Chapter 7 - Moving On and Standing Still

Rethe 29

Merry woke from a deep, dreamless sleep, feeling unusually exhausted. He soon remembered why. 

‘He smiled and stepped back into the river.’ 

Merry squeezed his eyes against the words echoing ceaselessly in his head, but it was no use. When he wasn’t hearing those words, he was asking himself why and how this happened. The questions were endless and deafening, and the only answers he could come up with were that he had not been vigilant enough: he had not paid adequate attention. He buried his head in his pillow, wishing he had not awakened.

Images came back to him unheeded from the last weeks, months, years, stretching all the way back to his earliest memories. Frodo teaching him how to fish. Frodo, dripping wet and sneezing, a basket of raspberries in hand. Frodo’s twenty-first birthday party, his first at Bag End. Swimming in Bywater Pool, hiking through the Green Hill Country, Yule celebrations, Free Fairs. That Harvest Moon Dance so many years ago when he and Pippin had played a prank on Sam that got him in trouble with his gaffer and Frodo got so upset. Frodo never yelled, never raised his voice, even when he was angry. No, instead he turned his piercing blue eyes on you, cutting you straight to the heart in a way no one else could. Merry would miss that.

He remembered a few years back when Frodo first decided to start spending Spring Feast in Buckland. He never told anyone why, though everyone wondered at the change. Frodo had also never agreed to show them his secret hideouts before this trip. That haunted look when they were on the Ferry coming back from fishing. What had Frodo been thinking then? Is that why Frodo had gone to his parents’ graveside early? That’s why he left his cloak. That’s why he destroyed the room. That’s why he left.

Merry had known something was wrong, had known something was bothering Frodo terribly, and he had let it pass. He could have said something, done something, but he hadn’t and now Frodo was gone. It was too late. “This is all my fault.”

“No it isn’t.”

Merry turned to Pippin lying next to him. He was awake and his face was pale and drawn. He reached over and wiped a tear from Merry’s cheek. “It’s not your fault,” he repeated, remembering words spoken long ago by his father during a similar and altogether different crisis. “It’s not anyone’s fault. It just happened.”

Merry shook his head. “Things like this don’t just happen, Pippin. This isn’t like with Ilberic. This was no accident. There is no happy ending.”

Pippin lowered his gaze to his hands. He was not yet ready to grapple with that fact and wanted only to let the grief wash over him, numbing him to all else. Merry sighed next to him and said with an attempt at normalcy, “Are you hungry? It should be about time for breakfast.”

“A little.”

“Me too.”

But neither of them made any effort to get up. Instead, they clung to each other and closed their eyes to everything around them. The grief was crushing and all-encompassing. It took over all other thoughts and emotions; it was suffocating.

Esmeralda found them an hour later, still in each other’s arms, staring blankly at the ceiling. She was tired also from last night. Pippin had cried the longest and hardest, to the point that Esmeralda thought his sobs would never stop. After Merry’s outburst and initial tears, her son had fallen into a stupor, curled up at Saradoc’s side. The healer’s tea had helped them all to sleep through the night, but now that morning had come, the true grieving would begin.

She walked to the window and threw open the curtain. “Breakfast time, lads. I had it brought in, so wash up and join us in the parlor.”

“Not hungry,” came the dull reply.

“I know, loves,” Esmeralda said. She brushed the curls off her son’s forehead and smiled sadly at him and Pippin. “Come anyway and keep us company. We’ll wait.” She left the room, closing the door gently behind her, and it was only with great effort that they were able to comply.

“Sam? Sam? … Sam!” Hamfast shook his son awake. “Are you ill, lad?”

“Hm? What?” Sam answered groggily. He yawned and stretched his tired limbs. “What time is it?”

“It’s nearly time for you to be getting to the Cottons,” Hamfast replied and felt Sam’s forehead. He frowned. “How long were you up at Bag End last night?”

“Until round midnight. I had to finish the reading garden.”

“Well, no more of these late night hours, or you’ll get yourself sick,” Hamfast ordered. “This is the last day you’ll all be needed at the Cottons, or so May says, so you can go back to your regular hours tomorrow.”

