Harvest Bonfire
by Cúthalion

October 1427

“Rosie?”

The midwife of Hobbiton opened the green door of Bag End and peered into the entrance hall. There was no response. Morning sunshine streamed through the windows and set a bouquet of asters in a tall vase aflame with deep gold and auburn. No one was to be seen.

“Rosie? Are you there?”

She stepped inside, placed her bag on the floor and hung her cloak on one of the hooks on the wall. Normally there would have been a hullabaloo of four children’s voices, the songs and gentle scolding of their mother and the laughter of their father, but Sam was on the way to Waymoot. He had ordered new, specially bred tulip bulbs from a merchant and was eager to get them to Bag End and into the ground before it froze. Before Lily could call again, she heard the slapping of small feet coming up the main corridor. Elanor, Sam’s and Rosie’s firstborn, came into sight. She wore a nightgown, her long, blonde hair was tousled and halfway escaping from the braid that hung down her back. Little Rose followed on her heels, both hands reaching out for a better balance, an expression of deep concentration on her plump and pretty face. She had taken her time, first with crawling, then with walking, and this new experience was still a very exciting and sometimes overwhelming business.

“Auntie Lily?”

A joyous burst of bubbling laughter and Lily bent down just in time to receive the little girl in her arms. She lifted her up, smelling the sweet scent of milk, buttered rolls and clean child skin and returned the gaze of hazel eyes.

“Good morning, sweetie! Did you sleep well last night, hm?”

“Yes!” Little Rose crowed. “Yesyesyes!!”

“Maybe she did, but I didn’t.” That was Elanor who now stood beside the window, peering out into the hazy autumn morning. “She snores.”

“Such a tiny lass, and snores like a bear?” Lily laughed. “Oh – I see, you have quite a cold, haven’t you? No, kitten, don’t use my sleeve, there’s a handkerchief. And now you must blow your nose as loud as the trumpets of the King – very fine, that’s my girl.– Elanor, where’s your mother?”

“In the bedroom, Auntie Lily. She said she would come back and guide me through doing the washing up – I've never done it alone before - but she hasn’t come back yet and I’m afraid I'll break something.”

“Hm…” Lily sat Little Rosie down. “Would you like to take your sister with you and chose a beautiful dress for her? I’ll have a little talk with your Mama and I’m sure we’ll find a solution for the problem with the dishes.”

She watched the two girls obediently disappear again down the hallway and stayed back for a while, frowning slightly. Then she straightened and made her way to the main bedroom.

*****

When she opened the door to the room where Sam and Rosie slept, she noticed two things; it was very quiet and the bed was only halfway made. Sheets, covers and blankets were neatly folded and the pillows were fluffed up, but the quilt Rosie had inherited from her grandmother lay halfway on the floor as if completely forgotten in the midst of action.

Rosie stood at the window, back to her visitor. She made no sound, but her shoulders were shaking.

Lily opened her mouth. Before she could say something, the first hiccupping wail of a baby came from the next room.

She saw the body of her friend grow tense and heard a sharp, sobbing intake of breath. Rosie spun around, heading to the door, and discovered the young midwife. Against the reddened eyes, her pale face blanched even more.

“Oh… L-Lily… I… I didn’t know…”

“Of course not.” Lily gave her a reassuring smile, softening her tone as if trying to calm a terrified pony. “Dear, are you sick?”

“N… no. It’s just… excuse me, Merry needs…”

“When did you feed him the last time?”

“Half an hour ago. He needs…”

“He certainly doesn’t need more to eat.” Lily gently broke in. “If he still suckles as greedily as he did at birth, his stomach is probably bothering him. I’ll brew him some fennel tea, but first of all I’ll give his poor tummy a proper massage.”

Rosie opened her mouth to object, but then she closed it again. Suddenly she sat down heavily on the bed.

“I’m so tired”, she whispered, “I’m so tired, Lily.”

