Chapter 16 - The Most Important Thing

Astron 4

Sam didn’t remember falling asleep, nor could he remember much of anything that happened after his confrontation with Lotho the night before. He vaguely recalled at some point going through Bag End to put everything back into order and clean up the mess in the entrance hall, but how long that had taken and how he had got down the Hill and to his home afterwards was a blank. He must have also removed his shirt before falling on top of his bed, for he felt a chill now and wished he was under the covers where he could keep warm.

He looked around his darkened room. There was a dim light filtering in from underneath the door but nothing more. He had no window in his room or any hearth. There was no clock to tell him the time, but by the murmurings of his sisters – and possibly a couple of guests – he figured it had to be mid-morning at least.

Even without moving, he could feel the tightness in his chest, back and side at every point a fist had struck him. His head felt like it was in a vice and he could not open his right eye. His lip was swollen where the skin had torn, and his throat hurt still from being grasped so brutally. He realized he must look a fright and was glad no one had thought to check on him yet. They no doubt thought he had been out drinking again and were letting him sleep it off. 

Yet how long would it be before someone did check on him? He would need an explanation for how he looked, and it would have to be believable. Even if he had not sworn silence to Lotho, he would never be able to tell his Gaffer the truth of what happened. His father would want retribution for anyone who dared to hurt one his children, and it would sore him painfully to know that in this case, he would not get it. However ill-thought of Lotho was, he was still gentry and Hamfast would hardly be in the position to demand punishment. Not only that, but if Lotho was successful in his attempt to acquire Bag End, Sam would be looking at having to serve him, and it would not help matters any if Sam spoke.

Sam sighed and willed the panic he felt to subside. He could not work for Lotho, not in Bag End or anywhere else. There had to be a way out of it. Somehow, he would think of a way out of it.

May was putting away the luncheon dishes and Marigold was stitching up some clothes when a knock sounded on the door. Marigold put down her sewing and went to answer the door, as her sister had her arms full with a stack of plates. She opened the door to a pleasant sight.

“Good day Goldie,” greeted Rosie and Tom.

“Rose, Tom,” Marigold exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” She let her friends inside and led them to the kitchen to greet May.

“We heard about Mr. Baggins the other day and this is the first we could get out here,” Tom said. “I didn’t want to believe it at first. After everything Sam’s been through, that was the last thing he needed.”

“How is Sam?” Rosie asked worriedly.

“Not well,” May admitted. “We’ve hardly seen hide nor hair of him since he got Master Brandybuck’s letter. He was gone all day and night yesterday to who knows where and didn’t come stumbling in until after midnight, making all sorts of racket. Gaffer reckons he went and got himself drunk, so we’re letting him sleep it off.”

“Drunk?” Tom asked, his concern rising. While Sam might occasionally drink to the point of intoxication after a hard day’s work in the company of friends, it was generally agreed upon among hobbits that doing so during such grievous times was bad form. One could easily become accustomed to using drink as a way of dealing with their grief, and such a troublesome habit was frowned upon. The thought that Sam had been doing this was disturbing. “Maybe I’ll just peek in on him.” 

Tom left the lasses to talk amongst themselves and stopped outside Sam’s room. He knocked lightly. No answer came, so he cracked open the door to peek inside. He could make out the outline of Sam’s form on the bed and could hear his friend breathing unevenly. Then Sam stirred and looked in his direction.  

“Tom? Is that you?”

“You awake Sam?” Tom said. 

Tom entered the room and closed the door gently behind him. If Sam was hung over, he would hardly want the light shining in on him. Tom made his way carefully to Sam’s side. He felt along the table for the striker and lit the candle that sat there. The flame came to life and dimly lit the room. 

“That’s not too much light for y…” The question died on his tongue as he looked up and saw his cousin. He stared at Sam in shock, so alarming was his battered face and bruised body. There were black splotches covering Sam’s back, stomach and neck. His side was a sickly bronze. There was a nasty knot above his right temple and his right eye resembled a plum by its size and color. His lip was nearly just as bad. “Sam! What happened to you?” he finally managed to croak out.

