A Father’s Work – Marigold

Autumn 1397 SR
Hobbiton

Hamfast is 71, Daisy 25, May 21, Sam 17, and Marigold is not yet 14 (or about 45, 16, 13, 10 ½ and almost 9 in Man years)

The market’s a crowded place this morn. Seems like near every hobbit in Hobbiton is milling about the vendors and shops looking to stock their pantries and fill their holes with whatever all they’re needing. I even see Mr. Bilbo and young Master Frodo out and about, going over their lists no doubt to split up the work just as I’m doing. Or would be doing, if Sam didn’t keep wandering away with the list.

“Lad! Get over here or I’ll thump you one!” I shout.

He’d set his eyes on young Ted Sandyman as soon as we set foot over the bridge, and he’s been itching to go after him ever since. Ted’s been a speaking poorly of the Bagginses again, and no doubt Sam’s a looking to set the lad straight, but there ain’t naught for it. We got to get our work done here so we can trek up the Hill and get our work done there. There’s no time for any fool-mongering.

Sam comes over quick-like and holds up his list. I admit, I didn’t think as Sam learning his letters would be of any help for aught, but it is nice not having to be remembering everything up in your head all the time. Now when we’re getting home, we’re not having to wonder if we got everything as we needed.

“Hurry up, Sam,” Daisy orders. She and May have their own work to be getting to, and they want to get going about it.

“All right, all right,” Sam says impatient-like. Ted’s getting farther and farther away with every moment. “We’re needing candles again, loam for the washing, mulching for the garden, stitching thread, fishing string, and pipeweed. Oh, and a couple of hens for dinner night.”

“I’ll get the candles and loam,” Daisy offers.

“Try to get that nice smelling loam,” May says, “the one as smells like flowers. Mr. Baggins and Mistress Sandheaver really like the smell of that one on their sheets; even gave us an extra brass-piece for it.”

Daisy nods. “I’ll ask about it.” She ain’t one to spend extra on luxuries, but if it’ll get us extra coin enough to make up for the difference, she don’t see the bother in it either. “You get the thread and string, and see about getting some more yarn while you’re at it. We’ve enough to last us the month, but if you’re wanting to start on the Yule knitting now, we may as well get what we need afore everyone else is after it.”

May nods and the lasses walk off in search of their purchases.

“I’ll get the pipeweed,” I say.

“And I’ll get the mulch,” Sam says, frowning around the marketplace. He’s lost Ted and a good riddance for it.

“Be sure as that’s all you’re getting,” I say, warning-like.

“But Ted said—” Sam starts.

“I know what Ted said, and so does everyone else, including the Master,” I say, cutting him off. “Let Mr. Bilbo deal with it how he wants to. You just get the mulching and come straight back here. And don’t let me catching you spying on no one neither.”

“I weren’t spying, I were overhearing a conversation as just happened to benefit Master Frodo,” Sam says. Course, he’d never admit as Frodo was the one who asked him to ‘overhear’ said conversation in the first place.

“In that case, don’t let me catch you overhearing that as you oughtn’t to be hearing,” I say and wave him on his way.

Sam heads off for the florist’s shop and I turn to Marigold, who’s been waiting patiently this whole time. She ain’t the golden-haired child as we thought she’d be when she were born. Over the years, her hair has slowly darkened to a light caramel brown, but she’s still our golden child, our last memory of Bell.

She holds her hand out, expecting to carry the purse for me as she always does when she comes shopping with me. Instead, I open up the purse, pull out eight farthings and press those into her hand. She frowns at them, then looks up at me, a question forming in her mind.

“You get the hens,” I say.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “By myself?” she asks, fretting already.

“You’re old enough now,” I say. “Go on with you. The day’s not getting any younger and we got work to be getting to.”

“But I—” Goldie starts to protest.

“You’ll do fine. Go on,” I prompt and nudge her on the back a little to help her on her way.

