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A Tale That Grew in the Telling  by GamgeeFest

Chapter 7 - In the Storm’s Wake

25 Rethe

The rain moved into the west during the night, but the high grey clouds lingered throughout the following day, blocking the sun completely from view. Only a pale, dim light could be seen through the clouds, and folk were obliged to look to their clocks or pocket watches to determine the time of day.

First breakfast was eaten early at Number Three, Bagshot Row, for the Gamgees had many things to do before they left for Bywater. May took what laundry they had finished to their customers and collected their pay. She explained that the next loads of washing might be unavoidably delayed a day or two due to her and Marigold helping the Cottons. Her customers understood entirely, and she returned home with her next loads of laundry, as well as some food donated for the feeding of the laborers.

May added the loaves of bread, bundles of cheese and jars of sliced fruit to the stack that Marigold had gathered together. Their pantries were well-stocked thanks to their shopping last week and they had some food to spare. They wrapped the bread in towels and packed all the food into an empty laundry bag, which was quite heavy by the time they were ready to leave. They would have to take turns carrying it and make sure that Sam didn’t attempt to keep it once he got it.

Sam at the moment was at Bag End, making a quick survey of the grounds. He found things only marginally worse than the day before, a good sign he supposed. The water had already run out of the gardens into the pathways or down to the lane in most places. A few standing puddles still remained in the gardens closest to the smial, but those would recede on their own in a day or two. More of the plants had survived than he’d originally hoped, but there were still entire beds and a few shrubs that would have to be replanted or replaced.

He had changed his mind about waiting to restore the garden. He would have to be telling his master about his insubordination when he returned, and Sam thought it best to not have the garden looking abandoned on top of that. There was no telling how long he would be needed at the Cotton farm, but he figured he could get in a couple of hours each day in the garden to bring it back to the glory it had enjoyed before the storm. Whether he had to wake before the sun or work by the light of the moon or both, he would have it looking lovely once again by the time Mr. Frodo returned next week, and he could spend those quiet hours figuring out the perfect way of telling his master about his indiscretion.

His sisters were waiting for him at the end of the Row when he came back down the Hill. Hamfast waved them off, and then turned back towards their home. He would be busy himself today. He intended to spend his day fixing up their own garden, and he had already recruited Daddy Twofoot’s sons to fix the gate.

Sam was against his father being out in the cold against the healer’s instructions, but none of his children had been able to dissuade him. Besides, Sam was not currently in the position to tell his father to stay inside as was proper of someone in his condition. The last couple of days had put an unprecedented strain on their relationship. They were at present teetering on a sort of unspoken truce, called upon only for the need to fix what was left in the storm’s wake. Sam was in no rush to test that truce by bringing up “proper” behavior to his father.  


There were many hobbits out of their holes in the early morning hours, many more than was common to see on an ordinary day. They were all eagerly toiling away to undo the harm caused by the storm, raking here and shoveling there. In fact, they were working so cheerfully that one would be hard pressed to guess that a storm had just ruined a month’s worth of hard labor, had the evidence not been so readily available. That the damage was not as great as many had feared it would be lifted their hearts as much as the rainless skies above.

The Gamgees waved hello to everyone they passed and were greeted joyfully in turn. Marigold and May wanted to stop by to see Scarlet and the newborn. Of course, half the lasses in Hobbiton had the same idea and they found a small crowd outside the house. Sam refused to wait and bother the new mother more than she was already. They walked on by and were soon on the Bywater Road.

The country between Hobbiton and Bywater was mostly open land, with some farms and cottages along the way. The Water was running swift, already high on its banks before even reaching Bywater Pool. Beyond the Pool, the story changed. Every farm for the next ten miles had suffered some sort of harm to the crops or structures. Noakes’ farm, sitting right upon the Pool’s outlet, was hardest hit. Half his lower fields were completely submerged in water three feet deep.

The Gamgees arrived at the Cotton farm just in time to eat some leftovers from second breakfast. Then the lasses rose to help a very grateful Lily and Rosie. A few of the wives and daughters of the other helpers had also come to lend a hand in the feeding of the working hobbits. Soon the kitchen was buzzing with lively talk and the sound of cupboards opening and pots rattling.

Sam went outside and headed to the barn, where he could see many hobbits, young and old, standing around the fallen oak and discussing what they were going to do about it.

“Good morning Old Tom and all,” Sam greeted cheerfully. “Where can I be of most use to you?”

“Good morning Sam!” the hobbits replied. The Cotton lads waved happily and the other lads smiled broadly. “Good to have your help, Sam,” one lad said, a boy named Will who Sam had met before on previous visits.

