Chapter Forty Nine - Where’s Rosebud?

Carefully, Pimpernel entered Pippin’s bedroom without so much as a rustle of her skirt. In her hands she held a tray with a covered bowl, a pitcher of water, and a small loaf of bread on it. “Is he awake?” she asked, setting down the tray on the bedside table. Merry silently shook his head in reply.

“Mother made the broth herself,” she spoke in a hushed voice. “An old recipe handed down from her grandmother’s grandmother, who came from Bree.” Merry’s eyes wearily locked onto the steam rising from the bowl when she uncovered it. Pimpernel continued, “Pippin liked it years ago when he was ill, so today mother decided to make a pot special for him.” Pim looked at her brother lying in bed fast asleep, cheeks flushed, damp curls clinging to his brow. Beside him, elevated and nestled against several pillows lay his baby daughter, also asleep. “When Rosebud wakes up, let me know; I want to see if she’ll nurse for a bit. If not, perhaps she’ll eat with her father.” Pim gazed at Merry who still had not uttered a word. Waiting in the wings while Pippin was ill had always been hard on her cousin--now Rosebud was added to his worries. Pimpernel turned to leave, “I’ll be in the sitting room when she awakes.”

Once Pimpernel left the room, Merry’s eyes fixed on his closest friend lying motionless in his sickbed. He waited for Pippin to suddenly sit up and tell everyone that it was all a joke--that he wasn’t sick and neither was Rosebud. But no, the tweenager just lay there asleep. As Merry replaced the lid on the hot broth he heard Pippin take in a deep breath, immediately coughing right afterward. He left the bowl as was, giving his attention to his young cousin. “Pippin?”

Pippin stopped coughing, grimacing as one hand went to his chest. “That hurt,” he said in a gruff voice.

“Shall I get Donnabelle?”

“No,” whispered Pippin, then was quiet. His thoughts had returned to earlier that day, remembering the manner in which he requested the healer, Donnabelle. After a moment of reflection, he finally spoke in a husky voice, “I was horrible to Merimas.”

“You know better than to talk so much,” Merry said, giving the best smile he could. “Besides, he understands, Pip.” Glancing at the sleeping babe, he added, “Rest assured, if the sick child was Brody, he would’ve behaved in like manner. In fact, I’d expect it--and I’m sure he expected it from you.”

“The look on his face told me he wasn’t expecting it,” replied Pippin.

“Don’t worry on it, Pippin--he’ll live,” said Merry. Again, Pippin lay quietly for a few minutes, eyes closed. The familiar drone from blocked-up ears and a fever buzzed around in his head. At length he whispered, “My chest hurts.”

Merry got up, walking towards the door. “I’m going to call Donnabelle and Merimas in here. They can help.” Pippin made no argument; he felt too weak to protest. He went back to dozing.

“Lets get you to sit up.”

Pippin startled at the sound of the new voice breaking into his sleepy silence. “Merimas?”

The healer wore a wry grin as he took a firm hold under Pippin’s knees, “Yes, I’m afraid I’m still here--like a niggling insect.”

Merry wedged himself between Merimas and the night table as the two prepared to help Pippin sit up. Merimas then pushed the bureau further down the side of the bed for more leverage. The plan was for Merry to pull up from under Pippin’s arms while Merimas scooted the tall lad upwards from under the legs.

“You’re not an…insect,” Pippin said, wearily.

“On three,” Merry to his older cousin. “One, two…” he nodded to Merimas, “three!”

Merimas had his eyes on the baby the entire time while they hoisted Pippin up onto his pillows. Sure enough, Rosebud stirred awake.

“I’ll take Rosebud out to Pimpernel,” said Donnabelle, who had been standing nearby. She took the baby from Merimas, wrapping her in a blanket. Rosebud made no objection; she lay her head down as Donnabelle carried her towards the sitting room.

Merimas sat down on the side of Pippin’s bed. “While Donnabelle is seeing to Rosebud, I’m going to examine you, all right?”

Eyes closed, Pippin didn’t say a word, quietly allowing himself to sink into a light slumber. The tween drifted in and out of sleep as Merimas began the assessment with listening to his lungs.

Merimas unbuttoned the top of Pippin’s nightshirt then leaned forward until his ear touched the lad’s feverish bare skin. The healer breathed a sigh of relief -- no sound of gurgling in Pippin’s lungs, however, there was much congestion in the upper chest. The herbal ointment would be perfect for the lad. He leaned over his young brother-in-law, prying open one eyelid at a time.

