Chapter 16 – Letting Go

Afterlithe was waning when Frodo was at last allowed to leave Brandy Hall again. He had returned to his full strength much sooner than the healer could have hoped for and he was eager to get out and walk around.

The first place he went, with Esmeralda guiding him, was Farmer Gideon’s cabbage fields. The farmer pointed them to the east fields and there they found Edon, working alone in the midmorning sun, checking the leaves on all the cabbage heads and periodically testing the soil. Esmeralda sat herself beneath a tree at the edge of the field, where she could keep her eye on Frodo but allow the lads some privacy to talk. Frodo approached Edon with silent footsteps, so that Edon didn’t notice his presence until he spoke.

“Hullo Edon,” Frodo said.

Edon turned around, surprised to see his visitor. “Hullo Frodo,” he greeted with a pleased smile. “You’re out and about I see. How wonderful. I know you were getting bored with your room.”

Frodo smiled and nodded. “Very. If I never see it again, it’ll be too soon,” he said, then his smile turned to smirk. “Of course, I’ll have to see it tonight, won’t I?”

Edon chuckled. “That you will. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to come and visit more, but I’ve been kept rather busy, what with Master Gideon and my father driving me all day and night.”

“I understand,” Frodo said. He looked around the field, at the long rows of endless vegetables spreading in all directions and not much more of anything else. The sun shone blazingly overhead and the wind from the east smelled of roses and cut grass. “It’s a peaceful place.”

Edon nodded. “It is. Allows one to think, mayhap a bit too much. How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Frodo answered. “How about you?”

Edon shrugged. “Can’t complain.”

“They still talk about you at the Hall,” Frodo said. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. It’s not easy being the topic of such gossip.”

Edon wiped his brow and leaned against his spade. He squinted down at Frodo, curiosity now getting the better of him. Why exactly was Frodo here? But he shrugged again and said, “That’s the way of things, and I deserve it, what’s more. I thought I came from humble beginnings, but all this gossip and harsh regard has been a rather bitter lesson in humility, and I’m grateful for it.”

“You are?”

Edon nodded. “I am. I started to think I was more important than I actually am. I started to believe that I had the right to demand respect and admiration. That’s a dangerous belief to have.”

“Why?” Frodo asked, confused by this statement. Didn’t everyone want respect and admiration?

“It makes you envious and jealous of those that do have those things,” Edon said. “It makes you bitter and angry that you don’t, and you wind up hurting people and blaming them for it. Never be like that, Frodo. Learn to appreciate what you do have and never, never, take your friends for granted.”

Frodo nodded. That made sense enough and he certainly didn’t want to hurt anyone. At least, not more than he already had. He had hurt his guardians when he had dashed off. He didn’t want to do that again if it could be helped. “I won’t,” he said. “If I ever do make a real friend, I won’t take him for granted.”

“What are you talking about?” Edon asked. “You have friends. Milo nearly knocked Gil’s head off for what he said to you, or so Gil tells me. Then there’s Fendi and Morti also. They’ve always liked you.”

“Only because I’m so sneaky,” Frodo said, but he smiled as he said it. “And there’s Merry. I’ll always be his friend. And I’ll be yours.”

Edon smiled sadly at this. Even his own brother wasn’t keen on talking to him these days, and Piper was taking time to think things over. If it weren’t for Gil, he wouldn’t have anyone to talk to. “And I’ll be yours, for what it’s worth,” he said to Frodo now. “If there’s ever anything you need, just let me know.”

“There is one thing I need,” Frodo said now and shifted his feet uncertainly. “Gil told me you’re good with woodworking, or used to be.”

Edon nodded. “It used to be a hobby of mine when I lived in Branbourne,” he confirmed. “I haven’t had much time at it since moving here though. Why?”

Frodo toed the dirt and looked up at Edon uncertainly. “I need to build something. My dad used to be good with wood too, but he only had time to show me a few things before he… well, before he died. I understand if you’re too busy.”

“I’ll find time,” promised Edon. “I’ll work something out. What do you want to build?”  

Edon did work something out. He arranged it with his father and Farmer Gideon to have an hour each afternoon to teach Frodo woodworking and help him with his project. Frodo would come to Gideon’s fields and Edon would conduct the lessons under the oak tree at the edge of the field as Esmeralda and Scarlet watched or spoke amongst themselves, and Merry played with the used sandpaper or the wood blocks that Edon quickly made for him to occupy his attention.

Frodo never said what the project was for, and Edon never asked. He was just pleased to be able to help Frodo and that he could teach the lad something useful in the process. Edon drew the design they would use, keeping in mind that Frodo didn’t want anything too elaborate, just so long as it could do its job. He looked forward to the visits and was always disappointed when the hour passed so quickly.

