Three - Quandaries

“Gelly, you can do better than this,” said Pippin in a low voice, careful not to disturb his other students--Tilby and Hilly--scribbling out their assignments nearby. “We’ve gone over…how…” Pippin’s concentration was momentarily broken when Sapphira entered the study.

The two-week recuperation period for her ankle was nearly complete; the young nursemaid hobbled around wherever she went, gradually taking on more of the responsibilities of caring for the children. Pippin watched her limp over to a certain book case and replace the book that she held into an empty slot. While the lass lingered over a particular section of books, it seemed to Pippin that Sapphira was choosing another to read later that evening to quiet the boys before bed. He watched her slender fingers glide over the leather bindings as she silently read the titles to herself.

“Uncle Pippin,” whispered Gelly, nudging his uncle’s arm. “Mum says gawping at someone is rude.”

Trying to appear blasé, Pippin cleared his throat, attempting to refocus. “I only wanted to ensure Miss Sapphira didn’t require assistance with putting the book back on the shelf.”

Gelly smirked, “She sprained her ankle, Uncle Pippin, not her arm.”

“Very funny, Mr. I-can’t-remember-the-definitions-to-my-study-words.” Pippin wrote several words on a leaf of paper then slid it in front of Gelly. “I’ll give you five minutes to go over these again. It will be interesting to see if you’ve been paying attention.”

The twelve year old immediately engaged himself with writing while Pippin snuck another glimpse in the direction of Sapphira. He was just in time to watch the lass with light-brown coloured hair hobble out of the room carrying two newly chosen books. For a while, Pippin wondered when the next opportunity would lend itself for him to learn more about her. He didn’t have long to ponder, recalling the invitation he received the week before from Buckland. Merry was throwing a birthday party for his lovely bride of five years. It had been a long while since Pippin attended a party or social gathering without a young maiden accompanying him. There would already be a thousand questions from his friends as to why Posey Headstrong wouldn’t be on his arm, although they wouldn‘t be brazen enough to ask while in Sapphira’s presence. The more Pippin mused on the idea, the more he liked it; Sapphira North-took would be the perfect diversion to fend off the unwanted questions--not to mention a lovely lass to get to know better.

“I’m finished,” announced Gelly. He slid the paper back in front of Pippin to look over. He giggled at seeing his dear uncle start out of his reverie.

Pippin read the handiwork of his nephew. “Objectivism: the ability of my Uncle Pippin to think about Miss Sapphira without any preconceived notion that she even notices him.” Pippin shot Gelly a look of disdain before going on. “Panoply: A collection of lads, including my Uncle Pippin, that Miss Sapphira keeps bound to her heart so that other hobbits may observe them for amusement.” Pippin’s jaw dropped, with a fleeting glance at his nephew he read further. “Qualitative: Relating to measure or quality--as lovebirds often do of sizing up one another. For example, my Uncle gaping at Miss Sapphira while she chooses a book. Rencounter: a chance meeting between hobbits, such as the one my Uncle fancies in his dreams--involving none other than…” Pippin glared at Gelly, “Miss Sapphira.” He whacked his nephew over the head with the very paper the novel definitions were written upon. “Just for that, my dear ass, you can do all of the rest of the words I gave you this morning.”

Gelly laughed, dramatically placing both hands over his heart. “Love…marriage…nuptials…oaths…promises--” The younger boys stopped in their studies to laugh at their older brother’s antics.

Pippin tried his best to properly admonish the lad, but a slight grin appeared in spite of his efforts. “You’re full of cheek today, aren’t you? Those aren’t the words I gave you, you gooseberry,” said Pippin. He looked at his timepiece--twelve o’clock. “Fortunate for you, Gelbrin Brownfield, the time for morning studies are over. I have just enough time to write a letter to your Uncle Merry, see a friend for a wee favour, have lunch with Grandma in the south garden, then attend to business with Grandpapa in his office this afternoon.”

“My studies haven’t ended,” said Gelly, his smile half gone. “After my music lessons, I have more reading and arithmetic.”

Pippin’s smile reappeared. “I know--I’m the one who gave it all to you if you recall. And you, and you…” he said, tweaking the noses of Tilby and Hilly. “Extra studies help to keep you and your brothers out of mischief. No more pranks from you three,” he said firmly then rose to his feet. “Now I must be off.” Just as he stepped away from his chair, Sapphira reappeared in the doorway, cane in hand this time to help her walk.

“Hullo, Sapphira,” Pippin greeted the lass, speaking softly as if he were dreaming.

“Hullo, Mr. Pippin,” she responded, smiling in kind. “I’m here to claim the boys. Come along, lads,” she said, herding the hungry children with one hand while leaning on her cane with the other. “Luncheon will be in your quarters today.”

