Chapter 49. Coming Home

The smell of baking bread, wafting through the little smial, wakened Woodruff. She stretched slowly, wondering at the heaviness that wound her limbs as if with leaden chains. Her head, too, felt heavy as she arose, and not even the thought that she had passed what remained of the night in her own bed, for a change, could cheer her.

She washed her face and arms in the water from the pitcher that Beryl refreshed twice daily, and running her fingers through her hair thought with a grimace that she could use a good, soaking bath, but likely the water would just be heated and poured out when another call came for the healer.

With a sigh she dampened her hair with the water in the basin, soaped it and lathered it as briskly as her aching arms would allow, and then bent over the basin to rinse out the soap with the remainder of the pitcher's contents.

'Aw, now,' Beryl said, bustling into the room. 'If you'd just asked, I could have helped you, Sweetie! Just a moment, then...' and she was gone and back again, in just that moment, with the ewer from her own room, pouring water over Woodruff's bent head as she helped work out the remaining lather.

'There now,' she said briskly, applying towel with enough vigour to bring a glow to the recipient of her attentions. 'A bath would be the thing, I think, but second breakfast is nearly on the table, and...'

'Second breakfast,' Woodruff said dully, turning to take her clothes from the chair where she'd tossed them before crawling into bed. But they weren't there... they had been replaced by clean, fresh and pressed garments, smelling of sunshine and late summer breezes. 'What happened to early breakfast?'

Beryl helped her to do up the buttons, as for some reason her fingers were clumsy and wooden. 'You slept right through early breakfast,' she said, doing her best to sound businesslike, but she also managed to brush the back of her hand against Woodruff's face, unable to suppress a frown at the result. 'And a good thing, too, I warrant, before you wear yourself to a nubbin.'

She took up the comb and gently worked it through Woodruff's tousled, damp curls as the healer finished dressing, finally tucking the hair up in a net to dry further before being braided and pulled out of the way, wound into a bun.

The healer sat down with a sigh at the kitchen table, where three places were set, but only two of the cups were filled with steaming tea. 'Where's Mardi?' she said. 'Ought I to...'

'Mardi is over at the folks' and soon to return with a pot of gooseberry jam, if he discharges his duties satisfactorily,' Beryl said with a push on Woodruff's shoulders to keep her in her chair. 'And Hetty is sitting with old Granny Goodchild whilst the old gammer's son travels to the Great Smials to bring the Thain's share of his crops, to pay the rent on the land, y'know. It's that time of year... half the farmers hereabouts are on their way to the Smials, to pay the year's rent and shop in Tuckborough for what they cannot find in Whitwell. It's been wondrous' quiet this morning, with no calls for a healer. Perhaps the Tooks have left off their foolish ways for the moment.'

'Calm before the storm,' Woodruff said, but Beryl laughed.

'Calm after, you mean,' she said. She refrained from asking what was the matter; it was plain to her that Sweetie was absolutely exhausted after the long stretch of impossibly busy days. Instead she occupied herself buttering toast and taking the top off Sweetie's egg and pouring out a foaming glass of milk and scooping a bowl full of lovely stewed fruits and pouring rich cream over.

Woodruff, however, simply sat staring at the food.

'Word came this morning,' Beryl said nonchalantly, moving the salt cellar a little closer to Woodruff, 'that young Ferdi is out of danger, and all are talking about how you pulled him through in spite of...'

'Don't,' Woodruff said with a shudder, covering her face.

'O now, Sweetie, you're all wrung out,' Beryl said, rising in alarm and going to hug the healer.

But a knock came at the door, and the healer stiffened and half-rose.

'That doesn't sound like a mishap,' Beryl said, cocking a practiced ear. 'More of a social call, I think. I'll send them away.' And she pushed Woodruff back down in her chair. 'Eat something, now, before I take alarm and pop you back into your bed and bring you milk-toast or some other soppy stuff.'

Woodruff picked up her spoon but stared dully at the plate in front of her, and her stomach turned over at the thought of digging into the rich yellow yolk of the waiting egg.

