15. Calm Before the Storm

As it turned out, Frodo had to admit that the boating was not so dreadful as he’d feared. For one thing, the constant act of rowing gave something for his hands to do, instead of clutching to the sides of the boat for dear life; and also, Hazel kept up an almost constant stream of merry chatter. Frodo eagerly continued the conversation, trying to keep his mind occupied on anything but the soft splashing of the water from the oars and the thoughts that inevitably accompanied the sound.

At the moment, as they rowed to the opposite side of the pond to rest beneath an over-hanging willow tree, Hazel’s sunny attitude had faded, as he poured out his troubles with a town bully.

“…and I tried to get it back, but Averill just pushed me down and took it—then he walked away, laughing!” Hazel’s cheeks flushed with frustration as he told Frodo about the loss of a large bag of gumdrops, several weeks before, which his father had bought especially for him. Of course, Halfred, upon hearing the tale from his son, had immediately told Averill’s father about it. The bully was given a sound thrashing for the crime, and had also been forced to buy and deliver a bag-full of sweets for Hazel. But that did not lessen the distress of the lad, who, though by nature forgiving, was having difficulties making peace or defending himself from the larger bully.

Frodo shook his head in sympathy and patted Hazel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Hazel,” he said sincerely. “I know how you feel—I’ve dealt with more than a few bullies myself.”

Hazel looked up in surprise. “You, Uncle Frodo?” he asked curiously.

Frodo chuckled and ruffled Hazel’s curls. “Of course,” he said with a smile. “The folk in Hobbiton think that I’m rather queer, just like they thought of dear old Bilbo.” He paused, and Hazel nodded in understanding. “Where I grew up, in Buckland, there were always a few who liked to tease me, but in Hobbiton, there are some who are worse than any in Buckland: Ted Sandyman, the miller’s son, is one, and unfortunately, my cousins, the Sackville-Bagginses are the others.” He made a face, and Hazel thought he could guess how the Hobbiton bullies treated him.

“What do you do about them, Uncle Frodo?” he asked, picking a sprig from a trailing willow branch and twirling it in his fingers.

“Well, fighting doesn’t usually help,” said Frodo with a wry grimace; “although sometimes it is unavoidable.” He smiled reassuringly as Hazel nodded with a cringe. “But something that works even better than exchanging blows is simply ignoring them, or treating them politely when you do meet. I know sometimes it seems impossible to do, but if you just ignore them and stand up for yourself, the bullies will see, eventually, that you’re no longer an easy target.”

Hazel looked out at the water as he mulled over Frodo’s words. “But what do I do if they say something really mean?” he asked, looking up. “Sometimes Averill and his friends say awful things about me, or my dad or my family. And I can’t let them see me cry, because then they tease me about that.”

Frodo nodded. He knew well how cruel bullies’ words could be. “Well, Hazel,” he said at last, with a sigh, turning to look back at his young charge, “if you need to cry, just get away from them, to somewhere by yourself or with your parents. It’s all right to cry.” He smiled slightly. “Bilbo once told me something that will make you feel better. He said, No matter how frightening or dark or terrible things appear, there’s always a silver lining.”

Hazel's brows furrowed. “What’s a silver lining?”

“A bright spot.” Frodo realized that while talking about the familiar and positive subject, he had almost forgotten that he was in a boat. He let his hand over the side and trailed his fingers in the water. “No matter what the situation, there’s always a bright spot.”

Both of them were silent for a few minutes, listening to the call of a water bird in the reeds nearby. Hazel mulled over his “Uncle’s” advice. He had sometimes heard his father speak of a “silver lining,” although he’d not known what it meant. He still did not fully understand, but he decided that it must be truthful if both his father and Frodo said so.

“Well, Hazel,” said Frodo abruptly, startling the boy from his musings, “what do you say we head back to shore and have a game of skipping stones?”

“’Course,” Hazel replied readily, grinning. “We’ll see if you can ‘make good your boast,’ as me dad says.”

Frodo chuckled and shook his head as he and Hazel rowed to shore. “We’ll see.” They stowed the boat under the mulberry bush and covered it with the tarp once more, and went around to the bank near the tree where they’d had their lunch.

They both bent down to select their stones, and Frodo showed Hazel how to find ones with the perfect shape and form. When the smooth, flat stones had been chosen, they stood up and wiped the mud from their fingers.

“Who’s to go first?” Hazel asked, turning his stone in his hand. Frodo smiled and ruffled his curls, leaving a bit of mud on the top of the boy’s head. Hazel pretended to be annoyed, and scowled at his “uncle,” but did not bother to brush the mud out of his hair.

“You first,” Frodo laughed, causing Hazel’s affected glare to change into an involuntary grin. “I want to see what I’m up against.”

Hazel chortled and then composed himself, getting into the correct “stone-skipping stance” (as he called it) with such solemnity that Frodo had to cover his mouth with one hand to keep from laughing. The boy ignored him, and after pausing for a moment, pulled his arm back and threw the stone expertly. It made three skips across the water before landing with a plunk and sinking to the bottom.

“Beat that,” said Hazel smugly, looking up at Frodo.

The older hobbit had been watching carefully, and nodded his head. “Not bad,” he commented loftily. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that if you hope to draw level with me.”

“Huh!” Hazel raised his eyebrows and snorted doubtfully. “Well, let’s see your best skipping then.”

Frodo smiled condescendingly and lightly tossed his stone from his left hand into his right. With one quick throw, his stone was sent skimming across the water. It skipped five times before sinking, and Frodo turned expectantly to Hazel.

“That was fair,” the boy admitted grudgingly.

“Fair!” Frodo exclaimed indignantly. “That was skill and you know it!”