With so little time to work, he feared they would never finish. Afterlithe came to a fast close, Wedmath came and went, and Halimath was half through before they even knew it. At last, when the harvests were first getting under way, Edon inspected the final product and declared the project a success. Frodo hugged him fiercely, and promised to continue to come visit every afternoon, so long as Esmeralda wasn’t busy with other things. He also invited Edon to his birthday the following week.

Edon hugged Frodo back and gladly accepted the invitation. He was a bit afraid of what others would think of him being there, but he would not disappoint his friend. The townsfolk were starting to forgive Edon for his treachery, seeing as he was such a hard worker and that Mistress Esmeralda always had such good things to say about him. That Gil had forgiven him helped also and, at last, Mr. Redleaf consented to his daughter courting Edon.

Piper came to visit Edon one night soon after the end of Frodo’s project. She held out a cloak of deep green, embroidered with yellow and sky blue. Stenciled in the same colors on the back of the cloak was a magpie. He had to laugh when he saw it. “Cute,” he said, fingering the bird’s outline. “A thief for a thief. Is this your way of saying you forgive me?”

“‘Tis me way of sayin’ to own what ‘ee did,” Piper said. “This way, ‘ee’ll not forget it and it’ll keep ‘ee honest.”

Edon wrapped the cloak about him and tied it loosely at his neck. He offered his arm to her and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it. They walked away from the farm in silence, the twilit sky deep blue and purple above them, the first stars shining brightly and the full moon casting a dim light down upon them.

“I’ll not forget, Piper,” Edon said. “I’ve worked too hard to get where I am now. I feared I’d never walk with you again.”

Piper nodded. “I was afeard ‘ee might find some other lass when ‘ee go back home.”

“There’s no other lass for me than you,” Edon said truthfully. He hadn’t thought about Fuchsia in weeks. “If I have to work every field in Buckland to be worthy of you, I’ll do it.”

“‘Tis me as not’s worthy of ‘ee, Edon,” Piper said. “I’m just a fisherhobbit’s daughter. I’ve no status of me own.”

“I have no status either,” Edon said. “I never have. There is no status in Branbourne, so we’re equal, so far as I’m concerned. When we marry and you come to live with me there, you’ll find yourself far more worthy than I am. Anyone who can make something as fine as this cloak will be much sought after. I can see it now, I’ll be the brewer, you’ll be the seamstress, and we’ll be happy. That is, if you want to move there.”

Piper shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Buckland’s all I know, but Branbourne sounds a lovely place. Mayhap we’ll visit, me dad and me, or even me brothers and me. We’ll visit, and we’ll see. ‘Ee could stay here, ‘ee know.”

“I don’t know if I can. You asked me once what I had lost, and the answer is I lost myself. I don’t belong here, at least, not just now,” Edon said. “If that’s what you want, though, I’ll make do. I’ll go home, find myself again, and then come back to you. Folk are starting to be kind again. I can’t ask or expect for more than that. I’m just worried how it will effect you, being with me, here.”

“I can take care o’ meself,” Piper said. She squeezed Edon’s arm and leaned into him a bit. “And I can take care o’ ‘ee too. Dad’ll take ‘ee in and no one’ll argue wit’ ‘im!”

“Well, we’ll see. You’ll come visit Branbourne, and we’ll see. We’ve a long time to work everything out.” Edon squeezed Piper’s arm in return and drew his cloak about her shoulders to keep out the chill pre-autumn air.  

The morning of Frodo’s birthday dawned and Frodo was awake before the sun. He paced the apartment with nervous energy and continuously fingered the project Edon had helped him with. Esmeralda and Saradoc still did not know exactly what the thing was for or why Frodo had wanted it finished by today. When asked, he would only say it was a present, long overdue.

They packed a picnic breakfast. Esmeralda carried the basket and Frodo carried the blanket, bringing to his mind the many times he had done this with his mother. Only now, Saradoc was with them and he carried Merry in a sling, and Frodo also carried his project.

Esme and Sara followed Frodo outside and to the lane that led away from Brandy Hall, both east and west. Even now, the lad refused to tell them where they were going, though they had a hunch, and when he turned west, they knew without doubt his destination. It wasn’t long before their guess was confirmed; they were walking in the direction of the Brandywine River.

“Frodo,” Esme called to the lad, who was walking just a few feet ahead of them. “Are you certain this is the right way?”

Frodo stopped and turned back to his guardians. He looked at them gravely and with determination, a hint of fear in his eyes. He nodded. “I am. I have to do something and I have to go to the river to do it.”

“What is that, lad?” Sara asked, looking at Frodo with concern. After all, Frodo had been avoiding the river for the last three years, out of fear and memories too painful to sustain. Saradoc couldn’t fathom what could have occurred to change that.