Pippin thought to ask Sapphira about accompanying him to his cousin’s birthday party, then thought better of it. He would need a bit more privacy.

~ ~ ~

The next opportunity for Pippin to talk more with Sapphira came later that afternoon. He had just left a meeting between himself and the overseers of the Smials’ staff, heading back towards his father’s office. He turned round at hearing his name called out. It was Sapphira.

“Hullo,” Pippin greeted her with a smile, then saw the frantic look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

Sapphira limped towards Pippin with a half-hearted smile in return. “Hullo, Pippin. Have you seen Gelly?”

“Is Gelly missing?”

The lass sighed, trying to fight tears of frustration. “Yes and no. That child is beginning to ruffle my feathers. The lads and I were on our way to their music lessons. Gelly said he forgot his music book, so I allowed him to go back to his room to fetch it. He was gone for a long time, so I went back to the apartment and discovered the lad’s book where he left it--on his bed, and now he’s nowhere to be found. Gelly seems to think he doesn’t need a nursemaid.”

Pippin let out the breath he subconsciously held when he figured Gelly was all right. “I need to inform my father--”

“No!” pleaded Sapphira. “Telling the Thain that I lost his grandson would mean the end of my job!”

“No, it won’t,” said Pippin, attempting to calm the lass. “We all know how mischievous that boy can be. You’re not in any trouble, Sapphira--he is. However, Gelly is right; he doesn’t need a nursemaid to mind him. He’s almost thirteen--which means he’s old enough to know better. Now, come with me. I can see that your ankle is giving you trouble.” Pippin delighted in Sapphira leaning onto his arm as they walked towards the Thain’s office. “When did you last see him?” he asked, walking slowly to keep pace with Sapphira’s sore ankle.

“About thirty minutes ago. I was just on my way outside to see if he was in the garden,” she answered.

“Trust me,” said Pippin, holding the door to the office open for her, “he won’t be anywhere near the garden--it’s too close to home. He already knows he’s in trouble so Gelly’s as far away as he possibly can be--that is, without getting into even more trouble.”

Sapphira looked at Pippin with a puzzled expression. “And how do you know this?”

“Once upon a time I was his age,” Pippin replied with a wink. “Also…it takes a scoundrel to know one.” Then he added more seriously, “He began doing this sort of thing with Molena before she left to get married.” When the Thain’s office seemed a bit too quiet, Pippin remembered that he was deputy Thain for a few hours that afternoon while his father engaged in a very important meeting of his own; in his and Eglantine’s quarters--napping upon their soft feather mattress. Not one to divulge his father’s extracurricular “duties”, Pippin scanned the office then casually stated, “Looks as if father is busy elsewhere.”

He assisted Sapphira in settling onto a chair then drew another chair up in front of her to sit upon. Pippin had a theory that right now--inside the seclusion of his father’s office--would be the perfect time to ask his question, but first to ease Sapphira about Gelly.“The lad will be all right wherever his is for the time being. He can’t be far away. Second, you can’t go running round on your ankle like that. Give me half a moment and then I will go look for him.” Then for reasons unknown, Pippin suddenly stood to his feet and began to pace around the room. Not nervously, but just trying to sort out exactly what he would say in making his petition.

Sapphira remained worried, but trusted the future Thain’s judgment in this matter. “I suppose a moment won’t hurt.” Sapphira puzzled at Pippin pacing between the hearth and where they sat. “For a grown hobbit, you look like a tweenager having been caught in the very act of misbehaving and now await your punishment.”

Pippin abruptly stopped his pacing. “Beg your pardon?” He honestly hadn’t heard a word of what Sapphira just spoke.

“Never mind,” she answered, gingerly raising her sore ankle to place atop her other foot. Pippin was correct; it truly had begun to ache again, and in her haste to find the lad she left her cane back in the Brownfield’s apartment.

When Pippin noticed Sapphira massaging her foot, he rushed up to the young lass to help, gently setting it on top of his own empty chair. He spied the vacant couch full of cushions. He lifted the lass, ferrying her to the long comfortable sofa to stretch out her leg upon it.

“What are you doing?” she asked in surprise.

“I’m taking you to the couch where your ankle can take its ease.”

“Pip--,” she yelped, no longer amused. “Lest you have forgotten, Gelly is my responsibility and he is missing. I need to go out and find him.”

“And we will, but I want to ask you a question, first,” Pippin responded, settling her on the couch, then sat upon the edge of the tea table beside the sofa. “I know where the boy is…sort of. He most likely ran into Reggies’s lads, Siggi and Addie, then ran off to the stables with them. Gelly’s obsessed with ponies right now.”

This information did put Sapphira at ease a bit. “Well, all right. What sort of question do you have--then we have to go look for him--agreed?”

“Agreed. It’s the sort of question that should get me into trouble if I don’t ask you,” Pippin replied.

