#7 – To Learn His Letters

Bilbo is 99, Hamfast 63, Frodo and Halfred 21, Sam 10 (or about 63, 41, 13, and 6 in Man years)

Spring 1390 SR

Halfred woke to the familiar but forgotten feel of his little brother pressed into his side. Sam’s little fingers were tangled in Fred’s hair, and a sleep-heavy arm was draped over his tummy. Fred smiled down at the small form that was wedged so snuggly into his side, then carefully reached up to disentangle his curls from Sam’s grasp before sitting up and stretching. He smoothed out his hair and looked about his room with fondness. He hadn’t expected to have missed it as much as he had during the long winter in Gamwich, but now that he was back he was surprised to discover just how deep his homesickness had grown. 

He attempted to slide over to the other side of the bed, only to find that Sam had molded around him again. Fred patted Sam on his sleeping head, wriggled free again, then slipped out of bed. Sam hadn’t said anything when Fred returned five days ago, but the fierceness of his hug when he greeted Fred had said plenty, and Daisy had said more. She confided in Fred that Sam had missed his brother terribly and even Gaffer was regretting sending Fred off for the winter to be prenticed to their Gamwich relations. Sam wasn’t ready to be on his own yet, but Gaffer had hoped that the winter, with its Yule holiday and Fred’s birthday in Solmath to allow for visits home, would help to ease Sam into the idea of losing his brother for good next year. Sam had managed, though he hadn’t slept well unless Goldie was with him and when she wasn’t, he often wound up in the Gaffer’s bed.

Fred had also missed his family at times but his days in Gamwich kept him so busy from sun up to sun down that he was usually asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, and he’d had no time for thinking and yearning during the days. Even so, there were times when a wave of homesickness would come upon him fierce and strong, usually when he was doing mundane and ordinary things, like sweeping the ashes from the hearth, chopping vegetables to put in the evening stew, or even winching water from the well. In those moments, he would realize just how far away from his home and family he was, a three day ride if the weather was good, and he too would dread the following summer, when he would be off for the crags and cliffs of Little Smithy in Northfarthing where he would likely spend the rest of his days amongst his Gammidge relationship making tiles, slates and bricks. Never mind that it was his choice, that he wanted to go there. It was a long lonely way from home and he was beginning to rethink his decision. His only consolation was that his first cousin on his mother’s side, Hale Goodchild, who he met on a visit to Tighfield some years back and had become quick friends with, would also be prenticing to Little Smithy next year and they would be making the trip together.

For the time being, he counted himself lucky to have this extra year or so with his family, and that he was able to return home so often during the winters. Yule had been just like the old days, for he had picked up Hamson from Tighfield on the way and it had been the Gaffer and the six siblings again. For his birthday, he spent a delightful week doing not much of anything other than visiting friends and catching up on local gossip and naturally handing out presents. All the gifts had gone over well and while he couldn’t give grand or even ordinary gifts, the mathoms he had brought had been received with delight. All of them that is but one.

Sam had loved his gift beyond measure but their father had not been so certain about it. Halfred had searched every inch of the barn and workshop on his great-great uncle’s land until he found a spare bit of chalk and a fair-sized slate slab that would serve as a writing tablet. He found a dust cloth to go along with it all and wrapped the slate and chalk inside the cloth. Sam had mentioned during Yule that Mr. Bilbo had offered to start teaching Sam his letters come spring and Fred wanted Sam to be prepared for when the time came. Seemed their dad had different ideas, for he had cornered Fred in the parlor after the cake-cutting and gift-giving.

“Why’d you have to go and give Sam that fool gift?” Gaffer asked. “I’d just got him to forget about them lessons and there you go reminding him again.”

“Why’d you want Sam to forget them for?” Fred asked, confused.

“Ain’t no point the likes of us learning any letters,” Gaffer said. “He don’t need to read to know how to water and trim the flowers. Tis nothing but a waste of time, to my way of thinking. Besides, he’s supposed to be prenticed to me come spring, and he can’t learn his job if he’s tucked away inside Bag End all day.”