Sam shook his head. “It’s nothing really. Looks worse than it is I imagine.”

“You look like you’ve been run over by something,” Tom said, for he could not think of anything else that would cause such severe damage.

Sam nodded, grateful for being supplied a believable lie. “I startled something in the woods last night. Got knocked over and kicked a few times. It was stupid of me really; I wasn’t paying attention as I shoulda been.”

“You need a healer,” Tom said, still taking in the injuries. Every time he looked, there seemed to be more bruises than the last time. “What did you startle?”

“Too dark to see,” Sam said, feeling guilty for lying but knowing it was for the best. “Listen, get Gaffer for me, will you? Don’t let onto the lasses aught’s wrong. Try to get them out of the smial if you can.”

Tom nodded. Not knowing what else to do, he followed his friend’s instructions, or tried to. He exited Sam’s room and closed the door shut. He stood in the tunnel until he felt he was composed enough to face Rosie and Sam’s sisters. Appearing as casual as he could, he went into the kitchen, intending to tell the lasses that Sam needed some supplies from market for a morning-after drink. One look at his face though and they knew something was wrong. 

Tom hurried to explain what Sam had told him and at the news, they rushed to Sam’s room. They gasped in horror at what they saw, and Sam was not very pleased to see them either. He tried to reassure them over their exclamations, but it did no good. May would hear none of it and sent Marigold and Rosie to fetch the healer. She ordered Tom to wake Hamfast from his nap and went about the room lighting all the candles and lamps. The healer would need as much light as possible when she arrived.

Hamfast woke from his nap to find Tom gently shaking him awake. “What do you think you’re doing in here, lad?” Hamfast asked grumpily.

“It’s Sam,” was all Tom said. The fear and anguish in his eyes said far more than Tom ever could.

Hamfast was out of bed and down the tunnel before Tom could blink. He followed after the older hobbit and found him at Sam’s side, tears in his eyes as he looked at his son.

“Sammy, what’s happened to you lad?” Hamfast asked, his heart breaking to see his child injured so. He listened to Sam’s explanation and shook his head. Something about that wasn’t adding up. He looked up at May and Tom, standing at the edge of the room. “May, go get some water boiling. The healer will no doubt need it to make her teas and whatnot. Tom, you go with her.”

“Yes sir,” May and Tom agreed. They left with a backward glance at Sam.

When they were alone, Hamfast looked closely at Sam and shook his head again. “You got trampled sure enough,” he said, “but there’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

Sam didn’t respond right away. He was feeling even more miserable now than he had before, if that were possible. He couldn’t stand the worry he was causing everyone and he was horrified to find that Rosie was here. Of all the days to come and visit, it would have to be today, when he looked like death itself. It was bad enough having his father see him like he was, especially after the strain and distance of the last few days. Especially after he had been so rude to him the day before.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said at length.

“Sorry?” Hamfast asked, confused. “Whatever do you have to be sorry for?”

“For everything,” Sam answered. “I’m sorry for saying I don’t care about what’s proper. I do care.”

“Oh forget about that,” Hamfast said flippantly. “There are more important things.”

“No there aren’t,” Sam said with a small shake of his head. “It’s the most important thing. It’s proper, see, to listen to your parents and do for them what you can. It’s proper for parents to look out for their children and keep them safe and teach them what they need to know, whether they want to learn it or not, and all the while encourage them to do their best. It’s proper to be grateful for those you love and who love you back and will do anything for you. I haven’t been doing anything proper the last week or so, and I’m sorry. I just feel so lost.”

“I know you do lad,” Hamfast said, tears coming to his eyes again. He reached out and wiped away the tear that slid down Sam’s face, careful of the injured eye. “I know how you’re feeling. I understand how fond you are of Mr. Frodo, I do. I just sometimes forget the two of you were friends before you were master and servant, and if I know aught about the Bagginses of the Hill, I reckon Mr. Frodo considers you a friend still. He’d not want to see you like this.”