“Yes sir,” Sam yawned, too tired and worn to argue. He waited until his father left before stumbling out of bed and preparing for the day. Just as the day before last, he had only enough time to eat before leaving. 

On their way to Bywater, his sisters chatted excitedly about the feast tonight that would celebrate the end of the restoration. Once the hobbits finished sowing the new barley, they would help to bring the rest of the crops to rights. By the time they were finished with that, the feast would be ready. Several of the workers played instruments and they would provide music for the others to dance to after the meal.

Sam tried to be enthusiastic but found it difficult. Despite Robin’s reassurances, Sam could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. The fact that Sam was unable to help look for his master was a hard one for him to bear. The only comfort he had was that tomorrow, he should know the outcome of the search in Buckland. He knew it was too much to hope that Mr. Frodo would return on the First of Astron as he originally planned, but that would at least allow Sam the extra time he needed to get the gardens in order.

They reached the Cottons and Sam joined the others in the lower fields. His eyes strayed momentarily across The Water to the open fields beyond, straining for the slightest hint of movement on the distant horizon.

Saradoc knocked on his son’s door. As soon as first breakfast had finished, of which they ate very little, Merry and Pippin had returned to Merry’s room. While Saradoc and Esmeralda wanted to give their son and nephew time to sort out their thoughts and confusion, they also wanted to keep the young lads from hiding in Merry’s room all day.

A mumbled answer met his knock and Saradoc stuck his head into the room. He found Merry sitting at his desk, playing with his pocket watch, a gift from Frodo years before. Pippin was lying on his stomach on Merry’s bed with his head propped on his folded hands, his bent arms dangling over the edge of the bed. They had been speaking but now waited to see what Saradoc wanted.

“We’re sending for your parents Pippin,” Saradoc said. “In the meantime, I asked one of the maids to bring your things here. They should be arriving shortly.”

“What about Frodo’s things?” Merry asked.

“They’ll be put in the mathom room with his parents’ belongings for now. We have plenty of time to figure out what to do with it all,” Saradoc answered. “Porto will be leaving for Hobbiton in an hour. He’ll carry the news to the rest of the Bagginses. Is there anyone you can think of who also needs to be told before I make the official announcement?”

Merry nodded. “There’s Fatty and Folco. They should hear first. And Sam should be told. He’s going to be devastated. We should write him a letter.”

“What will we say?” asked Pippin bleakly. 

“I don’t know,” Merry shrugged. “What can we say? Sorry Sam for losing your master, please don’t hunt us down and throttle us?”

“He wouldn’t do that, would he?” Pippin asked worriedly. Sam did tend to get defensive when it came to Frodo, but would he get that defensive? Ordinarily, Pippin wouldn’t think so, but he was not thinking clearly enough at the moment to brush Merry’s comment off as nothing more than a badly timed joke.

“Of course he wouldn’t, he knows his place,” Saradoc answered with a warning glance at Merry, but Merry was still playing with the watch and didn’t notice. Saradoc softened his gaze and tone. “Don’t worry about the letter. If you feel it’s necessary, I’ll see to it myself. Right now, you two need to get dressed. Berilac will be arriving soon. You need to do your rounds Merry, and you can take Pippin with you.”

Merry looked at his father incredulously, the first emotion he had shown all day. How could his father ask such a thing of him now? “Can’t someone else do it?”

“No,” came Saradoc’s gentle reply. “You need only accompany him to keep the records, but you both need to get out for a few hours. You cannot ignore your duties, son, as much as you may want to. Be ready when he arrives.”

Merry nodded dully and Pippin let out a long sigh. Neither made an attempt to move. Saradoc shook his head sadly and closed the door behind him. They needed time to come to terms with their loss and he knew better than to push them too much. He and Esmeralda agreed that they needed to keep to some regular routines though, and they hoped that the work would help get their son and nephew through the next few days while their grief was the strongest.

He found his wife at the table in the parlor, quill to blank page. Her attempts at finding the right words were proving an impossible struggle. Her brother and sister-in-law were fond of Frodo and would take the news hard. “How much do I tell them?” she asked her husband.

