Chapter Sixteen - The Bitter Cold

Lilas pushed her hands inside the muff she wore; the mid-Solmath breeze wafted straight through her coat clear to her bones. She sat on the cold, stone bench, gazing at the bare garden path; dried leaves from the autumn before danced before her in a circle within the soft evening wind. She imagined lovely blossoms and buds of every color on the rose bushes in the garden, now pruned down by the gardener for the winter. She smiled at the simplicity of a flower’s life. Lilas heard soft footfalls approaching.

“Lilas?”

Lilas continued to look at the desolate garden. “I’ve been here for a while, Pippin,” she answered, then broke her stare, looking at Pippin. “Since second breakfast. I suppose I should be getting back inside.”

“May I?” Pippin motioned to the space on the bench. Lilas moved over. Pippin sat down next to her then folded his arms together to ward off the chill. “You really ought to let someone know when you leave for an extended amount of time. Everyone is out looking for you.”

“Then maybe I should go back inside,” Lilas made to rise up, but was hindered by Pippin’s arm that guided her to sit back down.

“A few moments of us talking out here won’t hurt them, but we should be quick about it.” He watched Lilas relax a bit on the stone bench. He could feel the gaze of her soft brown eyes, but Pippin’s gaze was elsewhere. “I’m sorry about last night. It was thoughtless of me to assume you wouldn’t…notice…you know.”

“Pippin…,” Lilas began, “I wanted it more than ye know. I wanted t’ just let ye go on; t’ feel ye touch me in a way that I thought would never happen. But, I know ye don’t…well, ye’d rather have someone ye loved. I understand that.”

Pippin winced at the stark truth in her words. “Lilas, I don’t hate you, if that’s what you’re hinting at. When you first came to Great Smials, I was a…tad resentful. If it helps at all, I do think,” he gazed about the garden, searching his mind for the right words, “I think that you’re a good friend.” He took her hand in his to emphasize his statement, then gave her a hopeful grin. However, instead of a reciprocating smile, a tear started down her cheek. Poor Pippin didn’t know what to do or say. Then suddenly she did grin, in a solemn way. She took his hand, clasped in hers and kissed it.

“And ye’re a good friend as well.”

* * *

Two weeks had passed by swiftly with no more overtures than Lilas seizing every opportunity to hold her husband’s hand, or to touch his shoulders in love and support. It was the 22^nd day of Solmath when Lilas heard Pippin sneeze for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day.

“Achoo!”

Lilas handed Pippin another handkerchief. “My, ye’re full of sneezes t’day!”

“I’ll be fide later--after my dose stops itchid.” Pippin promptly blew into the fine cotton cloth, then sniffled inward to see if he could clear his nose and ears.

Lilas shook her head, having heard that same story before from her brothers and sister when she lived with her parents. Pippin’s cheeks and nose were turning redder with every sneeze and wipe. “Let me decide for that.” She drew closer to where he sat at his desk and felt his forehead. “Ye’re warm.” She shook her finger at her husband, “Pimpernel warned ye ’bout handling a sick babe. I won’t tell ye what yer mother said.”

“You dote have to,” Pippin replied, “I pretty much remember what she said.” Pippin winced at the memory of helping his sister with three sick children the past week. He had to admit it to himself; he was feeling rather achy, but was too stubborn to allow Lilas to care for him. He took his pipe out from one of his desk drawers along with a pouch bulging with pipe weed. “I’m goig to fide Merry add have a smoke.”

Lilas gently steered her husband towards the bedroom, “Oh, no ye’re not,” she answered, taking the pipe and pouch and setting back onto the desk, “Ye’re going t’ find some rest in the bed.”

“Lilas!” Pippin snapped. As the day progressed, the more Pippin was feeling out of sorts. “I’ve growd up with three sisters who would ofted get away with tellig me what I could and could’t do! I’m goig to the commod room add have a pipe with my cousid!” Then he saw the pitiful expression appear on Lilas’ face. She was only trying to help, you ninny!, he told himself, yet he swiped his pipe and pouch off the desk and then headed towards the door. As he swung it open, he caught sight of the sign he had painstakingly carved their names into: “Pippin and Lilas Took”, it read. He sighed, then swung the door shut again. He then turned around--his own mournful countenance showing the resign of his stubbornness. “I suppose wud dap could’t hurt.”

Once Lilas had her husband tucked in bed and fast asleep, she realized that tea had arrived--and she was growing very hungry. Lilas stood before the mantelpiece, staring at the ominous bell that Pippin would use to call for the servants whenever they took their meals inside their own apartment. Finally, she got her nerve up and took the bell off the shelf, then did as Pippin would do; she went to the hallway and rang it. Not thirty seconds later, a hobbit server arrived.

“May I help you, Mistress?”

Lilas was dumbstruck; she had never used the bell before. “Um…if ye please, I’d like to make my husband a bit of broth; do ye mind if I use the kitchen?”

About an hour later, Lilas--accompanied by the server--wheeled a small tea trolley into the apartment. “Thank ye, Willym. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Very well, Mistress; ring the bell if ye need anything else.”

Lilas opened the crock that was set upon the trolley and poured a bowl of the steaming, aromatic stew for herself. She took a whiff of it and smiled, then set it aside. Next, she carefully tilted the ladle so as to only scoop the broth. This bowl was for Pippin. Once she had poured ice bits into a glass, she uncovered the plate of toasted bread, lightly buttered, and placed it with the bowls of stew, and glass of ice, taking it slowly into the bedroom.

