Chapter 9, Inside the Wooden Box

Pippin wandered the down the hallway alone away from the reception; the laughter of his friends, family, and the music of his sister’s fiddle remained inside the parlour while he moved away from it. The excitement of the graduation had faded, and the teen felt just as bad as he did last night and this morning. Pippin’s head felt heavy, his back ached, he felt weary, and heard a constant drone in his ears. His gait was slow, yet there was purpose in mind. He sought peace and quiet away from the clatter of the parlour.

Pippin turned left as he met up with his father’s study. Once inside, he looked round at the high shelves filled with books, the smell of leather chairs, his father’s empty pipe laying on its side next to the ash bowl on his father’s desk...a wooden box filled with parchments and papers sitting beside the ash bowl. Curious, Pippin made his way over to the box to have a look at it.

“What are you doing?” came a masked voice in the doorway.

Pippin startled, turning round. “I knew it was you!” he said to Merry who was grinning impishly.

“No you didn’t,” Merry replied then sat down in one of the chairs. “Why aren’t you in the parlour with everyone? Pearl was looking for you to play a duet with your fiddles.”

“I’m not in the mood to play my fiddle,” Pippin responded, still rifling through the paperwork. “It’s quiet in here.”

Yet another voice sounded from the entryway. “Since when has Peregrin Took taken a shine to tranquil environments?”

Pippin turned round again to find his other favourite cousin taking a seat beside Merry.

“Well, it’s not quiet anymore.” Pippin went back to rummaging through the wooden box.

Both Merry and Frodo raised their eyebrows in unison. Frodo studied the thirteen year old for a long minute. “Come here, Pip,” said Frodo, patting the space between him and Merry.

“I’m busy helping my papa,” replied the lad.

“Pippin...” Frodo used his authoritative tone. “You cannot help your father if you’re ill.” He then smiled at Pippin, “What sort of example are you setting for him, anyway?”

“I’m not,” said Pippin, becoming a bit agitated. There was so much to be done here, couldn’t they see that?

Presently, there came a couple more voices from out in the hallway then entered inside the study. Paladin, along with his cousin Adelard, stood near to his desk, a bit surprised at seeing what appeared to be three young hobbits taking their ease in his office. “What’s going on, lads? Is there something wrong?”

* * *

“What you see here is the gist of it,” said Addie, speaking to Frodo and Merry in the study. “What is outside of the box, we brought in from Ferumbras’ desk and Paladin’s main office this morning.”

Once Paladin felt Pippin’s forehead, he quickly carried his young son off to bed and then to call the healer who, luckily for him, was still minding Ferumbras across the main hallway. Eglantine soon joined her husband and together they took turns in caring for their ill son. While the new Took was occupied performing his parental duty, Adelard asked Frodo and Merry to stay behind in the study.

“I can’t believe that all of these Took births, deaths, and marriages all happened within the last ten years as you’re suggesting,” said Frodo. He reached inside the same wooden box Pippin had been digging through minutes before, flipping through leafs of paper. “Something is very wrong here.”

“So far, the earliest year I’ve noted is 1394,” said Addie. “If they go farther back than that, then we truly have our work cut out for us. I was so happy to hear you offer your assistance this morning, lads, but you know our cousin--he’s as stubborn, if not more so, than the rest of us Tooks.”

Merry grinned, “Or Bagginses!”

Frodo nudged his younger cousin, “Or Brandybucks.”

“I don’t wish for a crowd in here, if you understand me,” Adelard winked. “I know you lads have plenty of Took blood in you and will keep this quietly among ourselves, right?”

“We will,” said Frodo, “but we don’t wish to leave out our friends, such as Freddy, Degger, or your own sons. What will we do about them?”

Adelard smiled, “Leave that to me! I think Ferdibrand might like another visit from his nephew and niece. As for Degger, well, perhaps my lads or I can take him under our wing for a bit.”