“I know,” Sam mumbled.

“This ain’t your fault,” Hamfast said. “Had you been there, you couldn’t have done nothing different. It may have even been worse. Knowing you, you’d go in after Mr. Frodo and then where would we be? I can’t lose you Sammy. I’ve already lost your mother. I couldn’t stand to lose you, or any of you children. So if you’re going to blame anyone, blame me, for making you feel you had no choice but to stay here.”

“I can’t blame you,” Sam said. ‘But you might lose me still,’ he thought, remembering again what Lotho had said. There had to be a way out of it.

Sam shivered involuntarily and Hamfast took it for cold. He grabbed the blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed and draped it loosely over Sam to keep him warm. He smoothed the curls back from his son’s face and settled in to wait the long minutes until the healer’s arrival.

The healer, Miss Camellia, arrived twenty minutes later, with Marigold and Rosie fast on her heels. She entered Sam’s room to find it illuminated with candlelight, a stack of fresh towels and bandages waiting by the bed. Hamfast, May and Tom were sitting around Sam’s bed, and Hamfast was helping Sam drink a cup of cool water.

Within seconds, Camellia had everything in hand. She ordered everyone to the other side of the room to give her space to do her work. She removed the blanket and took in Sam’s wounds with an expert eye, assessing him quickly.

The bruises, as nasty as they looked, were not of any concern, nor were the eye and lip. She suspected a broken rib and internal bruising from Sam’s short breaths and the coloring of his side. She ran a smooth hand down Sam’s side as gently as she could and found the break, clean and simple. She listened to Sam’s breathing and did not hear any fluid or blood in the lungs.

“When and how did all this happen Sam?” Camellia asked. She opened her satchel and took out several pouches and jars as she listened to Sam’s explanation, her brow creasing as Sam spoke. “How did you get the bruises around your neck then?” she asked.

Sam paused before answering. “I don’t know, maybe I was pushed into some rocks or some such.”

Camellia pursed her lips but said nothing else on the subject at the moment. She continued, “Where did all this happen?”

Sam hesitated, then said, “Nearby.”

Camellia nodded again. She had assumed as much, as there was no way Sam could have walked very far in his condition. “Have you been awake the entire time since you were hurt?”

“No, I think I passed out just after and again when I got home,” Sam said. “I woke up around the time Tom and Rosie arrived. I think the commotion must have woken me.”

“Other than the pain, how else do you feel?”

Sam laughed hollowly. “Other than that, I suppose I’m feeling just fine.”

“Any injuries to your legs? Nausea? Dizziness?”

“No, Miss Camellia.” 

Camellia held up two fingers. “How many fingers?”

Sam tilted his head to look with his good eye. “Two."

“Good. Now, follow my finger with your eyes. Puff out your cheeks. Stick out your tongue and wriggle it back and forth. Good Sam.” Camellia turned her attention to Hamfast. “He doesn’t appear to have a concussion or any other head trauma, and most likely he passed out from the pain. He’s coherent now, that’s the important thing. He’s broken a rib, but it did not puncture the lung. There is some internal bruising around the break, and those bruises will come to the surface before too long, so don’t be alarmed when that happens. It’s just a sign he’s healing. The rib is the most serious, everything else is trivial, as horrible as it looks. Actually, it looks worse than it really is.”

She picked up a few of her pouches. “May, make a tea please. We need to give him something for the pain and the internal bruising. In a medium-sized cooking pot, fill it halfway with water, then add chamomile, willow bark, rosemary, and a pinch of comfrey root. Bring the water to steaming and let it seep for five minutes, then fill a mug. That should make enough tea to last a day if you give him a mug every three to four hours.”

May took the pouches as Camellia handed them to her and rushed to the kitchen to prepare the tea, grateful they already had water steaming on the stove.

