Chapter 5 - Supper with the Cottons

23 Rethe

Morning came upon the Shire through a veil of heavy mist, dotting everything with tiny drops of dew. The sun struggled for half the morning to break through the overcast sky, only to manage a dim and short-lived triumph as its dull rays barely reached the earth just after noontime. Hobbit folk bustled about in wool sweaters and light jackets to keep warm, and even those as labored outdoors in the fields had trouble keeping warm if they rested too long from their toils.

The day passed quickly despite the weather and without any strange happenings. Sam once again arrived at Bag End early. Though it was Highday, he did not feel he had earned his day off and so set to work completing what had been left undone the day before. He did the watering in the cool, moist morning air, and then moved on to cutting the grass. One by one, he went through his chores, moving around the gardens in a steady and precise manner that came from tending the same soil for so many years.

The day’s work kept him busy, so busy in fact he failed to notice the late hour until he finished the last of his tasks and put his tools back in the shed. He washed up at the well and stretched his back, wishing for a wind to come and stir the cool air for him. He glanced at the sky and found the sun hiding once more behind thick clouds, so he made his was to the parlor window and peered inside at the timepiece sitting on the mantle. It was past three o’clock! He had to be at Bywater in two hours!

He hastily returned his tools to the shed and tossed that day’s trimmings onto the compost heaps. Then he rushed down the Hill, up Bagshot Row and tore into his home, almost knocking over May in his haste to get some water boiling for a wash. When the water was warm enough, he poured it into the small metal tub that sat in the larder. The Gamgees had no bathing room and so made due with this arrangement quite easily. The door to the larder was only kept closed when someone was inside bathing and that alone was sign enough to everyone else to stay out.

Sam bathed quickly but thoroughly and was obliged to shampoo his hair to remove all the sweat and grime from the day’s toil. He toweled himself dry and, remembering that his sisters were in the smial, he pulled on his breeches so he could dump the water down the drain in the kitchen. In his room, he found his finest clothes already laid out on the bed, washed and pressed. No doubt Marigold had heard about the supper from Rosie the day before, and his sister had been kind enough to get everything ready for him while he was at work.

He slipped into his clothes and was ready to rush into the kitchen when Marigold knocked upon his door and let herself in at his call. She smiled at her brother gently and somehow managed to calm him down. Then she tidied him up, straightening out his collar and combing out his tangles. She circled him critically before declaring him ready for his appointment by reaching up on tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Sam was on the road after an extremely small dinner (just a couple of bites of bread and an apple) and a cup of tea to soothe the nerves. Rosie had promised a “special” meal, being annoyingly secretive of what all that would include. He had no doubt he would enjoy anything she made, and he wanted to be sure he was hungry enough to eat as many servings as she gave him.

He was out the door with twenty minutes to spare.  

Tom and Jolly were waiting by the road when he arrived. They were sprawled lazily on the grass, picking dandelions and making wishes. Sam cringed as he saw them blow the white stems with their fertile seeds to the winds. Didn’t they realize that would just create more weeds?

“Hullo Sam,” Tom called as he came into their view. Sam noticed immediately that they were also dressed up proper-like. He raised an eyebrow at this and wondered how much goading and prodding Rosie had to do in order to get them to dress up so. He said nothing though, certain he would get teased if he did. Silly him.

“Tom, Jolly. Good evening to you,” Sam said.

Jolly waved happily and hoisted himself into a sitting position. “Evening, Sam. Hope you’re hungry. Rosie’s got a good-sized feast brewing in the kitchen. I do believe the lass went and cooked up everything we have.”

“I’m hungry enough,” Sam said, wondering why neither of them were getting up. “I take it it’s not ready, then?”

Tom laughed. “Don’t sound so disappointed,” he said. “Supper’s ready enough. ‘Tis Rosie we’re waiting on.”

At Sam’s confused face, Jolly elaborated. “She’s changing, making herself up nice, if you take my meaning.”

“Aye,” said Tom. “She’s been changing… for the last two hours. She seems to think there’s someone coming over as deserves all that trouble, though I can’t imagine who that would be.”

Sam blushed scarlet red and had to fight the urge to look at his feet rather than their teasing faces. They were trying desperately not to burst out laughing.

“Well,” he finally said, “if he doesn’t show up, I hope I’ll make a good enough replacement.”

“Oh, she’ll be disappointed, and that’s a fact,” said Jolly, feigning distress, “but I’m sure she’ll take the change in company fine enough. Of course, you’ll have to sing her a bit of song for good measure.”