“What are you doing?” Pippin mumbled.

“I want to see if you’re sensitive to light,” answered Merimas.

“I’m sick, you goose -- of course I’m sensitive to light,” said Pippin, his voice tired and hoarse. Merry stood to one side of the room suppressing a grin; Pippin still had his Tookish spirit.

Merimas also couldn’t help but smile. “I know that, you ninny,” he said, refastening Pippin’s nightshirt. “Now that we’re once again speaking to each other with endearments, I should ask you one question…silly though it may sound.”

Pippin sighed heavily, feigning annoyance, “What is it?”

“Are you hungry?” asked Merimas.

“Not really,” answered Pippin.

“Whether you are hungry or not, you should eat, Pippin,” said Merimas, nodding towards the tray. “Besides, your mum made the broth. You wouldn’t want to disappoint her now, would you?”

Pippin groaned, rubbing his eyes, “I suppose not.”

“I must go now to prepare the liniment,” said the healer. Pippin made a sour face, remembering years before when he had been treated with the herbal ointment. Merimas chuckled, “It doesn’t smell that bad.”

“Yes, it does,” said Pippin, slipping further down on his pillows. He wanted to go back to sleep for the time being. The buzz in his head was getting louder and slumber was calling him. He muttered, “Must we start right away?”

“Well, not right away,” Merimas replied, rising to leave. “It will take at least half an hour for me to make enough balm for you and Rosebud--and to properly mix it.”

Merry stepped up to the food tray, uncovering the bowl of broth. “Before you fall off to sleep again you should eat,” he said to Pippin.

“Very well,” Pippin whispered.

“Well, it seems I’m leaving my patient in good hands,” remarked Merimas, then left to see to his duties.

* * *

All the following day and the next, Merry stood nearby watching as Merimas administered herbal tinctures to Pippin. Dark circles had formed under the younger Brandybuck’s eyes in the past few days as he helped to care for his cousin and niece. The rest of Pippin’s family waited close by as well, however, it was Merry whom Pippin would ask for between naps.

More and more, Rosebud refused to nurse from Pimpernel; she wasn’t very hungry, and primarily, she could no longer lay down without nearly coughing to death. During supper, Rosebud sat with her grandparents eating small spoonfuls her grandmother’s broth. It was the only thing that allowed her to breathe, quickly swallow, then breath again. All Rosebud’s energy went into breathing. Twice a day, after feedings is when Donnabelle would take the baby into Merry’s room for examining.

Currently, Merimas had just finished treating Pippin with an herbal liniment and was headed out the bedroom door when Donnabelle called to him from across the apartment. The elder healer stood in the doorway of Merry’s bedroom holding a lethargic Rosebud in her arms. “Come here Merimas,” she spoke in a low volume as Merimas drew nigh to her, not wanting to draw too much attention. “Listen to her breathe for a minute,” she whispered, “then tell me what you hear.”

Inside the bedroom Merimas set down the small vial of oil he carried with him while Donnabelle held Rosebud. He put his ear to the baby’s chest. What he heard made his heart sink to his toes. “I need a stronger recipe,” he said in reference to the medicines he had been administering to Rosebud. He sat down despondently in one of the bedside chairs. “Perhaps a brandy tincture might help her as well -- warm brandy combined with dash of garlic--like Pippin’s. She couldn’t stomach the teas I fed her.”

“She won’t be able to stomach that either, Merimas. All the garlic or brandy in the Shire won’t help her now,” remarked Donnabelle sadly.

“No,” Merimas shook his head, “she still has a chance. I can ask mum to add more garlic to the broth -- that may help Rosebud, too. Or maybe at full strength--”

“Merimas,” Donnabelle gently disputed. “Look at her. She constantly sleeps, and for what little time she’s awake, she’s listless. Her breath is short, filled with gurgling sounds--and the slightest movement sends her into a coughing fit that often ends with her spewing vomit.”

“I’m not giving up on her!” said Merimas.

“I’m not giving up, either!” Donnabelle shot back. “However, if Rosebud were anyone else’s child, what would your evaluation be I wonder? Hmm?”

Merimas had no argument for that. Rising from the chair, he mumbled something about checking on Pervinca and Brody then left Donnabelle in the bedroom alone with Rosebud. Ignoring the startled looks of his in-laws as he passed through the sitting room, Merimas nearly slammed the door behind him as he settled against the wall in the hallway. Deeply he breathed in the cool air, then remembered that Rosebud wasn’t able to do so. Why? Why this innocent babe? He wiped away the tears that slid down his face. In his mind, he pictured the wee, year-old fauntling at her party mere weeks ago. The thought of her bright eyes and contagious smiles made his heart break even more. Merimas stepped away from the wall, walking resolutely towards his and Pervinca’s quarters. Going inside Brody’s room, Merimas quickly found the baby napping in his cot.

