Chapter 2 - An Ordinary Day

20 Rethe

Two days had passed since Mr. Frodo’s departure, and so far Sam had not taken up his master’s request to take it easy and get out of the garden, nor had he any intentions to do so. To abandon the garden at this time of year, even if for just a day, would set him back two days at least. Yet without Mr. Frodo there, Sam was at his leave to arrive at work when he pleased and he took advantage of it to sleep in a bit longer than usual. Or at least he would have, if not for his sister.

“Sam! Up, Sam!” May called as she swept past his bedchamber door, waking her brother before even the sun rose over the hills.

Sam yawned and stretched and stumbled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He washed up and dressed quickly, and stumbled his way down the tunnel to find his sisters bustling about the tiny kitchen. Their soft chatter filled the room, accentuated by the clanking of pots, the chopping of vegetables and the fire crackling in the oven. May turned to grab a bowl of strawberries and found Sam yawning in the doorway.

“What’s this?” she said lightly. “One day sleeping in and you forget how to get up on time? You’ll be no good to Mr. Baggins by the time he gets back.”

“When do you get married again?” Sam asked gruffly, but with an upward tug to his mouth.

“Never you mind that,” May laughed. “Get you over to Dad. His joints are aching again, something awful. We’ll call you when breakfast is on.”

With a flick of her towel and a nod of her head, she dismissed her brother as she and Marigold went back to their chatter, which Sam now realized was indeed concerned with May’s upcoming nuptials planned for later that spring.

Grateful for an excuse to get away from more wedding talk, Sam crossed the tunnel to his father’s chamber. He tapped the door lightly and peeked inside. His father was awake and dressed, sitting in his rocking chair by the window, waiting for the sun to rise, as was he custom.

“Good morning, Dad,” Sam said cheerfully. “May said as your joints were bothering you again.”

Hamfast grunted an affirmation, which Sam took as an invitation to enter the room. He noticed then the water skins filled with hot water, one upon his father’s left knee, the other draped over his right shoulder. Sam went over to the nightstand where his father kept the ointment the healer prescribed for his arthritis.

“You should be in the parlor, Dad. I’ll bank up the fire. It’ll warm you up proper, and then we’ll see to your joints.”

Hamfast remained where he was though and was so still that at first Sam didn’t think he had been heard. Then Hamfast sighed loudly and contentedly as the sun at last peaked over the distant hills and shined into the room, filling it with a brilliant glow. Father and son closed their eyes to the sun’s gentle touch and smiled for the joy of its warmth upon their skin. Sam opened his eyes and watched his father, knowing before he spoke the words that would be said.

“You know, your ma used to love a sunrise. More'n aught else, she loved the start of a brand new day.”

The words he spoke next were not expected. “You’re a lot like your ma, lad, did you know that?” Hamfast asked.

Now, Sam had heard it more than once throughout his life that he had his mother’s eyes, and her quick and good-natured smile. He sensed his father was speaking now of something more than just physical traits. He waited patiently, eager to know in what other way he was like his mother, whom he barely remembered, only that she had often smelled of cinnamon, hazelnut and soap suds.

“Nay sir,” he said finally when it seemed his father wouldn’t speak further. “I never did know that.”

Hamfast smiled, a rare sight on the stodgy retired gardener. “Aye, but you are lad,” he said. “Kind and gentle, always looking after something, with a touch as soft as a breeze and as strong as the bones of the earth.” He chuckled softly now. “But if anyone should ever look at any of you little ones cross, watch out! She’d learn them a lesson or two, and no mistake. She’d be mighty proud of you, lad.”

He looked into his son’s glowing face and smiled again. He stood up then, his bones creaking as he straightened and stretched. He bathed his face in the sunlight a moment longer, then turned to his son and clapped him on the shoulder. “And now that your head’s swollen to the size of a watermelon, I don’t suppose you’d still want to get that fire going for me?”

“Of course I would, Dad. Can’t hardly say no after that, now can I?”

“Not if you know what’s good for you,” Hamfast said, his usual gruffness returned. “So, stop standing about like a ninnyhammer and get to work.”

“Right sir!”

