Chapter Forty Three - A Peculiar Place

“Why are you sitting in an empty parlor all alone?”

Pippin made no reply to his sister; his eyes remained staring at the ray of sunshine near his feet upon the mat. No good to let Pimpernel see him upset.

His sister entered fully into the room, her voice compassionate. “Merry told me you seemed troubled about something.”

“I’m fine,” answered Pippin, though his eyes had filled with tears. He sat in a large chair with his head facing down, his arm supporting his head to hide the sad expression his face held. After a moment, he heard the rustling of her frock as she stepped closer to his chair, holding out a handkerchief.

“Here,” she said, holding the cloth where her brother couldn’t help but see it.

“I don’t need a handkerchief,” he replied--just as a tear ran down his cheek, dropping onto his breeches for the entire world to see. Pippin reluctantly reached out and took the cloth, wiping his eyes.

“What else were you going to use then? Your shirt sleeve?” Pim asked, trying to lighten his mood. She took a seat in the chair on the other side of the table.

“I came out here because I wanted to be alone,” said Pippin a bit nasally.

“Why? You’re obviously upset about something,” she said in response. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Pippin sniffed, wiping his nose. “Not unless you can turn back time.” He threw caution to the wind--perhaps he should talk to someone about it before he exploded--verbally lashing out towards someone dear and innocent, like Rosebud or Merry.

“What are you talking about -- ‘turn back time’? I wish that I could. I’d turn it all the way back to before you left with your friends on your foreboding Quest.”

“Why all the way back there?”

“Because that little expedition of yours was the beginning of all sorts of trouble in the Shire--and in the Smials.” Pim drew in a long breath, remembering her dear husband, then chose her next words carefully. “I wish you and Merry had stayed here where you were needed.”

“I needed to be with Merry and Frodo,” said Pippin. “Trust me, Pim, we wouldn’t be sitting here having a nice conversation if I hadn’t.” Pippin wasn’t tooting his own horn; the fact was that his two most foolish moments on the Quest ended up for the good of all Middle-earth.

“I’m sorry, Pippin,” Pimpernel folded her arms across her chest, shuddering at the horrors she knew her little brother left untold. Pippin had confided a few stories with her before moving in with his cousin at Crickhollow. Pippin felt he had to say something in explanation for why he was plagued with so many nightmares. The stories he opted to tell her, he thought were rather harmless. However, after the traumas he experienced in the War, what he considered harmless, was not so harmless to her. She asked Pippin in turn, “Where would you turn the time back to?”

Pippin turned in his chair to face his sister. “To the night of the Battle,” he began. “I never intended to behave…improper that night, Pim. Thinking back, I’d walk on past the lot of lasses and not…well, you know.” He paused before going on. “But--if I did do that, then Rosebud wouldn’t be born--and I love her, Pim. I love her so much it hurts to see her struggle they way she does.”

“Struggling? How so?”

“First of all, she’s eleven months old--she ought to be trying to walk by now. Instead, she’s just now getting on all fours to crawl.”

“Who says she’s supposed to be walking?”

Pippin let out a long breath, “No one…in particular. And when Rosebud does crawl, she tires after a few feet.”

“Pip,” Pimpernel reached over the table, taking Pippin’s hand in hers to calm him, “you can’t go by what other people say about your child. I’ve had plenty of old matrons tell me how Gelly wasn’t talking soon enough or that I didn’t nurse Tilby long enough. One hobbit-woman had me so wound up I was in tears over why Gelly was such a quiet child. She said I wasn’t giving him enough attention. Mother finally got hold of me, telling me not to pay that woman any mind. Every child is different. Rosebud will try to walk in her own time. You also have to remember that she wasn’t supposed to be born until the last week of Thrimmidge. If she was born at the right time, how old would she be now?”

“Ten months.”

Pimpernel gave his hand a squeeze, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve yet to see a ten month old babe toddling after his mother--nor many eleven month olds, either. But I can tell you one thing.”

Pippin felt a little bit better. He wiped his eyes again, “What’s that?”