'Eat!' Beryl tossed over her shoulder, on her way to the door, and so in self-defence Woodruff took up a piece of dry toast from the toast rack, bypassing the nicely buttered slice on her plate, and nibbled at the crust.

'I'm eating!' she returned, affecting a mouthful. Truth be told, she detested milk-toast, though she prescribed it without mercy.

At first she paid no mind to the voices at the door; at Beryl's pleasant, calm greeting it was evident that the caller was not tense and panicky at all, but smiling. She heard Beryl make excuses, but the talk went on perhaps longer than customary for a visitor being turned away (which, while not common in hobbit society, was allowed for in circumstances of illness or other indisposition). Woodruff was only half-listening, however, still sunk deep in the miseries of her thoughts.

Perhaps she ought not to be a healer at all... to make such a mistake, starving young Ferdi until he was weak and wandering. It had taken a sensible hobbit, and no healer in the bargain, to set right what had been amiss. And all because Woodruff had lost her nerve, had been lost in the nightmare memory of the past.

And what would the hobbits of Whitwell do for a healer? a part of her mind said, and she shook her head in frustration. Surely they could do better than a half-trained apprentice!

You have the bulk of my knowledge, Sweetbriar's voice echoed in her memory, the gentle tone taking on a mocking edge as Woodruff's remorseless self-judgment continued. All you are lacking is the weight of experience, and that comes in time.

She jumped at Beryl's touch on her shoulder. 'I'm that sorry, Sweetie,' Beryl said, 'but he's most insistent; says he must speak with you this morning, and he won't be put off.' And something in Beryl's tone told Woodruff that this was an important hobbit, one Beryl hesitated to put out.

Pulling herself together, she laid down the nibbled toast. 'Very well,' she said, rising.

As Woodruff turned towards the door, Beryl laid a shawl about her shoulders. 'The morning's brisk,' she said, tucking the shawl in place. 'I don't want you to catch a chill.'

Bilbo Baggins stood at the door. His eyes were bright and keen as he searched the young healer's face, and he nodded to himself as if he found what he expected. 'Healer Woodruff,' he said politely, with a respectful bow, and then with a glance at Beryl, he added, 'If we might take a turn about the garden...'

'We were just sitting down to breakfast,' Beryl said stiffly, divining somehow that this gentlehobbit had something to do with Woodruff's miserable state.

'A breath of fresh air would do me well,' Woodruff answered bravely, though she did not want to hear what Bilbo had to say. Most likely he'd only confirm the doubts she had, and urge her to seek out more training before she threatened the lives of any more of the hobbits of Whitwell.

'It'll go cold...!' Beryl sputtered, but Woodruff patted her arm with a smile she didn't feel.

'You have my egg, then,' she said, 'or give it to Mardi...' for that hobbit was just at the gate, staring curiously at Bilbo, though he greeted him most politely.

'But...' Beryl said.

'You haven't breakfasted, my dear?' Bilbo said. 'I can return later, but really this little matter of business won't take long.'

'Come and join us,' Beryl said, suppressing her reluctance. It was the hospitable thing to do, but what Woodruff needed at the moment was rest and quiet, not to entertain a visitor, no matter how distinguished.

'I just wanted a private word,' Bilbo said. 'Don't let me disturb your breakfast.'

'You start without me,' Woodruff said to Mardi and Beryl, and she deliberately reached to take Bilbo's arm. 'We'll take a turn about the garden, admire the chrysanthemums, and be right in for breakfast...'

Beryl nodded, catching the unspoken message. She was to set another place for the gentlehobbit, as was the proper thing to do. 'Very well,' she said, and tugged at Mardi's arm. 'Come along, Mardi...'

Woodruff and Bilbo walked down the little path to the gate, for all the world appearing to scrutinise the roses climbing both sides of the arbour. They were as private as they might have been in Woodruff's sitting room, once Beryl and Mardi disappeared into the little smial, for the dusty street was deserted.

At last the young healer spoke. 'I ought to thank you...' she began. 'I might've killed young Ferdi with my caution, and you with your common sense...'

