This is written for Grey Wonderer, who won the identity challenge at the end of “Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Hobbits”.

Marigold’s Gift

Sam is 12, Marigold nearly 9 (or about 7.5 and 6 in Man years)
Foreyule 1392 SR

“Sammy. Wake up, Sam…… Sammy.”

The little voice was accompanied by a persistent poke on his arm, which was thrown over his eyes in what had been a deep sleep.

“Sammy.” Another poke and this time the voice sounded on the verge of tears.

Sam yawned and lowered his arm to blink up at his little sister. Marigold had climbed into bed with him and had promptly begun imitating their kitten Nibbler who would nudge his whiskered nose against Sam’s cheek to request to be pet. The kitten was presently curled on Sam’s discarded shirt on the floor, sleeping innocently. Marigold was acting on her own.

“What’s a matter?” Sam asked around another yawn. He rubbed his eyes and struggled to stay awake to find out what had so upset his little sister.

“Are you awake now?” Goldie asked hopefully.

“I s’pose. What’re you wanting, Goldie-lass?” Sam asked.

“You said you were going to help me finish my birthday present for Daddy today,” Goldie reminded him, looking worried again. Had her brother forgotten? Was he now too busy to help her? What would she do then, for she wanted her father’s present to be ever so special?

“Goldie,” Sam spluttered at this. He had no window in his room but he knew well enough from the lack of sunlight in the hall that it was still the dead of night. “The sun ain’t even awake yet, lass. I said I’d help and I will, after first breakfast. Mr. Bilbo said as we could finish it at Bag End. That way Gaffer won’t be walking in on us again.”

“Oh,” Goldie said with a sigh, feeling better. Her brother hadn’t forgotten and they would be making her present at Bag End. Now that was special!

She yawned then too and looked longingly at her brother tucked tight and warm in his bed. “Can I sleep with you?” she asked.

“Aye lass,” Sam agreed and lifted the blankets for her to slip under them. She was snuggled up to him a moment later, and just as quickly she was fast asleep. Sam patted her head affectionately, then drifted off to sleep as well.

When next he woke up, the sun was beginning to lighten the dimness in the smial, though it had not yet risen enough to warm the floorboards of the hall and kitchen. He could hear May and Daisy already in the kitchen making first breakfast and knew his father would be outside getting tinder for filling the wood boxes.

Sam yawned, stretched and sat up. Seeing his master awake, Nibbler jumped onto the bed, purring loudly. “Mew?” the kitten inquired.

“Aye, I’ll get you some milk,” Sam promised and pet the kitten for a few moments before waking his sister. “Scamper off to your room and get dressed, Goldie. We’ll be heading up to Bag End soon as breakfast’s over.”

Marigold stirred next to him, frowning and rubbing her eyes. “Five more minutes.”

“You’ve had five more hours,” Sam replied. “Up you get.” He shook her shoulder gently and Nibbler added his own form of persuasion by nipping at her exposed cheeks and nose.

“Ow! Nibs! Stop it!” Marigold said, sitting up to avoid being pecked to death by the kitten. “Fine. I’ll get dressed then.” She slipped out of bed and went down the hall to her room, grumbling all the way.

“Good work, Nibs,” Sam said, patting the little tortoiseshell again, this time with approval.

He washed and dressed and made his bed, all the while avoiding being tripped by the famished kitten, who was of the opinion that an entire night without food was simply too much to ask of him. The kitten ran ahead of Sam to the kitchen and waited impatiently by his milk bowl for his breakfast. Once Nibbler was satisfied, Sam set to fixing everyone’s luncheons, joined shortly by his father, just returned from filling the wood boxes.

Over first breakfast, Hamfast turned to his youngest children. “So, you’ll be going up to Bag End today, is it?” he asked. Sam of course always went, first for his lessons and then to help his father in the gardens. Marigold rarely went up the Hill, except on the occasions when the Master decided that having one Gamgee under foot was not enough.

“Yes sir,” Sam replied. “Mr. Bilbo’s trying out some new receipts as he got from his Buckland relations and he needs someone as can test them out for him.” This was not entirely unheard of, as Mr. Bilbo would often invite the children of the Row up to Bag End whenever he wanted honest opinions on his cooking.