“Only the basics, love,” Saradoc answered as he gently massaged his wife’s tensed shoulders. “That Frodo is gone and Pippin needs them. They’ll come and we can explain everything in detail when they arrive.”

Esmeralda nodded and reached up to briefly squeeze her husband’s hand. Then she dipped the quill in ink and started the dreaded letter. Dearest Paladin and Eglantine…

A knock at the door sounded then and Saradoc went to let in Berilac, who was standing in the hallway, looking nervous and forlorn. “Uncle Sara,” he began as soon as the door opened, “I can do the rounds myself today. Gordibrand has agreed to keep me company and help me if need be.”

Saradoc smiled gratefully for his nephew’s concern and thoughtfulness, but beckoned him to enter all the same. “I appreciate your concern, Berilac, but I want Merry and Pippin to at least get some air if nothing more. Take Gordi with you and if Merry and Pippin start to tire, send them home.”

Saradoc left Berilac standing in the doorway and went to once again knock on Merry’s door. He did not wait for an answer, and entered to find Pippin and Merry exactly as they had been before. They looked up when Saradoc entered. 

“Berilac’s here. Time to go.”

“It’s time Sam.”

“What?” Sam shook himself from the stupor he had fallen into yet again. Numerous times throughout the morning, he had caught himself staring out over The Water instead of minding the field he was supposed to be sowing. He was surprised to find that he was at the end of his row, nearly done despite his constant daydreaming.

“It’s time for tea,” Jolly repeated now. “You’re awfully distracted today,” he added. 

Jolly and the others had noticed Sam’s unusual lack of vigilance, and Jolly took this opportunity to question Sam about it. He waited for Sam to hurriedly finish his row, then walked with him up to the house, noticing that Sam never responded to his hinted question. 

Sam did look around as they walked though and asked, “Where’s Tom?”

Jolly smirked and rolled his eyes. “Checking on the necklace again no doubt. He’s going to ask Marigold tonight to be promised remember?”

Sam cringed. He had not remembered. “So that’s what he and Gaffer were talking about yestermorn,” he said as he suddenly realized the true purpose of Tom’s visit. “When did he have time to get a necklace? He’d wanted me to go with him.”

Jolly shrugged. “Says he got it from Gaffer. It’s a pretty thing. He’s been rehearsing what he’s going to say. There are several versions. Want to hear them? I know them all by heart.”

Sam chuckled and shook his head. “I think I’ll wait for Goldie to tell me.”

They reached the upper fields and headed towards the tables. They sat just as tea was being served. Rosie caught Sam’s eye and smiled sweetly at him, then raised her eyebrows in Marigold’s direction. Sam returned the smile back and nodded as Tom emerged from the house, looking nervous. Sam loaded his plate with scones and sliced fruit as Rosie poured him tea. They would be only two of many discreetly watching the promise-making tonight.

The workers took their time with their meal and returned to the fields late. They were now finished with the replanting of the crops and would be spending the rest of the afternoon tending the rest of the fields, neglected for a week while storm reparations were made. 

Sam made an effort to keep his mind on the task at hand and away from the plains across the river. He worked alongside Tom and asked him how he planned to approach Marigold. Sam felt guilty about not helping Tom as he had promised, but Tom assured him all was well.

“Rosie gave me some advice and Gaffer helped some,” Tom said. 

“How nervous are you?” Sam asked with a knowing smile.

“Well,” Tom replied, “I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night and when I tried talking to Goldie at tea, I couldn’t get a single word out. Do you think that’s a problem?”

Sam shook his head. “For you? Not at all. In fact, it’ll probably be of help. You do tend to run on at times.”

Tom laughed and dug another rock from the dirt. He tossed it into the wheelbarrow with all the rest, washed up from the flood to tangle the growing crops.

“How many more?” Pippin asked dully.

They had been riding all afternoon, going from one field to another, assessing any remaining storm damage and the progress of the reparations. Most everyone had fared well and any damage had easily been taken care of. No crop losses were reported, a welcome relief.

