“Then we’re good to go, Pa.”
The elderly man shook the reins and the horse drew them down the street. “We got time for you to stop in and say hello to Pete and Lana, you know. They always ask after you for news.”
“We’ll have time to catch up tomorrow. Family first. From the sounds of things, we got some catching up.”
“Not up on all the details of it myself, but that boy was never good at expressing himself in a hurry. Unlike his cousin, who can go years without writing home.”
“Ma’s not happy with me?”
“Your Ma’s always happy with her son. But between you and me, you should write.”
“With any luck, I shouldn’t need to. Soon.” As they passed the last of the houses that made up the Smallville township, the man took off his jacket, setting it in the back of the wagon with his own small carpet bag. As he did, he caught Bart’s eye. “Sorry,” he said with the habitual meekness he’d displayed on the mail cart. “I can’t imagine our gossip’s exactly interesting to an out-of-towner.”
Bart grimaced politely, and assured him he had enough to occupy him in the scenery. “I’ve never seen quite so much corn before.”
“Corn? Those are wheat fields, boy.”
“Oh. I see.”
His travelling companion laughed. “Not many wheat fields in London, Pa,” he said easily. “This is your first visit to the heartland?”
Bart nodded. “It is. But - how did you know I’m from London?”
“Your accent stands out around here. Then there’s the label on your travelling case. The Luciana goes direct from New York to London, does it not?”
Bart looked back to his case, the label clearly visible. “And you guessed I was heading to the Kent’s because … ?”
“Because anything out of the ordinary in these parts ends up going to the Kent’s,” the old man said with some satisfaction, nudging his son in the ribs. “Ain’t that right?”
“Not a lot happens out here,” Bart said thoughtfully. “Does it?” He was beginning to wonder if the reason Kon had never told them much about his life before Europe was because there was nothing to tell.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Pa sounded amused. “There’s plenty of goings on. Cattle-rustling, the odd marriage. The odd proposal - you know, you took a big risk going away when you did. I told you, the boy needed guidance. A strong figure to look up to.”
“Pa!” His companion chided. “That was years ago. Besides, the girl said no.”
“Once her Mother put her foot down. It was just as well they found a place for him at school. Still, it could have been a lot worse. No chip off the old block there.”
They lapsed into mutual silence. Bart was able to respect their companionable silence for all of one minute. “Excuse my enquiry,” he said. “But do you know the Kents well?”
“Fairly well,” his travelling companion said with a faint smile. He’d removed his hat and looked much the better for it. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m not sure if I should have called ahead to let them know I intended to visit,” Bart confessed. “Do you think it’s all right if I show up?”
“Folks aren’t big on ceremony around here,” the old man assured him. “Kents might not be the most outgoing of people, but they don’t say no to visitors.”
“You won’t be turned away,” his son added.
“Good,” Bart said. “I want to make a good impression.”
“That’s not hard. Eat whatever Ma Kent gives you, and you’ll find yourself invited to dinner.”
Bart felt slightly more hopeful. If that was all that was required, he was assured of acquitting himself with confidence. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, boy. By the way, seems like you came an awfully long way to call without sending a message ahead. You got business with the Kents?”
Bart hesitated. “Hoping to renew an acquaintance,” he said, trying to convey as politely as he could that the subject was closed.
Father and son raised eyebrows but didn’t comment. As they passed another farm, a question occurred to the younger man, his father filling him in with the local news. Bart let his thoughts wander to the coming encounter. He’d have to be his urbane best. Witty. Charming. Maybe not too witty. He didn’t want them to think he was laughing at them.
Maybe he should be serious instead? Bart practiced a few staid faces, and straightened his jacket. That would be the way to go. Appeal to their future hopes for Kon. The academic atmosphere of London, the many opportunities for sponsorship and learning and culture - culture was all right, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to give the impression of looking down on their terribly rustic way of life.
Bart was still wavering between approaches when the horse came to a meandering stop. He looked out at a modest homestead, well kept house and vegetable garden giving way to fields and barn.
“The old place hasn’t changed much.”
“It’s good to be home, Pa.”
There was little left of the man that had stepped off the train with Bart only hours ago. He swung himself down off the wagon with an energy that belied his apparent years. At some point during the journey he’d tucked his glasses into his shirt pocket, blue eyes bright and entirely too familiar. The sign ‘Kent’ on the gate was really only the footnote to Bart’s realisation.
“You’re the cousin.”
“Clark, to a friend of Kon’s.”
Clark held out his hand, and after a moment Bart took it.
“I really did want to make a good impression.”
Pa laughed, and Bart was surprised to be patted on the shoulder. “There’s still Martha.”
Clark had already picked up his case and Bart’s travelling bag. “Come and meet Ma.”
As it happened, Ma Kent was not a problem.
“The prodigal returns, Martha. And he’s brought a friend of the boy’s.”