What Sam didn’t mention was that while Mr. Bilbo was busy cooking, Sam would be helping Marigold with her gift. After the Gaffer had inadvertently walked in on them while they were completing the first stage of the gift-making in Goldie’s room a few days before, Sam had decided that finishing the gift at Number Three wouldn’t do at all. He had been at a loss of where to take the gift to finish it though, until Master Frodo suggested he bring Marigold up the Hill and easily talked Mr. Bilbo into a new-receipt day to give as an excuse. They both agreed to plan it for the same day that Hamfast would be tending the garden; it being winter, the garden required maintenance only a couple of days each week and Master Frodo knew Hamfast wouldn’t want to make the journey up the Hill without need.

“Just make sure as you don’t go insulting him, should he mess up the receipt. ‘Tis an easy enough thing with a receipt you’re not used to,” Hamfast advised.

“Yes, Daddy,” Sam and Marigold chorused.

An hour later, hair neatly combed, bellies full, and bodies bundled against the elements of chill and wind, Sam and Marigold followed their father up the Hill to Bag End. Mr. Bilbo was already waiting for them, standing on the porch and smiling as bright as the sun. He loved planning surprises and getting to plan one for his master gardener was a special treat.

“Good morning, Gamgees,” he greeted cheerily, the tip of his nose pinked with cold.

“Good morning, Mr. Bilbo,” the Gamgees greeted in return, their breaths misting the air in front of them. Sam dashed up the steps to stand next to his employer and tutor, but Marigold hung back, hugging her father’s trouser leg and looking up at the silver-haired master with hesitation.

Hamfast rested a hand on her head. “Now remember to behave yourselves,” he said and nudged Marigold forward pointedly. Part of behaving themselves was not acting daft towards their host.

Marigold hesitated just a moment longer. Finally, she decided that Mr. Bilbo didn’t look in any way mad as she so often heard him described. She trotted up the steps and joined her brother and the master on the porch.

“They’ll be perfect darlings,” Mr. Bilbo said with assurance and tried his best to look approachable and harmless for Goldie’s sake while he continued to address Hamfast. “Now, I finally got those seeds you’ve been wanting and put them in the tool shed for you. I noticed while I was in there that the handle on the long-trowel was split, so I had that replaced also.” He paused for a moment, looking confused. Then he brightened and snapped his fingers. “Ah yes! Frodo said to come and fetch him when you’re ready to dig up the tree mallow and move it to the side garden.” Here he gave Hamfast a hard look that would brook no arguments.

Hamfast nodded, knowing better than to protest, especially in front of his children. That wouldn’t be proper at all. “Will do, sir.”

“Good, good,” Mr. Bilbo said and turned to his young charges, thus dismissing his gardener to his work. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s get inside and get started, shall we?” he said to Sam and Goldie and held out his hand for the lass to take.

Sam nodded and Goldie accepted the hand, comforted immediately by its soft, warm grip. She smiled tentatively and let Mr. Bilbo lead her inside, Sam following just behind to close the door. Marigold looked around with wonder as she trotted next to Mr. Bilbo down the long curving tunnel of Bag End. She had only been inside the massive hole a couple of times before, and then only as far as the parlor. She shrunk into Mr. Bilbo’s side, afraid she would accidentally run into a table and knock over one of those fancy vases or statuettes or other expensive items onto the floor. Mr. Bilbo tightened his grip on her hand for just a moment, reassuring her, and she relaxed more but still kept as close to the middle of the clustered tunnel as she could.

They entered the kitchen to find the table already arrayed with the things Marigold would need to make her gift. Sam had smuggled the bits and things up the Hill in his bag of study things yesterday. Mr. Bilbo had kindly kept them hidden in the smial so that Hamfast would not accidentally stumble upon them when he came into the hole to replace the cuttings in the vases and tend the household plants. The gift itself, a circular mold of Marigold’s handprint made from clay dug up from the riverbed, Sam had brought with him today, wrapped heavily in several rags for maximum protection and tucked into the inside pocket of his overcoat.