“Then you have found exactly the right place to get some rest, haven’t you?” Lily reached out and caressed her friend's cheek. “And you’re even still wearing your nightgown – clever girl.” She gathered the quilt, folded it and hung it over the back of the rocking chair beside the window. Then she pulled back the covers. “Come on, Rosie, lie down. Leave Merry to me.”

“But Elanor and Rose… and Frodo-lad…”

“I have seen Elanor and Rose… where is Frodo?”

“Still asleep”, Rosie murmured, curling under the covers with a sigh. Lily saw with some satisfaction how she snuggled deeper into the pillow, her eyes slowly closing. “He came to my room three times last night… said he couldn’t sleep…”

“Silly boy,” Lily laughed softly. "Don’t fret, dear. I’ll get him out of his bed and make him some breakfast.” She walked over to the window and shut the sun out with the red, embroidered curtains she had given Rosie for her last birthday. Then she sneaked out of the room, closing the door behind her and turning to the next chamber where the whimpering threatened to turn into a full-blown scream.

“Now on to you, young Master Meriadoc,” she said with a smile. “Noisy, hungry and reckless like your tall namesake, aren’t you…?”

*****

Sam came back from Waymoot late that afternoon. He brought Bill into the stable and went through the garden to the green door. He turned the knob and the door opened to light, warmth and the delicious scent of freshly cooked food.

“Rosie?”

“No, it’s me, Lily.”

He closed the door and stared at her in astonishment; she sat in the rocking chair close to the fireplace, Little Merry fast asleep on her lap. Frodo-Lad knelt on the floor, eagerly pulling a wooden pony and a cart over the carpet, and Elanor and Little Rosie sat on a pile of cushions, laying a pair of rag dolls to sleep and singing them a hushed lullaby. It was a rather idyllic scene, but he suddenly felt a sharp pang of fear.

“Is something wrong with Rosie? Is she – has she ---“

“Nothing a few nights of undisturbed slumber and a few days of rest wouldn’t fix”, Lily said. “Merry’s first tooth has been plaguing him for a while now, and Frodo has rather turbulent nights, too, as Rosie told me today. She’s asleep now… in fact she has done barely more today than to sleep. Your daughters were a great help – Elanor has done all the washing up and Rosie watched the pot with the potatoes for dinner. I’d never have managed all the work without them.”

Sam saw the humorous twinkle in her eye and the sudden pride in Rosie’s and Elanor’s faces, and he couldn’t help smiling.

“They’ve had their meal already”, Lily continued, “and if you take them to bed now, I’ll lay the table for you. After a whole day at the market you must be hungry.”

Sam swooped Frodo-Lad up on his shoulder and took the hands of his daughters. They went down the corridor to the bedrooms and he allowed himself to be absorbed into the familiar Good-Night-ceremony. His children seemed happy enough and he felt deep thankfulness for the quiet way Lily took things into her own hands and brought them to a good end. Somehow she always does, he thought as he tugged the blanket around Rosie’s warm, little body and turned around to chose the book with the right story to read.

When he came back half an hour later, he found a luxuriously filled bowl with beef, potatoes, leeks and carrots in a creamy sauce and a huge tankard of beer. He sat down in front of the table and ate with hearty appetite for he had indeed been very hungry. Lily quietly refilled his plate and mug, offered him slices of freshly baked bread and kept herself busy collecting forgotten toys from the floor until he had wiped the last remnants of sauce away with the last bit of bread. It was Sam who spoke first.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

Lily eyed him with mild surprise.

“No, you did not,” she answered, "and neither did Rosie. She has four children. Frodo still has to learn how to sleep properly and Merry is teething. That is enough to push any young mother to her limits.”

Sam shook his head and gazed down at his hands, a knot of guilt forming in his stomach. “She never said anything.”

