CHAPTER 11

Pippin thought that never had a summer passed so slowly. He tried to stay busy, to find things to do that would help his family, help his father; but there was precious little of that kind of thing available for the son of the Thain.

He spent a lot of time minding the children for Pimpernel. Two year old Flora and the infant Alyssum seemed to enjoy being with their Uncle Pippin, and he kept reminding himself to spend as much time as he could with them for he might never get the chance to see them grow up.

At night, his thoughts grew morbid. Fatty did not believe that Pippin understood how serious this business of the Enemy’s Ring was. In one way, he was right; Pippin did not know all the history of it, nor the evil it had wreaked on Men and Elves. He did not need to. For he knew only one thing: his Frodo and his Merry were threatened, and that for Frodo, at least, that threat would remain, no matter what he did, where he went, or even whether he stayed in the Shire, as long as he had that Ring.

And if Frodo stayed in the Shire, all that evil, that was nearly too much for Men and Elves long ages ago, would be brought here to the Shire, to his parents and sisters and nieces.

He thought of how his parents would take his leaving. His father would be furious, and likely to make life miserable for everyone else. He worried and fretted about how he would finally tell Merry that he was coming. He feared that somehow Merry might yet find a way to prevent him. He wrote letters to Fatty every few days, begging for information. But of course there was not much to report, and he stopped getting answers.

Finally, about the middle of one of the hottest, most miserable Wedmaths that anyone could recall for years, he got a letter from Fatty.

My dear Peregrin--

Everything seems to going as planned. There have been no changes. As the time for Frodo’s move draws near, he seems distracted and moody. Who can blame him, considering that the loathsome S-B’s will be moving into his home?

Do not worry about your cousin Merry. He is keeping busy helping his father run Buckland, and preparing Frodo’s new home for him.

We hope that you are keeping well at the Smials. Folco sends his greetings, and asks that you remember him affectionately to your mother.

Your friend,

F. Bolger

He had, of course, several letters from Merry. But those told their own story, not so much for what they said, as for what they did not say. They were long, full of gossip about the relatives at Brandy Hall, but no mention at all of Frodo or the move or the house at Crickhollow. Merry did not much like lying and tended to avoid it, though he would when he had to, and wasn’t too bad at it, unlike Frodo who hated lying, and was terrible at it. Of course, they were both unlike Pippin, who was a cheerful liar, very good at it, indeed, and never minded when he got caught out.

His own letters back to Merry were short and truthful, and pretty much the same:

Dear Merry--

I am bored out of my mind. The weather is miserably hot and there is nothing to do. If I don’t get out of the Smials soon, I am going to lose what is left of my mind.

When are you coming to see me?

Love,

Pippin

xxxxx

Merry looked at his third letter from Pippin that month, just like the others. He felt sorry for Pip, stuck at home, and he felt a bit guilty. Normally, he would have spent a good part of that month with his younger cousin. But he had been avoiding going to visit, because then he had to be careful what he said. He hated keeping a secret from Pip.

But there was this--and he had to admit it--he might never see Pip again, once he had left the Shire. He owed it to Pippin, and to himself, to make some time for them together before he left.

 xxxxx

Pippin sat down to second breakfast with his family; it was so hot that he did not have nearly his usual appetite, but there were some lovely strawberries and cream to tempt him.

Pervinca picked up the post that lay on the side table. “Pip, you’ve another letter from Merry.”

“Thanks.” He took it without much enthusiasm. He expected that it would be much the same as the others. He opened it and gave a whoop of joy.

Pip--

I find I have things pretty much in hand here in Buckland, and Da says he won’t need my help here for the harvest this year. So I think that I’ll come impose on you Tooks for a while.

I will leave here on Trewsday the fifteenth and spend a couple of days with Frodo at Bag End before coming down around the nineteenth or twentieth . I’ll probably stay on until we get ready to help Frodo with his move.

Warn Aunt Tina and Uncle Paladin that I’m on my way.

Yours ever,

Merry

Pippin did a victory dance around the table, handing the letter to his mother as he passed her chair. Eglantine took one look at it, and heaved a sigh of relief. Having a bored tweenager moping about the Smials had been just about more than she could stand. Pippin and Merry into mischief together was much preferable to moody Pippin snapping and moaning.

 xxxxx

He had made up his mind when he left Buckland that he’d spend the next few weeks making it up to Pippin in advance for abandoning him. The thought of the sense of betrayal his young cousin would feel when he realized he’d been left behind lay like lead in Merry’s stomach.

Pippin, for his part, threw himself into enjoying the moment. He knew exactly what was motivating Merry, and shamelessly used his most wistful expressions to get anything he wanted.

Mornings they went for walks or rides, cooling off by a swim in the nearest pond or brook, and lunching on treats purloined from the Smials’ kitchens.

Many of their evenings were spent at their favorite Tuckborough inn, The Leaping Hare ( or, as it was affectionately known by its regulars, “The Bouncing Bunny”). Though they had good times, both were careful not to overindulge. Neither of them wished to give Pippin’s parents a reason to extend his restrictions.

Paladin was known to enjoy a wager now and then. A few evenings, he joined his son and his nephew for dicing or other games. They had to be careful, however, to make sure it did not come back to Eglantine’s ears; she would have been even more disapproving than Frodo.

Yet for all the good times they were making for themselves, underneath was a restless dread. Thoughts of what Halimath would bring were ever present.