Chapter 21: Eg’ Market

“Yes, Mother,” Diamond said with a nod of dismissal at Sage as the lass pushed the tea cart into the parlor at the Smials.

Diamond clutched at the back of the settee and held her hand briefly to her middle before shaking it off and smiling quietly as she crossed to where Honeysuckle stood, her back turned, examining the portrait upon the wall.

“Yes, Mother,” Diamond repeated quietly from her side. “That was drawn from life when we visited the King in the last year. He has a copy for himself, as well,” she added demurely.

“The King!” Honeysuckle breathed out so quietly that, except for hobbit ears, she almost would not have been heard. She stared a few moments more at the portrait of her daughter gazing adoringly at the lass’s husband while biting into an apple he held.

Then she lifted her skirts away from her hips and hitched round with difficulty to face Diamond, who in turn led her mother to a chair. When the older hobbitess was seated, Diamond reached for and began carefully pouring from the silver teapot upon the tray.

Honeysuckle opened her mouth as if to say something while Diamond’s dark curls were bent over the pot, then changed her mind, closing her lips and worrying them together as she glanced nervously about the room.

“There you are, Mother,” Diamond smiled as she gracefully handed Honeysuckle the filled up. It clanked against the saucer as the older hobbitess took it in her hands.

“I am so glad you could come for this visit,” Diamond said as she finished filling her own cup and leaned back against the settee. A smile was upon her face, but it became a bit wistful as she looked down to take a careful sip and added, “I am only sorry that no one else has accompanied you.”

“Oh,” Honeysuckle hastened to assure her, moving suddenly in her chair as she did so, so that the cup clinked again against the saucer as it shifted uncomfortably among her skirts. “The servant Captain Peregrin sent along with the sturdy cart was fine to travel with. I had not any trouble.”

Diamond smiled, and Honeysuckle’s eyes widened as her daughter gave a clear laugh in response. “No. No, you would not have trouble with Bert along. But that is not what I--”

“Diamond?” Honeysuckle interrupted her with a look of consternation, reaching out to put one hand upon her daughter’s knee. “Is that servant, Filibert, wed?”

Diamond was quiet and still a moment, frozen in an attitude that belied her earlier laughter. Then she relaxed, consciously it seemed, and leant down for another sip of her tea.

“Nay, Mother,” she said softly when she had finished. “’Bert is not. Although,” she raised her eyes to glance merrily down the corridor, “it seems he is sweet on one of the lasses who works at the Smials.”

“It -- it is no longer a concern for me, lass,” Honeysuckle said wearily, withdrawing her hand and moving about to settle back in her chair. “It is your honor that your father and your brother and, I am sure, your husband, would be concerned with,” she said to her tea.

Diamond looked up from her own beverage to stare at her mother’s bent head. A flush came over her face, and she closed her eyes until it passed, and then opened them again to gaze calmly in Honeysuckle’s direction and state, “I am aware of my duty, Mother. Do you not think I shall behave honorably?” She raised her cup to her face but spoke before putting it to her lips. “Do you not trust me?”

“Child!” Honeysuckle cried out and surged in the chair so that her cup sloshes and the seat cushion slid forward as she clutched at the arm. “Child,” she said again, in a broken and heavy whisper, as she sat and watched her daughter drain and study the dregs in her cup.

“Well,” Diamond said calmly after a moment, finally pulling the cup away from herself and reaching for the teapot again, “I believe I had asked why Father and Ganelon and Jewel were not able to come for this visit.

“As we traveled to the Outlands last year,” she added as she sat back in the settee with a new cup of tea, “we have not seen any of you for over a year. It has been since the birthday party when I came of age, I believe.”

“Yes,” Honeysuckle agreed quietly, her eyes looking at something afar off. Then, “Yes,” she said again, and shook herself, returning her attention to the room. “I have missed you, child,” she said with a quiet tremble, picking at her skirt with the hand that did not hold her cup.

