Soup Spoon |Discontinued|

| Ch. 6: Invitation |

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            "Why'd you have to take my earring?" Foster grumbles close to Sampson's ear as they trudge closer to the house, boots squishing in the muddy morning frost. The sun was slowly climbing higher and higher into the sky above them, and while it was morning for now, it would soon be afternoon.
            "Really? That's what you're focusing on here?!" Sampson hisses out sharply, stopping to unlace his boots as they reach the front porch steps. "I'm going to be in so much trouble. I should have just gone in, grabbed the  honey, and come back out by myself."
            "I don't know, I kind of enjoyed myself." Foster mutters under his breath, and Sampson freezes for only a moment before sliding off one boot and then the next, positive he wasn't supposed to hear that. 
            "Whatever, it's too late now. Take off your boots and put them on the step there next to mine," Sampson gestures to his worn brown boots. "I don't want to make Adelaide even more cross with me than she already is, and tracking mud through the house would do just that."
            Doing as he's told for once, Foster begins unlacing his own well kept black boots, the thick brown hair from under his cap falling over his eyes as he bends over to do so. Sampson just stands there staring at him for a moment, trying to think of what he's going to do with this ridiculous, strange boy in front of him. Adelaide had already made it very clear she didn't trust him alone with other boys - a dense notion in and of itself - but bringing one to the house the morning after her admonishments for breakfast? He was doomed. 
            'No, no, this is fine,' Sam thought to himself, tongue pinched between his teeth absentmindedly. 'Grandfather insisted he come inside. We're going to eat, talk about the weather, and leave-- simple as that.'
            "Are you coming?" Foster's voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and Sampson looks up to see he's already standing at the screen porch door in his socks. "It's rude to keep your house guest waiting, y'know. Were you raised in a barn?"
            "Stuff it." Sampson snaps, his nerves through the roof as he climbs the steps after the brunette and makes his way to open the door.
            "Make me." Foster taunts back, voice nothing but a whisper, and when his and Sampson's eyes lock for a moment there's an unfamiliar fire burning in his brown eyes and a small smirk that makes Sampson avert his gaze first.
            "I just might," Is the last thing Sampson says before pushing the screen door open, calling to the household loudly "I'm home from my walk, and I have company! We're obligated to feed him. Granda's orders."  
            "Oh, Sam! I didn't expect you to be back so soon," Deirdre is folding a pile of freshly washed sheets at the kitchen table, and to Sampson's relief she's the only one that seems to be downstairs. "What's this about comp-- oh. Uh, hello there!" Looking up from her task, her green eyes focus on Foster and go wide, before flicking back to Sampson in confusion, a question obvious in her gaze. 
            "He's a friend from school. He got hurt on the road and we bumped into each other," Sampson explains briefly, eyes zeroing in on the leftover's that had been moved to the counter. "I patched him up in the barn, and we were told to come get some food before we do anything else. Is it okay if we grab some and head up to my room? I want to work on some school work and he offered to help me."
            That... was not part of his plan. It had just slipped out, and it was too late to take it back now. Sampson didn't miss the sharp turn of Foster's head out of the corner of his eye, looking at him with confused brown eyes for only a moment before he relaxes once more and starts looking around at their surroundings instead, making sure to give Deirdre a small wave with his injured hand. The brunette seemed to be taking every little detail in, eyes sweeping over each little household knickknack and making a point to memorize where every window and doorway was. 
            "... If grandfather told you guys to get food, go ahead and get some food. But if I go up there to check on you gentleman, you better be doing school work," Deirdre nods towards the food on the counter and Sampson immediately makes a beeline for it, his stomach hurting fiercely. "No jumping around, hollering, fighting, or anything else of the sort. Got it boys? It's too early."
            "Of course, ma'am. T... Thank you for the food. You all have a lovely home." Sampson had opened his mouth to reply, a roll in hand, but Foster had beat him to it, surprising the blonde enough for him to turn around look at him with wide eyes over Deirdre's shoulder. 
           "Well thank you, Mr...?" She trails off, turning her head to the side expectantly.
           "Foster, ma'am," The brunette nods and gives her a perfect, winning smile. "It's nice to make your acquaintance."
           Sampson was slowly eating his roll, looking back and forth between Deirdre and Foster so fast it seemed his head would start spinning like a top if he kept it up. Who was this charming, polite young man? Sam and him had never been introduced in the week he and Foster had known each other. He was almost impressed. Almost. Making a grab for three more rolls, Sampson walks briskly towards the stairs.
          "Alright, we have school work to do. Thank you Deirdre!" Sampson calls over his shoulder before running up the stairs, Foster hot on his heels after giving her a respectful nod. Sampson had to snort at the memory of his sister's bewildered face; this well-dressed stranger, collar bejeweled with shining necklaces and hands covered in rings, waltzing into their home and charming her skirts off. It was funny, and Sampson guessed he was a little impressed. 
           Once they'd made their way into Sampson's room and he'd closed the door behind them, the blonde sagged onto the bed with a sigh of relief. Adelaide was busy in the field, or in the garden, or somewhere that wasn't downstairs. Luck really did follow Foster, or at least that's how it seemed.
           "School work? Really?" Foster asks, sounding unimpressed. His eyes roam over the simple bedroom, locking onto the window for a moment before finding its way to the writing desk below it, where Sampson's journal still lay open. 
           "I panicked, alright? Here." Sampson starts tearing into his second roll, offering the brunette the other two in his hand. Foster stares at him suspiciously for a second, before taking them from Sam's outstretched hand. He takes a small bite at first, hesitant, but he seems to like it because he digs in after that. 