“Sam, my lad,” Tolman Cotton said as he turned to clap the newcomer on the back. “Just in time! We’re getting ready to chop up this here tree, for being bold enough to topple over into my barn. Grab up an ax and work with the other lads. Don’t forget a pair of gloves, else your hands’ll be smarting by the end of the day.”

“Come on, Sam,” Nick Cotton called as Sam tested the various axes leaning against what was left of the barn wall. When he found one that fit his hands well, he grabbed up a pair of gloves and joined Nick and the other lads near the top of the tree that lay inside the barn.

Besides the Cotton brothers – Tom, Jolly, Nick and Nibs – there were also Finch Fernbrook, and Will and Carl Hornbeam, whose father was a craftshobbit and so looked to make a good profit, if a regrettable one, from the storm. Next to them were Alden and Furzy, both of whom Sam knew quite well, for his good friend Robin Smallburrows was their eldest brother. They all said their hellos and after a few brief exchanges of pleasantries, Sam turned his attention to the task at hand.

He slipped on his gloves as he stared down (and up where the tree towered over his head) at the many innumerable and interweaving branches. He then turned his gaze down the long, thick trunk to where the gaffers stood at the tangling, unearthed roots. “Well, this ought to take a while,” he said simply. The lads laughed and each took a first swing, chopping off the smaller branches first.

“We’ll be taking care of this part of the tree, trimming off the branches and all,” Tom said and then filled Sam in on the plan. They would work their way inward to the larger branches and once those were out of the way, would begin to saw the trunk. The elder fellows would be doing the same at the other end, clearing the roots and then attacking the base of the tree and working their way up, to meet the lads somewhere in the middle.

“And after luncheon,” Nibs said enthusiastically, “we’re having a firewood chopping contest. Whoever can split the most wood wins.”

“And what would they be winning?” Sam asked as he took his first swing and broke off a branch.

“Ma will make him whatever he wants for supper,” Nibs answered.

“Then I hope you’re in the mood for roast beef, lads,” Sam said. “I’ve been craving that.”

“And I hope you’re in the mood for fried chicken,” Furzy countered.

“Sorry to disappoint you all, but I believe we’ll be having lamb chops tonight,” Jolly said as he took a mighty swing, lopping off one of the thicker branches with ease.

They spent the first part of the morning bantering back and forth as they each invented their ideal suppers, which grew more elaborate with each round. By the time the call for elevenses was sounded, each lad had Missus Cotton creating a meal that would be rivaled only by the Birthday Party old Mr. Bilbo had thrown ten years ago.

Elevenses was served outside at the long picnic table that sat beside the house. The matrons and lasses served the meal with swift proficiency. Rosie gave Sam a dazzling smile as she handed him his plate and cup. Sam momentarily forgot he was supposed to be eating as he watched Rosie serve the others and then go into the house, where the lasses were eating in the kitchen. With great reluctance, he tore his eyes away from the door and back to his food.

The other lads were diligently eating but Sam had expected to find at least Tom waiting with a tease ready. What he found instead was a flustered Tom peeking glances at Marigold as she finished serving the last of the workers and went inside. Sam quirked an eyebrow in surprised wonder. Now, how long had that been going on? The kitchen door closed with a bang, but Tom remained transfixed, as if he had forgotten where he was and what he was doing.

Sam smiled knowingly, but quickly placed a mock scowl on his face as he kicked Tom beneath the table. Tom snapped his attention to his friend, a look of guilt crossing his features until he noticed Sam’s scowl was actually barely contained laughter. Tom picked up a bread roll and tossed it at Sam, who easily caught it and took a mighty bite from the still-warm roll. “Thanks, I was eyeing that,” Sam said innocently.

“I noticed,” Tom replied, just as innocently. Then both lads laughed heartily and dug into their well-earned meal.  


They went straight to work as soon as they finished their meal, which was eaten quickly. They worked steadily and without pause, and by luncheon had cleared all but the branch stumps from the top of the tree. The roots were gone entirely and the base of the trunk was being sawed away by the elders. After luncheon, the smaller branches were stripped of their leaves and gathered into bundles of tinder by all the elders, while the lads lined up at the chopping blocks. The lasses came out to enjoy a break from their cooking and watch the competition.

Lily was in charge of conducting the game. She held a pocket watch in her hand and stood between the two chopping blocks. “We’ll be doing this in five pairs, and in - ” she quickly calculated how much time was left for supper “ – three rounds of five minutes each. Whoever chops the most logs wins. May, you keep count lass. First pair starts when I say ‘go.’ Line up!”