“Oh, stop your complaining, Dad,” Halfred said, making quite bold to give his dad so much sauce. Gaffer lifted an eyebrow at him and Fred had to speak quick to get himself out of a scolding. “I just mean, it won’t harm nothing none either. Lessons don’t take all day, or they don’t need to anyhow, and they won’t be every day either. Sam will still be there to help you plenty. Besides, Ma wanted Sam to learn his letters, so he’s learning them.”

That had been in Solmath and from what he has been able to gather since his return home, Gaffer had done nothing more than send Sam down to the post master to learn to mark his name. This was nothing out of the ordinary, as most hobbits who couldn’t read at least learned to spell their names. They would take a day or two off work to take lessons with the post messengers, and once they could spell their names well enough to be legible to others (and on legal documents), they were back to work in a blink of an eye.

That was good enough for Gaffer, but their Ma had wanted them all to learn their letters. Their dad of course had been square against it, so she finally talked him into letting at least one of the children learn and that child had been Sam by default. Hamson and Halfred were going to be apprenticed one day and that would hardly be a help to her and Dad for them to learn. The lasses too would get married some day and move off to live near their husband’s families, so it was Sam she had made the Gaffer promise to get his lessons. Ma had thought there was something different about Sam, though not different in a bad way, and she hadn’t wanted him cheated of any opportunity. Gaffer hadn’t exactly agreed with her, but he hadn’t exactly said no either and as far as Fred was concerned, that was consent enough.

So now it was up to Halfred to make sure Sam got that opportunity as Ma had wanted him to have. He knew that if he left it up to his dad, Sam wouldn’t be getting any more lessons and that was flat, so he decided last night that he’d get up early today and be ready to go up to Bag End after first breakfast to have a talk with Mr. Bilbo directly. He figured that if he could talk to Mr. Bilbo and find out just what all Sam would need to learn his letters proper, he could then make a proper argument with Gaffer over it. He said nothing of this to Sam though, not wanting to get the lad’s hopes up if it came to nothing.

Fred slipped into his day clothes and tiptoed out of the room. He found his sisters already awake and filling the smial with the smells of cooking. He went into the kitchen to help them, keeping an eye on the light outside. When it was nearly time for the Gaffer to be waking, he went back into his room and roused Sam.

“Wake up Sam,” he said gently and waited until two drowsy hazel eyes were peering up at him. “Out of bed, sleepy head. Breakfast’s almost ready and we’ll all be going up to work at Bag End together.”

“You’re coming?” Sam said around a yawn. He rubbed his eyes and blinked up at his brother.

“Aye, I am at that.” He helped Sam up and into his work clothes. Sam shuffled in front of him into the kitchen, where Gaffer was already seated. They smiled at their dad and took their seats. Marigold was in a similar state of half-awareness as Sam. She sat in her seat, rocking back and forth ever so slightly as she yawned. May and Daisy served them all and they ate with appreciative grunts.

After breakfast, they left the smial, each to their own destination. May and Goldie were going to the Cottons, where May worked helping Mother Cotton while Goldie played with the Cotton children. Daisy was off to help the Widow Rumble, and the lads and the Gaffer headed up the Hill to Bag End.

Fred wasted no time in trotting up the walk path to the green front door. Gaffer gave him a questioning look but let him go about his business. Fred suspected that his father knew what he was doing, and that Gaffer was confident he’d hear nothing but a ‘no’ for his efforts. Well, if it turned out that way, so be it, but Halfred wasn’t going to give up without a fight. If Mr. Bilbo thought he had seen Gamgee stubbornness before, he had another thing coming to him!

Fred pulled on the bell and waited. As luck would have it, Master Frodo answered the call. He looked at Fred with surprised delight and quickly opened the door wider to let him into the front entrance. “What a delightful surprise!” Master Frodo said. “I heard you were back, but I didn’t expect to see you so soon. What brings you up the Hill?”