Frodo looked at Sara solemnly and for many long minutes he did not reply. He was considering his words carefully. He knew he would eventually have to tell them and he had prepared for this moment, but the words still failed him at first. He searched his mind trying to recall them. At last he said, “The maiden lost her love and heard him in the river and she had to go there to let him go and continue with her life.” Sara and Esme nodded. They both knew the story well. “I need to do the same, and since you were both with my parents at the River that one day, I thought you’d like to be there now. And, I want you to be there. I can’t do it myself.” With that, Frodo turned and continued on his way.

Esme and Sara shot each other quick glances but decided to let Frodo continue. This was something Frodo obviously needed to do and that he wanted them there meant more to them than they could say. They would also need to be there if, for some reason, Frodo found he could not go through with it. Sara bounced Merry on his hip and they followed Frodo to a clearing about fifty yards from the River.

Frodo stopped there, under the alders and surrounded by bushes of primrose and gladioli. His eyes were glued to the swiftly flowing river, the sound of its rushing waters filling his ears, drowning everything else out of his senses. He seemed frozen where he stood and he took many deep breaths. Esme quickly lay down the picnic basket. She stooped down to drape her arm around Frodo’s shoulders and take the blanket from his arms. “Are you all right, love? We can stay here for a while if you like.”

Frodo nodded mutely and allowed Esme to coax him into sitting. Sara sat at his other side and Merry crawled over to sit in Frodo’s lap. Frodo held Merry close and was unaware of the bairn’s hands playing with his hair and lightly fingering his face. Frodo’s eyes were fixed on the river, which he had not seen since that day he ran from the Hall to find his parents’ cold bodies upon its muddy banks. Tears ran unheeded down his cheeks as those images flooded back to him and took his breath away. The grief was as real as it had been three years ago, and Frodo was suddenly doubting that he could go through with this.

He was aware of Esme and Sara sitting close to him, aware of their concern and support. He could feel Esme’s arm still around him and of the heat of Saradoc’s hand on his shoulder. He was aware of Merry’s confusion at his tears, the bairn’s tiny fingers constantly brushing them away, to little avail. He was aware of the breeze sweeping through the clearing to play in his hair, and of the sweet fragrance of the late summer blossoms. But overpowering all of that was the River, cold and relentless.

He remembered when he and his parents used to come to this very spot, to sit and eat and just be in each other’s company. He remembered his mother taking him to that very bank, where the river came up shallow against the shore, where his mother had first taught him to swim. He remembered standing in that same spot, his father beside him, showing him how to fish, how to bait the hook, cast a line, how to stand still and be patient and wait for the line to catch. He remembered their voices, the way they laughed, how the skin around their eyes would crinkle when they smiled. He remembered his mother’s soft voice in song and his father’s boisterous voice as he told a tale or a joke.

An hour passed, then two. They ate in silence, and Sara and Esme played with Merry and kept their eyes on Frodo. At times, Frodo would appear calm, his eyes dry. At others, he would be silently crying again, and always his eyes were looking far away, at memories long past. They did not push him, did not pry. They merely waited and offered hugs and kisses when they thought they were needed.

Finally, Frodo took a deep breath and nodded. He stood on unsteady legs, his project firmly in hand, and walked to the River. They watched him intently, and Sara stood and followed at a pace, to be nearby in case anything happened.

Frodo trembled as he approached the water, his legs wobbling so bad he thought he would fall. Yet he kept moving forward, as if drawn to the river despite himself, and at last he stood at the very brink of the bank, the water mere inches from his toes. He closed his eyes and waited for their voices. They came within moments, faint and weak next to that of the River’s powerful voice.

He blindly fingered his project, a small boat about the size of a giant pumpkin that Edon had helped him build. He thought belatedly that Edon might have liked to have been here, but he couldn’t have borne asking him to come. Edon would understand that.

Frodo looked down at the boat, a common rowboat that could often be seen on the river, just as the one his father used to own. Frodo had listened to Edon carefully, had followed his every instruction closely, and had made it as well as he could. It was not perfect, but it would serve his purpose well.

With another deep breath, he found the calm section of the river and stepped into it, panicking at the initial feel of the cold water rushing around his legs and of his feet sinking into the sand. He had forgotten that part. He took several breaths to calm himself and listened again for their voices calling to him. When he heard them again, he opened his eyes and held out the boat for them to see.

“You lost your boat,” he said so quietly even he could not hear his voice, but he knew that they could hear it and that the River was listening. “I made you another one.” He stooped down and placed the boat into the water and it floated merrily upon its surface. Then he nudged it toward the current and it was quickly swept away, bobbing on the water, speeding toward the Sea, to his parents.

He stood there long after the boat was out of sight, listening still, but all he could hear now were the sounds of the River, the gurgling and swooshing. He wriggled his toes in the sand and took a small step forward, the water now warm and embracing around his legs, soft and gentle, no longer frightening.

His parents were gone. He had given them the help they needed and they would haunt him no longer. Tears sprang to his eyes again as he mourned for them anew, but when he looked up, he was smiling.

To be concluded…