She walks off reluctant-like, heading for the butcher’s shop, stopping every few steps to look back at me imploring-like. She ain’t got the confidence of her sisters or the calm assurance of her brother. She’s a bit flighty, truth be told, and everything sugar as my ma would’ve said. Comes from a lifetime of all of us doting on her too much, being soft and easy-going with her and naught much else, but it’s time for her to be growing up some. She might be the bairn to us, but to everyone else, she’s a young lass who needs to be able to find her way about in life.

I wait until about the third or fourth time she looks back at me, then turn about and head for the vendors as sell the pipeweed. I usually trade a cask of my home-brewed ale for a wee barrel of pipeweed, but with the harvest coming up soon, I got to be saving the ale for the celebrating. I dip into my purse and pull out a few coins. I won’t be able to get much, but mayhap I’ll catch one of the sellers in a good mood and haggle him down some.

I’m just completing my purchase, a whole pouch of weed for a mere two coppers, when I feel a tugging on the back of my shirt. I turn about and there’s Goldie, tears in her eyes and those eight coins in her hands. I quickly stuff the pouch and purse in my pockets.

“What’s a matter, lass?” I ask, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to her. “Was Nolan harsh on you?”

She shakes her head. “No, but he won’t take less than four coppers for the hens. I told him all you gave me was two coppers’ worth, so he said all’s I could have was one.” She hangs her head in shame and wipes at her tears.

I pat her on the head to let her know she ain’t done aught wrong. “He always says that, lass,” I explain. “You got to haggle with him, same as everyone else.”

Marigold hiccups into the handkerchief and nods.

“Come on, I’ll show you. Get yourself together first. You can’t be crying over the fowl while trying to haggle,” I instruct. “You got to be firm or he won’t take you serious-like.”

Goldie nods again, wipes her eyes and takes several deep breaths. When she feels like she can hold herself together, I nudge her towards the butcher’s shop and follow behind as she weaves her way back across the market. She pauses in front of the shop and I wave for her to enter, letting her know I’ll be right behind. She goes inside and I follow.

As a butcher goes, Nolan Bushmore’s a decent fellow. He won’t try to cheat you with poor meat or skinny catches, but he’ll make sure as he gets his money’s worth from what he does sell. Still, he’ll haggle along like anyone else ‘til he settles on a price as makes him and the customer happy. Better a customer as pays less and comes back than one as you never see again, is his way of thinking. Not that he’ll make it easy on you, which is why I sent Goldie to him straight off. If she can learn to haggle with him, she can haggle with anybody.

Nolan’s busy haggling with Mr. Ponto when we come in, but he sees us and gives me a little nod and a wink. I nod back, so he knows as I ain’t coming bearing a grudge. He returns to Mr. Ponto and I tap Goldie on the shoulder.

“Show me the hens he showed you,” I say and she points them out to me. They’re still set aside from the rest of the hens as hang along the wall behind him. I inspect them closely and figure that four coppers would be a fair price for them, leastways for someone as had the coin to be spending that much. Us regular folk, though, have to get creative.

I point at the hens and whisper real quiet in Goldie’s hear. “Now, see, the way to haggle is to look at what you’re buying, figure out what it’s worth to you, and argue with the seller ‘til you get it down to your price. Every seller would rather make a sale than have a customer walk away and take their money somewhere else. If a seller ever gets to a point where they won’t go any lower, just start walking away and see if that don’t change their mind.”

“But I told him I didn’t have four coppers,” Goldie starts.

“That’s not how you haggle, lass,” I say. “You got to find somewhat wrong with what you’re wanting to buy.”

“There’s naught wrong with those hens,” Goldie says.

“I know that, and you know that, and he knows that,” I say. “It’s just the way of things. You find somewhat to criticize and that way you get it down to what you want to pay.” I point to the hens again. “Now see here, these ones are a bit smaller than the others, and the feathers look like the hens have been handled more’n once since they’ve been hung here. We can’t really used them for aught. Say as the hens aren’t more’n fat, no meat to be feeding a hungry family.”

“Ain’t that lying?” Goldie asks.