“Morning to you, Master Frodo. I’m helping me Gaffer today, but I’ve another reason for coming also,” Fred answered. “I was wondering if Mr. Bilbo might be able to see me?”

Master Frodo’s brow crinkled instantly. “I’m sure that he could. I hope nothing is wrong.” He led Fred into parlor and motioned for him to sit. “Can I tell him what the call is about?”

Fred sat on the edge of a chair and nodded, “Aye, Master Frodo, it’s about Sam and him learning his letters.”

Master Frodo’s features darkened further at this. “I heard that your father said no. Poor Sam must have been crushed, but it’s my fault really. I suggested it to Sam before even speaking with your father or Bilbo. I didn’t realize it would all be so complicated. I’ll apologize to him if you like; I was planning to do so anyway.”

Fred shook his head. “Nay, Master Frodo. I’m not here for that, though I’m right glad to hear you’re all for Sam learning. I’d not mind for a bit of back up on this. You see, I’m here to see about Mr. Bilbo teaching Sam.”

“But your father said no.”

“I know that right enough. I’m here anyway,” Fred said then smiled sheepishly. “I’m the troublemaker in the family, you might say. I’m always causing Dad grief, so I may as well do something useful while I’m at it. So is Mr. Bilbo here then? May I speak with him?”

“Of course, I’ll get him for you,” Master Frodo said and went in search of the Master of the Hill.

Fred settled back into the chair and looked around the parlor as he waited. He’d always loved the Bag End parlor. There was something so stately and yet accessible about it, though why that was Fred couldn’t say. All he knew was that he needn’t fear touching anything here for fear of smudging it and that he could sit wherever he liked, even here in the Master’s favorite rocking chair.

Mr. Bilbo entered the room a few minutes later, with Master Frodo fast on his heels. Master Frodo leaned against the doorway to the room, keeping himself out of the dealings, but remaining an active observer all the same. He gave Fred a determined look, small and fleeting, but there all the same. Fred had his support in this.

Mr. Bilbo sat upon the chair next to Fred. “Good morning, Master Halfred,” Mr. Bilbo said with a cheery smile and a twinkle in his eye. “Frodo tells me you’re here to start trouble.”

Fred smiled in return. “Well, I’m hoping it won’t come to that, but I do want to talk to you about teaching Sam to read.”

“I’ve already spoken with your father about that,” Mr. Bilbo said, predictably enough, though with a twinge of regret in his voice as well. “He’s set against it and I’m not going to go against his wishes.”

“I’d not ask you to do that sir,” Fred reassured. “I just need some questions answered, so as when I go to the Gaffer, I’ll be able to argue with him effective-like.”

Mr. Bilbo laughed at this and Master Frodo gave a soft chuckle from his view at the doorway.

“I’ll answer your questions, Master Halfred, so long as you answer one of mine first,” Mr. Bilbo said and waited for Fred’s nod. “Why do you want Sam to learn?”

“Because Ma wanted it,” Fred answered, simple but honest. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Master Frodo stood up straight and stepped into the room somewhat. Fred plowed ahead, explaining his mother’s reasons for choosing Sam and how much it had meant to her. “Plus, Sam actually wants to learn. He told me at Yule that you were going to be teaching him his letters in the spring, and when I gave him a slate and chalk for me birthday, he nearly burst with pride. He wants it bad, I know he does Mr. Bilbo, but he’d not say anything against Gaffer, and Gaffer ain’t going to give him permission so long as he thinks it’ll take too much time away from the garden. So that’s why I’m here. To work out a schedule like. If I have that afore I talk to Gaffer, it’ll help mightily.”

Mr. Bilbo seemed to be thinking about the request, but Master Frodo’s mind was already made up. He stepped further into the room and said, “What could it hurt, Bilbo? We owe it to Sam to try. All Hamfast can do is say no again.”