“What’s wrong, Merimas?” asked Pervinca, following her husband into their son’s room. Pervinca had never seen her husband this upset before, so she was naturally concerned. When he took the baby up in his arms, she asked, “What are you doing?” She watched as the obviously distraught father picked up the sleeping child, nestling him in a loving, snug embrace. Then she saw the tears. Being a young mother, Pervinca’s instinct sensed the desperation in her husband. “It’s Rosebud, isn’t it?”

* * *

“Just one more sip, love,” Eglantine coaxed her son. She held the glass up to his lips while he sipped. Before being called away by Donnabelle, Merimas had left a small bottle of garlic and brandy for his patient to consume with help -- mostly to ensure that the tween truly ingested it, and didn’t dump it in the convenience usually kept under the bed when he was sick. He had been known to do that once before.

Pippin winced, “It tastes worse than it smells.” As if on cue, the lad coughed until his faced turned beet red, spitting the results into a small pail nearby.

“It works,” Merry put in wearily. He sat in a chair off to the side with one leg drawn over the knee of the other, watching his aunt feed Pippin more of the tincture. If his aunt had not insisted on giving Pippin his medicine herself, Merry would be doing it. He had stayed by Pippin’s side since his cousin first became ill a few days ago, and even helped the healers out in walking the floor with Rosebud whenever she fussed.

“Where’s Rosebud?” asked Pippin between swallows. “I want to see her.”

“Donna is examining her at the moment,” said his mother. “I can have her bring in Rosebud when she’s finished.”

“Please,” said Pippin, becoming drowsy, “I haven’t seen her since I woke up this morning.”

Eglantine smiled; the medicine was doing it’s work. “I shall do just that, now that you’re finished. However…if you’re asleep when I return, then we’ll wait--I mean--I’ll wait until you’re up before letting you hold her.” Placing the glass on Pippin’s night table, she got up, walking to Merry kissing the top of his head. “This one has promised me that he would at least try to sleep as well.”

“I will try, but I won’t promise anything, Aunt Tina,” said Merry. “I haven’t been able to sleep much lately.”

“It’s not a wonder--I wouldn’t put it past you to have been sleeping in this awful chair, lad. Your mother and father would be quite displeased with us if we didn‘t take good care of you.” She tenderly took Merry’s chin in her hand. “Please do your best. I shall have one of the servants bring in a small moveable bed for you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Eglantine then went over to Pippin and kissed his forehead. “I love you Pippin--sleep well.”

Pippin was already half asleep when he mumbled, “Love you too…”

“Rosebud?” Pippin looked about him. His eyes scanned the clump of bushes, the tall green grasses near the bubbling brook, then over to the copse of trees standing tall a stone’s throw away. “Rosebud!” he called again. No answer. He had an odd feeling about the trees in the distance; nothing evil, however he kept away from them just the same. Instead, he opted to walk through the tall grasses first. Where has that lass gone to? This time Pippin cupped his hands around his mouth, “Rosebud! Where are you?” As he drew near to the brook he stopped, thinking he heard sniffling.

“Rosebud?” he called in a normal voice, pushing aside huge blades of grass in search of his young daughter. Pippin walked several more strides before spotting whom he sought. Sitting among the tall, thick grasses was Rosebud with her hands covering her face, obviously in tears.

Pippin crouched down to her level, lovingly putting an arm around her thin, slender shoulders. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying, Muffin?” His daughter’s shoulders seemed leaner than usual. Pippin reached inside the pocket of his waistcoat to give her his handkerchief.

Rosebud took the offered kindness, wiping her eyes, dabbing at her nose, however, she said nothing for a long minute.

Pippin observed her hesitation, listening to her sniffling and short spurts of breath. He spoke softly to the lass, “Rosebud, you know that you can talk to me; we’ve always been able to open hearts to one another.”

Rosebud did not look up when she answered her father. “Somebody waits for me beyond those trees, papa, but I can’t go to meet her.”

Pippin blinked in confusion, thinking Rosebud was referring to a playmate; the distance between them and the trees was not that much. “Why not?” he asked.

Rosebud wiped her eyes again. “Because.”

