Chapter 8 - A Friend Unlooked For

26 Rethe

The next day was much the same as the one before, except the sun was shining brightly and not a cloud could be seen in the vast blue skies overhead. The wind was still cold, but the light and warmth of the sun lifted the hearts of all and work progressed quickly.

Sam watched the sun rise over the horizon as he finished raking the debris of foliage from the last of the flowerbeds. True to his word, he had risen early to come up to Bag End and begin putting the gardens to rights. Despite getting only five hours sleep, he was feeling energetic and he worked swiftly. In just a couple of short hours, he had raked clean all the grounds and replaced a couple of the path stones that had come loose and floated to places they did not belong.

Now he turned his attention to the salvageable flowers, plants and shrubbery. The kitchen garden had faired best of all, and Sam set to work recreating the tidy rows of growing produce. The garden would not take long to repair. It was small, only big enough to keep his master well-fed throughout the year.

Sam worked steadily, keeping a watchful eye on the rising sun. When it reached high enough to cast long shadows on the ground around him, Sam called it a day and quickly returned his tools to the shed. He was almost finished with the vegetable patch and decided to come again tonight to finish up. Tomorrow, he would get started on the flower gardens.

He returned home in time for a hurried first breakfast. He waited until the dishes were washed and put away, and his sisters were in the pantry gathering food for the day, before he approached his father.

Sam had prepared himself for this talk while he was working in the gardens. He figured the best way to approach it was to get Hamfast speaking first on a common, harmless topic and find out what kind of mood he was in. The way Sam approached the subject of their disagreement would depend largely on whether his father was in a good mood or a grumpy one. 

“So what are your plans for today Gaffer?” Sam asked innocently, while he wiped down the tabletop.

Hamfast fixed him with a stern gaze. It was an expression Sam was familiar with. It meant his father was preparing himself to say something but didn’t quite know how to say it. Sam’s heart sank. He had finally decided to swallow his pride, and his father was going to lecture him again. Sam lowered his gaze to the table, not sure he could endure this today. He heard his father clear his throat.

“Well,” Hamfast started, “I thought I’d get some ale-brewing done, and fold up some of this laundry for the lasses.” And here he paused. Sam closed his eyes and braced himself, wondering what in the Shire he had done now to upset his father. Hamfast cleared his throat again and continued. “Then I thought I’d take those berries of yours and finish up the jams and whatnot for Mr. Baggins.”

“What?” Sam asked, positive he had heard incorrectly. He raised his gaze to his father and studied the old hobbit’s face with confounded uncertainty. “The jams, sir?”

“Aye, that’s what I said. No point in those berries going to waste,” Hamfast said tersely. “Stop gawking at me like you never seen me afore, lad. I’ve done my share of cooking in the past and I reckon I could do a decent enough job of it. Jams used to be a specialty of mine, you know.”

Unable to stop himself, Sam continued to stare at his father, but now with an expression of shocked gratitude. This was the last thing he had expected to hear. He wasn’t being lectured? His father was going to help him and was extending the olive branch? “Thank you Dad,” he finally managed.

Hamfast stood up and came around the table to clap his youngest son on the back. “The least I can do considering what all you’re busy with,” he said. “I might even get up to Bag End today if my knees feel like holding up.”

Sam’s gratitude soared. This was more than he could have ever wished for, but he shook his head. “Now, Gaffer, the gardens are my job,” he tried to protest. “I’ll get it done. No need to risk yourself getting hurt.”

“You won’t get it done in a week working only half days as you are. I won’t do anything this old body can’t handle,” Hamfast retorted stubbornly.

Hamfast had done quite a lot of thinking of his own the previous day. It did not escape his attention that Sam had stayed at Bag End until nearly eleven o’clock last night, and his daughters had told him about everything his son had helped to accomplish at the Cottons. Sam was dedicated and reliable, and everything else one could wish for in a model hobbit. Hamfast knew every morning he woke up how lucky he was to have such a son.