“This is a family affair, Frodo, and is not for us to get involved in,” Mr. Bilbo said, though he sounded more instructional than anything else. He didn’t seem to be denying Halfred’s request and he proved this by continuing, “However, I don’t see any harm in hypothesizing a schedule. Now, Master Halfred, what sort of schedule were you thinking of?”

Fred shrugged. “That’d be your telling, Mr. Bilbo. I’d not know about any of that. What’s the usual schedule like?”

“Well, the usual schedule would include more than just reading and writing. It would include history and the study of annals and family trees, arithmetic, and theory, as well as specialized subjects depending upon the pupil: music, art, politics and negotiation, law.”

“Bilbo, you’re making his head spin,” Master Frodo said.

Fred nodded. That was quite a lot of studying to his mind. No wonder gentlehobbits had no time for anything else.

“I’m sorry, Halfred,” Mr. Bilbo said. “For just learning to read and write, well, it would still depend greatly on Sam, on how quickly he can catch on. But the schedule need be no more intense than three or four lessons a week, two hours for a session, if any progress is to be made.”

“That much?” Fred asked. That was nearly a whole day’s worth of work. “And if Sam proves to be a quick learn?”

“I imagine I could send work home with him, to do in the quiet hours before sleep,” Mr. Bilbo said. “In that case, I could see cutting it back to one hour a session.”

“How soon could he start?” Fred asked next.

“As soon as your father says yes,” Mr. Bilbo replied. “He could come up in the mornings when Frodo is having his lessons. Frodo can more or less see after himself and he could keep Sam company and give him extra encouragement when it’s needed. Learning can be a slow and frustrating business when you’re first starting out.”

“We’d not be able to pay you none,” Fred said. He had a feeling this was something his father worried about also, though he never mentioned it. The thought of your employer working to teach your children wasn’t one that the Gaffer would be comfortable with. “But I’ll hire myself on as errand-lad or messenger or anything else extra you need me to do to make up for it.”

“That would hardly be necessary,” Mr. Bilbo said, “though if you think it would help your father accept the offer, I could find things for you to do. Is there anything else?”

Fred bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. This was going to be the biggest hurdle with winning his father over and he worried that he wouldn’t hear what he wanted to hear. “Would it help Sam with his gardening, or anything else?”

Mr. Bilbo hummed and sat back in his chair, noodling this out. While the Gaffer could be whimsical and acquainting about minor pursuits if it would only take an hour or two of his children’s time, he was set against prolonged activities if he could see no practical purpose for it. “I fear the answer to that question is no,” Mr. Bilbo finally said. “Anything Sam will need to learn about the gardens, your father already knows, and what he doesn’t know, he can simply ask someone else.”

“What about contracts? Legal matters?” Master Frodo put in. “A family in Buckland was conned once into paying more than they agreed to verbally for some service or another. It took Uncle Rory weeks to get the mattered straightened out, but since the family had no witnesses besides themselves contesting the contract, they had to pay in the end.”

Mr. Bilbo shook his head. “No, if Hamfast suspects that a contract, or the contract-writer, is trying to swindle him, he can always go to a post messenger to have it read. It’s standard procedure.”

“But that would cost him money, or at the least a keg of ale or sack of potatoes which he could have traded for something else,” Master Frodo said.

“Dad’s only ever signed two contracts,” Fred said unhelpfully. “The deed for the smial and his marriage contract. Everything else is done with a shake of hands.”

“Well, don’t farmers have to know how to read to keep their books and ledgers?” Master Frodo asked now, frustration evident in his voice and face.

“They know just enough to get by for what they need it for, but we ain’t no farmers,” Halfred said.

They went back to thinking and the room fell silent. How long they remained there thinking and coming up with nothing, Fred couldn’t say, but the impatient knock that sounded at the front door after a time was enough for him to know that he had kept his father waiting too long. He stood up and bowed to the masters. “Thank you for trying to help,” he said.

“We’ll think of something,” Master Frodo promised. “There has to be a convincing enough argument, even if I have to make it up.”