Camellia helped Sam roll onto his stomach and picked up a jar of medicinal cream. She applied it generously over his bruises. “This will help the bruises to heal and fade more quickly, as well as ease the pain and soreness in his muscles,” she explained to Marigold. “Apply it four times a day to start. As the pain lessens and the bruises fade, go down to two times a day. It’s readily absorbed, so you don’t need to rub it into the skin. Just apply it lightly over the affected area. Add a hot cloth if you like, but keep any heat away from the broken rib or that will cause him more pain.” 

Marigold nodded and waited for the healer to scoop some of the cream into a smaller jar. Marigold took this and held onto it dearly.

“Master Hamfast, you and Tom need to help Sam sit up so I can bandage his chest. Sam, you need to get your knees up under you, then your father and Tom will lift you up.” Sam nodded and within moments, Hamfast and Tom had him up and were supporting him on either side.

Camellia took out another jar and spread its contents onto a soft cloth. She wrapped the cloth around Sam’s torso and made Hamfast hold it in place while she began bandaging the torso tightly. When that was done, she turned to Rosie.

“Boil some water in a small pot. Put in some of this lavender and elder, half a spoon each. Let it seep for five minutes, then soak two small hand-clothes in it. Drain the clothes nearly dry and bring them to me.”

Rosie took the proffered pouches and left just as May returned, cup of tea in hand. Camellia sipped it and nodded her approval. She helped Sam drink the tea in sips, then instructed Tom and Hamfast to help Sam back onto his side. When Rosie returned, Camellia took one compress and draped it over Sam’s eye. The other she instructed Rosie to hold over Sam’s lip.

“When the cloths cool, replace them with warm ones. Keep doing that for about half an hour, then every two to three hours after that for half an hour each time,” she said. “I’ll be back early tomorrow to check on him, but if he worsens come fetch me immediately.”

“I thank you kindly Miss Camellia,” Hamfast said and walked her to the door. May went quickly to the kitchen to retrieve the supplies that had not been used. Then Hamfast walked Camellia to the garden gate. “Miss Camellia, I was wondering about those bruises around Sam’s neck. I’ve seen my share of animal tramplings and none of them ever managed bruises like that.”

Camellia nodded. “It looks to me as though he was chocked. Sam’s not one to fight, is he?”

“No, he’d never harm anyone,” Hamfast said. “But you reckon it was someone else who did this to him?”

“That’s what I figure. I’m sorry Ham,” Camellia said sadly, then went out the gate and down the lane.

Hamfast watched after her, following her descent down the lane as he tried in vain to calm himself. He could not fathom that Sam would ever do anything to merit such an assault, even if his son had been acting cross the last few days. And even if he had, this was far beyond a simple brawl. No, someone had attacked his son and had done him serious injury. More than that, Sam had lied about it, which meant he was afraid. 

Hamfast gripped the gate rail until his knuckles turned white and let out a slow, frustrated breath. After everything that had happened over the last couple of weeks, this was beyond unbearable. Whoever did this, Hamfast would give him a lashing he won’t soon forget. No father worth his taters would deny Hamfast the right of retribution. But before he did that, his son needed him.

Hamfast willed himself to calm down and returned to Sam’s room to find him fast asleep. Marigold sat next to Rosie, who was still holding the compress to Sam’s lip. Tom was covering Sam with the blanket again. May stood next to her father and watched the scene with him and knew they were all thinking the same thing. When would things ever return to normal again?

Tom and Rosie spent the rest of the day at Bagshot Row. They took turns with May, Marigold and Hamfast to sit with Sam, for he was not to be left alone for any amount of time. He slept most of the time, but May managed to get luncheon into him, then Tom helped him to the chamber pot. Marigold brought her sewing in, and she and Rosie talked while Sam slept some more. When Sam woke next, he found Rosie alone sitting next to him.

“Where’s Goldie?” Sam asked to let her know he was awake.

Rosie answered, “She’s getting ready to go to Missus Brown’s. She’s watching the little ones tonight and I said I’d help her.”

“What happened to helping with the Picnic?” Sam asked, just now remembering that she and Marigold should be in Michel Delving by now, staying with Rosie’s cousin.

