Chapter Six - Grinding the Grist

Merry started walking up the road towards the Mill. He turned when he heard a shout from behind him. It was Pippin waving to him, “Watch out for the grinding wheel!” Merry waved back at him and turned back around, heading up the road towards an enormous building with a turning wheel in the back.

Merry didn’t know why, but he had a sense of foreboding as he drew near to the large Millhouse. All at once, memories flooded his thoughts, but...were they his own? Just a hundred feet away he could hear the loud creaking of the grinding stones turning against one another. For reasons unknown, Merry knew the door to be in the back, right next to the area where the stacks and piles of grain were kept. There were some grown hobbits wandering about, but mostly and again he saw others boys and girls his own age--sometimes younger.

One of the grown hobbits approached Merry, shouting at him, “You’re late! You’ll be quartered!”

Merry rolled up his sleeves and went to work hauling the grains into the mill. Stack after stack, pile after pile, Merry dragged in the heavy stacks until the sweat burned into his eyes. He pulled out the timepiece he kept in his pocket. Seven o’clock.

“You there!” The grown hobbit was yelling at him again from his station above the grinding floor. Merry was growing accustomed to the constant shouting from this hobbit. “Give me that!” The hobbit came over and swiped the piece out of Merry’s hand.

“Give that back! It belongs to my father!” Merry grabbed for his timepiece but was shoved to the ground by the Overlooker.

“You don’t have a father!” He sneered, “He’s dead, if I recall rightly. I’ll tell ye when it’s time to stop workin’! Now get back to work!”

Merry slowly got to his feet. His back ached and his heart was breaking. He missed his father in a horrible way, and he wasn’t even allowed to mourn him. Every day, morning until dusk, all Merry knew was this back breaking, never-ending work. The only thing his father left him--the timepiece--that, too, was now taken away. Merry made up his mind right then that he was not going to work for Mr. Thatch anymore. His only obstacle was convincing Pippin to go along with his plan. He had seen first hand that it was better to be a servant in the house of an estate than to be a slave working for Mr. Thatch in the Mill.

Later that night after work, Merry was walking east towards town in the dark. One of the other lads walked next to him and spoke up, “Beautiful night, isn’ it?”

Merry continued to walk, his eyes cast to the ground, “I suppose.”

“Just look at all the stars!” The lad looked up into the sky and laughed. “Look! Even the Night Warrior is out!”

Merry finally looked up. “That’s nice,” he answered without any thought.

“Why are ye so dour?”

“What is there to be happy about working in there?” Merry turned and indicated with a nod towards the mill.

“Nothing, really.” The young lad walked self-assured, as if the miserable side of life couldn’t hurt him. “I’m not going back.”

Merry stopped walking, “You’re jesting.”

The lad shook his head, “Nope. Though I’ve got to get my younger brother to agree to it.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing, too!” Merry’s spirits were picking up. So it wasn’t just him! That old mill was the bane of more lads than just himself. “My brother, Pippin, thinks working at the mill is as easy as making a cake. All he sees is three pennies a day!”

The other lad laughed, “Unless you’ve been quartered as much as I have!” He shrugged his shoulders, “It seems I talk too much.”

The boys approached the empty fields where Merry had fallen into one of the deep holes earlier. “This is where I turn off from the road,” said the lad.

“Wait--what is your name, please?”

It appeared to Merry that his friend looked towards the alleyways. A hint of a smile played on his lips. He answered, “Tad--though my brother has called me Taddy since he was old enough to talk.”

Merry smiled and shook his hand, “Well, good luck, Tad.”

“You, too, Merry.”

Merry paused. How did he know my name? He turned to ask Tad, but his new friend had already disappeared into the darkness. “Be cautious, Tad!” Merry yelled after him, “There are deep holes in there!”

*******

“He’s alive.” The healer pulled the covers back over Merry’s chest, though the young teen was still unconscious.

“Is that all?” Paladin was anxious over his nephew, “Is there no medicine--no elixir that I should give him when he wakes up? Or will he wake up?”

The healer replied as he got up to leave, “Yes, yes, my dear hobbit! He should awaken at some point, but I have no idea when.” Then he called to Fiodin, “Do you have any ice, Fio?”

“I keep it in the cellar,” he answered.

“Well, fetch a bit of it and put it in some water, keeping a cool cloth under the boy’s head where the lump is.” He spoke the last part to Paladin.

“That’s it?” Paladin asked again.

“That’s it.” The healer packed up his little bag and was walking towards the door trailed by Paladin. The healer continued, “That’s all anyone can do for him--when he wakes up, is when he wakes up.”

Paladin pressed, “Nothing else, then?”

The healer paused, wanting to offer some comfort that would quiet this frantic parent. “When he wakes up, he will most likely feel sick; keep a pail nearby.” He then reached into his bag and handed a small, corked vial to Paladin. “And put a little of that in his broth to help ease it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Now relieve that he could ease the boy into the waking world, Paladin finally stopped badgering the healer. He walked back into the guestroom Fiodrin had provided for Merry, and sat down next to the bed. He leaned over and kissed his nephew on the forehead, “Please wake up, Merry.”