Chapter Three - I’m Not Brave

Pippin’s skin prickled as the cold breeze from the open door brushed past him. His older cousins and Sam had just returned from the village Market. “It’s freezing out there,” yelled Frodo from the hallway, hanging his coat up on one of the many pegs that lined the entryway in the tunnel. He came away rubbing his hands vigorously.

“Just makes the spring all the more invitin’, I say,” answered Sam, hanging his coat on a peg between Merry and Frodo’s.

“Cookies!” Merry snagged one that was cooling on the tray, “and they’re still warm, too!”

“Bilbo and I made lots of them while you slackers were at the Market.” Pippin sat at the table and popped another warm cookie into his mouth and washed it down with a mug of milk. He quickly scooped up another handful of cookies before the bigger hands roared through the batch.

Bilbo was pouring hot tea for them to warm up with, “Whom did you hire, Frodo?”

“The cooper’s son was the only person willing to make such a journey,” answered Frodo, holding the teacup in his hands to warm them up. “But as soon as Merry would say how far it was to Tuckborough--and then Whitwell, everyone would refuse.”

“He even asked the tailor’s nephew--and his family could use the extra pence,” Sam put in, “but instead he says ‘My feet are stayin’ where the folk don’t disappear!’”

“Well,” said Bilbo, starting to mix the dough for bread rolls, “all we can do now, is wait.”

A slight anticipation was now growing inside Pippin. He asked, “When do you think we’ll get an answer?”

“Probably not until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest,” Bilbo replied. He set a large bowl of potatoes out on the table along with three paring knives. “When your fingers are no longer numb, you lads can help peel these for lunch.”

Pippin was finished with his cookies and reached for a potato and a knife, only to have it lightly smacked out of his hand by his cousin Merry. “Put that down,” he scolded, “you’ll injure yourself!”

“I know how to peel a potato, Merry!”

“And you know very well how to cut yourself, too.”

Pippin sat at the table and sulked, watching the older lads handle the paring knives so deftly in their hands. “You’re acting like my sisters,” he glowered, “No doubt my job will be like the lasses--washing them off and setting them in the pot to boil.”

“No doubt,” said Merry, chuckling. “Come here, Pippin.” The teen brought the boy in front of him and sat him on one of his legs. Taking Pippin’s hands in his own, together, the pair peeled a fair number of potatoes for lunch. Merry also showed his young friend some of the finer techniques of cutting potatoes.

As Merry picked up the last potato and began paring, Pippin sat back against his favorite cousin’s chest, mesmerized by Merry’s practiced hands. Young Pippin had many questions running around inside his head.

“Merry?”

“Hmm?” Merry was concentrating on not cutting himself in the process as he talked.

“Didn’t your auntie Amma die last spring?”

Uncomfortable with the question, Merry hesitated in his peeling. Then he continued, but at a much slower pace. He answered, “Yes. Why do you ask?”

Still watching his cousin’s hands, Pippin asked, “What was it like? Were you sad?”

Merry sighed, “Of course I was sad. My granddad--Old Rory--he cried; she was his sister.”

“Merry....what if we learn that papa died? What happens then?”

Frodo heard every bit of the conversation; outwardly, he appeared indifferent. Inwardly, his old grief was rising to the surface. He kept on peeling his potatoes, his expression far away and empty. Sam kept a cautious eye on Frodo.

Merry’s heart fell to his toes as his young cousin grew increasingly preoccupied with death. “I don’t know, Pip,” he finally answered. He threw all but two pieces of the raw potato into the bowl. He gave one to Pippin. “I suppose you would go on living with your mum and your sisters.” Though, where would that leave him? He had grown very close to his Uncle Paladin in recent years; he was like a father to Merry.

The recent anticipation Pippin so warmly felt was now cooling off. He nibbled on his piece of potato. “I’m scared, Merry. I don’t want that courier to come back tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“Because he might bring bad news.”

Merry brought his arms around Pippin to comfort him. He spoke softly into his cousin’s ear, “Or he may bring good news. Wouldn’t you want to know that your dad is well?”

Pippin sighed, “Yes...but....I’m not brave, Merry.”

Merry whispered his reply, “Neither am I.”

*******

Frodo sat outside on the bench in the small garden that Sam helped his father tend during the warmer months. The dead leaves and plants that lay about his feet and the gray winter skies were a perfect match for his own dreary mood. The last of the snow that had welcomed Pippin and Merry a couple days ago had now melted in the afternoon sun. He looked up into the twilight sky as he felt a cold touch upon his nose. He watched as the first few flakes of a new snow drifted in the air.

“Good evening, Mister Frodo.”

Frodo came out of his daydream and looked over at the gate where Sam stood. He forced a smile, “Good evening, Sam.”

“My mother saw you out here from the window and thought you might be needin’ company.”

Frodo couldn’t help but smile at Bell Gamgee in his thoughts, “Your mother is a sweet lady, Sam, but I’m fine.”

Sam stood there in the gathering dusk, wrapping his cloak tighter about him. He didn’t seem to think Mister Frodo looked fine. “What were you thinkin’ about?”

The tween let out a long sigh; vapors steaming from his mouth. “Brandy Hall. My dad. The Brandywine.” He watched more of the tiny flakes fall among the old dead leaves. “You’ve never seen the great Brandywine, Sam, but it’s very wide....and quite deep.”

Sam sat down next to Frodo; he continued to listen as his friend spoke.

“I lived at Brandy Hall all of my life and I never once learned to swim. After my parents died, it was a long time before I even went near the river again.” He smiled sadly, “I looked at it for the last time when we crossed the Bridge as I came to live with Bilbo. For a moment, I thought for sure the water was going to come up and swallow me just as it did them.

“My dad purchased the boat from one of my mum’s cousins. He wanted me to go out in the boat with him....but I was too frightened. That evening he talked my mother into going out with him. They decided to make it special and took a bottle of old Gorbadoc’s finest.” He wiped a tear that rolled down his cheek. “They discovered the boat down river the next morning, overturned and caught between a huge tree branch and a rock. They found my parents the day after further south near Standelf.” Frodo took in a long, deep breath; trying to calm away more tears that threatened to spill any moment. “I was stunned and numb for many weeks after, Sam. I don’t remember anything--not even their burial. I woke up one day and found myself an orphan, Sam.” He sniffed and wiped more tears away, “And I can’t think of any feeling more lonelier than that.”

Sam watched as Frodo’s eyes glistened with unshed tears from that awful time.

Frodo used his handkerchief to wipe his face and recover a bit. “I just hope for their sakes Paladin pulls through this,” he said. “He’s been very good to Merry, and Pippin would just fall to pieces.”

Sam‘s heart went out to his friend. “They’ll be fine, Mister Frodo,” he answered.

The two young hobbits sat in silence, watching the darkness consume the Over-heavens; snowflakes falling quietly to the ground.