Chapter 8

The following morning dawned bright and warm. Frodo rose feeling much refreshed and pulled back the curtain to glance outside. The world was still white but he could see the tops of the bushes now and in the distance the top two rails of the fence peeked out from the snow. If the day continued to be as warm as the morning was beginning, then the snow could very well be gone by the end of the day if not tomorrow.

Frodo peeked in on Sam and found him sitting up and working on the stitching that his sister had sent up with Merry. Sam was squinting in the dimness for the fire was low and Frodo could feel the chill of the air in the room. He added more wood to the fire and stirred the embers, using tender to catch flame from the ashes. Soon a new fire was blazing and Frodo replaced the oil in the lamp and the candles in the sconces and had those lit also.

“Is that better?” he asked.

Sam nodded. “Aye, it is,” he said gratefully and stopped squinting.

Merry woke groggily just moments later, yawning widely. He had trouble falling asleep during the night and was not at first his usual chipper self. After a warm mug of tea, he perked up considerably and sat with Sam, looking over the transcriptions from the previous day as Sam continued stitching and Frodo made first breakfast and retrieved Sam’s medicines. The medicinal juice tasted no better today than it did yesterday but Frodo followed it quickly with a sprig of mint and the sweet and fragrant tea.

The grogginess of the sedative had worn off for Sam also and he was alert and much refreshed himself. If they were glad to see him smile and jest, they were dismayed to realize that his alertness only made him restless. He could not get comfortable no matter which way he lay, and the weight of the cast and the cumbersome box were clearly irritating him, though he did not complain. Getting on and off the bed was a chore, and they had not factored in the extra weight of the cast and what that might do to Sam’s leg when he stood. He had difficulty holding it up and after the second time the box hit the floor, they decided to bring the chamber pot to him instead. If he still felt embarrassed about using the chamber pot in front of his betters, he said nothing about it and simply finished his business as quickly as he could.

After first breakfast, Sam finished his stitching and Frodo brought another translation to keep him occupied, giving him a book of Elvish runes and scripts with the equivalent words in the Common Speech listed next to them. “Try to translate this poem. Don’t worry about getting it right or wrong. Many Elvish words have multiple meanings, depending on how they are used. Try to puzzle it out as best you can, based on what you think the writer is trying to say,” Frodo suggested. The poem was short by Elvish standards but still as long as the longest hobbit song and Frodo hoped it would keep Sam engrossed for hours if he had to try to work out the translation on his own.

Frodo sat at the desk working on his own writing, while Merry continued his polishing from the previous day. Merry had only finished cleaning the rooms on the eastern half of the smial yesterday and he was now working on the guest rooms. Frodo could hear him moving about next door in Frodo’s old bedroom, moving furniture around with great zest, giving the room a thorough going-over. Merry was still thinking furiously about his little dilemma and Frodo was tempted to give Miss Willow a piece of his mind for putting Merry’s head into such a whirl. He would not do that though. This was Merry’s decision to make and Frodo had said his piece. He wouldn’t say anything more unless asked.

Merry paused long enough in his cleaning to make second breakfast, but returned to it as soon as his food was finished. Sam only shook his head. “I think that room has to be sparkling by now,” he said.

“If only we could open up Merry’s head and clean out his cobwebs as easily,” Frodo jested.

Sam smiled at this and a spark of humor lit his face, but whatever he thought to say in response, he kept it to himself.

Shortly afterward, Willow arrived. The bell jingled in the entrance hall and the noise of the wardrobe sliding across the floor in the adjacent room stopped abruptly. Frodo hastened to his feet, waited a few moments to see if Merry was going to answer the door, then stepped into the tunnel. “I’ll get it,” he called.

“Very well,” came Merry’s measured response.

The silence that followed Frodo to the front door was nearly palpable. He imagined he could hear Merry’s heart pounding, and he could hear his own near-silent footsteps on the tile floor of the tunnel. He reached the door and after a bracing breath, opened it. Willow stood outside, satchel in hand and ribbons in her free-flowing hair, the light brown curls cascading down her back to her waist, a vast contrast to the bun she had worn the previous day. She smiled cheerily.

“Good morning, Mr. Frodo,” she greeted.

“Good morning, Miss Willow. Please come in,” Frodo greeted in return and stepped aside to let her pass. He noted that the healer had no snow shoes this morning but the cream-colored jacket she wore still reached down to her shins and the hem was soaked in melted snow. On her hands were cream-colored mittens to match the jacket, which was buttoned up clear to her chin. “Is the weather cold still? It was looking rather hopeful when I woke up.”

