My apologies for the late update; “real life” is rearing its ugly head at the moment. I will continue to update as soon as I have something available.

Chapter Thirty - The Calm Before the Storm

A few days after the rag-doll incident, Pippin sunk his sweaty, dirt-covered body into the sitting room chair. He wearily stared at his extremely pregnant wife who happily sprinkled a bit of salt onto a clean wedge of lettuce before devouring it. She smiled sweetly at him, “Thank ye, Pippin.”

Lilas knew the lettuce in his father’s crop fields were just nearing maturity. Earlier in the day, her ceaseless murmuring for a taste of the crispy delicacy nearly pushed him to madness. Pippin and Merry--the elder cousin being grabbed by Pippin along the way (misery loves company), saddled up their ponies after elevenses to ride out to Whitwell. His purpose in life at that hour was to locate his father’s nearest lettuce patch and cut several of the not yet fully-grown heads. It was either that or listen all day to Lilas carry on about how she craved the taste of fresh lettuce.

Sitting in the chair, feeling his body throb with fatigue, he returned her sweet smile. It was unusually warm outside this early day in Thrimmidge; the warm sun drained most of his energy during the ride to and from Whitwell. In his mind he was saying, “You’d better savor every bite little lassie, because that is the LAST time I’m doing that in this weather!” Yet in reality, Pippin knew he would do it again in a heartbeat.

He rose up from his chair. “I’m going to take a bath,” he announced.

“All right.” Lilas held another fresh wedge of lettuce in her hand as she began writing with her free hand upon a piece of paper.

Pippin’s curiosity got the better of him. He leaned over her shoulder to see what she was writing. His initial reaction was that he ought to give his wife additional lessons in cursive writing, but then a few of the names on her list caught his attention. “Lilas, what are you doing?”

“Yer Ma had me talk t’ all these ladies today,” replied his wife. Pippin had sat in on a couple interviews before he left for Whitwell. Pointing to the first two names with circles around them, Lilas continued, “I think I like these two, what do ye think?”

Pippin scratched his head absently while trying to recollect the meetings. “I don’t know, Lilas,” he answered, “Do you think we’re jumping ahead of ourselves?” Lilas looked up at him inquiringly. He went on, “I mean, our little babe won’t need a nurse right away.”

Lilas sighed softly. “I didn’t want t’ hurt yer Ma’s feelin’s, Pippin, but…” she pondered for a second. “I don’t want a nurse, either. I want t’ rock my baby t’ sleep myself. Is that how you feel, too?”

“My mother means well, Lilas,” he said, “but I think in this instance, we can make our own decision for ourselves.” He smiled, “Do you want one?”

Lilas answered him, “No.”

“It’s decided then,” said Pippin, “no nurse--at least until we have three or four more children.”

“More children?” This was a pleasant surprise for Lilas.

“I’m going to take my bath,” Pippin said, purposely avoiding the issue. He kissed her auburn hair then proceeded towards door.

Lilas watched her husband leave the apartment with a set of clean clothes and a towel, heading towards the bathing room. She turned her attention back to the list of names. Lilas took the piece of paper, crumpled it up into a ball then tossed it into the wastebasket.

She walked into the nursery, took the rag-doll off the rocker then walked back into hers and Pippin’s bedroom. She was a bit weary herself; perhaps she’d take a nap while Pippin was out taking his bath. She scooted onto the mattress, laying the doll beside her, relaxing as her eyes closed to the world around her.

“Lilas…”

Lilas woke to the sound of someone calling her then nudging her out of her forgotten dreams.

The soft voice spoke, “Lilas, it’s time for supper--don’t you want to eat?”

The face of her husband became clearer the more awake she became. For whatever reason, Lilas felt…odd. Perhaps if she ate or drank something…

“Will ye pour me a glass of water, please?” she asked, struggling to sit up. “Goodness, I’ve slept for two hours?”

“Yes, you were obviously a tired lass,” he answered, helping his wife to sit up. “There you are--now I’ll get your glass of water.”