While he still had his reservations, he figured that as long as Sam was wise enough not to extend the familiar relationship he shared with Mr. Baggins to his other betters, no real harm could come of it. He would not go so far as to say he was wrong when he was not, but he was proud of his hard-working son. He regretted deeply the last few days of tension between them, and he saw his offer of help as his way of apologizing for the harshness of his words, if not the words themselves.

Sam knew his father well and understood the unspoken meaning behind his father’s offer. He nodded his acceptance. “I suppose it won’t be too much for you to get the beds as need it cleared out and turned over for planting. But you leave the planting to me,” he said as sternly as he could. He knew his father was still disappointed about his misbehavior a few days back, but it eased his mind to know he could always count on him to be there at need. That meant more to him than all the flowers at Bag End. “Thank you Dad,” he said again, smiling his mother’s smile.

“Hmph,” Hamfast huffed and went to his room to prepare for his day of work.  

The sun was high in the sky when the Gamgees arrived at the Cotton farm. Just as the day before, they ate a quick second breakfast and went to work.

The top of the tree was now free of branches, though many thick stumps remained to be hacked off before they could begin work on the trunk. The lads abandoned their axes for saws and were soon working tirelessly as they invented their ideal desserts. Jolly was certain he would win today’s competition and he would treat everyone to peach pie. Carl insisted that he would be the winner this time around and they would be eating three-layered chocolate cake with strawberry swirls and mousse frosting. Nick and Nibs secretly hoped that Carl would win.

Tom nodded to Sam, and the two friends broke off from the others to work on a particularly thick branch stump. For quite a while now, Tom had wanted to talk to his friend about something of great importance. After yesterday, he decided it was now or never, but he was still working out how he wanted to begin the conversation. Sam waited patiently for Tom to work up his nerve and speak his mind.

“Do you think Goldie likes me?” he finally blurted out.

Sam laughed. “Of course she does,” he said. “She adores you.”

“As a friend maybe,” Tom continued worriedly, “but I was thinking more along the lines of, well, if I were to ask to court her, do you think she’d accept?”

Sam thought on this as they continued sawing back and forth through the oak. That Marigold was fond of all the Cotton brothers was no secret. They might be only third cousins, but they were raised as though they were next of kin. But did her feelings go beyond that? There was no question of that either. He and his sister spoke often of many things, and lately she had got into the habit of always managing to somehow bring the conversation around to Tom. If Sam had already brought the conversation around to Rosie, that made Marigold’s job even easier. He noticed also that she had served Tom at every meal yesterday, a soft blush ever present on her cheeks as he had taken the plates offered him. The sparkle in her eyes when Tom was announced the winner had been almost palpable in its intensity.

Sam smiled at his friend and nodded. “Aye, she’d accept. She’s fond of you Tom.”

“Really?” Tom asked, relieved. “You’re sure?”

“I know my little sister.”

Tom nodded and visibly relaxed, the tension in his shoulders dissolving as he smiled jubilantly. He took a deep, calming breath, probably his first real breath of the day. “Because I was thinking, at the feast when we finish up here, that might be a good time to ask her that we be promised.”

Just as Tolman had a rule that Rosie couldn’t court until she came of age, Hamfast had the same rule for his own daughters. The rule wasn’t unique to them alone. Many of the fathers throughout the Shire enforced this tradition, causing much frustration for the older lads who were ready to reveal their hearts. They got around the rule by asking the lass of their desire to be promised. If the lass said yes, the lad would give her a token of intent, usually a necklace or brooch, though anything that can be worn and displayed with pride by the lass would do. The lad would then wait impatiently for the day she came of age, at which time they could declare themselves as official suitors. Proposals usually followed within the year and weddings not long after that.

Not all couples became promised though. Sam and Rosie were not, but it was quickly becoming general knowledge that they would have only each other. Not that others didn’t still try. Rosie had many lads wishing to court her, and Sam had been approached by a bold lass or two as well. All were kindly turned down.

Marigold had her share of potential suitors as well, something Tom was very much aware of. Still timid about asserting herself, she found it difficult to turn any of the lads away, not wanting to disappoint any of them and having no real reason to send them off anyway. Tom was perfectly aware of this also. If he asked her to be promised and she said yes, he would not only secure his place in her future, but also give her a valid reason to turn down the other lads and spare her any discomfort for doing so.