'And I came to apologise for interfering, however well-meaning,' Bilbo interrupted, fingering a half-blown rose. He bent to sniff the bloom and examined a few of the leaves, looking for signs of blackspot, perhaps, and nodding absently to find none.

'If not for your interference...' Woodruff said.

'You would have fed the lad in the morning; I've no doubt in the matter,' Bilbo said. 'Admirable caution, considering his injuries. You wanted to wait as long as possible, to allow healing, and put off the agonies that food would bring were his injuries too severe to heal...'

'It was not that at all,' Woodruff said, fighting down the lump in her throat. 'I was in the grip of indecision... and if you hadn't...'

Bilbo shook his head, and his hand tightened on her arm. 'You're young, yet,' he said, 'and have much to learn that only experience can teach you. You'll make your share of mistakes...' and he smiled briefly before continuing, 'believe me, you will. I know I have! But I've been inquiring, and I've found that you're very well thought-of around here, and not just because you've been riding on Sweetbriar's coattails... er... train.'

Woodruff couldn't help smiling as the hobbit switched his metaphor from male apparel to female, stammering a little in the process, and at her smile Bilbo laughed. 'That's better!' he said. 'In any event, you didn't inherit your reputation from Sweetbriar; you earned the good opinion of the hobbits in the area through your hard work, dedication, and good sense.'

'Good sense!' Woodruff protested, only to be interrupted by a halloo as Ferdibrand ("Old Ferdi", that is) Took rode up in the company of his niece Rosemary.

All signs of worry and weariness were gone, and the mischief sparkled in the hobbit's eyes as he jumped down from his saddle and turned to help his niece down from hers, and though young Rosemary didn't need the help, she took the hand and stepped down with all the propriety she hadn't shown earlier.

'Ah, Ferdi,' Bilbo said. 'Young Rosie talked her father round, I take it?'

Ferdibrand laughed and squeezed Rosemary's hand. 'She did!' he said, 'with a little help from all the rest of us... and it didn't take much talk, as it were, for he was something of the same mind himself, save for the fact that he'd promised Rosie the mare would never be sold away from her.'

'And she's not being sold,' Rosemary said.

'Well, then, I'll just take myself off...' Bilbo said.

'But you're invited to breakfast!' Woodruff protested. 'Beryl's set an extra place, and...'

Bilbo laughed. 'She'd have to set a lot of extra places, I fear, for the stream of visitors due to knock upon your door this morning...'

'Stream...' Woodruff said, wondering.

'I left young Pippin at the smith's, in the care of his cousin Frodo,' Bilbo said. 'They were watching a particularly difficult pony having a trim. Quite interesting, too, how a twitch of the lip can subdue such an enormous creature... I must remember that, next time I must deal with dragons...'

Ferdibrand cleared his throat at this piece of whimsy, and Bilbo returned to the point. 'In any event, the lad had something he wanted to say to you as well, so I'll just go and fetch him, shall I, so that you may retire to your breakfast in peace sooner rather than later...?' He bowed and took himself off, leaving Woodruff facing Ferdibrand and Rosemary.

'Well now,' Ferdibrand said, and stopped.

Rosemary stepped forward, her young face very serious, and extended her mare's rein to Woodruff. 'Here,' she said.

'What...?' Woodruff answered, feeling most stupid.

'I want you to have her,' Rosemary said, putting the rein into Woodruff's hand and closing the healer's fingers over it. 'She's fast, and gentle, and you've ridden her already so you know how well she handles, how sensitive she is, how responsive...'

'I... I couldn't...' Woodruff stammered, holding the rein and looking from the pony's wise gaze, to Rosemary's earnest face.

'You need a good pony, being the only healer hereabouts,' Rosemary said.

'I know, and I've been saving towards...' Woodruff said.

'It's not right, that you should have to run when you're sorely needed, and arrive out-of-breath and already weary,' Rosemary said, 'unless someone has a pony to send, to fetch you... but not everybody does!'

'I...' Woodruff said helplessly.

'You saved my brother's life,' Rosemary said, 'and then you left before even accepting any payment. Well, here's your payment...'