Pippin then went over to their dining table to pour her a glass of water. He took a clean glass from the sideboard, pouring it half-full of water from the pitcher that sat on the table. He took it to Lilas, then sat down, gawking as she gulped it down.

“Thank ye,” Lilas said, handing the empty glass to her waiting husband.

Pippin took the empty glass, but noticed a strange look came over her eyes. On his way back to set the glass on the table he asked, “Are you still tired, Lilas?”

He looked back at his wife sitting up on the bed when no answer was forthcoming. “Lilas?”

He watched as Lilas sat atop the bed very still--almost like a statue. “Lilas?” He quickly set the glass down, going back to the bed, climbing onto the mattress for a better look. “Lilas, what’s wrong?”

After what seemed to be a long time to Pippin, Lilas finally let out a long breath, turning her brown eyes towards him. “It’s the baby, Pippin,” was all she said.

“The baby is kicking again?” he asked.

Lilas shook her head, “No, but I think I just had a birthing pain.”

As Lilas approached her last month of pregnancy, Mistress Claypot, who was the midwife, along with Eglantine and Pimpernel, took the young lass aside to explain what she could expect to happen as her time came near. Lilas had many questions answered that day and learned quite a bit about mothering, too.

Pippin was aware of the preparations her body would take to be ready for birth…later this month. He started to tremble. “Are you certain? I mean, it can’t be--the baby’s not due until the 22nd--today is only the 3rd.” He and Lilas were told that an early arrival might happen--due to Lilas’ young age, but it was still far too soon.

“I’m going to get the midwife,” said Pippin.

“Let’s wait t’ see if I have another,” said Lilas, easing back to lie upon her pillow.

Lilas didn’t lessen Pippin’s anxiety though he was resolved to wait for a just a bit, then he’d go against his wife’s wishes and fetch Mistress Claypot.

Pippin paced around their apartment for a long while. Lilas took her mind off her own apprehension by attempting to finish the last of the baby booties she began the previous week. She had to unravel a bit of yarn when she missed a stitch, but she was fine as long as she focused on her knitting.

Lilas looked up at her husband, “Do they taste good?”

Puzzled, Pippin asked, “Does what taste good?

“Yer nails. Ye’re chewin’ them down t’ their roots.”

Pippin abruptly took his hand away from his mouth. “Sorry. Have you felt any more contractions?”

“No,” she answered, sitting up on the bed. She held out her arm for Pippin to help her up. “Maybe it was nothin’ more than a bit of a back ache.” Perhaps she was a little hungry. “Can we have a bit of dinner sent here?”

Pippin took her offered arm, pulling her to stand up. “I suppose a bit of dinner wouldn’t hurt,” he said with a bit of strain in his voice as he lifted her up.

Lilas suddenly sat back down on the bed, holding her abdomen. Pippin slowly sat down next to her, waiting for her report. After a minute, she finally let out the breath she was holding, “That was another. They’re not painful, only terribly uncomfortable.”

Pippin was getting nervous again. “Was it stronger?”

“No, the same as the last one.”

Pippin was taught just how to time the lapse between birth pains. He looked at the clock on the wall; not quite thirty minutes since the last one let up. Then he looked at Lilas, who looked right back at him, eyes wide with worry. “Pippin,” she said, “It’s too early--just as Mistress Claypot said!”

He ensured that the mother-to-be was comfortable before running out the door to find the midwife. Hopefully she would be able to do something.

Bursting into the dining room just as the family was having a bit of after-dinner tea, Pippin began shouting things that were unintelligible. He had run all the way from Mistress Claypot’s quarters all the way back to the Thain’s dining room.

Pippin took a gulp of air before proceeding, “It’s the baby!” Anxious stares faced him from all around the table. No one moved. “She’s having birth pains!” he said more emphatically.

“Calm down, Pippin,” Paladin said, trying to reassure his son. “What has happened?”

“Well,” Pippin gasped again, “She’s had two pains--not thirty minutes apart.” Finally, folks were beginning to move! Paladin, Eglantine, and Pimpernel all followed Pippin hastily to his quarters. When they entered, they found Lilas sitting on the couch in the sitting room next to Mistress Claypot.