Nick and Nibs picked up their axes and bent with hands poised over their pile. “Go!” cried Lily, and the game began.

Pick up a log, place it on the chopping block, take aim, swing and chop. Over and over they repeated the routine as quickly – and safely – as they could. At a leisurely pace, singing or whistling all the while, the average hobbit could chop between five to eight logs of wood a minute. That could usually be doubled if the motivation were strong enough, and Nick and Nibs had plenty of motivation. It wasn’t every day they could tell their mother what they wanted to eat and actually expect to get it.

The spectators and competitors alike cheered them on, whistling and shouting words of encouragement. At the end of their five minutes, May tallied their scores while everyone loaded the wood into waiting wheelbarrows. A couple of the hobbits then hauled the loads into the barn and dumped them inside one of the empty stalls. By the time they returned the wheelbarrows, the next pair of competitors was lined up and waiting their turn. Will and Finch took the second round, followed by Alden and Carl, then Jolly and Furzy.

Sam and Tom took the last round. They made a show of stretching and loosening their muscles, then each gave a couple of practice swings, showing off their speed and strength. The elders smiled fondly and shook their heads, remembering what it was like to be young and silly in love. After a while, Lily snapped her fingers and the lads got serious.

“Go!” she shouted, and their turn began. Of all the rounds played, theirs was the fiercest, as the young lads eagerly showed off for the objects of their unspoken affections. And of all the spectators, Rosie and Marigold cheered loudest, though neither shouted any names, equally wanting both lads to do their best.

The competition came to a close an hour and half later and Lily was pleased with the results. The once gigantic pile of uncut wood had dwindled to a reasonable, if still somewhat daunting, size. If her husband was correct in his assessment that the remainder of the tree would be sawed to nil by the end of the next day, Lily reasoned that five or six more such competitions would be needed. That would give everyone something to look forward to at the end of the long days to come.

The lasses went back to the house to bring out a late tea and early dinner. The lads quickly sat down at the table. Without a single word of exchange between them, they began devouring their meal with such enthusiasm that one would think they’d been starving for a week. The elders followed their lead, eating more slowly but no less eagerly.

Near the end of the meal, the lasses came out of the house once more and May stood at the head of the table to announce the winner of the competition. “The winner, with a score of 187 is,” and she paused, making everyone squirm with anticipation, “Tom Cotton.”

Tom let out a whoop and everyone cheered wildly. May waited for the cheering to die down, then continued. “And in second place, with 185, is Sam Gamgee, so he gets to pick dessert.”

It was Sam’s turn to celebrate and everyone cheered for him, Rosie clapping fiercely. Tom shook his head. “That wasn’t a rule!” he cried. “You just made that up.”

“A lass’s prerogative,” May replied and winked at Sam. “Now give your orders to Mother Cotton and the rest of you, back to work,” she said with a laugh.

The workers laughed in return and stood. They headed back to the barn, congratulating the two winners as they passed. The lads shouted back suggestions for dessert as they followed the elders, not able to believe Sam’s good luck for losing. Soon, Tom and Sam were standing alone, each beaming with pride. Tom came and clapped Sam on the back. “Good thing I didn’t know about the dessert rule sooner,” he boasted, “or I’d have let you win.”

“Let me win?” Sam said. “My dear Tom, what you don’t realize is that I did know about this, which is why I let you win.”

Tom laughed. “Is that so?” he asked.

“It is,” Sam replied seriously.

“Tell you what,” Tom suggested, “tomorrow, dessert will be the prize, and then we’ll see who wins.”

“You’re on,” Sam agreed and they shook on it.

Lily came over then to take their requests. Tom requested lamb chops with mushroom gravy, cornbread and mashed potatoes. Sam wanted strawberries with cream. Lily called the lasses back to the kitchen, but not before Rosie and Marigold could congratulate the winners with a gentle hug. Tom grew flustered when Marigold also gave him a soft, shy peck on his cheek and he blushed bright red with pleased embarrassment. He watched the lasses go back into the house and waved overzealously when they glanced back before going inside.

Sam laughed. “Come on, Tom,” he said. “You don’t want to scare my little sister with your incessant grinning, now do you?”

Tom had enough sense to look abashed. “I’m not scary,” he mumbled as Sam clapped him on the back and gently steered him back to work.

The workers had already started cleaning up when they joined them. Soon, they were carting the last of the chopped wood into the barn, then raking the leaves and the remaining twigs into a pile in the clearing behind the barn. On their last day of work, the pile would be high enough for a mighty fire, and they would celebrate the end of the repairs with a night of feasting and games.