Not many had yet heard of the tragic news of Frodo’s drowning, and those who had did not say anything. Such a serious matter was not lightly discussed, nor was it gossiped about. Or at least, it was not widely gossiped until after the Master officially announced the loss. Whisperings could be heard though amongst wives and their husbands who had been directly involved in the search, and those whisperings were quietly and discreetly spreading amongst close confidants. 

Those who had heard the story greeted Merry and Pippin with great sympathy. All the others greeted them normally, and if they wondered about the presence of Gordibrand and Pippin, they said nothing of it. Unfortunately, in the area immediately around Brandy Hall and Bucklebury, it seemed that almost everyone had been involved in the search or knew to some extent what had happened.

Pippin preferred it when the hobbits did not know. He did not want anyone’s sympathy and was growing tired of the tragic expressions he had been receiving all day. He could tell from the tightness in Merry’s shoulders that his cousin was growing tired of the attention as well, though he would never say as much. They were both glad as they went farther south, and less and less folk knew of the gossip.

Berilac turned to Pippin as they left the last vineyard. “This is the last, on this side of the River. There’s still the Marish to be checked, but it looks like they’ll be on their own until further notice. The new ferry is still being constructed.”

“As are the new docks,” Gordibrand said. “The flood ripped all that old wood to shreds. There’s nothing of them left.”

“The docks were destroyed too?” Pippin asked dazedly. “The flood did all that then. Who would have thought water could be so destructive?”

No one responded right away. Gordibrand eventually cleared his throat and continued as if he hadn’t heard the comment. “It’ll be a couple more weeks before the new docks are built I wager, but I suppose we may as well check on its progress if there’s nothing else to be done.”

Berilac nodded. “I suppose we could do that, but you and I can go alone well enough. Why don’t you two go home now?”

Merry shook his head and sat up taller on his pony. “We’ll go with you,” he said halfheartedly. 

“Merry,” Pippin started uncertainly. He was tired and worn, and more than ready to rest, if not necessarily return to Brandy Hall. He also had no desire to see the River just yet and was dreading the day he would eventually have to cross it to return home. How ever had Frodo managed it all these years? “Maybe we should go back,” he pleaded. “I’m tired and I’m starting to miss the breakfast we didn’t eat this morning.”

Merry saw the anguish in his friend’s eyes and gave in gratefully. He nodded and slumped back into the saddle. “Let’s go then. I am a little hungry,” he admitted. He turned to Berilac and Gordibrand. “We’ll see you back at the Hall, except I don’t think we’ll be at supper.”

“We’ll see you later then,” Berilac said, understanding. Saradoc would make the announcement at supper, and Berilac had not expected his cousins would want to be there.

Gordibrand followed, “Go take care of Pippin, and yourself. I may not have your charm, Merry, but I can get information from hobbits just as easily as you can.”

“Oh, but the charm isn’t to get them talking,” Merry corrected. “It’s to get them to stop.”

Berilac and Gordibrand laughed awkwardly then waved good-bye as they parted. 

Merry and Pippin turned north to Buck Hill. They rode in silence, just managing to politely greet those they passed. They looked about them as they went and noticed the many blossoming wild flowers dotting the fields. There were children out picking the colorful blooms and rolling in the grass, laughing with joyful abandonment. Mothers were hanging laundry out to dry and pruning gardens, or talking on the lanes with friends and neighbors. Fellows were pushing carts and hauling wood, or taking a drink of cool water as they rested in the shade of billowing trees.

“It’s just a normal day,” Merry commented bleakly as he waved at some hobbits walking past them on the Road.

“There’s nothing normal about it,” Pippin replied. “Why can’t they see that?”

“Come on Pippin. Let’s stop in town and get something to eat. I don’t really want to go home just yet. We can ride around some.”

Pippin nodded, not really caring where they went now that they were no longer in threat of going within sight of the River. They stopped at the same inn they had visited last week with Frodo, and ordered a modest meal of soup and sandwiches, with tea to wash it down. They did not speak while they ate, and they only half-noticed the other diners laughing and conversing merrily around them. When they finished, Merry paid and left a generous tip, then they returned to their ponies and the road.