“Because why?” Pippin asked. Lasses! He had often played this “game” with his sister Pervinca when they were young children. Pippin gazed at the trees again. How green they looked! “Are you in need of my permission to go there? It’s not that far, love.” He was taken back when Rosebud almost imperceptibly nodded her head.

He grinned, “When has my permission become a prerequisite? It’s not stopped you before.”

“This time is different, papa,” she said. “This time…” she now looked up. Pippin fell back onto his bum at the sight of his daughter. Her face was pale and sickly; the sparkle in her eyes dimmed to nothing. Dark shadows lay under her tearful eyes. There was no hint of a smile when she spoke again, “This time I won’t be coming back.”

“Of course you will,” said Pippin, thought Rosebud made no answer in assent. When he perceived otherwise, Pippin looked at his daughter in disbelief, “You mean, this is the promise you wanted me to make all this time?”

“Yes, papa.”

Pippin stood up, glaring at Rosebud, “Absolutely not!” Yet the tears that streamed down the girl’s face started to soften Pippin’s heart. Rosebud always had this way with him; he was wrapped around her finger, yet she never seemed to exploit his indulgences. She had always been a well-behaved young lass. “Pippin held out his hand to his young daughter, “Come home with me, Muffin.”

“But…” Rosebud started to protest, then relented. She reached out for his hand, “Yes, papa.” Slowly, she stood to her feet. It was then that Pippin realized just how thin his eight-year-old lass really was.

“What…” he gaped at her, “what happened to you, Rosebud?” They began walking back hand-in-hand in the direction of which they came.

“Nothing, papa--this is how I have always been.”

“No, Muffin,” answered Pippin, “it seemed just minutes ago you were hale and smiling as you traipsed upon the rocks in the brook.”

“That…was when…I thought I could…go back,” the young lass explained. The more she walked, the more out of breath she became.

Pippin stopped and turned to her, “Go back? To where--the trees?”

“I…must stop…for a rest, papa,” Rosebud said, then sat down where she had stood.

“Young lady, what sort of games are you playing with me?” he asked firmly.

Rosebud burst into tears. “I’m not…playing games, papa--I’m sick!” she said. “I can’t walk, I can’t breath, I constantly cough, I have not played with my cousins in a very long time--I miss them terribly.” She sniffled, using the handkerchief again. “I’m always miserable, papa, and I hate it!”

Deep in his heart, Pippin knew she was speaking the truth. He sat down next to her, nestling her head upon his chest, her wrapped his arm around her. “Things will get better, my dearest Muffin. You’ll see.” He kissed her long, auburn tresses. “I love you, Rosebud.”

“I know you don’t want me to leave, papa,” she wept. “I will stay if you want me to.”

Those last words of his daughter struck Pippin deep in his heart. A debate began between his head and his heart. “I won’t let her leave,” said his head. ‘You selfish hobbit!’ Pippin’s heart admonished himself. ‘What sort of father are you, eh? Forcing your sickly daughter to remain behind just so that you won’t be left alone. I can’t think of anything more self-serving!’

He leaned down, kissing the dark, reddish curls of his sweet Muffin. “You know that I love you more than my own life, don’t you?” He felt her nod. Tears welled in his eyes. “I don’t want you to leave,” he wept, holding her tight. Little by little, Pippin felt his heart shattering to pieces. “Who will wake me up at the crack of dawn so that we can hurry up and eat breakfast--just so that she can spend time walking in the garden with me?” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “What other little lass will wrap me firmly around her heart so tight that I can’t ever see having another little girl?”

“You mustn’t talk like that, papa,” said Rosebud. She reached up, wiping away her father’s tears. “I love you, too. But I’ve heard grandmum say that you have far too much love in your heart to not have any more children. I think she’s right. I should love to have had a little brother or sister.”

Pippin buried his face in her hair, weeping hot tears of anguish. “No…” he sniffed, listening to his head. “I can’t do this.”

Rosebud stopped crying, wiping away her own tears. “Then I shall live in my bed for the remainder of my life,” she answered simply. “I shall never again play with my cousins like I used to. I shall never again know what the wind feels like rushing against my face as I run upon the green grasses near home.”

* * *

“Pippin, it’s all right.” As the tween came to his senses, he felt someone cradling him in their arms. It was Merry.

Pippin could feel that his eyes were wet--just as they had been on another occasion of having this dream. He sniffled. Had he truly been crying? Then the whole dream came back to him as if someone had kicked him hard in the stomach. His voice thick with emotion, he demanded, “Where’s Rosebud?”

TBC