They went to examine what was left of the tree and the giant, gapping hole in the barn wall. A couple of stalls had also been ruined, the walls smashed, though thankfully the ponies had not been harmed. They cleared up the splintered wood and hauled this to the clearing and added it to the pile. They placed a tarp over the mound to prevent it from scattering in the winds, then retrieved some old party tents to cover the now fully-exposed hole in the barn wall for the time being.

After that, they walked down to the lower fields, where a quarter of the wheat crops were submerged a foot deep in water. Tolman was pleased to see that the water was beginning to recede already, though admittedly he had hoped it would go down further and faster than it was.

“There’s naught we can do but wait for The Water to spill this into the Brandywine,” he said. “We’ll chop up the rest of that tree tomorrow, then get the barn fixed and the animals moved back in. Then we should be able to worry about the crops.”

But they waded into the crops at any rate. After the last flooding caused by the Great Storm, farmers up and down the river had found many odd things in their fields, washed down from barns, farms, homes and outbuildings further upstream. They looked for any such items now, hoping to get them returned to their rightful owners sooner rather than later. Nibs fished up a pitching fork and Carl found an empty letterbox. Will discovered a lengthy coil of rope, which had snaked its way around and through the crops, and soon everyone was helping him untangle it and carry it to the barn. Any other discoveries would have to wait for tomorrow.

By the time they returned from the fields and had everything squared away for the night, supper was being laid out on the table. Several lanterns were brought out and lit, casting the table in soft candlelight under the fading sky. Everyone sat down to enjoy a leisurely meal, the elders chatting at one end, the teens and tweens at the other. Rosie, Tom, Sam and Marigold sat at the very end, chatting easily and enthusiastically in each other’s company.

Dessert followed quickly after supper and everyone agreed it was the perfect follow up to the perfect meal. The hobbits toasted the matrons’ wonderfully delicious efforts and then everyone helped with the final clean up. Soon after, everyone was breaking for home with promises to return in the morning. The Gamgees were the last to leave, waving good-bye as the whole Cotton clan stood in front of their house to watch them go.  


They reached Bagshot Row near the eight o’clock hour, the lasses yawning widely, glad to be home at last. But their work was far from over. They had to check on their father, who no doubt would need an ointment treatment after working all day himself. They also had to get at least one load of laundry washed and hung to dry. And while they were not surprised to see Sam continue up the Hill, they felt they should at least attempt to protest.

“Sam,” May called, “you’re asleep on your feet!”

“Aye, and so are you,” he called back. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“You won’t be able to see much at this hour. There’s no sunlight,” May tried to reason.

“Then I’ll work by starlight and moonlight,” Sam replied over his shoulder, never ceasing his slow march up the Hill. He soon disappeared around the bend.

His sisters shook their heads. They really couldn’t tell him not to work anymore tonight when they would be working themselves. If he felt he had enough light, who were they to argue? They lifted their faces to the night sky and noticed with surprise that the clouds had finally passed on indeed. A brilliant clear sky greeted their sight and it seemed to them that they could see more stars than they could ever recall seeing before. The half moon lay low to the ground, bathing all the land with its gentle beams.

“A good sign that,” May said. “Things will be getting back to normal now, I reckon.”

“I don’t recall a more lovely night,” Marigold agreed. They stood in the lane a few minutes longer, then turned down the Row to Number Three and went inside to work a couple hours more.  


At Bag End, Sam was also admiring the night sky. “It’s as though it’s making up for the last few days,” he mused quietly to himself. The nocturnal display encouraged him greatly, and he took it as a sign that he had come to the correct decision regarding his father.

He had spent much of the day figuring out a way of getting them past their differing opinions and thought he finally had one that would make them both happy. Sam knew that going into Bag End and all was wrong; he would admit to that. He also understood his father’s view on what was proper behavior when taking care of your betters; he would agree to that. Hopefully, his father would accept that and overlook his lack of apology for regarding Mr. Frodo as a friend.

He hummed softly and got to work, his spirits higher than they’d been all day. He and his father would soon be back to normal speaking terms, he was certain. Storm damage, overall, was minimal compared to what folk had feared. Though there was still much work to be completed over the next several days, the worst of the spoilage left in the storm’s wake would soon be repaired, and the crops that needed it would be replanted. The restoration had begun. The stars and moon were beaming and tomorrow there would be sun. Nothing more could go amiss.

Or so he thought. He had no idea how quickly he would be proven wrong.

 
 
 

To be continued…





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