“I’m helping you instead,” Rosie said. “Are you needing anything? Tea? Food? Are you cold?”

Sam shifted position slightly, to give some relief to his side, which was starting to go numb. “How about you tell me what Jolly’s been up to? And Nick and Nibs and everyone else? I could use a distraction just about now."

Rosie nodded and sat so she was facing Sam more directly. It broke her heart to see him like he was, but as distressing as his physical appearance was, the emptiness in his eyes worried her more. There was something bothering him and if he needed distracting from it, she would do the best she could.

“Well, there’s not much to tell really, just little things,” Rosie began. “The farm’s finally back on track and Pa doesn’t think we’ll lose that other acre after all. We’ve planted a new tree to replace the one that fell, further away from the barn this time. It’s a cherry blossom tree and it’s already blooming so beautifully. You should come see it and as soon as there’s fruit, we could have a cherry picking party and Ma can make pies.

“Nick bought a sack of marbles off a traveling salesman. He and Nibs were playing fine until Nibs got carried away and bounced one off the floor and into his nose. How he managed it I have no idea, and Ma had a time trying to get it back out. Then he and Nick went fishing and they caught a good number of trout until Nibs started playing with one that wasn’t dead yet and it bit him something fierce. So now he’s got a swollen nostril and a bandaged up finger and he’s in a bit of a mood. I don’t know what his problem is; he’s far too old to be having such accidents anymore. Ma figures he just likes the attention and told us to stop fussing over him.

“Jolly’s got himself a crush. You remember Pansy Scruttle down off Bywater Road? She’s been staying with her gammer up in Tighfield over the winter and she’s just come back. She wasn’t but a scrawny little thing when she left, but she’s turned right pretty now. All the lads are taken with her and Jolly seems the worst off. He’s managed an excuse twice in one day to go down her way to try to catch a glimpse of her. I don’t want to discourage him, but she’s always had an eye for Finch, and Finch never teased her so mercilessly as Jolly used to. Finch seems to be fair taken with her too now. I just hope this doesn’t come between them, Jolly and Finch I mean.”

Rosie went through all the family news while Sam listened attentively, a small smile on his face. He let Rosie’s voice wash over him, so that all he could picture were the things she spoke of, and not the bleak future that had been plaguing him all day. He was disappointed when Tom came tapping at the door and announced it was time for Rosie and Marigold to go. He was going to escort them to Missus Brown’s, then go to The Ivy Bush to take an ale or two. They would be back to bring Marigold home, but then he and Rosie would have to return to their own home.

“We’ll be back first thing tomorrow,” Tom promised. He hated to leave his friend, but there was no helping it. “You take it easy Sam.”

May came in a moment later to replace Rosie, and she carried a tray laden with food. She set the tray on the table and helped Sam to sit up as comfortably as was possible. She then sat on the edge of the bed and picked up a bowl of thick, creamy soup.

“Here you go Sam,” she said. “This should be easy enough for you to eat with that lip.” 

May dutifully fed him, careful not to upset the lip or dribble the soup. It was a tedious task and it was a while before the meal was finished. Another dose of medicinal tea followed, then May treated Sam’s bruises while he was sitting up.

“Do you want back on your side again?” May asked when she finished and Sam began to yawn.

“Not particularly, but as it’s the only part of me that isn’t hurt, I don’t suppose I’ve much of a choice,” Sam said.

“Why don’t you try to sleep sitting up then,” May suggested. “We’ll adjust the pillows so you can lie down a bit and it’ll be softer on your back than the mattress.”

Sam nodded, willing to give it a try. He was surprised that it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. As long as he didn’t move about too much, he found it bearable enough. May left to take the dishes to the kitchen and when she came back a minute later, Sam was already asleep again. 

She sat next to Sam, intending to do some embroidery while her brother slumbered. Instead, she found herself simply watching Sam in his sleep. He seemed so much older now, worn out even as he rested. She tried to remember the last time he smiled, truly smiled so that the cheer reached his eyes and lit up his face. It could not have been that long ago, yet it seemed an age had passed.

