A Father’s Work – Hamson

1 Afterlithe, 1385 SR
Free Fair, Michel Delving

Hamfast is not quite 59, Hamson 20, Halfred 16, Daisy 13, May 9, Sam 5, Marigold 2 ½, (or about 37, 12, 10, 8, 6, 3 years, and 20 months in Man years)

He’s been a staring at his sack for near on an hour now. He’ll say he’s thinking on what he’s packed and wondering if he forgot anything, but we’ll both be knowing better. Whatever he forgets ain’t something as can’t be bartered for or sent after him once he reaches Tighfield. No, what he’s really thinking on is he’s been going up to Tighfield the last four summers (excepting last year when Bell took sick) to do for my brother Andy, but this time’s for good. Now when he visits, he’ll be visiting home.

I step into the tent, shuffling my feet even though he already knows I’m there. “All ready?” I ask. I stand next to him and stare down at his sack along with him. It’s the same sack I packed up when I come to be prenticed to my cousin Holman. It’s seen a bit of wear since then, but the patches as Daisy sewed into it will do it good for a few more years yet.

“I’m trying to remember if I packed me a foot brush or not,” Hamson says.

I glance around the little tent, looking for overlooked brushes and seeing none. Everyone’s already packed up, ready to go once we get this tent down and our neighbors, the Twofoots, show up with their trap. “Well, you had it on you last night and I don’t see it now,” I reason. “If one of your siblings squirreled it away, we’ll send it along after you. You got yourself a coat? The nights still get chill and there’s a rain coming.”

“I know, Daddy. I got one.”

Daddy. Now that he ain’t called me since he were ten.

“Here,” I say, reaching into my pocket. I pull out an old rag and hand it to him. “Your mother wanted you to have these once you were prenticed official-like.”

“She wanted me to have an old rag?” Hamson asks, staring at the threadbare lump in his hand.

“Open it, you ninnyhammer,” I say.

Hamson opens up the rag and finds a pair of brass cufflinks in the middle. The cufflinks each have an oak tree imprinted on their flat, smooth surface, or they once did at any rate. The trees are still there, but the lines’re getting worn and starting to fade.

“They were a courting gift from your ma to me,” I explain. “She saw the trees and thought of me, and this was afore she even knew there was an oak sitting atop Bag End. You know every time I look up at that tree, I remember the day I got these in the post.”

“I like these ones,” Hamson says and holds them delicate-like afore putting them in his pocket.

“She knew it,” I say simply. “Now, you best get a going. Your Uncle Andy can’t be waiting around forever. He wants to be getting on to Tighfield afore the hour’s up.”

“What about the tent?” Hamson asks, reaching for his sack but not moving his feet none. “You know Fred won’t be no help to you getting it down and squared away.”

“There’s plenty of others about as can help,” I assure him and put my hand on his shoulder so as to steer him towards the flap.

“But what about all those seeds? You’ve boxes of them and they’ll get all jumbled up if Fred or the others be helping you load them.”

I stare at Hamson for a bit then lower my hand to his arm. I squeeze it gentle-like to make sure he’s paying attention to me. “You know your ma knew you children better’n you know yourselves, and so do I. Now let me tell you aught I happen to be knowing about you.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re feeling a bit cut off, like you been set to roaming after being cooped up in a stable your whole life,” I say and Hamson nods. “Let me tell you something your granddad told me when I come to be prenticed to Holman. He says to me, ‘you can’t never to be too far away from your family. A letter can reach you in just a couple of days, and if there’s need, your kin will come even faster’n that.’ You remember that lad. If you’re ever needing me, I’ll be up there faster’n Mistress Lobelia can smack you with her umbrella.”

Hamson laughs and rubs at his head as if it really were smarting from one of Lobelia’s well-aimed smacks. “Thank you, Gaffer,” he says, feeling the cufflinks in his pocket and no doubt thinking of his mother, “for everything.” He smiles bravely and nudges his sack further up his shoulder.

“Come here, lad.” I open my arms and they’re full of Hamson a half-moment later. I hug onto him tight and it’s all I can do to let go again. I pat him on the back and kiss his brow, then pull myself loose and step back to stare at him. “You’re a good lad, Ham. You be good for your Uncle Andy and Aunt Lilac, and don’t pick on your cousin Anson too often, you hear?”

“Yes, Dad,” Hamson agrees. “I love you, Dad.”

“Aye, I love you too, lad. You can never disappoint me, you know that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then chin up, lad. It ain’t like I’m shipping you off to Hardbottle or Sackville,” I say and laugh and clap him on the back.

We step out the tent and over the campgrounds towards the road where Andy has his cart waiting on us. My children are there playing with their cousin Anson, Marigold trailing after Sammy like a shadow. They all look up about the same time and see us coming.