Diamond’s face softened, and she reached out her own hand to grasp her mother’s from where it lay in Honeysuckle’s lap. “And I have missed you, Mother,” she whispered simply.

The hobbitesses held each other’s hands and smiled at each other with there eyes as they each lifted their mugs and sipped. Then, when they had both set down their cups but still held hands, Honeysuckle gave a shaky smile at Diamond and said, “Your father so dearly wanted to come, Diamond, but he has so much to do after the harvest, and in stocking the store for the winter, that it just was not possible.

“And Ganelon must help him, and it was deemed that Jewel, at 24, start having some of the rudiments of responsibility for running a household. I had thought at first she would accompany me, but...no matter,” Honeysuckle trailed off and then concluded brightly, giving Diamond’s hand a squeeze.

“You must return to the North Farthing for a visit soon,” she added in the same tone, and then looked to her tea.

“Yes,” Diamond agreed softly, and a slight frown flitted across her own face as she glanced toward her lap, and then hastily toward her teacup and took a sip. “I’m sure we shall try.”

“Of course,” Honeysuckle continued brightly, not having seen Diamond’s actions, “if we have early snows this year that come in Winterfilth, the roads may be impassable so that I shall not be able to return to the North Farthing myself for quite some time. It was that as well as the harvest of 1429 which kept your father at home.” She gave a soft chuckle and looked to her daughter.

“Yes,” Diamond said nervously, and then it was her turn to look away and give a distracted sip to her tea. “I am glad you could come,” she said with her face turned away, “for Cap--” she swallowed and began again, “for Pippin does not wish me to be alone right now.”

“Diamond?” Honeysuckle asked when her daughter did not continue. She shot an uneasy glance toward the corridor and leaned forward to ask worriedly, “Lass?”

Diamond swallowed again, and set her teacup on the tray before her, then turned so that she was once again facing Honeysuckle and took her mother’s cup away as well. She reached to grasp both of Honeysuckle’s hands in hers. Then she took a deep breath.

“Lass?” Honeysuckle prompted again when a moment of silence followed. She began to lean toward her daughter with a mix of excitement and dread when Diamond suddenly giggled.

“Do you know,” she said, her eyes bright and a soft blush suffusing her cheeks, “I asked the cook to serve braised coney for supper one night not too long ago.”

Honeysuckle had opened her mouth, but Diamond giggled again and brought her mother’s hands over to rest near her own waist. “Mother,” she whispered with excitement and delight, “I am with child!”


“Mother?” Diamond asked as she at last pulled herself away from Honeysuckle’s silent embrace and reached for her hands once more. “Why are you crying?” she asked even though her own eyes were wet above her smile.

Honeysuckle, however, did not smile as she pulled one hand away to dash angrily at her cheek.

“Mother?” Diamond asked again in confusion, her smile fading, as Honeysuckle remained silent. “Are you not pleased?”

“Oh,” Honeysuckle said with vigor and swiped again at one eye. She reached out her hand to hover an inch away from Diamond’s cheek as she continued, “I knew always that you would do what is required, my lass,” she said softly, and brushed a thumb along Diamond’s cheek. “And I know you, and your family, will love the child that is to be.”

Diamond smiled then, briefly, and blushed as she looked down her front. Her mother, however, stayed silent, and curled her fingers to cup Diamond’s cheek.

When Diamond looked up again, Honeysuckle tightened her grip and stared steadily into Diamond’s eyes as she uttered, with fervor, “Oh, but I hope this babe will be a lad, so you must not need to suffer so again!”

“Mother?” Diamond gasped, her eyes wide, “shall it be so bad, then?

“I mean to say,” she added when Honeysuckle did not speak, “I know there shall be pain. But the healer says that when that is all over and done with, I shall no longer care that it is so. Mother?” Diamond’s eyes searched Honeysuckle’s face anxiously. “Is that not true?” She looked down again and placed a hand protectively over her belly.

“Diamond,” Honeysuckle sighed through the tears which continued to silently fall. She reached out to hug her daughter’s head to her bosom and began rocking herself unevenly back and forth in the chair. “My own precious lass.