“It’s haggling,” I say. “He’ll try telling you as he’s got others as wants to buy them and make you feel sorry for his family not being able to eat tonight, all to keep the price up. It’s a game, that’s all. And always start off haggling below the price you want to pay.”

“Why below?” Goldie asks. Meanwhile, Mr. Ponto’s digging in his purse for some money, and Nolan will be coming to us next.

“So you can haggle up to what you do want to pay. You give an offer, he comes down on his, you go up a bit on yours, and eventually you’ll meet in the middle,” I explain.

Mr. Ponto takes his parcels, says his farewell to Nolan and a good day to me and Goldie on his way out the door. Nolan looks over at us and waits for a bit.

“Come back with more coin, lass?” he asks.

Goldie looks up at me and waits, but I just nudge her forward. She looks at the butcher and bites her lip.

“Well?” Nolan asks.

“No, I didn’t,” Goldie answers in a tiny little voice.

“Well, then, I’m afraid I can’t be helping you,” Nolan says and sets about wiping down his counter.

Goldie looks up at me again and shrugs. I nudge her once more then step back to stand near the door. I’ll be here for her to tell her what to do, but I ain’t going to be doing it for her. She has no choice but to pick herself up and get those hens for the coins in her hands if she wants her family to eat tonight.

Marigold frets with the sash of her dress and bites her bottom lip at the hens. She looks back at me, then at the hens, then at Nolan. She takes a deep breath, holds it a bit, lets it out and steps up to the counter.

“Excuse me,” she says in that same tiny voice.

Nolan pretends not to hear her, or maybe he really don’t hear her as even I have to bend my ears a little to be hearing her myself. Goldie bites at her lips again, twists up her hands in her sash, then smoothes out her dress and looks back at me. I pretend to be looking out the window, searching for my other children, who are no doubt waiting for us by the bridge just about now. Goldie takes another deep breath, looks back at Nolan and tries again.

“Excuse me,” she says, loud enough this time to grab Nolan’s attention, but still softer’n she ought to be.

“Ah! Miss Marigold,” Nolan says, looking up from his cleaning. “You’re still here. Got that money yet?”

“No,” Goldie says again, but this time she puffs out her chest and lunges ahead, her voice wavering slightly. “And I ain’t going to get it neither. I’m only giving you three farthings for these here hens.” Then she bites her lower lip and holds her breath.

Nolan considers the offer then slowly shakes his head. “It cost me that just to feed these hens everyday,” he says, nice-like.

Goldie looks back at me, wondering what to do next. “The fat,” I mouth and go back to looking out the window.

Goldie looks back at Nolan and puffs out her chest again. “Well,” she starts, stammering a little as she goes, “well, you clearly feed them a bit too much, a, cause they’re all fat and, and naught much else.” She pauses, then adds, “How’re we supposed to eat on fat?” And she puts her hands up to her hips like she sees Daisy and May do all the time when they’re making a point.

Nolan considers this for a moment, then heaves a big sigh. “I suppose I can bring the price down to three coppers.”

“One copper,” Goldie counters, sounding stronger now but still with a little shake in her voice. I can see now as she only holds her hands to her hips to hide the fact as they’re shaking too. “And you’re lucky to get that.”

I do my best not to smile and Nolan’s eyebrows jump up to his hairline. “Lucky, am I? Well, you’re lucky if I let these go for two coppers, two farthing. You’re not the only one as wants them, you know.”

Goldie hums at this and looks down at the hens again, considering what to do next. “Well, I’d be surprised at that. They’re small,” she says. “Smaller’n all the others you’ve got here. You cut them too soon. They won’t even feed us for one night.”

“Well one copper for two hens certainly ain’t going to feed my family neither,” Nolan returns.

“That don’t make the hens any less small,” Goldie says, finding her footing now. “Why, the bones’ll be small too. We couldn’t even use them to pick what meat there is out of our teeth.”

Now I got to cover my mouth to hide my laughing, and it’s all Nolan can do to stay serious. “Is that so?” he asks.