So they went to the parlor, Sam settling his father down in his old patched-up rocking chair before building a fire in the small hearth. He left the ointment to warm by the hearth before returning to the kitchen to refill the water skins with more hot water. He grabbed a cup of tea to keep his father busy while he went about fixing up the bedchambers. By the time he had his and his father’s rooms tidied up, the ointment was warm and went on over his father’s stiff joints giving blessed relief.

Marigold called them to breakfast as Sam was massaging out the last of his father’s knots from his upper back and shoulders. He helped his father up, ignoring the older hobbit’s protests that he wasn’t an invalid and could certainly stand up on his own, but allowing his father to walk unaided in front of him into the kitchen.

They ate a delightful first breakfast of strawberry waffles, scrambled eggs covered in cheese, sausages and bacon, fruit, bread with jam, and freshly squeezed apple juice. His sisters managed to keep talk of the wedding to a minimum while Sam planned out in his head what he would do in the garden today once he got to work.

The spring was young still, the last bits of winter having just let go of the earth, and the gardens were in constant need of tending. There was weeding of course, and the hedges needed trimming, the flowers pruning, the beds mulching, and one of the young chrysanthemum bushes that had been uprooted during the recent rain needed replanting.

His plans set, he filled his plate with a second serving, despite May’s protests that he would be late for work. Hamfast raised an eyebrow at his son but said nothing, so May let the issue drop. Marigold took her brother’s lead and filled her plate again as well. May tossed up her hands at this and set about cleaning the kitchen as her two youngest siblings traded the latest gossip from Bywater and Hamfast returned to his chair in the parlor.

“You’re going to spoil him after I’m gone, aren’t you, Goldie?” May asked with no small degree of reproach, but Marigold only winked at Sam behind May’s back and rescued another sausage from the skillet.
 

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A half hour later, Sam approached Bag End, a bag of elevenses. luncheon and tea tucked under his arm. He swung open the gate, set to get straight to work as his head filled once again with the tasks to be completed today, his spirits high as he thought of his father’s words to him earlier that morning. He was so caught up in all his various thoughts that he almost failed to notice that the round green door to Bag End was standing wide open.

He gave a start at the unexpected sight and stopped abruptly to stare dumbfounded at the smial. ‘Mr. Frodo’s back,’ he thought with confused concern. ‘Did he forget something and come back for it?’ No, that wasn’t Mr. Frodo’s way at all. Once on the road, he would continue onward until he reached his destination and wouldn’t notice anything missing until he arrived. At that point, it would be too late for him to come back. So why had he returned, and why had he left the door open?

Sam abandoned all thought of getting right to work and instead headed up the path to peer inside the door. The hole was dark and cold; no fires were lit, which could be well enough had he just arrived. Yet there were no packs, and Master Pippin’s voice was missing also. Sam knocked tentatively and called into the smial.

“Mr. Frodo?”

He waited but heard no reply. In fact, he heard nothing at all.

“Mr. Frodo?” he called again. He waited a few moments longer. Still nothing was to be heard. Not a shadow moved.

Sam scratched his head in wonder and tried to figure the puzzle out as best he could. Perhaps the wind had pushed the door open, though admittedly the wind wasn’t that strong at the moment, and Sam remembered quite clearly locking the door and handing Mr. Frodo his key.

Sam checked the latch. It was a bit rusty, so he made a note to fix it up proper before Mr. Frodo’s return. He didn’t want the door swinging open on his master in the middle of the night while he was sleeping away in his bed. That wouldn’t do at all. He closed the door behind him, checking it twice to make sure the latch had caught.

He then set about his work, going through each task one by one, stopping only at elevenses, luncheon and tea to take a bit of rest and food. By dinnertime, he had everything done that needed doing. He cleaned up the trimmings from the hedges and decided to go check on the vegetable gardens round back. They looked ready for another watering. The rainwater from the other night had already dried out or been soaked up by the hungry plants. He watered the garden, just enough to soak the soil.

Twenty minutes later, his tools were put away and the flowerbeds put to rest for the night. His stomach grumbled for food and his mouth watered for some hearty ale. He was making his customary final round of the garden checking for tasks to be completed the next day when he noticed, quite to his shock and indignation, that the front door had swung open again.