Sapphira looked incredulously at him, “In trouble? With whom?”

“With myself,” he answered.

“How so?” Sapphira asked, her hazel-blue eyes locking on Pippin’s sparkling green ones. Her ill humour softened under his tender gaze. Sapphira blushed as she looked away. “Besides, you’re already in trouble,” she said quietly.

Smiling, Pippin absently took Sapphira’s hand in his. “I am?” (Well…we can’t exactly say ‘absently’--Pippin knew exactly what he was doing.) Just then, Both young hobbits startled to hear the door to the office suddenly burst open. Pippin jumped to his feet.

Pimpernel swung open the study doors shouting, “Father, Gelly’s mis…sing…again…” Pimpernel stopped abruptly in the doorway when she noticed her father was nowhere in sight. Instead there were two other, young hobbits--a lad and a lass. The redeeming factor was Pim seeing her brother standing up beside the tea table. “Pippin? Sapphira? What are you two doing in here…alone?” she demanded, cocking an eyebrow at the young hobbits.

Pippin knew what his sister was thinking. He was ready to defend Sapphira’s honour at the drop of a hat--no matter how skewed the alibi may be. “Sapphira was distraught that Gelly had disappeared on her. I brought her inside the office merely to calm her down.”

“Oh,” replied Pimpernel, a little more subdued. “Well then, come along you two,” she said, motioning the young hobbits in her direction. “We have to find that impudent child of mine.”

* * *

Study lessons were more peaceful than they had been the day before. Pippin accepted the essays and arithmetic problems he assigned the lads for evening study the day previous. “Your multiplications are improving, Tilby,” Pippin said quietly. “However…” He heard Tilby groan his frustration. Pippin gave the child’s arm a squeeze of encouragement, “…you still need a bit more practice. But take heart, Til--you have come far from a year ago. Remember when you had difficulties even memorizing your tables?”

“My mum--” the nine year old hesitated, absently chewing his fingernail. Should he tell on his beloved mum? Tilby felt his uncle take the hand away from his mouth.

“Don’t ruin your appetite before luncheon,” Pippin said, smiling. He tousled the boy’s curls, adding, “It’s fine if your mum helped you. It makes my job much easier.” Pippin looked over to the eldest lad, looking wholly disinterested in his lessons. Gelly sat with one arm up to prop his head at an angle while using the other to write out a dissertation on where he went the day before and why. It didn’t escape Pippin that Gelly had spoke very little to him all morning.

Even young Hilly felt the tension in the air. The six year old quietly scribbled out the answers to his subtractions on his own leaf of paper. Perhaps if he got Gelly talking, he would warm up and not be so cross anymore. Without warning, the small child stood up and announced loudly to everyone, “This morning--at second breakfast--Mummy said I could ride a pony when I’m eight!”

“That’s a long time from now, silly boy,” Tilby put in, though grateful for his brother’s mindless chatter.

“I’m not a silly boy--am I Uncle Pippin?”

Before Pippin could interject, Gelly none too gently put his quill-pen down on the table, roughly sliding his leaf of paper towards his uncle. “May I go now?” he asked tersely. The two arguing boys went silent as the rift between the other two hobbits appeared to grow wider.

Pippin carefully picked up the still-damp essay, surveying the many written lines in his nephew’s cursive writing. He quickly glanced at the lad sitting beside him; there was a storm brewing behind those young green eyes, and Pippin was about to bear the brunt of it…or maybe not. He read over his nephew’s essay, which was supposed to be a dissertation of why it is wrong to run off without letting someone know. Pippin resolved to get at the root of what was bothering this normally cheerful lad. “Very well, Gelly,” he said, “although I want to talk to you a bit later, though.”

Gelly smirked bitterly, “Fine. I’ll be where I’ll be for the next ten days--locked in my room. I am finished with all my assignments--may I go now?” Pippin knew Gelly wasn’t really “locked” in his room, but he understood that children will be children. As soon as he nodded, Gelly was up and out of the room. Pippin sighed as he watched him go.

~ ~ ~

Later in the day, in the early afternoon, Paladin leaned back in his high-back leather chair behind the Thain’s desk letting out a heavy sigh. Locking his fingers together behind his grey curls, he spoke to Pippin. “Suppose the Oldbarns have a bull, and Pimpernel has a cow at Whitwell. You remember the Oldbarns, don’t you?” He waited for Pippin to nod then went on. “The bull and cow meet in the middle of the pastures and have…a tryst. Concentrate, Pippin,” said the Thain when he saw his son smiling. “Cows procreate, too.”

“I know that Father--we had that talk when I was a wee lad, remember? However, if there is a fence in the middle of the pastures cows couldn’t possibly jump over it--it’s just not natural,” answered Pippin, smiling at the absurd notion of large animals jumping over fences.