“Of course she didn’t.” Lily gave a short snort of laughter. “Your Rosie is a wonderful mother – there are a few children in Hobbiton I would rather see here than where they actually are, believe me. Not many, fortunately. She has grown up with lots of siblings – which is always helpful – and if she ever gets angry, she doesn’t make the mistake of giving her little ones the brunt of it. She was too absorbed in motherhood to ask for help in time. It is simple exhaustion, my dear Sam. She only needs a little break.”

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Frodo is five years old now. Take him with you from time to time, and give him some small work in the garden. He has two sisters, and in his eyes the baby doesn’t count as a real boy. If you can bear the thought of him making a bit of a mess in your vegetable beds, you might help him to feel important.” Lily smiled. “And more hours spent outside will help tire him enough to sleep through the night. You see, you would kill two birds with one stone.”

“Good idea.”

“And concerning the break – the first Harvest Bonfire will take place on the fields the day after tomorrow. Shall I ask Mrs Cotton to take the boys? She’d love to pamper Merry, and Frodo could have a great time with his uncles. I can take Rosie and Elanor with me, for one night or two. What do you think?”

“That is wonderful, Lily.” Sam smiled and felt himself relax in sudden, joyous relief. “The girls would love to be with you. Elanor told me only yesterday that she wants to read your big volume; she is solidly convinced that it doesn’t contain herb recipes but magical spells.”

Lily laughed.

“Lily Proudfoot, the witch of Hobbiton!” She shook her head. “Well, that’s something I never thought of… but I fear there’s nothing magical about me.”

Sam reached across the desk, took her hand in his and kissed it.

“Don’t be too sure,” he said.

*****

The weather for the first Harvest Bonfire of the year couldn’t have been better. The darkening sky over the huge pyres of foliage, wood and dried haulm was cloudless and clear. Half a dozen tweens had spent the whole afternoon setting up tables and benches, their voices ringing through the crisp air like a song of autumn.

Sam and Rosie came with the three elder children. Baby Merry had already been left at the Cotton Farm in the able hands of Daisy who, at 85 years, was neither a maidservant nor a wetnurse any more, but there was hardly anything she didn’t know about children. She had nursed Lily Proudfoot as a baby and made a wonderful extra-grandmother. Elanor and Little Rosie had each packed a small bag with a nightgown, their favorite storybooks and their rag dolls, and felt as if they were going on a great adventure. Lily greeted them with a big smile and they started the feast with a generous helping of roasted potatoes, bacon and sweet onions, stewed in honey and vinegar. They watched as the eldest inhabitant of Hobbiton – 104-year-old Rosamunda Bracegirdle - took a torch and set the first pyre aflame. There was a noisy cheer and soon a big circle of dancers formed around the roaring fire.

To her surprise, Rosie was left alone with her husband and, with a twinkle in his eye, he took her hand and pulled her with him to the flames. Looking back, she saw Frodo-lad riding on the shoulders of his uncle Jolly, his face pure, rollicking joy. Lily sat beside one of the tables, feeding Little Rosie potatoes and at the same time chattering with Elanor, and Rosie suddenly felt as if she could spread newly grown wings and fly. She and Sam joined the circle, and somewhere behind her a clear, merry tenor rose in one of the old, familiar bonfire songs:

“Bonfire Night, stars far and bright
Flame crackles and laughs, red and golden light…”

Rosie felt the folds of her skirt whirl around her legs and the damp grass under the soles of her feet. The rhythm of the dance pulsed through her body and the smell of burning wood and foliage filled her nose. For the first time in a very long time she lost herself completely to the music and the wonderful intoxication of the moment, and Sam was there, rooting her with his warm fingers, the possessive enlacement of his arm and the look of love in his hazel eyes. When they came to a breathless halt, she woke up as if from a dream.

“Come home, lass,” she heard Sam’s voice, full of laughter and something else that made her heart beat faster, “come home with me, love.”

She followed him as eagerly as any teen in the overwhelming onrush of first love, but she turned back for one last look. Little Rosie was just climbing on her grandmother's knee and Lily Proudfoot sat on the ground, shielded from the cold meadow by a pile of cushions. Elanor was enthroned on her lap, pointing up to the sky.

