Look to the Stars

Chapter 3

The old car spluttered and groaned as Sam carefully guided it over the uneven driveway that led to the Vicarage. The old road was long and wound itself with care around several gnarled and wind-worn trees whose appearance made them look much older than the buildings beyond.

"Ooomph" Andrew mocked as the front left side of the car dropped unexpectedly into a deep rut. The axle groaned.

"Rotter! I should make you get out and…..." Sam began, narrowing her eyes in concentration as she gave the engine just the right amount of power to drive the front wheel out of the divot. "…...walk" she added once the car was level again.

"Might be safer" Andrew replied, his cheeky smile evident in his voice.

"Well, I'm very grateful that you came to our rescue, Sam" Foyle gave, making sure that his own voice drowned out his son's mocking tone.

"You're very welcome, Sir…..um, Christopher" Sam said, turning a slight shade of crimson as she emphasised the last word.

Andrew patted the back of Sam's seat and gave a loud laugh. "Yeah. Thanks, Sam."

The ancient car's engine grumbled and groaned as Sam expertly guided it to a narrow gap between two small sheds.

Foyle smiled as he caught Sam's eye. 'Thank you' he mouthed before slowly turning his shoulders towards the door. It was unlikely, he knew, but he did hope that he'd been able to express just how widely his gratitude extended – and not just for the last couple of hours.

Sam turned off the engine, the action causing the car to jerk forward.

"I'll rescue the bags, Dad" Andrew said, still chuckling as he grasped the door's handle.

"I'll give you a hand, Andrew" Stewart offered and almost leapt out of the back seat of the small car, his agility belying his age.

While Andrew and Rev Stewart headed for the rear of the car, Foyle reached for his door.

"Oh" Sam muttered suddenly. He turned back towards her and raised his eye brows in question.

Sam reached over and picked up the scarf that had been forgotten, tossed onto the arm rest beside Foyle's seat. In her hands, she looped the finely knitted wool over twice and held the resulting circle up for inspection. In a move that surprised even him, Foyle dipped his head and wordlessly allowed her to slip it onto his neck. He simply smiled and took a moment to smooth down the ends.

"If you take much longer," Andrew said through Sam's slightly open window, "I'll start loosing my fingers." He held up the cases until they were level with the window and added, through chattering teeth, "then you'll have to carry your own case."

"You'll be fine. Stop your grumbling" Foyle muttered as he climbed out of the car.

"Where did Daddy go?" Sam asked as she walked quickly over to the Vicarage's heavy front door. She pushed it open with two hands and, with her foot, slid the small wedge in underneath to keep it open.

"Said he was heading over to the church" Andrew replied, following behind. "Something about setting up."

Foyle entered last and closed the door behind him. He smiled at the sight of Sam and Andrew helping each other with hats and coats while they easily conversed – as if the last year had been erased and their friendship had once again taken root.

"Oh, there you are, my darling" Isobelle Stewart whispered as she silently walked into the small entry way, her footsteps masked by her soft slippers. "I was beginning to worry."

"Nothing to worry about, Mummy, but that engine," Sam said, pointing over her shoulder, "really ought to be pensioned off."

"Well, don't wish for that, Samantha dear" Isobelle said with a frown. "How will your father get to do all of his visiting?"

Sam gave her mother a worried look and helped Foyle with his coat, hat and scarf.

Andrew quickly placed their bags down onto the bare floor and pushed them up against the wall with his leg. With a smile he accepted Mrs Stewart's hand gently in his, their acquaintance being met – albeit briefly– an hour before when he had knocked on her door with almost numb-from-the-cold hands. "Much warmer in here, Mrs Stewart."

"Oh call me Isobelle, please" she gushed, giving her head a theatrical nod. "And just leave them there" she declared, waving her hand around before pointing to the cases. Andrew nodded.

All four of them walked in through the austere entry, Mrs Stewart leading, and turned right into the cosy little sitting room whose large window was still letting in the last of the afternoon's light. Andrew and Mrs Stewart conversed easily, her small lightly freckled hand wrapping itself around his elbow as they both chuckled at a shared joke.

Foyle had, of course, visited a couple of times since Sam had been married, once before the birth of her daughter and once after; his illness preventing any further visits.