“It’s so,” Goldie says. “One copper, two farthings.”

“There’s plenty of meat on these perfectly-sized bones,” Nolan says. “Two coppers, one farthing.”

“Nine farthings?” Goldie asks. “Those feathers ain’t even good enough to be stuffing for a pig’s bed. Two coppers flat.” She looks around the shop and points at the egg baskets. “And a dozen of those eggs with it too.”

Now Nolan’s eyebrows disappear and he looks like he’s been smacked. I stop my laughing and gape at Marigold. Seems as I forgot a rule, and I’ll be paying for it at the inn later.

“You got yourself a deal, Miss Marigold,” Nolan agrees afore he can lose himself any more money.

He strings up the hens and counts out a dozen eggs in a small basket, packing it with hay to keep them from breaking. He hands over the purchase as Goldie lays down her eight farthings on the counter, looking proud of herself for getting such a good deal. 

Nolan takes the coins and looks over at me. “By the stars, Ham, what’re you teaching this lass?” he asks.

“Not that, I assure you,” I say, stepping up to take the eggs. I put an extra two farthings on the counter to pay for them and pat Goldie on the head. “You did good, lass.”

“That she did,” Nolan agrees and Goldie beams up at us. Then Nolan promptly follows, “I don’t ever want to see you in here again.”

Goldie’s face crumbles. “You don’t?” she asks.

“It’s a compliment, lass,” I say and nod my head farewell to Nolan. “Come on, now, we got to get going.”

Marigold and I step outside back into the market and make our way to the bridge, where thankfully all three of my other children are waiting; either Sam didn’t find Ted or he decided to let it be. We make our way over to them.

“So did I really do a good job haggling, Daddy?” Goldie asks.

“Aye, you did at that, a little too good,” I say. “Next time, if you want eggs, you ask for that upfront with everything else and haggle the price for everything together. Don’t be adding on at the end of the sale. It ain’t polite, lest you want to start haggling all over again just for those alone. Understand?”

Goldie nods, looking guilty. “Should I go apologize?”

“Don’t you dare!” I say. “You’re going to be going for our meat from here on out. Best to keep him on his toes. Mayhap we’ll start getting better deals.” Then I laugh and she laughs along with me.

“What’s so funny?” May asks as we join them.

“What took so long?” Daisy asks, upset over the time she lost.

“How’d you do, lass?” Sam asks, looking at the hens his little sister’s a carrying. “Looks like you did well enough for yourself.”

“And I got a dozen eggs too,” Goldie says, and tells her siblings about her purchase as we cross over the bridge and head up the Lane to the Row. Her siblings are mightily impressed by her tale, even Daisy, who can get a whole side of beef off Nolan for a mere brass-piece and is considered the best haggler in town.

“Well done, Goldie!” Daisy compliments. “It’ll be nice having someone else in this family as can keep Mr. Bushmore from getting too big for his britches.”

“He’ll think twice afore haggling with you again,” May says.

“So you all knew as I was going to have to do this?” she asks, turning to Sam, her confider in nearly everything. “And you didn’t warn me.”

“Why should I?” Sam asks. “I told Gaffer you could do it, and you did, and if you can haggle with Nolan Bushmore, you can haggle with anyone, and that’s a fact.”

“Hmph,” Goldie harrumphs. “Well, be that as it may, I think I’ll leave the plucking of the hens to you tonight, Sam. You should of told me.”

Sam shakes his head and I nod my mine. “Sam’s right, lass. Sometimes, the warning does worse’n the surprise,” I say. “Why, when I told May as she’d be having to haggle with old Bushmore, she didn’t even want to leave the smial.”

May laughs, remembering. “That’s right,” she says and tells her sister all about her first time in the butcher’s shop, sending each of us to stitches with laughter explaining how she nearly talked herself into cleaning out the meat bins for a month in exchange for a half dozen pork chops. Then Daisy and Sam recount their own adventures and we laugh all the way home.

GF  6/29/08