“Come, love,” Sam said again, and together the walked down the road that led through Hobbiton and up the Hill.

*****

They lay in each other’s arms even before the green door closed behind them, stroking and kissing with fumbling hands as if they’d never done this before. Rosie tasted beer on his tongue and the sweet sharpness of onions and pipe tobacco and felt silent laughter and heated joy vibrating deep in his chest. His hands went over her collarbone. They found the swelling of her breasts and then caught one taut nipple through the cover of bodice and blouse, gently pressing and twisting. She moaned aloud into his mouth and pulled back.

“Slowly, love---” she whispered, trying to get her breath under control. “This is not father's barn… nobody will give us any trouble. We are alone.”

“Thanks to the lady…” He breathed a giggle over the bare skin of her shoulder. “The first time we actually did this in your father's barn, Nibs and Jolly came in at the worst of moments and all that saved my skin was a quick header into the next haystack!”

The memory made Rosie giggle also. “Still, undressing in our bedroom would have some advantages,” she said in laborious gravity. “The sheets are soft and even better - there’s no pricking straw...!”

He gained enough control to light the candles in one of the holders, and they made their way down the corridor to their bedroom. He placed the holder on the nightstand and watched her undress. Slowly, she unfastened the clasps of her bodice and opened the little buttons of her blouse. Then she pushed the straps of her loose chemise down over her arms, enjoying the warmth and undisguised hunger in his eyes. At last she got rid of the skirt and lay down on the bed.

She gazed up at him. His broad chest was lit by the flickering flames; the short frizzy hair on his skin turned to a soft, golden fur. Suddenly she felt a deep, hungry desire for him as a sharp sting in the center of her body, and she blessed Lily. She'd been living in an exhausted fog for weeks and never realized it, and now she felt gloriously awake. He leaned in, his mouth capturing hers. She pulled him down and into the yearning warmth of her flesh and every thought that was not Sam disappeared from her mind.

Making love to him and receiving his hardness felt surprisingly new and yet it was not. She thankfully remembered the way he loved to be touched, the spots she had learned to find and to caress during long, wonderful nights... the growling sound he made when she took his earlobe between her teeth and moved downwards, using her tongue, to paint, a long, delicious, wet line down his neck. She arched under him, her voice a breathless song of joy and desire, and when she felt his climax hot and fluid deep inside of her, she answered it with her own peak and held him inside like the vivid, flickering heat of the Harvest Bonfire.

*****

Rosie woke up in the middle of the night. The smial was silent. Almost too silent, she thought, but after this weekend the voices of her little ones would fill the many rooms again. She was looking forward to having them back, and this knowledge made her as deliriously happy as the warm, familiar body beside her. She turned over and pressed a long, tender kiss on his cheek. His answer was a nearly inaudible murmur and two arms that closed around her.

She inhaled the spicy scent of his skin and suddenly the image of Lily as she had seen her that evening came into her mind; wrapped in a warm, dark cloak, her long hair slowly loosening from the thick braid that hung down her back. It fluttered copper-red in the changing light of the flames, and the long wisps mingled with the pale golden curls of the little girl sitting on her lap. She saw their entwined fingers and their smile as they talked and Lily showed Elanor the stars, and they were beautiful, both of them. Elanor, shining with the silvery touch of the Lady, a strange reflection of eternal elvish beauty in the old, familiar cradle of the Shire. And Lily, whose loveliness was more mundane and simple, the beauty of rich earth, of deeply rooted trees and scarlet autumn leaves… but she, too, was different, touched and in a strange way blessed by the love of someone who had at last carried the elvish light inside his soul across the sea.

Rosie smiled.

Thank you, she thought, thank you for being there… And with the colorful memory of her friend and her eldest daughter in her mind, she drifted back into a peaceful sleep.

FIN