Look to the Stars
Chapter 4
Foyle held the small thin towel, his hands open ready to accept the newly washed cup from Isobelle Stewart.
"Thank you, Christopher" Isobelle said, running her hand through the now tepid water in the deep sink. "Your help is appreciated."
"Very welcome."
"Dad's quite the expert at drying" Andrew added, even though his attention was taken by the inquisitive infant in his arms. "I was never allowed to dry."
"No. At the rate you were going, we'd have had no plates left" Foyle said as he hung the damp towel on the rail beside the oven.
"I only dropped a few" Andrew explained, a smile escaping out of the corner of his mouth. A small finger reached over and hooked onto his lower lip, pulling it down. He chuckled and stroked Katie's cheek with his finger.
"You spent quite some time on your own, Christopher?" Isobelle softly asked as she reached up to place the tea tin back on the shelf. "It must have been difficult."
"We manged" he replied, smiling down on his son who was quite clearly besotted by the miniature version of Sam in his arms.
The rather wrinkled frown on Katie's face, aimed squarely at Andrew's chin, looked remarkably similar, if not identical, to the one that Sam had given Foyle just an hour before. The storm, coming up unexpectedly as it did, meant that Sam's plans for an afternoon of activity had had to be postponed. Foyle's insistence that she use the time to rest had caused her great disappointment but he was, eventually, able to convince her that there would be plenty of time over the next three days to complete whatever activities she had planned. He wasn't running away and they had both agreed that, while she slept, her mother would find plenty of jobs for him to do. Of course it helped that Andrew was expertly occupying Katie, holding her close against his chest and keeping her mesmerised.
"Iain, darling?" Isobelle called, reacting to the sudden creak of the front door.
"Mmmm" Iain mumbled in what Foyle supposed was a response to his wife's question. As he entered the small kitchen he dipped his head and reached for his wife's hand. "Lady Christine has had another … bad turn, my dear" he said, his other hand cupping her elbow. Whether it was a gesture of affection, a way of catching her if she began to falter, or a rather clever mix of the two, Foyle wasn't quite sure. What was obvious, though, was the pain that was etched in Isobelle Stewart's face.
"Oh no" she replied, the words catching in her throat. "Terrible" she added, continuing in a voice that was obviously chocked with emotion. "How is Sir Alfred?"
"Well," Iain answered, flicking his eyes to the small window as he spoke. "Apparently he has a nephew ….. uhhh, hmmm, …." he stammered, obviously trying to recall the details of a recent conversation. His fingers stroked across Isobelle's thin elbow, the protrusions of bones and joints making Iain's fingers dance across her skin. "Gregory!" he suddenly blurted, pride instantly showing on his face after finally finding the lost information. "Lady Christine's nephew, my dear" he quickly gave, obviously noting the look of shock on his wife's face. "He's staying with them."
Foyle brought over one of the stools that was tucked under the bench top, and placed it behind his host. She smiled back at him and, still holding fast to Iain's hand, sat back onto the polished wooden finish. "I didn't even know that she had a nephew, darling" she said.
"Her sister's boy" Iain added, sliding his hand away from her elbow but not quite removing himself entirely from his position. "A little young to join up, Sir Alfred said but he's signed up for the Home Guard."
"Speaking of the Home Guard" a sleepy Sam said through a yawn, her feet still enclosed in her bedsocks, "where's Danny? He should be getting ready for his exercise." She slid out one of the chairs and sat herself down beside Andrew who still held Katie, although she was by now sound asleep.
"Pastoral visit" Iain simply said and looked at the silver watch around his wrist. "Mrs Filmont" he added, sending a quick wink to his wife. Isobelle smiled and nodded sagely, suggesting that this gesture was just the closing argument in a much longer conversation, the bulk of which being had behind closed doors.
"Mrs Filmont?" Sam enquired, lifting her waking daughter out of Andrew's arms. The little cherub, her thick shock of sandy red hair poking up strangely, grumbled as she lost the familiar warmth. "Is that the same Mrs Filmont with the five children? Lives out beyond the orchard?"
"Yes, my dear. The very same" Iain replied, turning to smile at his daughter and grand daughter.