"How's Katie, Mummy?" Sam asked, facing her mother. Isobelle's face instantly softened.

"She's just marvellous, of course…..and sleeping peacefully in your father's study. So do hush!"

"Well, until she wakes" Sam announced, a smile on her face, "we should have some tea."

"What a good idea" Foyle replied and placed a soft hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'll help."

They both walked into the long but narrow kitchen, the lingering warmth of the oven making it a very pleasant space.

"And how have you been?" Foyle asked a moment later, his back to her as he reached up to retrieve the small cups and saucers from the otherwise bare shelf.

"Oh, …..you know" Sam answered, her tone alluding to a much deeper answer, it seemed, than she was prepared to give.

As Foyle turned back around, his hands full, he saw the small china lid of the sugar pot fall from Sam's fingers and spin a few times like a child's toy on the table below. Like rapidly falling snow, sugar fell from the pot still resting on her palm.

Sam mumbled something quite un-Sam-like under her breath and quickly placed a finger onto the lid, stilling its movement.

"Tired?" Foyle enquired and slowly placed the cups from his hands onto the table. With two fingers, he carefully brushed the sugar grains into a small pile, making a teaspoon sized mound.

Sam huffed and pursed her lips, obviously lost in thought.

"Yes," she finally admitted and pinched the top of the pile of sugar, carefully transferring as much of the spillage into her own cup as she could. "Katie is the most precious….." Sam began, frowning. "...amazing gift, Christopher but she doesn't let me get much sleep."

"I do understand" Foyle whispered and arranged the other cups and the small milk jug onto a tray. "Andrew wasn't much of a sleeper either" he admitted and tipped his head back in the direction of the sitting room. As he grasped the handles of the tray and lifted it, he added "sometimes, when I got home in the evenings….Rosalind was almost ready to collapse. I, um," he added, pausing in thought, "wasn't able to help her much, unfortunately, ….which I very much regret."

Sam reached over and placed her own cup and the now half full sugar pot onto the tray in Foyle's hands.

"But for the next few days at least, I'm here to help, Sam. Anything you need.." he said with surety, "….just ask."

"I will" Sam assured him. She touched his wrist with her fingertips and smiled. "Thank you."

Foyle nodded and returned her smile then stepped back to let her lead the way back into the sitting room.

As Foyle slid the tray onto the low table beside the fire, Sam silently drew in a fourth arm chair, making a tight circle in front of the hearth.

"I have absolutely no idea what Iain was doing with it, dear but here it is" Mrs Stewart said, the long fire iron held uncomfortably in her hand. "See what warmth you can draw out of the embers, dear boy."

"Right" Andrew replied and tossed a few small logs onto the still glowing coals.

As Mrs Stewart held the teapot, swirling its contents around with gentle movements, Sam set out the cups.

"I'll be mother" Isobelle whispered and gave her daughter a wry smile.

As the fourth cup received its fill, Andrew announced his acceptance of the now crackling fire and sat down between his father and Mrs Stewart.

The front door suddenly creaked open, the handle banging noisily against the rendered wall. Sam gave her mother a confused look then put her cup down, clinking it against the saucer.

An obviously agitated man, a crooked finger pulling roughly against his collar, stomped his way into the sitting room.

"Daniel Thomas Grimshaw!" Sam harshly whispered, her hands gripping the arms of her chair. "If you wake your daughter with your stomping feet, I'll….."

Foyle's eyebrows rose but he said nothing.

"Oh" Danny mumbled and, as best he could, tip-toed his way over to his wife's side. With a gentle hand sliding around her waist and another touching her cheek, he kissed her forehead. "Sorry, darling."

After a moment, his arm still around his wife's waist, Danny whispered. "I don't think she's awake."

"Then you're very lucky!" Sam huffed, poking him in the chest.

Sam took a moment to compose herself, exhaling as she relaxed back into the chair. "We have guests."

"So I see" Danny said softly, an apologetic smile on his face.

"How was the journey?" Danny asked, his voice still softened.

"Fine" Foyle replied, accepting the man's broad palm in a handshake. "A little late getting going but, um, no trouble."