“It is true, of course,” she said as she stroked Diamond’s curls, “that the child you bear comes to produce such love that you would rather it is you suffering the agonies of torment than the child, and that is as it must be to bring one into the world.”

Diamond twisted her head to look at her mother as Honeysuckle said, “And a mother, it seems, must continue to feel so, for that is my greatest regret that you and my younger are lasses, that you should suffer so.”

Diamond twisted her head again, and Honeysuckle could see that she frowned with worry and gripped her cheek again. “Oh, but my lass,” she said softly. “You have already been so brave.”

“Mother?” Diamond questioned and then, after a moment of silence, began casting about in her brain for an explanation. The pattern of her life, she knew, had been different from the one that other hobbitesses followed.

“Oh, but Mother,” she said eagerly, twisting round to sit back upon the settee and out of Honeysuckle’s arms. “It’s all right, really it is,” she assured now, reaching for Honeysuckle’s cheek in turn. “I have come to love Pippin, and he to love me,” she stated simply.

“Yes,” Honeysuckle sighed and bent her head forward onto her hands, to say from behind them, “and your father and I love each other as well.”

“Then what--” Diamond chewed her lip a moment before asking again, hesitantly, “what did you mean that I had already been brave?”

“Ah, child,” Honeysuckle sighed again and dropped her hands, then used them to draw both of Diamond’s again into her lap. “I -- I could not,” she began hesitantly, “tell to you the lies that were told to me.”

Diamond’s mouth had opened, and she would have questioned, “Lies?” but Honeysuckle squeezed her hands and said with determination, “I know what it is to be a hobbitess in the Shire, one who desires to follow the path laid out before her, with a hobbit of her own.

“And I know how it is to be giggling, and laughed at, with sisters and cousins and hobbitesses all, before we are wed, to think what may occur when at last we are, with our very own hobbit, alone behind the closed doors of our very own smial.

“Giggling!” she exclaimed, and did so herself, though it was sad. “It is a serious thing of which to make light, but it is the way of all hobbitesses to use light words when speaking of such.

“Except...” she squeezed Diamond’s hands even harder and looked deeply into her eyes. “Except I could not do so. I could not tell you, before you knew, yourself, of all the specifics and strike in you a fear of all your life would be, but neither could I not tell you true, that what it is other hobbitesses giggle at is pain, and burning -- such pain that it fills an honorable gentlehobbit like your father with regret -- and that,” here she dipped her voice to a whisper and seemed not to speak to Diamond at all, “that it intensifies so at the childbed you think you are going mad. Yes,” she whispered still, “yes, even if Ganelon had not been turned such as to break my hip, I would have thought it was so.”

Honeysuckle came back to herself and said, louder, “I did not tell you before you wed that it would be so. Please forgive me,” and she hung her head.

“Oh! Mother!” Diamond cried out and jumped from the settee to stand above Honeysuckle in the chair and embrace her. “How -- how horrid! I am so sorry for you, but -- but it is not so for me! I --”

She was blushing, but a light came into Diamond’s eyes, and she began tugging at Honeysuckle to remove her from the chair. “There is a lasses’ healer, here, and she helped me to know what to do. She must be able to help you as well, Mother, I am sure of it!”

Diamond looked wildly at her mother, who unsteadily extricated herself from the chair.

“I must now do as you think best, daughter,” Honeysuckle said with resignation as she rose. When standing, she placed a hand on Diamond’s cheek and said huskily to her, “There are many hobbitesses who are braver than I. I should be glad, I suppose, that you are one of them.

“But things,” she said and let her hand fall, shaking her head as she allowed Diamond to lead her, “things are as they are.”



Pippin reached up and snatched an apple as he strolled under the tree at the end of Crickhollow’s lane. He looked across the Shire, toward the west, for the the -- well, he wasn’t sure what number of times this made today, because he wasn’t counting. Was he?

He bit into the apple and stepped deftly aside as the pony came thundering in at the gate, kicking up dust as it went.