Hazel turned an unintentional laugh into a cough and shook his head. “We’ll just see who’s got skill,” he said as he selected another stone.

Their contest lasted for another half hour, and each time, their stones’ skips grew. At last, when Frodo’s stone had skipped twelve times, he sighed. “Hazel,” he said, “I think we had better call it a draw, and have done. I don’t know about you, but my arm feels as though it’s about to fall off, and I don’t think that either of us can get any higher than twelve skips!”

Hazel had to agree, though reluctantly, and they went back to the tree and leaned against it for a few minutes. “Can we take a hike?” Hazel suggested, breaking the silence. “’Course, me an’ Robin an’ Dad have explored the wood ’round the pond, but we haven’t hiked much that way.” He jerked his thumb behind them to the thick woods. “Dad was plannin’ on takin’ me on a trip there, but he hasn’t got the chance yet.”

“I’d love to take a hike,” Frodo agreed, looking at the woods where Hazel had pointed. “But won’t your dad be disappointed that you can’t explore it together?”

Hazel shrugged. “Nah,” he said. “He doesn’t truly like campin’ all that much, and he was goin’ to go because I wanted to, but instead of that, I’ll ask if he’ll take me up to Bounds. It’s a big town up near the border, and sometimes, my dad says—he goes there to trade, y'know—there’s even Big People!”

Frodo laughed and stood up. “Well, I think the wood is enough for you and I today, and we'll save the trip to Bounds for you and your dad,” he said, helping Hazel up. “But let’s check on Galad before we go, and bring our knapsack—just in case.”

Galad was still grazing placidly when they checked on her, tied to the sapling tree, and seemed a bit irritated at their disturbance. Giving her friendly pats on the neck, they left her alone and Hazel ran to the cart to fetch the knapsack.

Frodo and Hazel then had a brief argument about who would carry the knapsack—Hazel wanted to prove his worth, and Frodo wanted to carry it to leave the boy unburdened and unhindered in his exploration. In the end, Frodo won out, but with the promise that Hazel would get a chance to carry the knapsack on their way back.

As it turned out, Hazel was glad that he was not carrying the heavy pack, and ran eagerly ahead, calling out every few seconds for “Uncle” Frodo to come look at something he’d found. Frodo did so patiently, and eventually, Hazel quieted and slowed to walk beside him.

They hiked for nearly an hour, going steadily north, so that they were traveling length-wise through the Bindbale. At last, when the shadows began to grow and the sun’s light dimmed in the sky above them, Frodo decided that they had better return, if they wished to be home by suppertime, as they’d promised.

Hazel reluctantly agreed, and they turned around and headed back the way they’d come—fortunately, it was still light enough for them to make sure they were going the right way. In the light of late afternoon, the woods looked very different, Hazel thought, and he slowed his pace to gaze around him as though seeing it all for the first time.

A sudden shrill whinny from ahead startled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see that Frodo was a good distance ahead. “That sounded like Galad—come on, Hazel!” the older hobbit called over his shoulder. “She sounded frightened!”

Hazel’s pace quickened to a run, and he strove to catch up with Frodo, who was still far ahead. But suddenly, something caught his eye in a bush to his right, and his astonishment and delight caused him to forget Galad completely. He stopped, and got down on the floor of dried leaves to look more closely at four small creatures hiding beneath the bush.

Frodo did not realize that Hazel had stopped, and continued on, coming out of the forest and into the open, hurrying to the grove of saplings where Galad was tied. When he got there, he stopped short in horror. Galad was gone.

The leather reins that had tied the pony to a sapling had broken, and part of them hung from the branch, still knotted firmly. But that was the only trace of Galad; no prints showed in the thick grass that grew beneath the saplings.

Frodo stood there for a moment, wondering where to search first, and suddenly realized with a new shock of fear that Hazel was not beside him. Just as he was about to turn and head back into the wood in search of Hazel, something grabbed his shoulder.

With a startled gasp, he whirled around, and before him stood a tall, dark-haired Man, twice his height. Beside him, standing placidly, was Galad. The Man held in one large hand what remained of the reins, while with the other he still gripped Frodo’s shoulder.

“Is this your pony?” he asked before the astonished hobbit could speak. His voice was surprisingly pleasant and friendly. “I’m afraid I startled her coming out of the brush—I was hunting deer.” He nodded to the bow and quiver full of arrows strapped to his back.

“Er--yes,” Frodo answered after a moment while he allowed his heartbeat to slow from its rapid pounding. “Well, not mine, but my friend’s. Thank you for returning her.” He took the offered reins and patted Galad’s neck with relief.

The Man smiled and released Frodo’s shoulder. “No problem at all,” he assured the hobbit. “Faramond Rushlight, at your service.” He extended his hand and amiably shook the small one that took it.

“Frodo Baggins, at yours and your family’s,” Frodo returned correctly, smiling. The Man’s disarming friendliness and honesty had quenched his fear. “But forgive me, I must be going. My friend is still back in the wood somewhere, and I must find him before it gets dark—he’s only a boy, and I promised his father I’d have him back by suppertime.”

“Allow me to mend your reins so that you can be on your way to fulfill your promise as soon as you find him,” Faramond offered kindly. “I have small skill in such things—I’ve had my share of broken reins!”

Frodo smiled again and allowed him to take Galad. “Thank you very much,” he said once more. “You’re very kind. I wouldn’t want to delay you, though—”

The Man cut him off quickly. “No, no, not at all,” he insisted. “I was going to camp here for the night as it was.”

“Thank you,” Frodo repeated as he turned and ran back into the wood.

“No trouble whatsoever,” Faramond murmured with a smile, watching the hobbit disappear into the trees.

TBC...