"I was just speaking to her yesterday" Sam said, confusion playing at her features. "All five of her boys seemed fine, Daddy and Mrs Filmont herself appeared to be happy." Katie stirred in her arms and grumbled some more as Sam re-positioned her. "Surely there's more pressing ..."
"My dear" Iain said, taking just two strides to be at his daughter's side. He bent and kissed the top of Sam's head then gently stroked Katie's forehead with the side of his thumb. "We shepherds must never be so prideful as to assume that we can't learn a lesson, or two, from our sheep."
Perplexed, Andrew looked between Sam, Rev Stewart and his father. Sam placed a hand on her daughter's cheek and looked up to her father.
"Ooohhh" she mouthed, sudden realisation flooding her thoughts. "I see."
Andrew gave his father a pleading look, begging for an explanation, or at the very least an interpretation. Foyle gave a quick but definite shake of his head as Iain headed for his study.
"We'll eat in the big room, I think" Isobelle suddenly said, filling the silence. Turning to Andrew, who still looked more than a little confounded, she asked him to please see to the fire once more. He obeyed and stepped back into the larger sitting room, scratching the side of his head with his right hand.
Lost in thought, although not completely unaware of her surroundings, Sam said "what are we having for dinner, Mummy?"
"That's a very good question, my dear" Isobelle replied as she adjusted the rather ancient comb that was keeping her hair from falling onto her face. "Perhaps we can have those sausages that were given to your father yesterday."
"There's only four of them, Mummy" Sam replied, standing to join her mother at the bench beside the sink.
Holding up one of the thin pinkish-brown sausages between her thumb and forefinger, Isobelle looked down at Sam's feet and tutted. "Don't for one minute think you're going to be cooking in my kitchen with your socks on, Samantha. They'll get filthy."
Sam humphed and handed a grizzling Katie to her Godfather. "Back in a jiffy" she declared and turned to walk to the small bedroom that she and Danny shared at the far end of the Vicarage. What was once a visitor's room, that had at one time or another been occupied by everyone from Bishops to beggars, now served as bedroom and nursery combined – Danny's writing desk, out of necessity, had had to be squeezed into a corner of Iain's already cramped study.
"We could use the rest of the stock" Sam called over her shoulder, her voice getting softer as she followed the narrow corridor.
"And make a bit of a casserole….yes, good idea" Isobelle completed as she reached over to inspect the lidded saucepan that sat at the back of the stove.
As Sam returned, her feet now sensibly enclosed by her familiar brown lace-up shoes, she practically collided with her husband, his view of the room obscured by a large wooded box over flowing with fresh vegetables from Mrs Filmont's surprisingly productive garden.
"Oh!" Sam spluttered, only just managing to catch a dirt-covered potato before it hit the ground.
"Sorry, sweetheart" Danny declared, rocking back on his heels in surprise.
"You've had quite the productive afternoon" she said, placing the vegetable back onto the pile in her husband's arms. Before she could add to her words, though, Danny reached his head around the side of the box and planted a kiss on her lips.
"My darling, Samantha" he said to her, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry."
"For almost dropping a potato?" she teased, inspecting the produce a little more closely.
"No" he replied with a lowered head. "For being self righteous … judgemental, and for not" he went on, shuffling the box so that he could hold it in one hand, "being utterly thankful for the true blessings that I have been given."
"Do you mean the carrots?" Sam asked, teasing a little more. She gave a stifled yelp, though, when her husband pulled her in close to his side and continued the kiss he had begun earlier.
"No, I don't mean the carrots" he said, when finally their lips parted. "I mean …. you, and our beautiful daughter."
Sam smiled and rose up on her toes to continue her kiss.
"How was Mrs Filmont?" came the question from the study, the door left ajar.
"Um" Danny mumbled as he handed the box over to Sam who took the bounty into the kitchen. "It was quite inspiring."
"Very pleased to hear it" Iain replied and both men disappeared silently into the study.
Isobelle whooped with excitement as she took in the haul in Sam's arms. "My goodness" she declared and patted the clear space on the bench beside her, an invitation for her daughter to unburden herself. "Mrs Filmont is certainly doing her bit for the war effort, isn't she?"