“Frodo, we are not conning the Gaffer into letting Sam learn to read,” Mr. Bilbo said sternly, and Fred could see that an argument was brewing between the two of them.

“That won’t be necessary no how,” Fred said quickly. “I’ll have to make do on what I got and hope it’s enough. If anything, I can always hope that Gaffer gets sick enough arguing about it that he’ll agree to it just to shut me up.” He smiled at them both as another impatient knock sounded. “I’d best be going now.”

Master Frodo walked him to the door and saw him out. Fred followed his father about the gardens for the rest of the day, his thoughts lost to the task of organizing the points of his argument. He was missing the most crucial point of them all, but he hoped that if he could win all the others it wouldn’t matter in the end.

It wasn’t until Highday that Fred was able to approach the Gaffer. He didn’t want the other children about when he and Gaffer talked about Sam learning his letters, and so he’d had to wait. Sam was always at Bag End with them, learning how to be a good gardener, and so there was never an opportunity to approach him then. Besides that, any attempt to talk to his father while on the job would be ended before it got started.

Highday morning finally dawned and Fred waited impatiently for the noon hour. Now Daisy and May were spending their afternoon off playing with their friends at Number One and Number Two, and Sam and Marigold were at the Cottons watching the chicks hatch from their eggs. Gaffer was outside puttering about in his garden so Fred made him some tea and called him inside to eat. He didn’t even wait for his father to sit down before bombarding him.

“I want to talk again about Sam learning his letters,” he said and plowed ahead when Gaffer started to protest. “It’d not take any extra time away from you teaching him about the garden. Why, up to this year, he was spending half the days in Bag End anyway and you’ve never missed his help none.”

“I already told you no, Halfred. You best let this drop,” Gaffer said, still poised in pulling out his chair from the table.

“I won’t,” Fred said, setting his jaw and crossing his arms. “You said it’d take too much time. Now, I talked to Mr. Bilbo and he did say it’d be a couple of hours a day, but that right there is already less than what Sam was spending in the smial already. If you do need the help, I’ll come up a day a week and help make up for it.”

“There’s more to it than just that,” Gaffer started, but Fred remained before him.

“And I talked to Mr. Bilbo about being compensated. He said I could do extra errands for him to trade for him teaching Sam. That way, it wouldn’t be free and you’d not have to owe nothing. I’d be working for it.”

“And after you leave?”

This stopped Halfred for only half a second. “Sam could do extra errands. He’ll be old enough by then.”

“No.”

“But why not?” Fred asked. “You’ve no reason to be saying no. Sam’ll learn the garden, he knows half of it already just by watching you all this time. He don’t need that much instruction. This isn’t going to get in the way of him learning his trade.”

“No,” Hamfast repeated. “There’s no point in it.”

“But Sam wants to learn! More importantly, Ma wanted him to learn. You’re just going to ignore her wishes?”

This was too much for his father. Hamfast pushed the chair aside and came to stand before his son, hands clenched. “Don’t you dare accuse me of ignoring your mother’s wishes!” he shouted. “She wanted you lads to stay home till you were tweens afore I prenticed you and I’ve done that. She wanted the lasses to be allowed to start courting once they reached twenty-eight, and I’ll do that too so long as the lad she’s courting is properly afraid of me.”

“So then what does Sam get?” Fred asked, not backing down. “She wanted Sam to learn and you never said her no.”

“I never said her yes either, and Sam gets to stay home and keep it after I’m gone,” Hamfast said. “Now, I could see the point in keeping you lads about the hole a little while longer than is normal, and I could see the point about getting to know the lads my daughters are planning to marry some day, but there ain’t no point in Sam knowing how to read.”

“I’ll think of one,” Fred promised. “I’ll think of one and then you’ll have to say yes.”

“You go on ahead and do that then,” Gaffer said, then sat down with a thump and spooned sugar into his tea.