“Of Conner’s? Oh, Clark! It’s so good to see you.” Bart got a brief impression of grandmotherly charm, dwarfed in the hug she received from her adopted son. Then she was advancing on him. “You must be Bartholomew. Conner’s told us all about you.”
“All about me?” Bart began worriedly, but he was cut off as she squeezed his arm.
“As it happens, you’ve arrived before him, but he shouldn’t be much longer. Telegram last night from Lois.” Martha smiled at Bart’s confusion, patting his cheek. “You’ve travelled a long way to see him. You must be famished. Clark, help me in the kitchen.”
Pa, or as it turned out, Jonathan Kent, invited Bart to make himself at home in the living room while he saw to the horse.
Bart took full advantage of the opportunity to get his bearings. The house was wooden, constructed to withstand the challenges of pioneering life, with additions made as times grew easier. The floor was bare for the most part, but brightly coloured rugs added comfort and colour, and the odd mix of chairs seemed to hint at individual family members past and present. There were some choice ornaments placed around the room, a vase, an ornate picture frame surrounding a wedding photo, a few portraits and greeting cards on the mantle of the fire-place. There seemed to be a collection of letters tucked behind an ornamental clock and Bart thought he recognised Kon’s handwriting. Drawing out the letter, however dislodged not one but two telegrams. Hastily collecting them from the floor, Bart paused, turning them over before returning them.
The first one was evidently the most recent.
CONFIRMED CONNER FOUND AT SEA STOP MEETING HIM IN NEW YORK STOP LOIS STOP
‘Found’ was one of the better words in the English language, Bart decided. It was one thing to know that Kon was almost probably all right, another to know him found.
The second telegram was not a surprise, but still harder to take.
MA PA IT HAPPENED AGAIN STOP COMING HOME CONNER STOP.
Bart bit his lip as he considered it. He might be closer geographically to Kon, but he was no closer to having any idea what had happened in London. And that was-
The door in the kitchen creaked and the telegrams were replaced and Bart across the other side of the room with a speed the ginger haired man racing the train might have been proud of.
“The usual place?” Clark evidently had the same thought Bart had, crossing to the clock.
“Yes,” Martha followed only as far as the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “Two of them. The first’s from Lois, the second - well, you’ll see.”
Bart fidgeted with the curtain, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make his awkwardness apparent. As it happened, that wasn’t an issue. The smile at the first telegraph set into an altogether harder expression as Clark took in the second.
“You were right. I shouldn’t have left.”
“Now, Clark. We don’t know-“
“Don’t we?” The telegram was crumpled into Clark’s pocket. “We’ll be having a full house, we’ll need firewood. I’ll take care of that.”
“Clark-“
“I won’t be long, Ma.” He had the same effect on a room that the Director did, leaving it much bigger and emptier. Bart wondered what on earth had happened to the man who had stepped off the train with him, when Martha recalled him to the situation.
“I’m sure you’re well acquainted with the tendency of Kent men to stubbornness, Bartholemew,” she said. “Why don’t you join me in the kitchen, tell me about London?”
“All right,” Bart said, adding without thinking, “He does realise it’s summer?”
Ma planted an hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly propelling him towards the kitchen. “As I said. Stubborn.”
Kon woke with a start from confused dreams. Dark tunnels, water and shadows. Strange but nothing alarming. Not the dream. So why … ?
He sat up cautiously. The hotel room was small, too small for anyone to hide. There was no cause for the sound he’d heard - a sound … ?
There was - something. At the window. A shadow that withdrew as he looked towards it.
Kon thrust the window open, looking in the direction that shadow had moved. As he scanned the bare brick wall for movement, he had a second’s realisation too late to avoid the sudden deluge of water.
Kon coughed and choked, accidentally swallowing some. “Salt-“ Sea water? That meant-“Cass!”
Moonlight glittered off her smirk. She let the bucket she was holding fall as Kon stretched his arms up, graceful as any acrobat as she dived to meet him. Kon laughed as he swept her up. “I guess we’re engaged?”
Cass pushed his damp fringe off his forehead. “Serious,” she informed him managing to look diffident even as she flicked water off his collar. “Cold.”
“That’s your fault, you know.” Kon couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed as he set her down inside the hotel room. “Or my own fault. Sorry about that - I really wasn’t expecting … well, I guess you worked that part out.” At Cass’s answering smirk, another question occurred to Kon. “How did you find me anyway?”
Cass playfully ruffled his hair before launching herself free from his arms. Kon watched as she explored the room, quickly noticing the two glasses left on the desk. “Friend?”
“Family. Lois - she’s my cousin’s wife.” Kon retrieved the thin towel hanging on the hotel radiator. “We’re going to Metropolis tomorrow by train, Smallville the day after. You’ll come? I mean - I’d like it if you came. You can meet everyone and they can meet you. Not that it’s much to write home about, but well. I suppose if we’re engaged you should know the worst.”