‘Well,’ Sam thought, ‘there’s naught for it. I’m going have to fix that door right now.’

He grabbed a can of grease from the shed and headed up the path to the hole. After applying a liberal amount to the latch and making sure the handle was working properly, he closed the door and tested it. He pushed on the door and pulled on the handle. The door stayed put as it ought. Satisfied, Sam put the grease can back in the shed and headed for home.
 

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Sam got home just in time to help his sisters with supper and after a hearty meal, decided to go meet Tom and Jolly Cotton at The Green Dragon for a cup or two of ale. He reached the Dragon right around the same time as everyone else from Hobbiton to Bywater. The place was fair packed with hobbits drinking their ales and toasting their health. A couple of young lads had even got enough ale in them to think themselves good enough to sing and were chortling out a field-sowing song in scratchy, off-key voices.

Sam found Tom and Jolly right in the thick of it, sitting back and enjoying the scene. They waved the young gardener over as they spotted each other.

“Good evening to you, cousin,” said Tom. “What a surprise to see you here.”

He was, of course, joking, since Sam was there almost every night that he could manage it, same as them.

“How goes it at the Row?” Jolly asked, as Sam sat down next to him. He clapped Sam on the back heartily and motioned the bar maiden for another ale. “How’s Mr. Baggins these days?”

“He’s off visiting his cousins in Buckland. Should have arrived just today actually,” Sam said, as the bar maiden came by with more ale. She handed them each a drink and headed off to another customer. “‘Sides that, everything’s normal,” he finished, glancing around the crowded inn, searching for –

Tom smiled mischievously. “She ain't working tonight, Sam, but she does send along her love,” he said, teasing mercilessly, and laughed as his friend’s face went hot with embarrassment.

“Aye, well…” was all Sam could get out.

The evening passed quickly after that, with the conversation ranging from the gardens of Bag End, to the spring crops, to the Mayor’s annual Spring Picnic, to the many goings-on of the Shire in general. There were rumors about dwarves in small numbers on the road heading towards the Blue Mountains in the west, and Ted Sandyman showed up late into the night with a story of how he had a run in with one of the Big Folk and nearly lost his head for it.

“Not nearly enough,” Jolly muttered under his breath, to which Tom and Sam raised their mugs and drank deeply.
 

---

The night sky was alive with sparkling stars and a dazzling quarter moon as they left the Dragon. Before they could go too far, Tom remembered something and pulled Sam aside. He spoke just loud enough for everyone in the area to hear. “Rosie is expecting you to come by on Highday. You aren’t planning anything ungentlehobbitly-like with my sister, now are you?”

Many of the hobbits nearby stopped and pretended to find something interesting on the ground to stare at as they waited for Sam’s response.

“Aye, I was actually,” Sam said, proving that five ales in three hours was quite too much liquor for even a hobbit of his constitution. “I was going to take her to The Water and catch her a butterfly.”

Upon hearing such disappointing news, the hobbits surrounding them left. Tom and Sam found themselves alone, with Jolly just a few paces away, having some sort of confrontation with Ted. Ted left soon enough, looking quite out of sorts, and Jolly joined his friend and brother.

“What was that all about?” Tom asked.

“Oh, 'tis naught really. Ted just got it in his head as he was going to ask Rosie to the Spring Picnic in Michel Delving,” Jolly announced. He noticed Sam’s scowl and chuckled. “No need to fear, my friend, as I told him the only way he would be able to get near Rosie is if she should somehow lose her senses and mistake him for a handbag. Ted didn’t much care to hear that.”

“I reckon he didn’t,” Sam replied, a grateful smile on his lips.

They reached the main road and Sam waved good-bye to his cousins with promises to see them on Highday. They then turned towards South Lane and he turned up the road towards Hobbiton.

He headed home, tired and happy, and watched the stars twinkling in the night sky, the mighty light of Eärendil outshining them all. Sam waved up at the star, a childhood habit he had broken himself of after his father had caught him at it. Yet there was no one on the road to see him now and he saw no harm in it. He could still imagine that Eärendil could see him and would wave back if the mood so took him.

Sam sighed deeply and contentedly. Another lovely day had come and gone, and everything was as it should be.
 
 
 

To be continued…