“How do you think I should ask her?” Tom asked. “Won’t she think it’s rather sudden? We’ve only been as friends to each other up ‘til now.”

“Rosie and I were only friends up until her birthday last year.”

“So I should get drunk and serenade her?”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “No, you Tom-fool. Rosie wouldn’t talk to me for a month after that. She thought I was making her a fool. I only just convinced her I meant it all, drunk as I was.”

“So what should I do then?” said Tom. If he had been nervous about broaching the subject with Sam, he was near barely-contained hysterics about approaching Marigold. But before that, he had to speak with Gaffer Gamgee. Tom didn’t even want to think of that conversation.

Sam saw the panic in his best friend’s eyes and guessed the source of it. He had seen that look twice before and knew it well. Yet both Daisy’s and May’s beloveds had escaped unscathed, and they had not been life-long friends of the family, much less kin, as the Cottons were. He smiled reassuringly at his friend. “Gaffer already thinks of you as a son Tom, you don’t need to worry about him none. Fact is, he’d be thrilled to make it official, the way I see it. And don’t you fret about Goldie either. I happen to know exactly how she’d want to be asked,” Sam said.

They finally finished sawing through the last of the stump and let it fall away with a thud. They moved to the next branch stump and began the process over as they made their plans.  

After elevenses, they cleared all the branch stumps and began working on the mighty trunk. This required them to work in groups of four, two to each side of a long-saw, two groups working side-by-side to hurry the process and simultaneously warm up for the competition by seeing who could saw through the trunk first. The two youngest lads, Nick and Nibs, were sent to ready the woodpiles for the competition.

They were just sitting down to luncheon when company arrived. Lily came out of the house carrying a platter of sliced fruit. Trailing her was an unannounced, though not unknown, visitor who was bearing a pitcher of apple juice.

Alden and Furzy jumped up from their seats. “Robin!” they shouted and ran to embrace their brother. He managed to place the pitcher on the table just in time to greet his siblings. Everyone rose to welcome the newcomer, all of them taking silent note of the feather he now wore in his hat. He greeted everyone cheerfully and at last came to Sam. They embraced briefly, but fiercely. It had been a long while since they last saw each other.

“I thought I might find you here,” Robin said lightly.

“And I thought you’d be busy with your shirriffing duties,” Sam replied and motioned for Robin to sit.

“I am busy,” said Robin as they sat. Lily placed an empty plate in front of him and May served him as he spoke. “Too busy in fact,” Robin continued. “I had it on good authority this was easy work. I think I should have waited another week to start this job.”

Everyone laughed. “Breaking you in proper are they?” asked Mr. Fernbrook.

“Good and proper,” Robin said. “This storm has made things interesting, to say the least. We’re getting reports from all over the four Farthings and even a couple from Buckland. I feel more like a post messenger than I do a shirriff.”

“And how goes it elsewhere?” Tolman asked. The lasses sat down to hear the news and everyone somehow managed to not eat while business was discussed.

“All reports are the same,” Robin said. “It was a good storm, but not a Great One. This here is the worst of it in these parts. There’s also flooding along the Brandywine; they had a bit of a flash flood. Captain thinks it probably came down from the rocky terrains in the north part of the Eastfarthing. There aren’t any homes in that part of the Shire thankfully, but they’ll be feeling it in the Marish once the river goes down again. It’s muddy enough there in fine weather. There were also a few crops lost here and there, but not many. It’s early in the season still. All will be recovered well enough I expect.”

“That’s mighty good news,” Tom said, and everyone nodded in agreement.

“They have you going around seeing who needs help where, I wager?” Tolman asked.

“That’s one reason I’m here, sure enough,” Robin replied. “I heard you were hit hard and came to see if I could send any extra hands out this way. I just sent a cartload up to Noakes’ place. I could send one up here as well if you need it.”

“I think we’re set here,” Tolman said. “I won’t begrudge more help, but only if it’s not needed elsewhere. See to the others first. We can manage as we are if help runs out.”

Robin nodded. “I’ll do that. Thank you Mr. Cotton. But I’d like to take a look and see what’s what. If there are extra hands, I’d like to know how many to send up.”

