Chapter 42. Casting His Vote

Michel Delving was a full pot bubbling over with hobbits gathering to celebrate the Mid-summer days, to cast their votes for Mayor, to partake of good food and good fun, to browse the stalls of handicrafts, to watch the races and other events. In short, it was like any other community fair... only much, much larger. Hobbits had come from all four Farthings, and beyond, from the wilds beyond the Brandywine: Buckland and even Bree (though the latter couldn't vote, not being Shire-folk, they could still celebrate, and did).

Colourful pavilions rose in the fields all about the town, with all the comforts of home and hole, and whole villages of humbler dwelling-places sprang up, from caravans to canvas tents. The inns in the surrounding area were filled to bursting and most of the inhabitants of the town earned a little pocket money by letting rooms and lofts and even tent-space in their gardens to out-of-town visitors, unless, of course, these were already filled with visiting relatives. Hobbits would be coming and going throughout the Lithedays’ celebration; some stopped only to cast their vote and hurry homewards once more, to relieve the neighbours they’d left watching their animals so that those hobbits could come and cast their votes. Then there were those who arrived the day before the festivities started and stayed straight through to the end; these tended to be the more well-to-do who had others to tend the animals or businesses left behind.

 ‘I have never seen so many hobbits together in one place,’ Viola Smallfoot said to her husband, Budgie, clinging tight to his arm with one hand while anxiously eyeing her little brood. ‘Ammy! Keep hold of your sister!’

 ‘Did your father never bring you to the Fair?’ Budgie asked in surprise. Of course, he’d never been to the Fair himself until he reached his majority, Michel Delving being quite a ways from Bridgefields. He had planned to leave his family at home, truth be told. Fredegar had argued. If you’re coming to watch over my heart for me, Budgie, then I insist you bring Viola and the little ones! All work and no play takes from life all joy! Mr. Freddy knew a deal about looking for the joy in life.

 ‘Beg pardon?’ Viola said, for a vendor of candied nuts had gone by calling out the goodness of his wares just as Budgie spoke. He repeated the question.

Viola shook her head. ‘Never!’ she said. ‘ ‘Twas too far, he said, to take the whole family! He went, of course, every seventh year to cast his vote, and he always brought back pockets full of treasures.’

She gazed in appreciative bewilderment at the booths they were passing, spilling trinkets and furbelows, fripperies and necessities, delights and trifles to dazzle the eye and lighten the pocketbook. ‘Ah! There’s Mr. Freddy,’ she said, nodding at the portly figure standing before a woodcarver’s booth, fingering a finely crafted letter-opener.

Budgie steered his little flock over to the woodcarver’s. ‘Freddy, there you are!’ he said, carefully assuming the vocal inflections of one of the gentry. ‘I thought you might be starting to feel a bit parched, and ordered tea and crumpets to be ready at the inn...’ he glanced at the angle of the sun ‘...about three quarters of an hour from now.’

 ‘Crumpets, you said,’ Fredegar Bolger said, turning with a smile. ‘Budgie-my-lad, I hate to inconvenience the innkeeper, but I’ve just been invited to tea with the finest cook in the Shire.’

 ‘Mr. Budgie,’ the woodcarver said with a nod. ‘You’re welcome to join us. Rosemary’s just stirring up some hissycakes to cook over the fire.’ He turned to address the son polishing a pipe rack. ‘Buckthorn, you go tell the innkeeper that Mr. Bolger’s plans have changed, and convey his regrets for the inconvenience.’

 ‘I’m sure he’ll find other hobbits wanting tea,’ Freddy said.

 ‘Indeed,’ Budgie said, and the woodcarver hastily spoke again.

 ‘But yourself and your family are welcome, of course, Budgie!’

 ‘Very kind of you, indeed, Hally,’ Budgie said cheerily. It would be easier to keep a discreet eye on Mr. Freddy this way, and make sure that the drops that steadied the hobbit’s weakened heart made it into his tea.

The woodcarver turned to lift the flap at the back of the booth. ‘More guests for tea, Rose,’ he called.

 ‘Tell them to come round, then,’ Rosemary said. ‘The cakes are singing as we speak, and they’re best hot!’

 ‘You’d best go round,’ the woodcarver said. ‘I’ll join you soon.’

Slipping between Hally’s booth and the next, they found quite a cheery scene: hobbits sitting about with plates in their laps, a fire burning briskly and cakes bubbling and hissing on a griddle.