"Good, good" Danny said and turned to face Andrew who was by now standing.

Andrew's eyes were wide and his mouth gaped slightly as he took in the sight of Sam's husband.

"You must be Andrew" Danny said, offering his hand.

"Um, yes" Andrew croaked, accepting the handshake.

"What made you so upset, Daniel?" Mrs Stewart asked from her chair as she poured out another cup of tea. She handed the cup, her own, to her son-in-law then sat back against the cushion. "Mrs Bassingthwaite isn't…."

"No, no" Danny replied, a sheepish grin covering his face. After thanking his mother-in-law he brought the small cup up to his lips, his enormous hand making the cup look ridiculously small. "Seems we have a thief in the Parish" he told the small group. In two gulps he'd almost emptied the cup.

"Oh no, what this time?" Mrs Stewart asked, slapping her own knee in an expression of frustration. Foyle watched as Danny threw down what remained of his tea.

"The ciborium," he answered, bending to replace the teacup, "and the chalice."

"They're almost one hundred years old" Sam declared, stacking the now empty cups onto the tray. "What a cheek!"

"You sure they were stolen?" Foyle asked, helping Sam with the tray.

"It's my best guess, Mr Foyle….um Christopher" Danny said, one eye scrunched.

Danny stroked Sam's back with his left hand then whispered "leave the tray, darling. I'll fix it." Looking back over at Foyle he completed his explanation. "The lock on the vestry door was damaged and the small cupboard that the Chalice normally sits in was open."

"Daddy wouldn't leave that cupboard open" Sam said, her head tipped up to face her husband.

"I agree" Danny said, his finger tracing a curl around her ear.

"Told the police?" Foyle asked, his finger stroking his chin.

Before another word could be uttered, a sudden gust of wind made the sitting room's windows rattle, the noise quite alarming. A rumble and crack of thunder soon followed. From the study, came a cry – it started softly then quickly escalated.

"I'll go, my loves" Mrs Stewart declared as she stood from her chair. "You finish telling Christopher about our most unwelcome visitor."

"I telephoned the police. Yes" Danny replied, turning his head as his eyes followed his mother-in-law. "Iain's talking with them now."

Sam gave her former employer a questioning look, one eyebrow raised but Foyle quickly shook his head.

"The good news is we have a spare chalice" Danny told them, bending to pick up the tray. "But no ciborium" he added above the rattle of cups.

"What about that rather ancient paten that's always at the back of the shelf?" Sam asked, stroking her fingers up and down her husband's forearm. "It's a bit….old" she added.

"It's more than old, Sam" Danny replied, a grumble in his voice. "It's a disgrace. And it will take me hours to get it polished up and presentable." He turned on his heel and made to walk back to the kitchen, the full tray rattling in his grasp.

"Then we'll just have to make do and mend" Sam told him in a rebuking tone.

"Mmmmm...mend" Danny said, his voice low as he took the tray away.

"Ahhh" Mrs Stewart gushed as she returned to the fire-lit room. The small baby in her arms wriggled in agitation and the blanket that was meant to keep her warm fell to the floor. "Here's your mother" she whispered then kissed the protruding cheek.

"Hello, darling" Sam said as she received her daughter. Andrew carefully picked up blanket, gave it a shake, folded it and placed it over the little girl's body, the corner flopping around Sam's shoulder.

Foyle sat forward in his chair and reached a hand out to touch Katie's arm. "She's grown" he said although not to anyone in particular.

"She has" Sam answered, wrapping the blanket around her daughter's limbs. With assurance, Sam handed the now happy little girl over to Foyle.

"Come here" Foyle mumbled, his words low, his lips next to her ear. He sat back in his chair and cradled the baby in his arms.

"I might just go and talk to Danny" Sam said, a frown on her face as she pointed over her shoulder towards the kitchen. "If you're happy to….."

"I think we'll be just fine" Foyle replied, stroking the baby's soft downy hair with his thumb.

"You're a natural, Dad" Andrew said with a smile, tapping his index finger on his knee.

"Well you turned out all right" Foyle shot back, giving his God-daughter a conspiratorial wink. "Although it's been a long time since you were this small…..or this quiet."