Hamson tosses his sack into the cart then swoops down to pick up Marigold. He hugs her and tickles her, then kisses her cheek. “You be a sweet lass for Gaffer, Goldie-love. Promise?”

Goldie throws her arms around his neck and returns the kiss, wet and sloppy. “I pwomise, Hammy,” she says and lets her brother put her down.

Hamson hugs Sam next. “You’ve just Fred to be a fighting for the bed sheets now, Sammy. Don’t let him edge you out none and look after Goldie here.”

Sam nods, his lower lip trembling. He don’t understand his older brother having to go away, ‘disappearing’ as he puts it, but he’ll learn to understand it in time. He smiles bravely all the same. “Now as we’ve more room, mayhap Fred’s cold feet won’t be waking me so often.”

“And your tossing and turning won’t be bruising me so often,” Halfred counters with a grin.

Hamson stands up and turns to Fred. “Your second in charge now, Fred. Mind you act it,” he warns and hugs him hard and quick.

“Don’t I always?” Fred jests. “Don’t you be getting tied up in all that rope you’ll be spinning. If one of our clotheslines ever breaks, we’ll know who’s to blame.”

“Aye, you’ll be, you old klutz,” Hamson returns. “I don’t know how and I hope I never do, but you’ll be the cause of it and that’s a fact.”

“You know, you’re probably right.”

The brothers laugh and Hamson turns to his other sisters, who aren’t doing as good a job of hiding their tears as Sam. He hugs them both fiercely and kisses their brows. “Just when you were really starting to cook up a fine roast,” he says to Daisy. “You keep a practicing, cause I’ll be expecting a fine Yule feast this year.”

“You’ll be getting one, even if I have to banish Fred from the kitchen,” Daisy promises. “They’ve post messengers in Tighfield just as good as Hobbiton. You send us word from time to time.”

“Yes, Mother Daisy,” Hamson promises back. “And Mayflower. There’s a lot you can be a learning from your sister, so you lighten up on her.”

“I don’t know about that. Goldie don’t say much yet,” May says cheekily.

“Don’t be giving me sauce.”

He turns to me next and gives me another hug. When he steps back, I point at the cart next to where his sack landed. There’s a lump under a canvas and he eyes it now.

“Andy and I got that for you off a carpenter yesterday. Seemed fitting, now as you’re officially prenticed,” I tell him.

Hamson pulls the canvas back to reveal a new ropewalk, made of sturdy oak, its gears and knobs freshly polished. “This is mine?” he asks in awe, running his hand over the stand and pulley. “I’ve never had naught as was new afore.”

“Your very own,” Andwise says. “You’ll be the first and only one to use it, lest you let Ani here have a go at it.”

“Can’t I?” Anson asks eagerly.

“Course you can, but I get to use it first,” Hamson agrees. “Thanks Nuncle. Thank you Dad.” He hugs me again, then his uncle, then all his siblings all over again.

“Come now,” Lilac finally says. “We’ve got to be going soon if we’re to reach Little Delving afore nightfall.”

“Up you get, lad,” Andy says and gives Hamson a hand up into the cart afore climbing into the coach next to his wife.

Hamson and Anson bend over to inspect the rope walk, and I know Hamson only looks at it so hard to keep from crying. I’m glad for it too, as I doubt I can hold it together if his eyes so much as misted.

Andy whips the ponies to trotting. The cart pulls away and me and the children wave our family good-bye. Hamson braves looking up and waving at us ‘til the cart’s no more’n a speck down the road.

Next to me, Sammy tugs my hand and I stoop down to pick him up. “When is Hammy a coming back?” he asks in his clear little voice.

“He’ll be along for Yule,” I answer.

“Just when we thought there’d be leftover goose too,” Halfred quips smartly.

“Like we ever thought that was possible with you around,” May jokes back. “You eat enough for three hobbits.”

“I’m a growing lad. I need my strength,” Halfred jests backs.

“Then you should be strong enough to be pulling us home,” Daisy says. “No need to fuss over the ponies, Gaffer. Just put Fred in the holster instead.”

“Aye, let’s strap him up,” I agree and hand Sam to him so I can carry Marigold back to the tent. “And you can fold up that fool tent too.”

“That fool tent,” Sam echoes.

“I don’t think it’s a fool tent,” Fred counters. “It looks rather smart to me, and it is Mr. Bilbo’s.” He looks at Sam and widens his eyes. “Mayhap it even belonged to some elves once.”

“Elves?” Sammy whispers, his eyes round as saucers.

“Don’t go getting him started,” Daisy warns. “Now that’s all we’re going to hear about ‘til sundown.”

And we walk back to the tent a laughing and a joking just to keep from missing Hamson.

GF 6/14/08