"She must have built herself a green house" Sam mumbled, almost to herself, as she split open a pea pod and threw a plump green pea into her mouth. Chewing, she added, "there's even some spinach."
"It's no wonder her boys are so robust" Isobelle said, holding up a tightly packed green sprout that almost filled her palm.
"Why don't you," Foyle said, gently handing the baby over to Sam, "and Katie go and sit down in front of the fire. We'll make dinner."
"Are you sure?" Sam asked, her eyes asking the question.
"I am" he replied with a smile and a nod.
Thirty minutes later Iain, Isobelle, Foyle, Sam and Andrew sat down to a sausage and pea casserole with mashed potato. In an old wooden cradle lined with folded blankets, Katie slept, the crackling fire keeping all of them comfortably warm. Isobelle had of course kept back a generous helping of their dinner and left it in the pot at the back of the stove - A late supper for Danny when he finished his night exercise.
The conversation started slowly but soon flowed naturally, each person contributing to the din. The fire crackled away nicely, adding to the contentment.
Sam reached across Andrew, her hand stretching for the handle of the water jug to his left. "Thirsty?" she mouthed, flicking her eyes between the empty glass in front of him and the jug.
"Mmm hmm" he mumbled and slid the glass across to her. "Thanks".
Sam poured out two glasses, sliding each back to its original position. As the base of the jug touched the wooden table top, a loud noise filled the room - The unmistakable sound of a rifle being fired.
Sam jumped and Isobelle slapped a hand onto her chest, patting away in time with the elevated beat of her heart. Fortunately Katie merely stirred, stretched and went back to sleep.
Andrew gave his father a worried look, his face pale.
"I wasn't aware of any live fire exercises" Iain said, the first one to break the uneasy silence. He reached across the table and patted the back of his wife's hand.
"It was close" Andrew said, sliding his empty plate away in preparation.
"Mmm" Foyle mumbled, scanning the room.
Sam flicked her eyes between Andrew and Foyle, begging one or both of them to explain but neither did. She gripped the edge of the table, her lips parting.
"Where, exactly" Foyle asked, his face turned towards Iain, "is the exercise being held?"
The Reverend turned to face Foyle, his index finger pushing up on his glasses. "Just beyond the river" he replied and pointed back over his shoulder. "Actually, it's on church grounds" he added, watching Isobelle clear away the empty plates. "I had to get special dispensation from the Bishop to allow it."
"Reverend Stewart!" came a frantic call from outside the house– the tone of panic evident. "Vicar!" The call was louder this time and, by the sound of the footfalls in the gravel, whoever was doing the shouting was running – and getting closer.
Foyle put a hand on Sam's wrist and when she looked up he flicked his eyes to the cradle then to the kitchen.
"Vicar!" the voiced called again, this time the owner was awfully close. A pounding sounded on the door, a closed fist rapidly connecting with the broad timber. With a whoosh the latch gave and the heavy door flew open, banging loudly on the wall beside it.
"Go!" Foyle told Sam as she lifted her daughter out of the cradle. He gripped her upper arm and pulled her and his God daughter away from the entry way. Breathing rapidly, Andrew placed himself between the internal door and Isobelle.
A moment later a boy, of no more than sixteen, stood in the dining room. His green uniform jacket covered in blood, his face pale, he panted in fear while scanning the room. A blood soaked hand slipped its way down the barrel of his rifle and he fumbled and juggled the weapon until it rested against his shoulder.
"Son?" Iain softly asked and took a step towards the frightened boy. "Why don't you..."
"He's been shot!" the boy blurted, the unexpectedly loud outburst echoing around the room. He ran a bloody hand down his face, adding streaks of semi-dried blood to his cheeks.
"Who has been shot?" Foyle asked in a gentle tone.
The boy began to sob, great tears flowing freely down his cheeks, and he dropped the weapon to the floor. Andrew picked it up, applied the safety and placed it carefully down on the table that was only half cleared.
"The, ….the tall man …." the boy said through his sobs and held up a hand to indicate how tall the subject of his conversation was. His hand extended well above his head. "I don't know his name but the Captain," he continued, slowly composing himself, "told me to fetch the Vicar."
Sam stopped, turned and ran back to the sitting room, Katie's blanket flicking her on the back of the legs as she ran. "Danny!"