May shook her head in wonder and grief. Try as she might, she had never understood her brother’s relationship with his master. He spoke of Mr. Baggins fondly and often enough, but she could not understand the friendship they seemed to share. Mr. Baggins was kind to her and always respectful, but he was still gentry and not to be approached familiarly. Yet Sam had never been able to see him as just an employer. Still, she would not have expected this strong of a reaction to his loss. As hard as it was to imagine, her once-steady brother had fallen apart completely. How else could he have been so distracted as to startle an animal? Sam never did such things.

May bent her head to return to her work, but something caught her eye. She looked over at the far corner of the room and saw crumpled in the shadows the shirt Sam had worn yesterday. She stood up and went to retrieve it, saddened further to find it covered in dried blood. Underneath the shirt was a rag, also stained red. She picked this up, her brow knitted in confusion. Sam did not carry rags around with him and even with the stains she could tell this was not one of their rags. She wondered where her brother had come by it. 

She held the shirt and rag up to the candlelight and eyed them critically. The stains might come out, but she would have to soak them before attempting to wash them. She went into the kitchen and dumped them into a waiting bucket of water, then hurried up and cleaned the dishes while she was there, keeping a keen ear on her brother’s room in case he should stir. She didn’t think he’d sneak out of the house this time, but he might need something when he woke up.

Tom was getting nowhere. 

He had not told Sam, but the truth was he and Hamfast had come to The Ivy Bush in an attempt to find out if anyone knew anything about this panicked animal of Sam’s. Sam was not one to lie, but when he did, it was always for the benefit of another and he covered himself well, so it was difficult to tell he was being misleading. Yet there was something about his injuries that did not add up to an animal attack. The healer had thought so as well, and Hamfast intended to find out what he could before approaching Sam again. Someone had dared to harm one of his children and he was determined to find out who it was and make him pay for his offense. 

Hamfast was speaking with the older hobbits, while Tom approached the younger lads. They had decided to be as discreet as they could about their inquiries and come about the topic in a round about way. Tom started talking about a brawl he had with Jolly a few months back, hoping that would bring up the topic of more recent fights. If anyone knew anything, they were likely to let it slip as the night went on. The lads did have plenty of stories about tussles and brawls, but those were all between brothers or friends and usually occurred after one too many ales. Across the room, Hamfast did not look to be having any better luck. 

Suddenly, the front door opened and in walked Farmer Goodheart. The farmer went over to Hamfast’s table and started talking to the group with great excitement, waving a letter clutched in his hand. The group seemed skeptical about what he was saying and Hamfast looked downright revolted. Curious, Tom excused himself from his company and walked over to the farmer so he could hear what was being said.

“I’m telling you, my third cousin’s a bounder and he says he saw him,” Goodheart insisted. “I even had the post messenger read it to me twice just to make sure he wasn’t making it up as he went along, and he read it exactly the same the second time ‘round.”

“So, you’re telling me first he’s dead and then he’s not?” Daddy Twofoot said. “You’ve got you’re stories mixed up, sounds like to me.”

“I haven’t. They saw Mr. Baggins. He was in Bree this whole time, if you’ll believe that.”

“I don’t believe it,” Hamfast finally said, standing up. “This nonsense your spreading is in poor taste Goodheart. Just leave one well enough alone.” Several other hobbits nodded in agreement.

“I’d figure if anyone would be happy of the news, it would be you Ham,” Goodheart said, looking hurt. “Especially for Sam’s sake. He wasn’t looking so good the other day and…”

“You leave Sam out of this,” Hamfast cut off the farmer. “He’s been through enough without having to hear such prattle. You speak even a word of this to Sam, I’ll clock you good. Come on Tom. They know nothing.”

Hamfast left the inn in a temper with Tom following close behind. Hamfast was disgusted, and by more than just Goodheart. For once, when it really mattered to him, no one knew anything of importance. 

To be continued…