“Good luck,” said Merry. “With Pippin being sick, I don’t think Degger will be persuaded to leave this tunnel, and I can’t blame him.” Frodo nodded his agreement.

“That is true--I’ll think of something,” said Adelard, making his way toward the door.

Frodo called after his departing cousin, “Merry and I do intent to break now and then to look in on Pippin.”

“Of course!” said Addie, “I’d be quite disappointed if you didn’t.”

* * *

Paladin had finished helping his son into his nightshirt and tucked him into bed when he took a minute to ask Pippin the burning question in his head. “Son, why didn’t you speak up and tell me or your mother that you weren’t feeling well?”

“I just thought it was me being tired,” Pippin answered in a weary voice. “I didn’t sleep well last night and so had a hard time waking up this morning. Once things for the ceremony started happening, I felt a bit better. But then after the reception began, suddenly I didn’t want to be around any noise. I guess I didn’t want to ruin the party for anyone else.”

Paladin sighed, pressing his lips together in regret. “I knew I should have called you inside the smial yesterday when I looked out the front window and saw you playing in the rain, but you looked as if you were having such a wonderful time. I saw you laughing from your heart,” he said as he gently brushed a few curls aside from Pippin’s forehead, “and I haven’t had the joy of hearing that much of late.”

“I’m glad you didn’t call me in,” said Pippin. “I was having a lot fun with my friends. But...I’m too tired to laugh right now, Papa. Are you going to sit with me a while?”

“Of course I am,” Paladin spoke softly. “Wild ponies couldn’t drag me away. Your momma will be here with the healer momentarily.”

* * *

Meanwhile, progress was being made in Paladin’s study. Three long lines of documents spanned the length of the gold mat, going in order from the most recent date all the way back to the earliest. The two cousins had a sort of rhythm to their movements as they laid out the certificates. As they neared each another, one would give way to the other without colliding, and yet manage to lay the document in its respective year-pile. It was much like a well-choreographed dance.

However, Merry began to feel that this business was just a bit too monotonous. He thought to stir things up a little. “I’ll wager that most of these certificates belong to Uncle Isembold,” he said, breaking the silence of the room.

Frodo looked up from his work and then to his younger cousin. “How do you know? I highly doubt it. I say that this is the culmination of a lazy branch of the Took family.”

Merry smiled inwardly; his scheme was working. He knew just how to goad his older cousin. Moreover, Merry felt he had the recent--and rare--occasion to learn a few things about the Took side of his family tree that he figured Frodo could not possibly know. Brandybucks taught young Brandybucks about the history of Brandybucks, from a Brandybuck’s standpoint, with some mention of Tooks or other great family trees of the Shire. Tooks did much of the same; teaching their younglings about Took history mixed in with a little of the same of the other noble families, but from a Took’s point of view. Having had the privilege of studying both sides of the families under his braces, Merry was able to afford a bit of fun with his rather sophisticated cousin.

“I’ll wager twopence that you’re wrong,” he said, moving toward the wooden box. “I don’t doubt that your last remark is true, however, I maintain that this entire lot belongs to Isembold.”

Frodo knew his young cousin since the day he was born and understood exactly what Merry was doing. Yet Frodo was game; he, too, felt the same tedium creeping into his bones. Frodo put his hand in his pocket to make sure he had enough money to pay for the wager should he lose--and playfully fingered another round, gold trinket as he carefully weighed his decision. Frodo nonchalantly walked over to the entryway, peeking into the hallway to ensure Cousin Tina wasn’t in earshot, then came back to Merry.

“All right,” he answered Merry, “and I’ll even sweeten the deal. I’ll add another twopence to the one who finishes first.” Frodo took another bunch of documents from out of the box. “Grab another handful, Merry-lad, and we shall see who is the quicker of us two.”

“Deal!” said Merry, taking more of the paperwork into his hands. The cousins measured the amount of documents each held by holding them close to each other and distributing the weight as equal as they could. There would be no cheating by giving more to one and lessen their chance of winning.