He sauntered behind, still eating the apple, as it headed toward the stables.

“I’ll thank you to let me spoil my own pony, Peregrin Took!” Estella said a few minutes later as she dismounted from walking the beast around in circles. She swatted Pippin’s hand away from the pony’s nose and took the apple core herself, whispering soft murmurings between the pony’s ears as it bent its head down to take the treat.

“So, I see you still ride, then,” Pippin said conversationally, leaning back against a nearby stall where his pony Sorrel dozed.

“Aye,” Estella said shortly and reached for the currycomb.

Pippin placed his hands in his pockets and wrinkled his brow as he looked toward the west, which Estella observed as she turned back to her pony, though Pippin did not notice her.

“Do you still jump, then?” he asked with a tone of concern as Estella lifted her eyes to see him again looking toward the west before she bowed her head to the comb.

“There is no reason not to,” she said quietly as she groomed the pony, then waited a beat before adding, “but I do not.”

She looked up at Pippin and opened her mouth, but it was a different question than she had started that came out. “So, where is Merry?” she asked lightly as she moved the comb along. “I thought you were here to visit with your cousin.”

“I am visiting with my cousin,” Pippin said with a grin. Estella shot him a look, which included her tongue making an appearance between her lips, and he laughed as she turned her attention back to the pony.

“He needed to stay at the Hall longer,” Pippin shrugged, “to tend to some more business about his birthday party and whatnot with Uncle Saradoc. I just decided to come back here.” He looked again toward the west as he finished.

“Hmm,” Estella said, looking at him in a different way now. As she bent toward the pony’s leg, she ask casually, “So, when is the babe expected?”

Pippin gave a start. “How -- how did you know?” he asked, bewildered, and then a grin spread across his face as he rocked back on his heels.

“Solmath, we think,” he said happily, “or mayhap Rethe.

“I didna want Diamond to travel,” he chattered happily on, “so that is why she couldna come. And her mother is visiting to the Smials, so she shallna be alone.” He rocked back and forth again, and also looked again west, this time with a smile on his face.

“Alone.” Estella rolled her eyes and blew a strand of hair out of her face. “At the Smials. Hoy,” she said in exasperation as she picked up another pony foot. “Pippin, you have three sisters. Have you ever known any of them to need a nursemaid when they were with child?”

“’Tis different,” Pippin said and stubbornly crossed his arms. He also sneaked another glance toward the direction of Tuckborough.

“Hoy,” Estella muttered in a whisper toward the pony’s hoof. “You’re one of the most different hobbits I know, Peregrin Took.”

Her head bent, she did not see that Pippin returned the look she had given him earlier -- the one with the protruding tongue.

“What about you?” Pippin asked a few moments later. “You and Merry with -- with expecting a babe,” he concluded and stuck his hands back in his pockets as he blushed.

Estella sighed and looked once at him before gazing back at her pony and replying, “That’s different, too.”

There was quiet for a moment, except for the animals’ whuffling, and then Estella finished her grooming of the pony and leaned her arm against it as she said to Pippin, “It is not something I wish to experience unless we are at Brandy Hall. And Merry does not wish to remove to the Hall.”

“’Twouldn’t -- ‘twouldn’t it be easier for such business as now if he were at the Hall as well?” Pippin asked slowly after a few moments, rocking his weight just as slowly from the front of his feet to the back.

“’Twouldn’t it be easier, Merry,” he turned and asked brightly as hooves clomped outside the stable and Merry led his pony in, “for your business, I mean, if you were to remove to the Hall?”

Estella busied herself with the currycomb and her pony again while Merry jovially answered, “Certainly not, Pip! There’s no need for such confinement yet.

“While you, my dear cousin,” he hugged Pippin’s head under one arm while holding to the pony’s lead with the other, “ may have been a bit of an afterthought to hobbits who are getting on in years and want to start setting things aright, my Da has seven years of age -- or, I should say, of youth -- upon yours, and stout Brandybuck constitution besides. There’s no need for more changes around here,” he concluded s he released Pippin from the awkward headlock of a hug and tousled his hair. “Things are quite fine as they are.”