Now they did laugh, clearly thinking back to last year at her birthday party when Sam had become too drunk for his own good and started serenading Rosie in front of half of Hobbiton and Bywater. ‘Come on Rosie,’ Sam thought. ‘Finish yourself up and save me from these rascals.’

As it happened, Sam had to endure another half-hour of their jibbing before Rosie came out and called them in to eat.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat as he got his first sight of her. Even from that distance, he could see she looked more beautiful tonight that any other time before. He blushed to the tips of his ears, and Tom and Jolly found that reason enough to tease him some more as they walked with him to the house, gently pushing him in front of them lest he be glued to his spot at the end of the lane.

Rosie stood in the doorway, waiting patiently. Sam could tell by the way she was fingering the folds of her dress that she was just as nervous as he was, which relaxed him a bit. Not that it did him much good in the end. His mind went completely blank as they approached the house and he got his first good look at his Rose. He was unable to look anywhere else.

There was candlelight behind her in the hall, crowning her head in a golden hue, her hair pulled back with butterfly clips and a golden ribbon so that her soft, brown curls cascaded gingerly down her back. The dress she had chosen was one of Sam’s favorites – green as new grass, with small, delicate white and yellow chrysanthemums dancing over the fabric, and trimmed with white lace. She smiled warmly as Sam came closer and held his gaze with her ginger brown eyes.

“Good evening, Sam,” she said softly.

“Good evening, Rosie,” Sam managed to reply. “You look – why, you look fair lovely, Rose.”

Her smile widened. “Thank you, Sam,” she said, blushing now also. “You look right handsome yourself.”

“Oh, ‘tis nothing,” he muttered, feeling guilty he hadn’t gone through as much trouble to look so nice as she had.

“Well, enough of this,” said Jolly, reminding them of his and Tom’s presence as he clasped Sam’s shoulder and all but pushed him into the house – and almost into Rosie had she not stepped aside in time. “I’m famished,” he continued, “and the longer the two of you stand here making moon eyes at each other, the longer till I get to eat.”

“Wilcome Cotton!” Rosie exclaimed, forgetting her nervousness in her newfound embarrassment as she scolded her twin brother. “Now I know you have better manners than that. Wait till Ma hears of this.”

“Oh, come off it, Rosie,” Tom said as he entered the house and closed the door shut. “He was only teasing.”

“This is no time to be teasing so,” Rosie shot back. She seemed ready to say more, but thought the better of it. Instead, she said in a much calmer though somewhat forced voice, “Now you lads go get washed up, while I get supper on the table. And,” she called as they made their way down the hall to the washroom, “you’ll be grateful for the servings you’re given.”

Tom and Jolly were barely able to keep from snickering until they were out of earshot of their flustered sister. By the time they and Sam washed up and went to the kitchen, Tom and Jolly had managed to regain their composure, and supper passed companionably. Of course, it helped that their parents and younger siblings were present to keep them in line.

Supper was, indeed, every bit as elaborate as promised: roasted chicken spiced with rosemary and thyme, vegetable stew, mashed taters, salad, corn on the cob, sweet pea casserole, raspberry bread with honey and butter, and of course, Old Tom’s very own homebrewed ale to wash it all down, and tea for the youngest siblings. For dessert, she had made apple pie with whipped cream and hot cocoa. Sam was beyond pleased with the meal and had three full servings of supper and two slices of pie. Rosie had outdone herself. He would have to remind her that he wasn’t worth so much trouble. This must have taken the lass all day to prepare.

Talk during the meal was minimal as everyone was too busy eating to say much, but some business was discussed. The corn crops looked very promising this year, and the wheat crops were looking better than ever as well. Mayor Whitfoot was seeking volunteers to help with the organization of the Spring Picnic. As usual, Rosie, Marigold and their friends would be going down to Michel Delving in the next few days to help out. They of course had to talk about the news of the miller’s mysterious nighttime flight to Southfarthing. Still no one knew what the commotion had been about or when the miller and his son would return.

When supper was over, everyone pitched in with the cleaning up, then Rosie and Sam slipped outdoors to enjoy some time alone. They strolled silently through the fields, making their slow way to the river nearby. They sat on the sand and watched The Water flow past. Rosie clutched a shawl tightly around her shoulders, and Sam buttoned up his jacket as he checked with apprehension the clouds hanging overhead. The night was cold but peaceful, and they rested easily in the deadly quiet. Finally, Rosie spoke.