“Your family? Your -“ Cass paused, deliberating, pulling herself up on to the desk. She didn’t sit, she crouched, ready to move in a hurry should she need to. “Home?”
Kon nodded. “It’s - home,” he agreed. His home, even if he didn’t believe it sometimes. It was really hard to guess Clark’s thoughts, his intentions … Kon sighed, and looked up to find Cass had noiselessly shifted to the side of the bed to tilt her head quizzically at him. “You - really are something, you know that?”
Cass wasn’t about to be distracted. “Stance bad. Nervous?”
“Of course not. Yes,” Kon pulled a wry face. “I’m not even sure why. I guess - it feels like everything is changing. Being on the ship with you … well, it wasn’t exactly a bed of roses or anything, but it’s gone now. Once we get home, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Conner. Think too much.”
“Usually people say I don’t think enough,” Kon replied, smiling as he took the hint in Cass’s posture, and put down the towel to sit next to her on the bed. “And listen to you. Talk too much. Think too much. Drop me in the sea too much. Is there anything I don’t do too much?”
“Kiss me.”
“Oh.” Kon had been intending the question to be rhetorical so he was momentarily taken back by the answer. “I can work on that.”
--oOo-
“Rise and shine, Conner, we have a train to catch - oh, excuse me.” As Kon groggily raised himself from the bed, he frowned blearily at Lois’s smirk. It was far too early for her to be so smug.
“Mng.”
Lois grinned back. “I take it you found your fiancee then?”
Cass! Kon hastily turned to look beside him. He needn’t have been concerned. Cass was clearly far more alert than he was, as composed as ever in the blanket she’d stolen from him. He, on the other hand, was suddenly self-consciously aware that he was lucky not to have lost the sheet in sitting up. “She found me. Um.”
“What did I say about Kent men?” Lois teased. She was enjoying this, but not so much that she forgot to be professional. “We’ve got an hour before our train departs. I’ll order breakfast now, and we can do introductions downstairs - after you’ve dressed.”
Lois was as good as her word. Breakfast was ready when Kon and Cass made it downstairs, an array of fresh bread, cold meats and fruit that did not last long before their combined appetites.
“Hungry?”
“First meal not on the boat,” Kon explained self-consciously. “We’re excited.”
Cass made no apologies for her table-manners, or lack thereof. “Good.”
“I notice that you’re not travelling with any luggage, Cass,” Lois said thoughtfully. “I’ll need to go into the office once we reach Metropolis. You should take Cass shopping, Conner. Since you did give us an exclusive, you are due a fee.”
“A fee?” Kon looked to see what Cass thought of this development but she appeared only mildly interested. “That’d be great, Lois.”
“We’ll stay at my apartment tonight, head to Smallville tomorrow. I’ve already telegraphed Ma to let her know to expect the three of us.” Lois raised her cup of coffee. “Just think. This time in two days, you’ll be home.”
And yet, it didn’t feel it.
--oOo-
Apparently Kon thinks I’m ‘charming.’ He wrote home a lot. Bart frowned. It had been a little disconcerting to realise just how frequently Kon had written home. More homesick than either he or Tim had realised?
Then again, how would he or Tim have known? They’d neither of them had normal families to compare against. Shifting comfortably back against the post holding up the porch, Bart considered his letter thoughtfully. It’s weird. Not that Kon would think I’m charming, before you say anything. This. The farm. It’s nice. The Kents, his ‘folks’ as they would say in the local vernacular are lovely. Storybook lovely except they’re real. But not eerie lovely. Mr Kent senior looks as though he would not hesitate to tell you that you were acting the fool, and his son … I don’t know how to explain his son. Kon’s cousin. It’s strange.
“That’s Pete Ross now with the mail-cart, Bartholemew. I’ve got the milk to get. You hurry with your letter, he can take it back with him now.”
“Yes, Ma!” Bart beamed as she passed him to meet the wagon at the gate.
Anyone coming by is an event. They’re always friendly, ready to stop and gossip. And yet, it’s always the same people. It’s really warm and beautiful and peaceful. Is it bad that I’m hoping that Kon doesn’t like it here? I think it might be.
July 10th 2014.
This is as far as I made it through Occult Couture. I took a break, life jumped in, and when I had a writing vibe again, it was for different projects. I haven't forgotten this story -- it is one of the most fun things I have ever done, introducing me to awesome friends and a fantastic community -- but I'm hesitant to say there will be more. I sort of suspect there will be because I love this universe something stupid, but I have a huge to-do list to get through first. Apologies!
Also, all of the quotes I used in the cut text of these chapters I found in this collection of Victorian Quotes: http://athenairis.tripod.com/quotes.html