Paladin smiled, thinking of one of his dear old cousin Bilbo’s songs. “You are in preparation for Thain, son. You are the student and I am the master. In my lessons to you, cows will jump over the moon if I wish them to!” He smiled again, watching his son laugh at his jest. Not too many years hence, Paladin mused, this young hobbit lad sitting in the chair across from him would hold the title of Took and Thain. And he will be a good Thain, thought Paladin. “Anyway,” he said aloud, “as I was saying, some time later the cow gives birth to a calf. The Oldbarns say the calf belongs to them. Pim says it’s hers. Whose calf is it?” He watched as the wheels began to turn in his son’s head, then smiled. “Remember--folks will be looking to you for answers in grievances such as these.”

Pippin scratched his head at hearing the quandary. After a long minute he sighed in frustration, “When the calf is older, it should be mine if I could get it to market fast enough!”

“Now, now, my lad,” said Paladin, pleased to have stumped his clever son for the time being, “don’t get discouraged, whatever you do. I’m giving you a few days to come up with your own solution.”

“Has this particular problem ever met up with you in the past?” asked the apprentice.

Paladin’s smile grew broader as he puffed on his pipe. “Remember that Yule we had fresh meat for supper?” He laughed when Pippin’s jaw dropped. “No! I was only jesting. Fortunately, I have not run into this sort of argument between hobbit families--but it has apparently come up in the past because this is one of the same questions that cousin Ferumbras asked me when I was under his tutelage.”

Pippin asked, “And what did you answer him?” (Got to give the lad an “A” for effort!)

Paladin laughed. “Off you go, lad!” he said, smiling at his son. “You’ve been inside this stuffy office long enough this afternoon. For myself, I shall sign a couple more documents and then call it day. The sun is shining her lovely face upon the meadows today and I mean to enjoy it with a lovely stroll in the garden with my beautiful bride.” Pippin smiled in response; he adored the idea of his grey-haired father and mother still being in love after fifty-three years of marriage.

A nice stroll in the garden was definitely a good idea; Pippin knew that Sapphira urged the children to spend time outdoors in the afternoons--although for the next week or so, Gelly would be spending his time indoors. As Pippin admired the sprouting greens and yellows of spring, he hoped to meet up with Sapphira--after all, he still had a question to ask her.

He sniffed in a breath of the cool, fresh air as he walked past blooming foliage. The sweet fragrance of the lilac bushes made Pippin stop and pause to whiff one of the flowers. As he closed his eyes to enjoy the smell, he imagined heard the joyous laughter of his youngest nephew not too far away. Making his way further into the depths of the garden, Pippin’s diligence was rewarded by the sight of Hilly and Sapphira in the middle of…

“That’s a lass’s game!” Pippin said in dismay, standing in the path of the garden. From his vantage point, he watched in horror as his youngest nephew hopped over a jump rope.

“What are you going on about?” asked Sapphira. In each of her hands she held the knotted ends of one long, length of thin rope that wrapped about the backside of her skirt. Her eyes twinkled with mirth, although Pippin didn’t see amusement in what his eyes beheld.

“That!” he said, waving his finger and pointing to the six year old boy. “I know a skipping-rope when I see it. My sisters used to play that game when we were children.”

“It is a jump rope--and it’s not only a lass’s game,” reasoned Sapphira, though still teasing Pippin. “Show him, Hilly.” With that, the little Hilly demonstrated his newly acquired skill by completely hopping over his rope five times.

“Does Pimpernel know about this?”

Sapphira looked straight at Pippin, “Yes, she does.”

“I won’t have it!” Pippin said firmly, attempting to take the rope from the child, but Hilly wouldn’t let go.

“No!” the child shrieked when Pippin tugged at his rope. He started whimpering, “Miss Sapphira says they jump-rope at the fair--I want to be good at it so I can play, too!”

Pippin looked sidelong at Sapphira. “Now you’ve gone and done it.” He knelt down to be level with the boy, “You can’t skip rope, Hilly--you’ll be the only lad--and folk will…well, they won’t understand. Think of your sweet mummy…and your brothers.”

“And don’t forget your uncle--isn’t that right, Mr. Pippin?” The mirth in Sapphira’s eyes was gone, replaced by the light of battle.

Pippin walked up to Sapphira then whispered firmly into her ear, “If you want to amuse the lad in the privacy of this garden, then I suppose that is my sister’s affair. But I will say this: do not lead my nephew to believe he may openly play this game without consequence--and you know that there will be. Think of that.” He walked over to young Hilfred who watched his uncle with a confused expression. Pippin gently took the lad’s chin in his hand, speaking aloud but softly, “See you later at supper, Hill.”

Pippin strode out of the garden. He still hadn’t asked his pressing question…and now, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to ask it.

TBC