“Where do we go?” Pippin asked, but Merry did not reply. 

Pippin followed his older cousin out of town and into open lands. It did not take him long to see where Merry was leading them to, whether by design or not. He said nothing until they reached their destination. They left the ponies to graze and, after making sure no one was around to see them, ducked into the narrow pass between the shrubs. Merry opened the door to the abandoned smial and they walked through the silent, lonely home. They stopped in the doorway of the second bedroom, Frodo’s room, or what would have been.

“It’s not fair,” Pippin said as he entered and sat in the middle of the floor, the ideal place for a bed had one ever been placed in here. “The river took them all and none of them ever lived here. But it does sort of feel like his, doesn’t it? I never thought when I first saw this place I could find it comforting.”

Merry sat next to him and drew his knees to his chest. “I never thought I could hate the River. Frodo taught me how to swim in that river. He insisted I learn and took me out nearly every day one summer until I was swimming like a fish.”

“And then you taught me.” There was a pause of silence, then Pippin whispered, “I wonder what Uncle Saradoc wrote to Sam. You don’t think he was too business-like, do you?”

“Knowing Father, he probably was. We’ll have to go see Sam when first we’re able,” Merry said. 

Merry liked Sam and respected the faithful gardener of Bag End. He knew Frodo regarded Sam more as a friend than a servant, and Merry knew how dutiful Sam was in his care of Frodo, much more than his duties actually called for. He knew very well how hard the news would come for Sam and regretted he could not tell him personally. Yet he had to admit he was glad he would not be put to that task; he could not imagine the words “Frodo’s dead” passing his lips; the mere thought of it left him cold and drained. The next best thing would be to pay Sam a visit when they were in Hobbiton seeing to Frodo’s will. By then, the pain should not hurt so badly as it did now. Or at least, he hoped it wouldn’t.

Pippin nodded. They would make sure Sam was all right, though he wondered vaguely if any of them would truly be all right ever again.

The feast was as good as any of them could hope for. If not for the season, they would almost think it a harvest festival. There were games for the youngest children and dancing for the tweens and adults. The mound of broken wood scraps was burning high in the bonfire pit and the music of the band filled the air with energy and bliss.

Hamfast arrived as the feast was getting started and greeted everyone pleasantly. Only Marigold was surprised to see him there. Supper was grand and delicious and there were many conversations up and down the table as everyone relaxed and enjoyed the company of their friends and neighbors. 

The festivities started soon after the food was cleared. Sam asked Rosie for a dance, giving Tom an encouraging look as he whisked Rosie away. Tom took his cue and turned to Marigold. She was sitting with her sister, quietly watching the festivities. Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He wiped his hands dry on his breeches and stepped up to Marigold and May.

“Good evening May,” he said with a nod, then extended his hand to Marigold. “Goldie, would you care for a dance?”

The smile that lit Marigold’s face nearly took Tom’s breath away. She accepted his hand gently and let herself be pulled up by Tom’s strong arms. She slipped her arm around Tom’s and followed him onto the dance floor. 

They danced near Sam and Rosie for a handful of tunes, losing count as they laughed and talked of meaningless things. Then Jolly requested a two-step from the band, a favorite of Marigold’s. Tom whisked her all around the dance floor and past the other couples in a flurry of motion. When the song ended, he brought them to stop near the bonfire and Marigold was laughing. They caught their breaths as they watched the other dancing couples, then Tom turned again to Marigold.

“Marigold,” he began formally.

She turned and smiled at him sweetly. “Yes Tom?” she asked, suddenly expectant. May and Rosie had hinted that something might happen tonight. Could they have been right?

Tom tried to remain calm and remember what he had wanted to say. He quickly checked his pocket to make sure the treasure was still safe within as he looked at Marigold before him and tried to keep his senses about him. This was no easy task, for the firelight lit Marigold’s hair and face with a sparkling reddish hue and there was joy in her eyes.