Fred did think about it. He thought long and hard about it and every time he came up with nothing that would satisfy the Gaffer’s demands. He even had the other working lads trying to come up with scenarios that would make sense for Sam to know how to read. At Cartwright’s, Goodheart’s, Noakes’, and even the Woodrow’s, he had everyone spending just as much time noodling over the problem as they spent bending over their spades. He even stopped in at Bag End on a couple of Highday afternoons to see if Master Frodo had been able to come up with anything, and always he came away with nothing useful. Not that it stopped him from trying to convince his father to change his mind. It became a ritual of sorts. Every Highday, once the younger children were out of the smial, Halfred would find his father and bring up the topic again, to the same results. It got to the point that Hamfast would say “No” upon seeing him and not let him get a word out edgewise before trotting off for a sup and a bite at the Bush with Daddy Twofoot and Odo Goodlove.

At last, desperate, he tried the argument about the family Master Frodo had told him about during that first talk. Gaffer had simply shrugged and said, “That’ll learn them to be signing somewhat without getting it read to them first.”

“But they’d have to pay for that. If you ever needed to sign for something, you’d have to pay for it to be read too. You could save money if Sam knew how to read,” Fred said.

Gaffer only quirked his head at the lad. “So I should send Sam off for a couple of hours each day, losing the money he’d earn otherwise if he was helping me, on the off chance that I might someday want to save a couple o’ quid on a post messenger if I’ll ever need to have a contract read to me?”

After that, Fred realized he needed to go straight to the source. He took to searching out the gardeners of Hobbiton and Bywater in between his various jobs and asking them if there had ever been an instance that they needed to know their letters for something. He received nothing but blank stares and ‘no, can’t say as I have’ in reply. He asked the cartwrights, the smiths, the bakers, everyone he could think of, and every time he got the same response. If it varied at all, it was to say, ‘well, I suppose there’s always the post messengers, ain’t there?’

It was now the middle of Thrimidge and Fred was beginning to believe he’d never win this argument for Sam. He sat on the edge of The Water, kicking his feet in the cold water, and frowned at his reflection forlornly. He was supposed to be going to Noakes’ farm to help with the branding of the calves, but instead he was sitting here moping over his lost efforts. If only it wasn’t for those blasted post messengers!

Fred gave The Water a final splash with his feet and stood up. If he was too late for Noakes, his father would give him a lecture to last him till Yule. He followed the river into Bywater to Noakes’ farm and arrived just in time for the branding. He chatted with the lads there in between rubbing the numbing balm on the calves’ hindquarters. None of them could think of a reason for him to take to Gaffer either, but Cort Noakes did ask, “Well, why did your ma want him to learn? Seems as she had a reason.”

“A cause she'd thought it'd be useful,” Fred answered.

“Useful how?”

Fred didn’t know the answer to that question, but he knew who did. Again he waited until Highday afternoon and this time when he went to his father he sat down with him in the garden and raised his hand for peace before the Gaffer could tell him no again. Gaffer put down his trowel and sat back on his haunches, eyeing his son warily.

“Just answer me one question and answer it fully please. Why exactly did Ma want us all to know our letters?” Fred asked.

Hamfast let out a mumbled breath and looked up at the slightly clouded sky. “A cause of this time your grandma took sick,” he said and went back to tending the flowerbed. “The healer couldn’t stay there all day with them, so she gave your ma the herbs and whatnot she’d need and told her how to be making them up and giving them to your grandma, and your ma couldn’t remember the half of it. Scared her a good bit and she kept worritin about how she was going about it all wrong and that your grandma'd be the one as suffered for it. But your grandma got better anyhow and went on to badger us all for another thirty years.”

Fred gaped at his father in disbelief and for several minutes could only look at him with his mouth hanging open as his father went about his planting. “Well,” he managed at last and forced himself to find his voice. “Well, don’t you think that’s important! Gaffer! What if you get sick after all of us are up and gone and Sam has to be here to care for you alone? He’d not be able to remember what the healer says either, he’d be too worrit to even listen. But if he could write it all down…”

“Now you're starting to sound like your ma, going off and worritin on a fancy. The chances of something like that happening are nil to none,” Gaffer said stubbornly.