“That in many ways she’s just like her father.” Pim waited for Pippin to look in her direction. “She’s a very clever, precocious lass. In many instances, Pip, she’s every bit an eleven month old baby. When she’s not nursing, she’s chatting away to Hilly--who I think is the only person in the world who understands her. He tried to take her spoon from her yesterday, but she cried and told him ‘nuh!’,” Pimpernel chuckled, imitating her niece’s protest. “Of course I got it back for her, but she’s doesn’t take any nonsense from the boys. It’s as if they’re siblings.”

Pippin smiled briefly, “I do like the idea of her having three older brothers to look out for her, but…”

“But what?”

He sighed, gazing at the handkerchief in his hands, holding back yet more tears. “What do I do, Pim? She is constantly fighting off chest colds. Every night I set out a steaming kettle, while in the mornings and afternoons I give her aniseed tea. What more can I do? She doesn’t seem to be getting better--will she be like this her entire life?”

“I can’t answer your last question, Pip,” said Pimpernel. “No one can. All you can do is what we did with you when you were a babe; live one day to the next, doing the best you can, the very best you know how. Our entire family was there at Rosebud’s name blessing--pledging our support to help you and Lilas in nurturing her. We’re all here to help you whenever you need it.” Pim wiped away a tear, “You’re a good father, Pippin. It’s normal to worry over our children--it’s because we love them.”

Pippin began to weep, hot tears flowing down his face, “All I want is for my daughter to grow up strong and healthy.”

Sometime later, Pippin was wandered the web of tunnels in Great Smials, walking in no particular direction. He purposely steered clear of his apartment for the time being. Merry was inside keeping an eye on Rosebud, so he felt free to use this time to do some thinking. This was a rare occasion that Pippin didn’t have Rosebud in his arms. He folded them across his chest as he walked, feeling drained and miserable, his thoughts ever on his sick daughter back in the apartment. He decided to go back, as there was nothing else--other than worry--that he could do.

“Hullo, Pip,” called Everard from the farther end of the tunnel. Pippin startled, thinking he was alone.

“Hullo, Ev,” Pippin replied. “What are you doing?”

“Helping Reg store Little Reggie’s cot,” said Everard.

“Oh,” answered Pippin, remembering the faunt blessing his father attended to the week previous, then puzzled at the sound of heavy things tumbling inside the storage room. “Does he need help?”

Everard leaned lazily into the doorway, “Do you need any help, Reg?”

A muffled string of expletives was heard coming from deep inside the room. “I…stubbed my toe…on this wretched cot leg!” More noise of something being shoved.

Everard winked, “He’ll live. How are you faring?”

It seemed everyone knew Rosebud was ill again. Pippin shrugged, “I’m all right, I suppose.”

Everard studied his friend, knowing it wasn’t exactly the truth. His own daughter, Laurelie, had been sick once or twice, but never to the extent that Rosebud had been. “It’s scary, isn’t it?”

“Scary?”

Everard leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. “You never know with a young babe. Being a father is scary sometimes. Last week my wee lass almost choked on a bit of cork. Now that she’s walking, we can’t leave her alone even for a second.”

“That had to be frightening for you, Ev.”

“That’s what I mean by it all being scary. If you want to talk or something, just drop by my apartment.”

Pippin didn’t feel like talking at the moment, so he only nodded his head. “I…I need to get back.”

“Hope Rosebud--and you--are feeling much better later.”

“Thanks, Ev,” said Pippin, then continued on his trek through the tunnels.

Pippin felt a heavy cloud of gloom hanging in the air of his apartment as he entered. It had been close to two hours since he left Rosebud in the care of his cousin Merry. The sitting room was empty; he scanned the room and the alcove that served as his--and Merry’s office. It was quiet. He silently walked in the direction of Merry’s room. He gasped when he nearly collided with Donna belle - Everard and Reg’s eldest sister, and also served as the Smials’ healer.

“Shhh!” she whispered, using a finger to caution any sudden outburst from Pippin. “They’re finally asleep!”

“Rosebud and who?”

