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Pearl's Pearls  by Pearl Took

Written for Marigold's Challenge #42

A Need to Know
By Pearl Took

Thanks to Marigold and Llinos for the beta!

“It’s a shame the Gaffer isn’t a better hand at growin’ vegetables.”

Frodo Baggins nearly choked on the bite of ham that was all he had left in his mouth from the last spoonful of ham and bean soup he had eaten.

“Yes, a right pity the old hobbit isn’t near the hand with foodstuffs as he is with flowers,” Old Tom Cotton continued between his own spoonfuls of soup. “An’ all this going on ‘bout his taters. Well . . .”

The happy buzz of hobbit conversation around the large kitchen table had stuttered to a halt. Nick had started coughing and Nibs was patting his back. What was the old hobbit doing?

The Gaffer, Sam and Mr. Frodo were staying at the Cotton farm until the mess was cleared and new holes built where Bagshot Row had once been. The Gaffer had begun to take his luncheon at the Ivy Bush as soon as it had reopened and so wasn’t at Old Tom’s table just now.

Rosie, her three younger brothers and their mother, slowly went back to eating, Rosie glancing anxiously over the edge of her spoon at Sam. Frodo watched as a flush of red began to creep up Sam’s neck.

“I know the old rascal brags on them taters enough to make a deaf dog bored, but they really aren’t as good as mine,” Old Tom prattled on. He seemed totally unaware of the tense feeling in his kitchen. “If ya want to grow good foodstuffs, ya learn from a farmer. If ya want beautiful flowers, ya learn from a gardener. I’ll never fault the Gaffer on his roses and no one in the Shire has finer day lilies. But he’s naught but a novice on his taters.”

Sam had stopped eating. His spoon was in his bowl and his hands, clenched, rested on either side of it. Frodo saw the flush deepen until he was sure the whole of Sam’s head was red.

“It’s a good thing you’re to be with us a while, Sam-lad. I’ll have these afternoons whilst your father is at the Ivy to teach ya a bit ‘bout root vegetables. Maybe even tell ya all there is to know ‘bout beans and peas as well. You need to be taught better than ya know now if you're to be any good.”

Sam slowly rose to his feet. His fists still rested on the table as he leaned towards the head of the household. His hazel eyes burned.

“Mr. Cotton.” Sam’s voice was so tight it was almost unrecognisable. “My Gaffer knows more ‘bout the growin’ of edible roots than you could fit into a barn full of books on the matter. My mum, rest her soul, grew the finest beans and peas you would have ever tasted. I know things you’ll never know, sir. I kept Mr. Frodo and I fed on that lembas bread and whatever else I could find, which weren’t much most of the time. I helped replant more than just flowers in the new King’s City and I’ll be seein’ to tendin’ a whole lot more than just flowers here in the Shire as I go about replantin’ here. I think I can do just fine. Thank you anyway.”

Sam paused. Frodo saw the fist nearest him flex a few times. He looked at Sam’s face and could see his jaw muscle doing the same.

“Actually, if there’s anythin’ you might want me to be teachin’ you, Mr. Cotton, you just let me know. I’m going to check on our ponies.” Sam straightened, turning stiffly to face Lilly Cotton. “Thank you for a wonderful luncheon, Mrs. Cotton,” he said then he walked heavily across the kitchen and out of the door, slamming it behind him.

“And just who did he think he was talkin’ to?” Sam muttered aloud as he stomped towards the paddock.

He stooped to pick a stone from the dirt and hurled it at the side of the stable. The large open building echoed the hit. Sam was sure they heard it in the house.

“Good!” he spat the word out.

Sam stopped at the fence, leaning upon the top rail. The ponies, the ones Strider had given him and Frodo plus Bill, had taken off running to the far end of the pasture when the stone hit the stable. Sam watched them go, tails up and flying like flags in a stiff breeze.

“There’s not a farmer anywhere what grows better taters than my old Gaffer.” Sam yelled to the running ponies. “And Old Tom is a pony’s rear if he thinks elsewise. Ha! Ya need to be a farmer to grow foodstuffs. ‘If ya want beautiful flowers, ya learn from a gardener.’ Ha! Just who does Old Tom Cotton think . . . he . . . is . . .”

Sam suddenly felt like he’d been doused with cold well water. He knew who Old Tom Cotton was. He was Rosie Cotton’s father.

Sam hadn’t heard the soft footsteps coming up behind him so he jumped when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone lean against the fence beside him.

“Those are fine, fine ponies you lads rode home from them foreign parts.” Rosie’s father said before stopping to light his pipe. “Fine ponies indeed.”

The heat began to rise again in Sam. “Yes, sir, the best,” he replied, his tone distant.

“And you’re a fine hobbit, Samwise Gamgee.”

Sam was stunned. “I . . . eh . . . well, thank you, sir.”

“Ya weren’t expectin’ me to say somethin’ like that, were ya lad?”

“No, sir,” Sam was sounding his old, shy self.

“’Tis true though. Your dad, he raised a fine family.”

The two of them stood there in silence for a while, watching as the ponies made their way slowly back. They usually came to the fence whenever they saw any hobbits there; hobbits usually had treats in their pockets.

Old Tom broke the silence. “My Rosie, well, my Rosie likes you, Sam.”

Sam nearly stopped breathing.

“She never gave up hope that you and Mr. Frodo and his cousins would come back. Never once.”

Sam’s eyes stayed on the ponies. He heard Mr. Cotton puffing on his pipe beside him and the sound of his own heart pounding.

“I knew you’re a good lad. I knew you’d stick up for your family or old Bilbo Baggins, and young Mr. Frodo. But . . . well,” the old hobbit paused. He knocked out his pipe on the top rail, then mashed the ashes into the dirt to make sure they were out. “I had to know if you would stick up for yourself.”

Their eyes finally met. Old Tom’s were warm and friendly with mischievous sparkle. Sam’s were surprised.

“Wouldn’t want my lass endin’ up with a lad that had the pluck to follow his boss off into no one knows where, but doesn’t have the sense to know his own worth and say so.”

The old hobbit patted the younger one’s shoulder with his work-hardened hand.

“Ya can teach my lads about root growin’ anytime ya take a fancy to, Sam, ya learned from the best in the Shire, after all.”

Old Tom Cotton turned away and walked back to the house. Sam stood by the fence with his mouth hanging open. Had the old hobbit really said something about who his lass might “end up with?”





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