Pippin was fast asleep; snoring softly as his stuffed nose would allow him to breath. Lilas placed the platter on Pippin’s bedside table and let the steam do its work while she ate her own bowl. By the time Lilas had finished her own stew, she could hear Pippin stirring about in bed.

“What’s this?” Pippin asked her as she entered the room.

“Chicken stew,” she answered. “I made it for ye. It’s my grandma’s recipe.”

Pippin rubbed his eyes and aching head, “Oh, Lilas--I dote wat to eat adythid so fillig right dow.”

“It’s only broth,” she said. “Well, broth and toasted bread. It’s good that you eat--if only just a little.”

Pippin was hungry, but his stomach wasn’t quite feeling up to a thick broth, yet he relented. Lilas was right; he should eat something. “All right--just a little, thed.” He waited while she sat down, holding the hot bowl with an oven pad, cooling it by blowing on the broth, then spooning it up to his mouth.

“I cad feed myself,” Pippin said, then took the bowl and spoon from his wife. After a minute, the bowl seemed to lower and tilt as Pippin grew more tired.

“Why do ye have to be so stubborn, eh?” Lilas gently took the bowl back and resumed her duties. “Just a few more spoonfuls, and then I’ll let ye sleep a bit more.”

Pippin obliged by opening his mouth; allowing Lilas to feed him the broth. “You said it’s a chicked stew?”

“Yes--with a few other ingredients thrown in,” Lilas spoke softly; setting bowl down for a minute to break the toast into pieces her husband could easily chew. “A couple of these, then I’ll give ye some water to wash it down with.” She saw that the ice pieces in the glass had melted enough for him to munch on.

“The stew is delicious,” Pippin mumbled. The warmth of the broth was doing it’s work.

“Thank ye,” said Lilas. Smiling, she combed his hair away from his face. She knew he was far too sleepy to protest her affectionate deed. Without warning, Lilas heard the entry door open up with a very brief knock.

“Lilas! What are you doing?” Pimpernel demanded. “You should have said something if Pippin was sick.”

Lilas set the glass of ice water down, standing up to face the commotion. Behind Pimpernel stood Eglantine and Paladin; both with concerned expressions. “It’s just a common cold, Pim. Pippin will be well again in a few days.”

Pimpernel walked up and felt her brother’s forehead, “No illness is common when Pippin catches it.” She let out a breath of relief, “He’s not very hot, but I’m certain he will be in due time.”

“Lilas, dear, why don’t you come with me?” offered Eglantine.

“No, thank ye, mum,” Lilas backed away. “Pippin needs me right now.”

“Lilas--Pimpernel will watch over her brother while you and I have a bit of a talk. Would walk with me in the hallway?”

Pippin startled at the cool touch of his sister’s hand and woke up. “Why is everywud starig at me? Where’s Lilas?”

“She’s right here, Pippin,” Eglantine said to her son. “Lilas and I were just going out for a walk.”

Satisfied with that answer, Pippin lay comfortably back upon his pillows, “All right.” He promptly fell back to sleep.

“Come along, Lilas,” Eglantine gently pulled her daughter-in-law towards the door.

* *

Lilas and Eglantine traveled the perimeter of the Thain’s tunnels. There was much that she wanted to ask, but for now, only one spewed forth. “Mum, why is everyone fussing over Pippin? ’Tis a common cold; I get them all the time.”

Eglantine quickly replied, “Well, let us hope you don’t get one now--of all times to get one.”

“My Ma cared for me when I was sick once--and she was pregnant with my sister Saborra at the time. So I thought it was all right if I took care of Pippin.”

Eglantine walk slowly alongside Lilas, “That’s fine, sweetie, if you have no one else to help you care for a sick husband or worse--a sick child. I feel for all the hobbit women who have no other option, but here at Great Smials, Lilas, you have all sorts of help. Don’t be afraid to ask for it. For starters, you have Pimpernel and myself to help you. If you get sick, then I can’t tell you enough just how miserable you will be. And if you should become ill, we don’t know how your illness will affect the baby.”

Lilas sighed, “I understand, mum.”

“Now about Pippin,” Eglantine went on. “When Pippin was born, I hadn’t carried him for the full term. Afterwards, he struggled some, but he’s a Took, through and through. The poor babe suffered many illnesses during his first year. The impairment the illnesses left upon him allowed Pippin to catch more illnesses that most other children were able to ward off. There were many times, Lilas, that as a child, your husband was near the brink of death with fever, then spent weeks in bed recovering. Pippin was only out of another long illness a few weeks before he took off with his cousins on their far away journey. That is why we fuss over Pippin so.”

Lilas took Eglantine’s hand in hers. “A few days ago, when I saw the midwife, she told me that my baby might be born early--because I’m so young. Is that true?”

Eglantine drew the girl into her arms as they walked, “I don’t know, dear--I’m not a midwife.” But Eglantine knew Lilas’ age wasn’t working in the girl’s favor. “I wouldn’t dwell on that just now. You’re not quite four months along yet; we’ll worry about that when--or if--that situation ever arrives.”

“Yes, mum.”

She saw Lilas’ downcast face then had an idea of her own. “Would you like to use Pippin’s old bedroom for a few nights? I’ll have one of the servants give it a quick dusting before you bed down this evening.”

Lilas put her hand to her slightly swelling belly that few besides her and Pippin could readily see yet. She braved a smile, “I suppose if I can’t sleep next t’ him, then at least I can stay where I know he did at one time.”