A blanketed hobbit was propped against one of the wheels of the woodcarver’s waggon, being fed bites of buttery griddlecake.

 ‘Uncle Ferdinand?’ Freddy said in astonishment.

The blanketed hobbit looked up with a grin. ‘Fredegar!’ he said. ‘It has been a long time.’

 ‘Indeed,’ Freddy said. He eased himself down next to old Ferdinand. ‘What brings you from the Smials?’ he asked.

 ‘There’s an election, you know,’ Ferdinand said, ‘and I came to watch my son ride in the All-Shire Race.’

 ‘Ferdi’s riding?’ Freddy said. ‘I’d heard he was eaten by dogs!’

 ‘They spat him out again,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Found him rather hard to swallow, I think.’

Freddy chuckled and accepted a plate from Rosemary Bolger. ‘My thanks, cousin,’ he said, and dug into the steaming griddlecakes.

Budgie poured a cup of tea and added several drops from a flask he carried in his pocket. ‘Here you are, Freddy,’ he said. ‘Cannot have tea-and-cakes without the tea!’

 ‘Nor the tea without the magic drops,’ Freddy said. He drank the tea and extended the cup for a refill of tea without drops. ‘Where is Ferdi?’

 ‘Dancing attendance upon the Thain,’ Ferdinand said. With pride in his voice he added, ‘He’s head of the Thain’s escort, as you know.’

 ‘Would you like your tea now, Grand-da?’ the hobbit lass feeding Ferdinand said.

 ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Ferdinand said easily, and sipped at the cup she held to his lips. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Don’t know why food cooked outdoors over a fire tastes so much better, but it does.’ He cocked an eye at Freddy. ‘Have you cast your vote yet?’

 ‘I did,’ Freddy said. ‘Clink in the barrel.’

 ‘Hope you got the right barrel,’ Ferdinand said.

 ‘Twas the one with the likeness of Samwise painted on the side,’ Freddy said.

Voting was a simple matter; each hobbit dropped his two silver pennies into the cask bearing the likeness of the candidate he favoured. When the pile of silver reached the top, the coins were counted out into coffers and the total marked down, and then the cask would be ready to receive more votes. There were three such casks, this election: for Mayor Samwise, for a Bracegirdle, and one for a Whitfoot, grand-nephew to the old Mayor. Those without ready coin brought chickens or a young pig to exchange for silver: these animals would be used for the feast following the All-Shire Race on the final day, when the election results would be announced. The silver coins, themselves, went towards paying the Shirriffs and Messengers who were under the Mayor’s authority.

Hally joined them when his oldest son took over the booth. Talk was still on the election. The woodcarver laughed. ‘I thought they wouldn’t take old Ferdinand’s vote,’ he said.

 ‘Wouldn’t take it?’ Budgie said, scandalised. ‘Whyever not?’

 ‘Have to drop it in the cask yourself, you know,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Ferdi voted on his own behalf, but when he went to drop the coins in for my vote the Shirriff told him that no one can vote twicet! Well, I wasn’t about to have my right to vote denied...’

 ‘What did you do?’ Freddy said, stirring his refreshed tea.

 ‘I had them carry me there,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Told them they ought to be properly ashamed of themselves, calling an invalid from his sick bed!’ Never mind that he had left his sick bed to see his son race... ‘Even so, the Shirriff was reluctant to let Ferdi drop the coin into the cask I nodded my head at. “Says right here, by his own hand,” he said, pointing to the directions nailed to the tree beside us. Just then Mayor Sam came up.’

 ‘What did he do?’ Freddy asked, and Budgie leaned forward.

 ‘Said he didn’t care if I was to vote for a Bracegirdle or a blockhead like himself, but that I ought to be able to vote without hands, since I didn’t have mine any more.’

Hally laughed again. ‘We worked it out,’ he said. ‘We put the coins in Ferdinand’s mouth after warning him not to swallow them, and lifted him over the cask so he could drop them in!’

 ‘Pity the poor hobbit who has to count out that cask,’ Freddy said with a grin.

Old Ferdinand shrugged. ‘The coins’ll be dry by the time they’re counted out,’ he said practically. ‘Might be a little shinier than the rest, but then, that’s no skin off my teeth.’

***

A/N For a wonderful description of the Michel Delving Lithedays Fair, check out Jodancingtree’s story “Sam’s Rose”.