“Like with Ma?”

Fred regretted saying it the moment the words left his lips and the look on his father’s face, like someone had just punched him in the gut and knocked the wind right out of him, made him feel completely retched.

“I’m sorry,” he said hastily. “I know that was different. But it’s the same really. If you got sick and the healer couldn’t be here and Sam was alone and couldn’t remember what to do and you end up dying, he’d blame himself even if it had nothing to do with the medicines, even if it was just your time, you know he would.”

He had to stop then, for the tears that were threatening to come and that he could see sitting in his father’s eyes. He was unable to stop thinking of his mother’s last weeks, the healer or her apprentice stopping in every few hours to administer the medicine and check on her progress. It had just been her time, there was nothing to be done for it, other than to send the lasses and Sam away for the worst of it, so they wouldn’t have to see their mother deteriorate as quickly as she had.

It had been hardest on Sam. Marigold was just a bairn, barely more than six months, and the other lasses were at least old enough to understand what death was. Not Sam. He’d been four at the time, just out of his fauntling years, and he had gone about the smial and gardens for weeks after looking for their ma, not able to accept that the body they’d buried had been her, so certain that she would turn up at any moment.

It was all so clear to Fred now, why their mother hadn’t backed down on Sam learning his letters, even long after she had given up the fight for the other children. Sam was always the one who would be taking over for Gaffer at Bag End. Sam was always the one who would be staying on at Number Three, the one who would be here with Gaffer into his old age. Now that Sam had already lost one parent to a sudden illness, that would make it all the harder on him if it were to happen again and him feeling useless to help.

“He'd not blame himself. He's got more sense than that, for all that he hardly shows it,” Gaffer grumbled at length.

“He would too blame himself. Why, he blamed himself for a week after finding that little sparrow in the woods and not being able to save it. He kept saying as he should have found it sooner. And with ma… He thought if he’d just stayed here with her, she’d not have left. You can’t do that to him Gaffer,” Fred managed at last, his voice tight, nearly strangled at the memories that came back so suddenly and vividly. He pushed them aside as best he could and continued. “Even if it ain’t likely to happen again, do you really want to risk that? It scared Ma enough that she wanted us to learn, and you’re always saying that of all us kids, Sam’s the one who’s most like her. It’d scare him too, especially after losing Ma like that.”

Gaffer’s shoulders sagged and he hid his face behind his soiled hands. His shoulders began to shake and Fred reached out to take him into a tight embrace, resting his head on the top of his father’s shoulder, as if he were no more than a teen. “Just, give him a chance to learn,” he whispered. “What harm will it do?”

The next morning, Halfred, Gaffer and Sam once again made their way up the Hill to Bag End, only this time, Sam was happily clutching his writing slate in his arms and bouncing excitedly between his father and brother, chattering away about all the things he hoped to learn today. He had the notion that he would be able to learn all his letters in just one day, as he had learned to spell his name, and neither Fred nor Gaffer could get a word in edgewise to suggest it might take a bit longer than that.

Sam revealed then that he had practiced writing his name nearly every day on the writing slate so he wouldn’t forget how. Gaffer’s eyebrows shot up at that but Sam didn’t notice. He took his chalk from his breeches pocket and tried to show them as they walked how he could spell his name. Fred saw their father trying to hide a grin at that, and he smiled openly himself when Gaffer reached down and patted Sam on the head when he finished his scribbling and held the slate out for them to see.

“That’s a fine job, Sam,” Gaffer said. “Just you mind Mr. Bilbo today and you do everything he says.”

“Yes sir!” Sam said, and ran ahead of them through the gate when they reached Bag End. Mr. Bilbo was already waiting for him, standing in the open door. Sam bounced right up to him and inside without a backward glance and Bilbo waved Fred and Gaffer good morning as they rounded the gardens to the tool shed to begin their daily work.
 
 

The End
 

GF 2/22/06