            The two sit in comfortable silence and eat, Sampson on his bed and Foster at the writing desk, the brunette taking small glimpses at the open notebook sprawled across the surface when Sampson isn't paying attention. Slowly the grumbling of Sam's stomach quiets, and when he finally polishes off his roll he sits back up with a content sigh. Foster, who'd finished far faster than he did, breaks the silence once he's done.
            "What's this story?" He asks abruptly, eyes scanning over only the last page open. "It's well written."
            "Wha-- don't read that!" Sampson shoots up off of the bed and is across the room in only a moment, snatching the journal up and closing it with a loud 'smack'. He was breathing hard, cheeks flushing a bit at Foster's amused expression. "Do you have no sense of personal space or privacy?"
            "Not really. Now tell me what it's for." He goes to reach for the book once more, but Sampson lightly bats his hand away, crossing the room once more and out the brunette's reach.
            "It was going to be for a gathering I was invited to," Sampson sighs, seeing no harm in telling the curious boy when he couldn't go anymore.  "But I was told I'm not allowed to."
            "Oh? What kind of gathering?" Foster's interest had been peaked. He leans forward in his chair now, eyebrows raised expectantly. "I like gatherings."
            "It was supposed to be a campfire two days from now," Sampson stuffs his journal in his pillowcase before plopping back down on his bed, Foster's sharp eyes following every movement. "A group of kids from school and I were going to make a fire in the woods, bring some food and a beverage or two, and tell scary stories under the stars," Leaning back until he's splayed out on his bed, Sampson points at his pillow beside him. "That was going to be my story, but now it's gone to waste."
            "Why don't you just go anyways?" Foster asks, body angled towards the window as he looked out over the Whittager fields. "They can't stop you."
            "Adelaide has got enough on her plate," Sampson grumbles, head turning to gaze at Foster's side profile, framed by the early afternoon light coming through the window. When Foster turns back to look at him, Sampson's head snaps back to look at the ceiling just in time, a sigh escaping his lips. " She doesn't need me making things more difficult for her."
            "Does this Adelaide have blonde hair like yours?" Foster asks out of the blue, and Sampson turns to give him a curious look.
            "Uh, yeah? Why do you ask?" Sampson sits up, confused.
            "'Cause she just came inside, and I can hear her and your other sister having a heated conversation." Foster admits, and in the silence that follows his statement Sampson can hear their voices coming up through the floorboards as well. They were bickering about something, and Sampson was almost positive he knew what about.
            "Oh no, I'm so dead," Sampson whines, jumping up off of the bed to face the bedroom door. The bickering had stopped, and he now heard the angry footsteps of his sister stomping up the stairs. "Quick, you have to hide--"
            The blonde turns around to look at Foster, only to stare in shock when he finds no one is there. Where Foster was sitting moments before, the chair was neatly pushed back under the desk and the window was cracked open, a cool March breeze ruffling Sampson's face and hair. Only seconds later does his door swing open, slamming against the wall with a loud 'bang'.  Turning, Sampson's eyes lock onto a red-faced Adelaide standing there in the doorway, her mouth opened wide to begin the admonishment of a lifetime, but as her eyes sweep the room and find it empty except for him she deflates partially.
            "Where's the-- where's the boy?!" She spits, and Sampson's eyes narrow. Where there was a block in his speech the night before, the words now flowed easily through his lips, dripping an emotion Sampson couldn't identify.
            "He left before you got here. He has work to do on his family's farm, but he wanted to help me with a school assignment," Sampson says, and when she opens her mouth to say something he presses forward. "I had permission from grandfather and Deirdre to have him in the house. What is your issue with my having friends, Adelaide?"
             "I don't have an issue with you having friends, Sampson! I just don't know this boy, and--" She was frazzled once more, hand going to smooth her loose baby hairs back and out of her face over and over. 
             "I am almost a man, Addy," Sampson sighs tiredly, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'm almost a man and you don't trust me to take care of myself."
             "Of course I trust you, Sampson! And I know you're almost a man, I'm just..." She trails off, hand waving in the air as she looks for the word. "Cautious! I'm just being cautious. I don't want you to get hurt."
            Sampson's sharp gaze slackens some at her lost expression. With a sigh, he takes a few steps forward and envelops her in a firm hug. Her arms stay at her sides for a moment, but then they slowly rise to encircle his torso, resting her chin on the top of his head. 
            "I can take care of myself, Adelaide." He whispers into her shoulder, and he feels her chest rise and fall with a deep breath of uncertainty.
           "Okay," She says after a moment, pulling back to look at Sampson in the face, but not letting go entirely. "You can go, but this is your one chance. Prove to me that you'll be fine on your own, and we won't have this discussion again. Am I understood?"
           "Of course! You won't regret this Addy, I promise!" A wide smile spreads across Sampson's face, and he gives her an even tighter hug than before. 
           "Alright, alright, I'm already wearing once corset," She gasps out, a small smile on her face now as well. "I don't need a second one. I'm going to go do some chores now, and you better be out there with me in five minutes."
           "I'll be there in four and a half." He jokes, and she rolls her eyes at him. Letting her go, Sampson turns to go close the window as she heads downstairs, but something catches his attention. As he bends over the writing desk to shut and latch the window, he notices a small note scribbled on a slip of paper sitting on his desk next to his lead piece.
           Picking it up and squinting, Sampson's eyes widen at the message written on it, before his head snaps to the window to look out over the Whittager property. He didn't see any retreating figure or bright red cap anywhere. Looking back at the note, he reads it aloud to himself before a small chuckle escapes him.
           "'See you at the party'? Oh, Lord... what have I gotten myself into with this one?"

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