Master Frodo was there also. Tucked away in the breakfast nook on the far side of the kitchen, his feet propped up on a chair, he was correcting a paper on some topic while munching on a scone and sipping water. He beamed at Sam and Goldie as they came into the kitchen and greeted them pleasantly. Sam returned the cheerful good morning with equal gusto, but Goldie merely pinked with embarrassment and mumbled a shy greeting from behind Sam’s back. If she was shy of the Master, she was even more unsure of his handsome young heir. She was glad when he stayed where he was. Sam too left Master Frodo alone, as his friend was clearly supposed to be studying and not playing with clay moldings or even helping his cousin with the receipts.

Sam took in the kitchen with a wary eye. Between the heaps of ingredients, utensils and crockery spread over the counters, the decorations and glaze jars littering the table, and Frodo’s study things and breakfast covering the table in the nook, there was not a single surface left uncluttered. They would be cleaning up from this mess for an hour at least, if not all afternoon.

Mr. Bilbo waved his young charges toward the table, indicating they should take a seat. “You know what you’re about?” he asked.

Sam looked over the materials again as he gingerly removed the clay mold from his pocket and unwrapped it. He nodded, confident. “Aye sir, we can manage.”

“Speak up if you need help,” Mr. Bilbo requested.

“Yes sir,” Sam said and Marigold nodded.

Sam brought a chair close to the one Goldie had chosen, and together they took in their inventory. Goldie hadn’t been sure how exactly she wanted to decorate her handprint, so Sam had brought everything he thought she might want to use. There were bits of ribbon and strings of wool, small jars of glazes for painting and several little paint brushes, bags of dried flowers and seeds, glue and varnish. Most of the items he found in Number Three, while the varnish and glue had been acquired from the tool shed when his father hadn’t been looking. Mr. Bilbo had kindly supplied the glazes, which Sam would work off next week by helping Mr. Bilbo and Master Frodo plan their Yule feast, mostly in the capacity of errand runner.

“All right then, lass,” Sam began. “Have you set on decorations or somewhat like that for your handprint, or were you maybe just wanting to paint it?”

Marigold nodded, then shook her head, then paused and nodded again. “Both,” she said at last. She bit a fingernail uncertainly until Sam pulled her hand from her mouth and raised his eyebrows encouragingly. Goldie continued, “Daisy said as when you all did your handprints with Ma, that you decorated them all, but May said she painted hers, but I want to do both.”

“That’ll take a bit longer, but we can manage. You’ll be wanting to paint it first then, and varnish it, afore fixing anything to it. We’ll have to wait for it all to dry, of course,” Sam said and Goldie sighed heavily. She had already had to wait for the mold to dry before she could decorate it, and now she was going to have to wait even then! Sam easily ignored her pout. “What were you wanting to paint it then?”

Distracted from her turmoil by this most important question, Marigold looked at the jars of glaze spread over the table. “Like my name flower,” she said uncertainly, not sure if this was a good idea or not.

Sam smiled widely with approval. “That’s a neat idea, lass,” he said and Goldie beamed winningly. He scratched his head, thinking. “We could do a marigold for each finger, and at the bottom of the fingers we could hang these green ribbons and tie a bow around it, like a bouquet.”

“Oh! I like that idea!” Marigold exclaimed, jumping up and down in her chair and clapping enthusiastically, her shyness forgotten in her excitement. From the corner of his eye, Sam noticed Master Frodo take a drink of his water, much longer than was normal for him, and suspected he was trying to cover up a smile so Goldie wouldn’t think he was teasing her; Master Frodo liked the idea too then. Mr. Bilbo just continued measuring and pouring, too lost in his baking to spare attention for anything else.

The plan set, Sam brought the paint brushes and glazes within easy reach. “Now, first picture in your mind what kind of marigold you’re going to be painting, then paint it. We can fill in any blank spots with blue for sky and green for grass once we’re done.”

“And maybe put in a little birdie or bunny?” Goldie asked.

“If we’ve room for them,” Sam said. He handed a couple of paint brushes to Goldie. “Don’t go mixing the glazes in the jars, now. They ain’t ours.”

Marigold’s eyes widened at this and she nodded formally. Sam was thinking hard; they would need to mix some of the colors to get the different shades that they wanted. Making up his mind, he slipped off the chair and went to the cupboards where the spare wooden bowls were stored. Mr. Bilbo had already told him the day before that he and Goldie could use anything in the kitchen they might need, so he didn’t hesitate to grab the little bowls and return with them to the table.