“Did you enjoy your supper?” she asked, sounding a bit worried.

“Oh, aye, I did,” Sam answered truthfully. “I reckon I went and ate too much, if such a thing’s possible. But you needn’t have gone through all the trouble just for me.”

“It was no trouble at all,” Rosie said. “You’re more than worth the effort, Sam. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Like is too mild a word. I loved it. It was wonderful.”

Rosie smiled. “You had better say that.”

Sam laughed, then before he knew what he was doing, asked, “Did you really spend two hours changing?”

Even in the darkness, he could see her blush. She let out an annoyed groan. “I’m going to strangle those two when I see them.”

“Oh, they mean no harm,” Sam said, chuckling softly.

“I know that well enough,” Rosie replied, a smile now showing in her voice, “but I think I’ll strangle them just the same, for good measure. Lor’ knows they deserve it.”

Another beat of silence. Sam picked up some sand and watched it slip effortlessly through his fingers.

“You’ll be staying with your aunt again when you go into Michel Delving?” he asked, scooping up another handful.

“No, with my cousin Celeste. She’s just married you know?” She scooped up some sand of her own and held it softly in the palm of her hand. “I thought we’d help her to settle in a bit. She’s feeling more than a little displaced in her new home, says it doesn’t feel like hers. It just needs a lass’s touch, I think.” She returned the sand to the earth and patted it down gently. Then she remembered something. “Did you ever get Mr. Baggins’s door fixed? I let Ham know you were having problems with it and he’d said he go up and help you.”

Sam paused before answering. No need worrying the lass and making her feel she caused any trouble. The simplest truth would suffice. “Not exactly. I’m thinking of calling in a locksmith,” he said then quickly returned to the previous subject. “What all were you planning for the house? I hope her husband will still be able to recognize it by the time it’s finished.”

Rosie listed off all the things they would be doing while in Michel Delving. Then they spoke about the Spring Picnic and how nice it would be to see their relatives as lived out that way. Sam’s brothers would be there – they went every year and usually helped with the setting up as well. This brought up stories of previous Picnics past and soon they were laughing over many of the silly things that usually happened at such gatherings.

Finally, Rosie started to shiver from the freezing night air, her shawl no longer giving any protection. Sam removed his jacket and offered it to her, which she accepted only if he agreed to call it a night. He tried to protest that he was fine but his chattering teeth soon gave him away. Regrettably, they strolled back to the house, and Sam took the excuse of the chilling wind to wrap an arm around Rosie’s waist, to hold her close and keep them both warm. Far too soon, they were standing on the doorstep.

“This is good-bye, then,” he said, sad as always for the night to end. Then he seemed suddenly to remember something. “Oh no,” he said, distressed, “I was supposed to catch you a butterfly. But there aren’t any out now.”

Rosie smiled sweetly, proving once again that she was the most beautiful lass in the Shire. “Well, I can’t think of a better excuse for you to come and visit me again soon,” she said. “And this is not good bye, only farewell.”

Sam smiled in response. “Then fare you well Rosie,” he said and leaned in to kiss her cheek gently. They separated reluctantly, and he nodded his head toward the door. “I guess I should be saying good night to your folks as well,” he said. They went inside and Sam said his farewells to the Cottons. Rosie returned his jacket and watched him from the porch until he reached the lane and turned for a final wave.

Soon he was on his way home with no one and nothing to keep him company, not even the usual distant chirping of crickets or the dull croaking of frogs. The night was oddly silent. He looked up with concern as the winds suddenly blew in and began to whip fiercely through the trees. He hoped the rain would hold off until he was safely indoors and he quickened his pace, not wishing to tempt fate.  

His sisters had already turned in by the time he got home, though judging by the murmuring coming from behind the closed door, they were far from sleeping and most likely talking about the wedding again. He found his father in the parlor, the fire built up high and heating the room to a crisp.

“Bones are aching,” Hamfast stated matter-of-factly as Sam entered the room. Sam nodded and grabbed the ointment from the mantle. He sat before his father and began working the medicine into the usual sore spots. Neither of them spoke, each caught in the estranged awkwardness that lingered still from the previous night.

Hamfast rarely had need to lecture any of his children, and the last time he had done so was many years ago, when he caught May swooning over one of the Proudfoot lads and being incredibly silly about it. Making a fool, he had told her at the time, and over one of her betters no less. She shaped up after that and Hamfast had little need to worry about any of his children’s behavior since. Until yesterday that is, and it was a dilemma Hamfast had been puzzling over all day. He was no closer to a resolution than he had been the previous night, but he did have a few more softer words he wanted to speak to his son.