“Merry, you goose--who else!” She tilted his head back as if examining it. Dark circles shadowed his usually bright green eyes. “You look as if you could use a long nap yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” he answered. “How’s Rosebud?”

Donnabelle saw through to the real question of--why was the healer here? “You had just left when I arrived some time ago to check on your daughter,” she began. “Rosebud’s fever broke, then she promptly had a coughing fit in which she vomited all over your cousin. I cleaned her up and fed her some medicine while Merry went to take a bath. Merry and I had a quiet teatime before he decided he was tired. I’m glad he came to his senses--he looked as bad as you do now. They’re both sleeping peacefully now in his bed.” She reached out to hold Pippin back as started for Merry's bedroom - a worried look coming over his features. “They’ll be fine where they’re at, Pip. She’s too weak to be an active baby right now.” She gently turned him around in the direction of the eating table. “Why don’t we have a bit of tea ourselves?”

Pippin sat down, resting his head in his hands, sighing his despair. “She’ll always be weak, won’t she?”

Donnabelle was busy pouring them both tea. “Hmm?”

“Rosebud--she’ll always be too weak to run and play with other lasses her age. She’ll spend most of her childhood in bed nursing one sickness after another. She’ll always be smaller than the rest of her playmates--always trying to catch up to them.” Pippin looked up at her for any sign that he may be wrong in his assessment.

Donnabelle set Pippin’s cup before him, sitting down with her own across from him. “Pip…I remember what it was like for you while growing up. It doesn’t have to be like that for your daughter, but I can’t say one way or the other at this point. She’s too young.” She reached over the table, tenderly touching his arm to comfort him as his eyes brimmed with tears. She spoke softly, “Drink your tea--it’ll help you.”

Pippin drained his cup, then realized it had a familiar flavor. “Donnabelle Took-Boffin, did you put something in my tea?” Donnabelle didn’t answer her cousin, she continued straightening out the napkins and spoons near her teacup.

Pippin snapped at her, “Donna--how could you? I need to watch over my sick daughter!”

“You need to sleep if you want to do that properly!” she retorted in a hoarse whisper. “Neither you nor Merry have gotten enough of it these past few days--am I right?” Not waiting for an answer she went on, “As I said before, her fever has broken--and I will be here watching over all three of you until someone relieves me, or one of you two adults wake up.”

Pippin put his head to his hands again, running his fingers through his hair in irritation. His eyelids began to feel extremely heavy. Cursed tea! “I want to see her before I lie down.”

“Very well--just do it quietly, please.”

Once Pippin had looked in on his little one, satisfied that her fever was indeed gone, he shuffled back to his own bedroom, leaving Donnabelle in the sitting room to bide her time until he or Merry woke. Pippin lifted the blankets of his bed, nestling himself underneath as warmth enveloped him. He closed his eyes, feeling his consciousness slowly drift off into the deep recesses of his mind….

Pippin found himself sitting on the edge of a bonny brook in the midst of a green meadow enjoying the feel of the cool water running past his feet. He eased himself back upon the grass to look up at the bright summer sky with puffs of white clouds sailing over the blue Shire sky. He looked to the right to where a coppice of trees stood with arms open wide, filled to the top in leaves of green. Birds twittered from treetop to treetop in air that was not too warm or too cool, but it had a lovely scent that tickled his nose. He smiled at the feeling of no cares upon his shoulders.

“Hullo!” said a cheery voice, just out of his eyesight.

Pippin sat up, turning to look at the speaker. It was a little girl of about eight years old; auburn curls flowing down her back with a red ribbon tied into a bow at the top of her head. She wore a yellow dress underneath a white pinafore with ruffles, and red flowers embroidered along the hemline. He knew within himself that this beautiful young lass was Rosebud. “Hullo, yourself!” he replied, watching as she precariously balanced herself upon a rock in the brook while the water splashed about her feet. “Rosebud, have a care--you’ll get sick!”

“That’s silly, papa!” she laughed at what she took as a jest. “I don’t get sick anymore.”

Pippin wondered at her words but said nothing in response.

“It’s been a long, long time since I got sick,” she stated firmly, then hopped onto the slippery bank. Rosebud shot out her arms towards her father when she nearly lost her footing.