“You are lovely,” Tom said, almost absentmindedly and Marigold beamed. He took a steadying breath and continued with purpose. “You’ve always been lovely, and I must have been foolish and blind not to notice it sooner. And now that I have noticed, I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t ever want to stop thinking about you.” He pulled a delicate gold chain from his pocket. A golden bloom of marigold dangled from the chain and caught the firelight.

Marigold’s eyes filled with tears as she recognized the familiar pendant, her mother’s necklace. It was to have been given to her by her mother when she found a suitor, had her mother lived to see this day. She looked over to where her father stood with Tolman. Hamfast nodded, tears in his own eyes, though he hid them well, and Tolman smiled fondly at them both. Marigold turned back to Tom as a tear slipped down her cheek.

“Gaffer said I might as well give it to you now,” Tom said and extended the necklace to Marigold. “May I give it to you?”

Marigold nodded vigorously and struggled to find her voice. “Yes,” she breathed, and she turned and lifted her hair. Tom slipped the necklace around her neck and with shaking hands fastened the clasp. Breathing deeply with relief and unabashed elation, he took her hands in his and turned her gently to face him again. He wiped the tears from her cheeks, and she embraced him as the onlookers erupted in cheers and applause for the new couple.

They separated, embarrassed but proud. “Care for another dance?” Tom asked with a dashing smile.

Marigold nodded. “Yes, I would love a dance.”

The couple rejoined the revelers to a chorus of well wishes and congratulations. Hamfast came and embraced his youngest daughter, his last child. Lily and Tolman extended their congratulations next, then Sam and Rosie and all the others, until everyone had greeted the couple and made the necessary and sincere exclamations over the necklace. Then the band struck up another tune and the celebration began anew.

Saradoc was exhausted. The formal declaration of Frodo’s ill-timed fate had drained him. It did not help that he had been worrying half the evening about his son and nephew, who had not returned from their rounds with Berilac. When they finally returned from wherever they had been just before suppertime, they retreated to Merry’s room and Saradoc knew that Esmeralda was right. They could not be made to go to supper and probably would have refused at any rate. So the family again ate in their private quarters, the Master leaving early to go to the dining hall and make the announcement.

Now that the news was proclaimed, it would not take long for the gossip to spread further than it already had. At least Porto should be able to deliver his grim messages before the rumors could reach across the River and into the Shire. He would have already passed through Budgeford to see the Bolgers. Tomorrow, he would arrive home and would see to the Boffins in Overhill and the Gamgees. The letter to Paladin would be sent by post messenger the morning following.

He hoped that it would not take Paladin and Eglantine long to arrive. Pippin needed his family here with him. Yet even if they came at all haste, he could not hope for them to arrive for a week at least. Then would come the dreaded explanations, and the even more dreaded work of cleaning out the mathom room. Drogo’s and Primula’s belongings had only been kept on the chance that Frodo may one day ask for them. They sadly no longer needed to be concerned with that. Once that was finished, they would have to go to Hobbiton, to see to Frodo’s will and estate. He had a long couple of weeks ahead of him.

Saradoc returned to his quarters late and peeked into Merry’s room before turning in for the night. His son and nephew were deep in sleep. Esmeralda had given them more of the soothing tea to help calm them enough to sleep. Saradoc knew they were doing as good as could be expected, but he worried. Their earlier disappearance concerned him. He wanted to know where they had been, but he would have to find a way of asking them so they would not refuse to tell him, for he had a feeling he would not like the answer. 

While Merry and Pippin were asleep in Buckland, and Frodo was in Bree eagerly planning his journey to Rivendell, the Gamgees turned at the end of South Lane in Bywater and waved good-bye to the Cottons. 

The Gamgees were the last to leave the feast, as they’d had another, private celebration of cake and hot cocoa to celebrate Tom and Marigold’s promise. They strolled up South Land and turned down Bywater Road, May exclaiming still over Tom’s promise to her little sister, already making wedding plans as she momentarily forgot her own upcoming nuptials. Hamfast walked silently behind them, smoking a pipe and smiling fondly, and Sam finally allowed his eyes to stray again toward The Water and the dark and silent fields beyond.

Just one more day.

To be continued…