Woodruff couldn't answer; of a sudden there seemed to be a lacking in the air around her and she could scarcely catch her breath.

'The mare was never to be sold,' Ferdibrand said ponderously, 'but she is Rosemary's, to give, if that is what she truly wishes.'

'It is,' Rosemary affirmed, patting the sleek neck that bowed towards her.

'But I...' Woodruff stammered. 'The customary fee is a silver penny, two at most...'

'Or that value in trade,' Rosemary said. 'She's worth at least a silver penny, I'd say, or perhaps two.'

Woodruff stared. The mare was worth a great many silver pennies.

Ferdibrand chuckled. 'Perhaps two,' he said.

'You're not serious,' Woodruff said, but Rosemary shook her head.

'I'm quite serious,' she said. 'O I am not a careless lass, and I know very well what the pony would fetch at market, for I've been to market with Father and Uncle, but Windfoot is worth my brother's life, at least, though Ferdi's worth more to me than heaps of silver pennies, and ponies besides!'

And somehow Ted was there, and had been standing there, how long Woodruff did not know, but he stepped forward, took the rein from her unresisting hand, and said, 'I'll just put her away, then.' As if he were making the decision for her! Part of Woodruff stood apart in amazed indignation, but for the most part she stood frozen, unable to take it all in.

'We'll just be going then,' Ferdibrand said, but Beryl called from the smial.

'Will you come in to breakfast? I've set extra places!'

And somehow Woodruff found herself at table once more, with Beryl and Mardi and Ferdibrand and Rosemary and a few empty places.

The egg cups had been taken away--the eggs had sat much too long as it were--but there was plenty of food for the eating, what with little sausages and sliced cheese and fresh-baked bread, and butter, and honey, and gooseberry preserves.

It was not long before Ted came in, washed his hands, and joined them.

Woodruff was rather at a loss for words, but the others carried the conversation in a lively manner, and so she ate rather mechanically, her head still awhirl from recent events.

And when a tap came at the door, Beryl arose hastily to welcome Bilbo and Frodo and Pippin, and there was still food aplenty, and extra places set, for somehow Beryl had either overheard Bilbo's remark about "a stream of visitors" or had come to the same conclusion herself.

Pippin carried a bundle which he placed carefully under his chair when he sat, and when Beryl got up to refresh the teapot, Bilbo rose as well, scooping up the bundle and catching Beryl's arm, whispering in her ear, and sitting down again, well-pleased. Beryl took the bundle into the kitchen with her, and if any of the breakfasters wondered, they most likely thought the package contained more sausages from the butcher, or sweet rolls from the baker, or some similar contribution to the table.

But when Beryl emerged from the kitchen, she bore, not the plain but serviceable brown earthenware teapot, but rather a delicate china vessel, with a pattern of thistles hand-painted upon its creamy sides.

'There you are, Sweetie,' Beryl murmured, pouring the steaming tea from the restored treasure into Woodruff's cup while Pippin and Bilbo both beamed.

'Oh...' the healer gasped, her eyes filling with tears.

'Don't you like it?' Pippin piped anxiously.

'O it's... it's... love...ly...' Woodruff managed, but on the last word her reserves washed completely away under the assault of tears, and she buried her face in her hands and dissolved.

She didn't hear Beryl's whispered explanation (absolutely exhausted, the poor dear) or the scrape of chairs or the soft well-wishes of the departing hobbits. Really, she knew nothing at all of her surroundings, until she gradually became aware that a pair of sheltering arms enveloped her, a hand was stroking her hair, her face rested against a strong shoulder, and a gentle voice was soothing.

At last she lifted her head, noting absently the soggy spot on the snowy linen shirt where her streaming eyes had rested. One of the supporting arms moved away, and a pocket handkerchief appeared before her. Taking it, she wiped at her face and blew her nose, and at last looked up into the face that she loved better than any other. 'Ted?' she whispered.

'I'm here, dearest, and will be for always, if you wish it to be.'

'For always,' she murmured, laying her head against him once more, at last finding her peace.