Sam was in two minds. In one, he was picturing Rosie Cotton as she had stood in the doorway of her house and her lovely smile on the porch before saying farewell. He had caught the scent of lavender when he kissed her, and her hand had come up to rest lightly on his arm for the briefest of moments. He could feel the touch still if he concentrated hard enough.

In the other, he was looking as discreetly as possible at his father and noticed the look of consternation and the tension in his shoulders. He knew he was still in trouble from the day before. He felt terrible about losing his father’s faith for stepping out of line as he had, but now that he had a day to think on it, he knew he would not have done anything differently. Even if his instincts had been wrong, they could not have been ignored and there was nothing else for it.

Time crawled by in suffocating silence, until at last Sam finished his ministrations and prepared to leave. Hamfast chose this moment to speak.

“I was harsh on you yesterday,” Hamfast stated. Sam paused, wondering where this was going. His father cleared his throat and continued with careful patience. “You’ve got too used to the idea that because Mr. Baggins treats you friendly, it means you’re his friend. But you’re not, Sam. You’re his employee, first and foremost. A quick walkthrough to ensure everything was sound would have been within your rights and duty as an employee, I won’t deny you that. But to do what you did, Sam… I just don’t know how to make it clear to you, lad. If you cross Mr. Baggins, he can send you packing and don’t think that anyone else would be willing to take on a dismissed servant. You’ll be out of work and we’ll be out of our hole.” Hamfast sighed, his shoulders sinking with weariness. “I just don’t want to see you shamed, son.”

“There’s no shame in looking after those you care for, Gaffer,” Sam replied. He understood what his father was saying, whether his father believed he did or not. Why couldn’t his Gaffer understand him now? “Why can’t a servant care for his master? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Surely you cared for Mr. Bilbo.”

“There’s a difference between serving and caring, and it isn’t a small one,” Hamfast tried to explain. “You’re paid to serve Mr. Baggins, to plant his gardens and make his breakfast and bring him his tea. You’re not paid to look after him and worry on him. Leave that to his family to do.”

Sam shook his head. “I'm sorry sir, but I don't see the difference. I serve Mr. Frodo because I care for him. And begging your pardon sir, but his family's too far away to do him any good when he needs it,” Sam answered, soft but stubborn. He noticed his father ready to respond, and continued on before he could do so.

“I know we're not equals, and he's got plenty of friends of his own standing and certainly doesn't need to turn to his gardener for aught more’n what flowers to put where. I know all that. I don't imagine myself to be more to him than what I am. But that don't mean I can't be his friend. And I am, whether or no.” Then, not waiting for a response, he turned and left. A moment later, his bedroom door closed with a soft thud.

Hamfast returned to his brooding. He had much to think about.  

Sam lay awake, staring at his chamber ceiling. In his mind, he played through all his memories of his dear Mr. Frodo, from his earliest remembrances to when he last saw his master, walking away from Bag End with his cousin at his side.

In all the long years Sam has known him, Mr. Frodo has always treated Sam with nothing but dignity and a degree of respect that most gentlehobbits usually reserved only for themselves. Mr. Frodo wasn’t like that. He never spoke an unkind word or looked down his nose at anyone, least of all Sam. So maybe Mr. Frodo didn’t consider him a friend, but Sam couldn’t ask for a kinder or sweeter master, and that was all that mattered to him.

He thought back to one of his fondest memories: Mr. Frodo’s thirtieth birthday. He had asked Sam to teach him to make strawberry truffle as his present to Mr. Bilbo. Sam had agreed to the task, figuring it would be easy enough and would not take much time away from his duties outside. Yet somehow, Mr. Frodo had managed to make quite an ordeal out of the receipt. The mess that resulted had taken them an hour to clean up, and they had laughed the whole time at Mr. Frodo’s poor culinary skills.

Sam saw to it that his master received more lessons after that. Under Sam’s patient tutelage, Mr. Frodo swiftly became quite a good cook indeed. Mr. Frodo never once berated Sam for having the audacity to try to teach him anything, but he did say he knew he had turned into a good cook the day Sam sat down to one of his meals and didn’t hesitate to dig in. The meal was beef and vegetable stew with cornbread, and it was one of the best Sam had ever eaten. Sam smiled at the memory and drifted off to pleasant dreams.

Moments later, the first flash of lightning lit the sky outside, the answering roll of thunder bringing down a heavy curtain of rain.

To be continued…