Marigold watched all this with wide, uncertain eyes but Sam’s ease of movement and Mr. Bilbo’s complete lack of notice as he measured flour and sugar helped to reassure her. To be certain, she glanced at Master Frodo, but he only winked at her before going back to his paper. Still, she waited until Sam poured a dab of the red glaze and a dot of the yellow glaze into a bowl and started mixing them for a deep orange color before she tentatively dipped a brush into the yellow. She paused again and when no scolding was forthcoming, she proceeded to color in the backdrop for her first flower and soon forgot all about her worries as she got lost in her project.

They worked silently for the next hour, quietly consulting each other now and again to make sure their marigolds weren’t too similar, mixing more shades of orange, gold and crimson as they ran out. When they finished with the flowers, Marigold dotted in the blue for the sky and Sam the green for the grass. There wasn’t room for a bird, but Sam was able to paint a rabbit for her near the bottom curve of the circular mold.

They finished just in time to help Mr. Bilbo and Master Frodo taste-test a plate of sweet cakes and scones. Mr. Bilbo put the clay mold near the stove to help dry the paint as they sat around the breakfast nook, licking fingers and drinking milk. Master Frodo was more than happy to put aside his paper for a time, and he told little jokes and familiar stories to Marigold to help her relax completely. By the time the treats were gone, Marigold was jumping up and down and asking for more stories.

Mr. Bilbo laughed and held up his hands. “Frodo will have more than enough time to indulge you again at the second sitting. As for now, what did you think of the receipts? Shall I keep them, modify them, or toss them in the hearth fire?” he asked.

“I liked them all,” Goldie said unhelpfully.

“The plum cakes were on the tart side,” Master Frodo said more helpfully. “The pumpkin scones were perfectly moist.”

“I thought the black currant bread pudding could have used another half-cup of sugar,” Sam put in, “and mayhap ten minutes more in the cellar.”

“It was rather more runny than you’d want it to be,” Master Frodo backed this up.

“I thought,” Marigold started, then paused.

“Yes, lass?” Mr. Bilbo prompted.

“I thought the plum cakes were a bit tart too,” she said, blushing, “begging your pardon.”

“No pardon necessary, Miss Marigold,” Mr. Bilbo said. “That is precisely why you are here, to tell me honestly what you thought of the receipts.” He then bent over the receipt cards and jotted down the notes of his critics.

They all pitched in to clean the dishes from Mr. Bilbo’s first round efforts and by the time this was done, the paint on the clay mold was sufficiently dry to allow for varnishing. Of course, it then needed to be set aside to dry again, so Master Frodo took Sam and Marigold into the parlor to tell them more stories. He wasn’t finished with the revisions for his paper yet, but he was in need of a break and the young Gamgees in need of entertainment. He told them the story of Bandobras the Bullroarer, followed it with the full version of The Man on the Moon Came Down Too Soon, and was in the middle of a My Friend Tim tall-tale, in which Tim risks the perils of the Old Forest to a bad end, when Mr. Bilbo came into the parlor.

“Master Hamfast is at the back door, Frodo,” he said simply.

Master Frodo nodded. “I’ll be out in just a bit. I can’t very well leave them in the middle of the tale,” he pointed out and Mr. Bilbo saw this was true enough. Marigold was wide-eyed and clutched at her brother’s side, half-hiding her face in his shirt as she peeked at Master Frodo through her fingers. Sam was looking very serious and watching Master Frodo with such attention that he didn’t even notice Mr. Bilbo was in the room.

“I’ll tell him it will be a few minutes, but don’t make him wait too long,” Mr. Bilbo advised. “The bush won’t survive being uprooted for very long.”

“I’m nearly at the end,” Master Frodo said. He wasn’t really, but he figured that sparing Sam and Marigold the more vivid details of the story wouldn’t hurt them in the slightest. He ended the harrowing tale quickly, the poor unfortunate Tim once again teaching young children the perils of not listening to ones elders. Marigold and Sam sighed with relief when Master Frodo left, both of them glad that they were miles from Buckland; no one would expect either one of them ever to go into that haunted wood.

Sam stirred first and led Marigold back to the kitchen, missing its cozy warmth and the reassuring presence of Mr. Bilbo. Sam checked the clay mold and determined that the varnish was sufficiently dry enough to allow them to continue with their project. They tidied up what they could, putting aside the glazes and varnish and wiping clean the wooden bowls with rags. They then placed the bowls in the wash basin and the rags in the laundry bin in the back foyer.