And off they went!

Up and down the respective lines they raced. Merry ran from one end to the other trying to find the year of birth, death, or marriage of a particular Took.

“Be careful, Merry--we don’t want to make more work than there really is,” warned Frodo. He saw out of the corner of his eye when Merry had placed a document in one particular pile and then take anther close at it, quickly placing it in the pile beside the first.

Frodo crossed between the lines of categories, his foot breezing past a couple of documents in its wake.

“Careful, cousin!” Merry taunted Frodo in return.

No longer was this the graceful dance of swans; it was every hobbit for himself. They knocked elbows, stepped on one another’s feet, and at one point, young Merry actually pushed Frodo out of his way in order to stay ahead of his cousin.

This went on for close to an hour, and as the mass of certificates lessened in each hand, the pace of furry feet picked up. The lads made quick work of the documents accumulated over the years. Merry had five documents left in his hands while he could see that Frodo was down to four. His eyes swiftly scanned the years of births until he found the correct pile. Now he was equal with Frodo again. Together, they hopped and skipped round piles until they each had one document left. Each lad crossed the lines...at the same time...and collided--hard.

Down they went. Frodo held his nose while Merry grunted, holding his arm. Slowly they each crawled the inches toward their goal.

“I win!” Frodo announced nasally--and breathing hard.

Merry flopped onto his back, still holding his arm. “That wasn’t fair! You purposely knock me down to enable yourself to be the winner.”

“You know better than that!” said Frodo. He now sat up, inspecting the exterior of his nose. “Besides, I may have won this round of the bet, but there is yet the other half you have a chance at winning.”

“Oh, no!” Merry whispered in horror. “Look what we’ve done!”

Frodo looked around where they each sat and grimaced. “Be very careful as you get up,” he said while doing the same. “We may be able to salvage this mess.”

The majority of the lines were still laid out neatly (for the most part), but the area of years where the cousins ran into each other and subsequently crawled in the final moments of the race, the documents were in disarray.

It took the next five minutes or so, but gradually the paperwork found its way back into the respective pile.

“Frodo?”

“Hmm?”

“How popular would you say your name is?”

“Not very,” Frodo replied. “I’m one of a kind,” he said, then smiled at his own witty remark.

“I think not!” laughed Merry. “Here is a Frodo Broadbean--son of Nick Broadbean and Juniper Took Broadbean of Little Delving.”

“At least his parents made sure he had the same sensible initials to his name as mine,” Frodo remarked in a flat tone. “F - B!”

“Well, considering that this young fellow came into the world fifty years before you,” Merry quipped, “I think it was you who had the same initials as he!”

“Let me see that!” Frodo snatched the birth certificate out of Merry’s hand then quickly cast it aside. “That was just a note for the record from the Broadbeans to the Tooks. At least I have a namesake!”

“He’s not your namesake!” Merry teased unrelentingly.

“What’s this?” Frodo was suddenly serious.

“What’s what?”

“This!” Frodo turned to his cousin, “How popular would you say the name Degger is? Or ought I say, ‘Deggory’?”

Merry shrugged. “I’ve not heard of it before. It’s just one of those names--unlike Frodo--that is given only once.”

“Not in this case, either, my friend,” said Frodo, reading the marriage certificate to Merry. “On this day, the 23^rd day of Rethe, 1340, S. R., Diggory Took, son of Isembold Took of Little Delving, joined in marriage with Rosa Brookstone, daughter of Fargo Brookstone of Tighfield. The marriage ceremony took place in Little Delving of the Westfarthing of the Shire.”

Merry said nothing at first, but the expression on his face said volumes. Regaining his composure, he asked, “How can that be? We found Degger in Michel Delving, not Little Delving.”

“I don’t know, Merry,” said Frodo, “but it appears there is more history in these papers than what meets the eyes. It seems you just might win that other bet. Let’s go show this to Paladin and see what he thinks. It’s time we go look in on Pippin anyway.”