Tolman nodded. “Sure thing, Robin. But first, we eat.” And with that, the talk stopped and the eating began. The lasses and matrons returned to the house and the workers ate until not a single morsel was left.  

After the meal, Robin followed the workers to the ruined barn and the little bit that was still left of the tree. He whistled low when he saw the destruction and chatted with the farmer about how long he thought repairs would take and when they would be fixing what. Tolman laid out his plans for the next several days, taking Robin down to survey the lower fields while everyone else went to prepare for today’s competition.

When they returned, Robin went to see his friends and spent some time chatting them up. They talked eagerly, none of them paying much attention as the younger lads took their turns chopping wood. The group of friends hadn’t seen Robin in close to a month, since he first decided to become a Shirriff. He had heard that a position had opened after an older shirriff retired and had went to seek out the Captain to ask about joining.

They discovered now that Robin had been obliged to track down the Captain and his team as they moved through the Northfarthing. He had done that easily enough, even in the vast, open fields of Oatbarton. The Captain had agreed to take him on – if he could lead them to Needlehole through Bindbole Wood. The position available was in the Northfarthing and the Captain wanted assurance that Robin knew the land as well as he claimed.

Robin passed the test with no complications and was allowed to follow the group to Michel Delving, where the Mayor placed him in the official employ of the Shirriffs. They had then gone to Frogmorton, where all the shirriffs met once a season at The Floating Log Inn, and he was introduced to the rest of the crew. The next day was the storm, and he’s been busy around the clock ever since.

“You always wanted travel and adventure,” Jolly said when Robin concluded his tale. “You certainly found it.”

“That’s all Sam’s fault, that is,” Robin grinned. “All his tales of elves and dwarves and trolls went to my head. Not that I’d want to go looking for such things out of the Shire mind you, but there’s always the chance of glimpsing an Elf from time to time in the Northfarthing. Captain himself has seen them twice, from a distance, but there’s no mistaking them or so he says.”

“And have you seen any Elves yet?” Sam asked hopefully.

Robin shook his head. “No, but you have my word as soon as I do, I’ll be sending you a letter in the post.” Then his smile rapidly faded. His face became grim, and he shook his head and sighed heavily. “But I’m stalling,” he muttered.

“What?” Tom asked. He hadn’t heard the murmured words, but his friend’s sudden resignation concerned him. They didn’t even notice the pause in the competition while the spectators waited for Jolly to join Finch for their turn. “Robin?” Tom asked again.

Robin raised his head, but looked past Tom to the gardener, his best friend for so many years. A pained expression was on his face. “Sam, walk with me for a moment,” he said, then turned and headed into the barn.

After furtive glances with the others, and confused looks amongst the spectators who had not the slightest clue as to what was going on, Sam followed Robin into the silence of the barn. Robin stopped near the center stall, just out of earshot of the others but still within their sight, and faced his friend with great reluctance.

“What’s this about Robin? Is it Gaffer?” Sam asked, imagining the worst and preparing to run all the way to Hobbiton if need be. Why had he allowed his father to go and work at Bag End? Now he’s hurt and –

Robin interrupted his thought. “No, no,” he reassured. “No, it’s not your Gaffer.” And here he stopped. He fidgeted with his hands and seemed unwilling to continue.

“Well, what is it then?” Sam asked, confused and still more than a little worried. It wasn’t like Robin to withhold anything from him. Suddenly, he remembered his friend’s greeting at luncheon, as well as Robin’s other careful words while giving his reports. He realized too late what they meant. “You came here looking for me. Why? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I do know. We just got word yesterday see, but it could already be taken care of. It’s just, the rumors will be flying soon and I didn’t want you hearing it that way.”

“Out with it Robin,” Sam ordered. He had never seen his friend this flustered and reluctant before and it was scaring him.

Robin nodded and let out a slow, steadying breath before looking his friend in the eyes, his own expression for the moment unreadable. There was no easy way to say this, best to get it over and done with.

“It’s your master, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “He went missing, just before the storm hit.”

End of Part I

To be continued…