“Lilas, love,” Eglantine sat in the chair opposite the tween. “What exactly have you been feeling? Remember what we talked about?”

Lilas was happy to see her “second Ma”. “Yes, Mum,” she replied, “that’s why I told Pippin about it. I felt my tummy tighten hard…but it didn’t hurt too much. It lasted for about a minute, maybe more.” She rubbed her lower back, “and my back aches.”

“Lilas,” the midwife spoke up, “I’m going to the kitchens to mix something for you to drink. I’m going to try to stop your contractions. They’re much too soon, Lilas.”

Lilas’ eyes filled with tears, “My baby won’t die, will she?” The midwife disappeared behind the outer door, not wanting to acknowledge Lilas’ question. Lilas implored her mother-in-law, “Please! Please, Mum--I want my baby t’ live.”

“We’re doing what we can, Lilas.” Eglantine knew exactly what the risks were in having a baby too soon. Her last two were not carried to term; Pervinca was over a week early, while Pippin was three weeks early. However, with hobbits, even one week was a week too soon. Pervinca had few problems adjusting to her new world, but Pippin was one heartache after another. He wasn’t nursing at first and had to be fed honeyed milk through a pinpricked bladder. Then he developed breathing problems along with his sicknesses shortly after birth. She and Paladin hoped against all odds that their baby boy would survive infancy. Now here he was--nearly a grown hobbit having a child of his own. Perhaps there was hope, but Eglantine didn’t count on it. “We are here with you now, all right? You won’t go through this alone.” Eglantine forced a smile, patting the girl’s knee.

Lilas looked around, “Where’s Pippin?”

“I’m right here, Lilas.” Pippin appeared from behind his father. Taking the seat the midwife had just left he sat down next to his wife. He put his arm around Lilas to comfort her. He prayed that whatever Mistress Claypot was concocting in the kitchens would work to stop the early birth of his child.

It was a half hour before the midwife returned carrying a small caldron by the handle. Inside was a recipe that she had acquired in Bree years and years ago from a colleague. Steam rose up from the contents as she moved through the room to settle at Lilas’ side on the couch. Members of the family stood around as she poured some into a mug for the lass to drink. “Careful--it may be a tad hot.”

Lilas tested it with her finger. “No, Mistress,” she replied, then took a huge gulp from the mug, wincing as it went down. She forced her sour face away, then said, “It tastes…good.”

The ladies smiled knowingly but only Pimpernel spoke up. “No, it doesn’t!” she said, “It tastes absolutely horrid! I’ve had a taste of it when we thought I was having Hilly a bit too early.”

Lilas looked apologetically to the Mistress, “Sorry.”

Mistress Claypot laughed, “Don’t be! Pimpernel is correct--it tastes dreadful. And please--call me Cassia. We’re going to become very acquainted in the near future…but hopefully not tonight. Right now, I want you to go to your bed and rest. Don’t get up for anything except to use the privy. Too much walking will only progress things.”

“Yes, Mistr--Cassia.” Pippin and Pimpernel helped her up, then escorted Lilas into the bedroom.

Eglantine waited until the young hobbits were out of hearing range. “What is your assessment, Cassia?”

Cassia took a deep breath before proceeding. “I had a suspicion that this would happen…due to her age, of course. However, I cannot offer you or young Lilas any guarantee that the baby will be born healthy…or that the child will even live long. We can only hope for the best, Tina--and hope that my elixir works on her.” Then she added, “In my thirty years of being a midwife, I’ve seen just about everything. Young babes being born too early to babies being born late. Then there are those few cases where the child and mother leave me baffled beyond my imagination. Not all children born early die soon after; look at your own son. But remember the road that he traveled soon after birth.”

Paladin held his wife’s hands, remembering his own emotional distress when Pippin was a newborn. “Thank you, Cassia.”

The midwife settled herself comfortably on the couch; it would be a long night.

TBC