Pippin quickly stood up, catching her flailing arms, pulling her into a comforting hug. “I’ve got you, my dear lass. Now be careful.”

Rosebud lovingly wrapped her arms around her father’s waist, never wanting to let go. “I will, papa.”

Pippin breathed in the fragrance of roses in his daughter’s hair as he embraced her. Then taking her hand in his, he spoke again, “This is a beautiful place--and a lovely day. Let’s go for a long walk along this brook.”

“All right,” she replied, smiling up at her father, “but first you must promise me something.”

“That’s an awfully big request, Muffin,” laughed Pippin; promises were taken very seriously, however, he was truly enjoying this time of intimacy with his young daughter - and loved indulging her. “What shall I promise you?”….

“Pippin!!”

Pippin woke up in his own bedroom to the sound of someone shouting his name--along with brilliant rays of sunshine pouring through the open drapes, stabbing into his eyes. He threw his hand over them to ward off the brightness.

“Are you awake, Pippin?”

“Father?” His voice full of sleep, Pippin rubbed his bleary eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his words revealing his anxiety over his young daughter. The fuzz in his mind cleared away, realizing his daughter was still a wee babe--he himself was still a tween. “How… where…?”

“Rosebud is fine, son,” Paladin quickly put in to allay Pippin’s fear. “You slept through supper last evening and now both breakfasts--Donnabelle was beginning to worry if she had put too much potion into your tea. I agreed, so I decided to wake you up to make sure you were all right.”

Pippin rubbed his face with his hands, “I had a very odd dream.”

“At least you didn’t wake up threatening anyone,” said Merry with a bit of humor, offering a breakfast tray to his dear friend.

“When did you wake up?” asked Pippin, now sitting up in his bed.

Merry gave his cousin a small grin, “I woke up at second breakfast. Far be it from me to miss out completely on two scrumptious meals.”

Just then, Pippin’s stomach began to make noises. Paladin smiled, knowing his lad was indeed all right.

Pippin looked from father to cousin, “Where’s Rosebud? Is she awake?”

“She is,” said his father. “She’s been basking in everyone’s attention all morning.”

“But she’s not been playing, has she?” Pippin asked sadly.

“Give her time, son. She needs time to recover from her illness,” he said. “If she’s anything like her father, she’ll be back to her normal self within a day.” He ruffled Pippin’s curls before going off to get his daughter for him.

“Merry?”

“Yes?” Merry poured a cup of milk for his friend as they talked.

“Did you…” Pippin began to ask then stopped in his thoughts, shoving a bit of bread into his mouth.

Merry looked at his cousin while helping himself to one the breakfast rolls. “Did I what?”

Pippin waited until he swallowed his bite of roll smothered in honey. “Did you have any sort of…odd dream last night? Nothing with Uruks in it or the Dark Lord, but…a nice one for a change.”

Merry puzzled at Pippin’s question, but shook his head. “I take it that you did. What was it about?”

“I’ve forgotten half of it already,” Pippin answered wistfully. “Rosebud was in it, though. It was in a peculiar place that we met; it looked like the Shire, but…it felt different - like no place I’ve ever been.” He stopped speaking to smile and greet his squealing baby, receiving her from his father, “Hullo, my Muffin!” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “No, you can’t have that,” he told her when she tried to grab at the piece of roll he had stuffed into his mouth. “Here, have your own bit,” he said, handing her a small chunk of bread.

Merry smiled, watching his baby niece slowly nibble away at the piece of bread. “She’s definitely a Took through and through.”

“Mey-mi,” Rosebud offered her uncle a squished, soggy bit of her bread.

“No, thank you, Rosebud,” he said, kindly declining her offer.

She next held the bread to up her father‘s mouth, “Ba-ba” - then went into a chattering spiel that only she understood.

For a moment in time, Pippin felt as if he was back in the meadow sitting next to the bubbling brook talking to an eight-year-old girl. He swallowed the lump in his throat, gaping at his beloved daughter. “Merry...did you hear what she said?”

TBC