Now ready to continue, with a slightly less cluttered table in front of them, Marigold placed the molding between them and they examined it together. Already, it looked quite impressive. The bold crimsons, oranges, and yellows of the marigolds popped out against the soft blue sky and bright green grass, the little white rabbit adding its own simple brilliance to the pallet.

“We could use the seeds for the centers of the flower,” Goldie said, “and I can cut a bit of the wool string to make a bow for the ribbon flower stems.”

“We’ll not want the stems to be too long,” Sam pointed out, “maybe only a nail or two off the bottom.”

“Could we take some of the dried flowers and glue them over the grass, like maybe some of the flowers wilted?” Goldie asked.

“It’s your gift, lass,” Sam reminded her. “If that’s what you’re wanting, that’s what we’ll do.”

Marigold considered this idea for a time, then shook her head. “I think we’ll just use the seeds,” she decided at last.

“All right then,” Sam agreed. “Try not to spill any though. We’ll have to sweep if we do. In fact…” He trailed off, then jumped off the chair and went to the drawer that held the silverware and utensils. He grabbed a set of wooden measuring spoons and took this back to the table, giving the smallest one to his sister and taking the next smallest one for himself. “We can use these to scoop up the seeds and pour them on the glue.”

Goldie grinned brightly at her brother. She was ever impressed at how smart he was.

They worked on their project for the next hour, finishing just as Master Frodo came in from outside. His hands and shirt were covered in dirt, and his face and neck were wet with sweat. He nodded approval at Marigold’s gift, unconcerned about his soiled condition.

“Do you like it, Master Frodo?” Marigold boldly asked.

“I do, lass,” Master Frodo said. “Your father will be the luckiest dad in the Shire to get such a grand gift.”

Marigold beamed at this and swung her feet happily. “Thank you, Master Frodo.”

Master Frodo raised his hand to pat her head, then thought better of it when he noticed the dirt on his hands. He glanced over Mr. Bilbo’s shoulder, no doubt ready for elevenses, then shrugged and headed down the tunnel to his chamber to wash up and change his shirt.

Sam too decided that tidying up was the best thing to do at the moment. He took the clay mold back to the counter near the stove so the glue could dry, then he and Marigold cleaned up the table, putting away what they could and stowing the varnish and glue in the back foyer near the laundry bin for taking to the tool shed later.

By the time Hamfast came to fetch them at noon, they had critiqued Mr. Bilbo’s second batch of receipts, and Sam had the mold wrapped up and tucked away inside his pocket once again. Sam and Marigold thanked Mr. Bilbo and Master Frodo for a lovely morning, then followed their father down the Hill to Number Three.

Two days later, Marigold turned nine. She had made presents for everyone. For Daisy and May she had made scented soap and shampoo. For her brother, she had crotched a pair of mittens with May’s guidance. For her neighbors and friends, she had made jars of preserves, a specialty of hers for which she required no help at all.

She held back her father’s gift for last and handed it to him while everyone else was busy exclaiming over their own gifts. It was still wrapped in the rags Sam had protected it in. She held her breath and waited patiently while Hamfast unwrapped his present. She knew that her older siblings had all made similar presents for their father with their mother’s help, but she still wasn’t sure if her father would like it or not. Maybe, he would only like it if her mother had been there to help her, instead of Sam.

Her worries disappeared though as Hamfast at last freed the clay molding and held it up in the firelight. He gave a soft cry of recognition, then a satisfied grunt of approval as he took in the artwork. Finally, he grinned from ear to ear and swept his daughter into a hug.

“Why, my golden lass, ‘tis the best gift I’ve ever got,” he said.

“Really?” she asked.

“It is at that,” he confirmed. “I’ll treasure it always.” He then held it up for everyone else to see before putting it on the mantle next to the other five handprint plaques, beneath the portrait of Bell. “And she’ll treasure it too.”

Marigold beamed at this, her mother’s dazzling smile, and Hamfast hugged her again and kissed her curls. No, he thought, the best gift he ever got was each one of his children, for they all in their own way reminded him of Bell.

The end

GF 11/1/08