Mistress Eglantine Took slid onto the banquette at the bake shop in Tuckborough and reached up to adjust her hat. Across the table sat her daughter, Pervinca Proudfoot.

“Hello, dear,” Eg said, having set the hat aright. Pervinca nodded distractedly as she leaned from her seat to snatch at Bramimond and rub the icing from his face.

“I...had not thought, perhaps, that I should be able to come for this market day, this month,” Eg said carefully as she drew her gloves from her fingers.

Pervinca’s eyes looked wildly at her for a moment, before she was again distracted by her children.

Nine-year-old Clover it was, this time, who demanded, “Mama, mayn’t we go down the street to the smithy’s? He has made a new puzzle, and will be showing it to all the children who’ve come in from the countryside today as the shops stay open, and hadn’t we ought to see it, too?” Six-year-old Bramimond and four-year-old Harcourt stood arrayed behind her, Bram clutching two-year-old Ivy in his arms. Clover looked pointedly at her mother and then turned to curtsy politely to Eg. “Hello, Grandmama,” she said.

Pervinca closed her eyes a moment and then stared back at her child just as pointedly. “Yes,” she agreed sternly, “you had ought to see it, I suppose. but mind you all come back soon and great your grandmother properly!”

“Yes, Mama,” they chorused, and with bobs of heads and scurries of feet, they were out the door.

Pervinca turned back to the table just as the bake shop owner was placing mugs of tea and plates of cake before her and her mother, and Eg murmured her thanks.

When that hobbit had gone, Pervinca began to dig her fork into her cake, only to stop when Eg said gently, “Pervinca, I don’t know if I shall be able to stay long enough to see the children again. I did mention that it had been hard for me to come a’tall.”

“Why?” Pervinca asked, holding her fork poised between her plate and mouth, her eyes guilelessly wide.

Eglantine sighed and fiddled with her cup before taking it up. “I do not like to leave your father,” she said into the depths of her tea. “He has good days and bad days, ‘tis true, and the bad are not so terrible nor so often that I wish to worry your brother yet, when--” she stopped and sipped at her tea, a soft smile alighting her face from within even in its sadness. “I worry, ‘tis all,” she concluded in a whisper.

Pervinca fiddled with her curls with one hand, and her fork with the other, conveying herself small bites of the cake, and the two ate in companionable silence for a few moments.

“I should hope,” Eg said with a strained smile as she finished her cake, “that you should fee the same about leaving your husband to fend, if the situation were ever to arise.”

Pervinca’s brow darkened, and she nibbled at her cake. “I dare say he should get along quite fine, with all the Proudfoot relations,” she muttered.

Eg’s smile faded, and she wrapped both hands around her mug to sip at her tea.

Pervinca looked up from her own mug a few seconds later to say, simply, “But, Mama, I thought you liked to meet upon market day.”

Eglantine smiled truly and placed one hand over her daughter’s. “Of course I do, dear. Why, ‘tis nearly the only time I get to see you,” she laughed and withdrew her hand to to place it round her mug again. “And the children, as well. I do love to see all my grandchildren, you know,” she said and smiled a funny smile again, her eyes wandering.

Pervinca saw, and wondered. She narrowed her eyes.

“Although ‘tis strange,” Eg laughed off her mood, “to see this particular lass of mine with four babes of her own. You were never so like to play with dollies, or to use your brother as one, as your sisters were.”

“Nay,” Pervinca whispered, using her fingers now to crumple the remains of her cake into smaller crumbs.

“Nay, ‘tis true,” Eg went lightly on. “You were too close in age, I suppose. I was more like to find you and Pippin tearing at each other’s hair beneath the nursery table.”

“Aye,” Pervinca grinned, and laughed, and then her smile faded and she brushed the last of the crumbs from her fingers as children’s voices were heard approaching. A wistful look was upon her face as she said to her mother, “There are some things a lass cannot control, I suppose.”