“It is a tad nippy, but it’s warmer than yesterday,” Willow answered with a quick, nearly indiscernible glance down the tunnel. She dunked her feet into the foot bath and stamped them dry on the towel, then turned to the coat hanger and slipped her mittens off to unbutton her jacket. “How has Sam been? How is he adjusting to the cast?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid, but I think it will just take time. It’s heavy and it bothers him a great deal. He has trouble getting comfortable,” Frodo informed, watching the healer with growing trepidation.

Yesterday, listening to Merry speak, he had been convinced that Willow had only been teasing Merry to keep his cousin’s mind off of Sam. Frodo had not missed how Merry’s complexion paled when he heard the healer’s diagnosis of Sam’s condition. Frodo had assumed the flirting and the kiss was all some grand, if somewhat unkind, design to keep Merry distracted and it had worked quite effectively. Now however, seeing the young lass with her hair so neatly brushed and ribbons carefully placed, he was beginning to suspect he had it all wrong. When Willow finally finished unbuttoning her coat and shrugged it off, she revealed not the usual simple plain-cut frock and apron of a healer but instead a lilac-colored floral-print dress with white lace trim and a wide white sash tied in the back at her waist. The ribbons in her hair matched the dress perfectly and when she turned around again, he noticed a thin golden chain around her neck, a small teardrop amethyst pendant hanging from it to rest above the cleft of her bodice. If Willow was still only being a tease, then she was certainly proving to be a very proficient one.

Frodo felt himself blush. He turned quickly and led the healer down the tunnel to Sam’s room without another word. At the doorway to the room, Frodo again stepped aside and watched the healer keenly as she walked into the room. She was as professional as could be hoped for now but Frodo did not miss the way her eyes quickly darted around the room and the pinch of panic at their centers when they did not find what they were looking for.

“Excuse me for a moment, Miss Willow,” Frodo said with a small bow and left the healer to her patient. He went next door and found Merry sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands tucked between his knees, looking very much like a child on restriction. Frodo lifted an eyebrow at him and looked at him sharply. He spoke quietly so Willow and Sam wouldn’t hear him. “You better be sure, Merry, and you better get over there.”

For her part, Willow didn’t miss a beat, despite her disappointment at not seeing Merry. She placed the satchel on the bedside table and turned to Sam. “Good morning Sam. You’re looking much more rested. I trust that you are feeling more collected today.”

“I am, Miss Willow, thank you,” Sam replied, taking in the healer’s stunning appearance as well. Mr. Merry was one lucky lad, to his way of thinking. “I’m sorry for making such a spectacle of myself yesterday.”

“You received rather disturbing news Sam. It was only to be expected,” she said kindly as Frodo slipped into the room. She checked Sam’s vitals quickly and nodded with satisfaction. “Your health remains well. That’s always a good sign; the healing will not be impeded. Now, I understand the cast is bothering you.”

“It’s heavy and it cuts into my leg a fair bit,” Sam said.

“It will be lighter when the box comes off,” Willow promised. “That won’t be until tomorrow though, I’m afraid. We’ll try using more pillows until then. Part of the problem could be that the cast is weighing the pillows down and your leg is not getting the support it needs. Have you been doing your breathing exercises?”

“Aye, Mr. Merry reminded me about them during first breakfast,” Sam replied.

“Is the restriction lessening?” Willow asked.

Sam nodded.

“Very good. And the pain in your foot?”

Sam shrugged. “I can’t really tell no more,” he answered.

“Also good,” Willow said. She turned to Frodo then and asked, “How is the supply of tea coming?”

“We’re running low,” Frodo answered. “We have enough supplies to make one more pot.”

“I brought some more supplies for you, enough to last you another day,” Willow informed. “I will put them with the other supplies if you’ll show me where you stored them.”

“Merry put them somewhere,” Frodo said. “I’ll go find him. I have ruthlessly requested him to earn his keep and polish all the furniture. I’m afraid he gets rather lost in it if he’s left alone for too long.” It wasn’t a lie necessarily, but from Willow’s small, knowing smile he knew he had not fooled her.

“Of course,” Willow said graciously. “In the meantime, do you have any extra pillows that I can use to prop up Sam’s leg?”

“I do,” Frodo said and left to retrieve the pillows and Merry both.

Merry was no longer in the adjacent room. Frodo perked his ears and could hear his cousin across the tunnel in his bathing room. The door was open so Frodo peeked in on him and found Merry scrubbing at his face and hands at the ewer, so occupied with making himself presentable that he did not even notice Frodo standing there.

Frodo left him to his scrubbing and found the pillows that Willow had requested. The extra support helped Sam’s leg considerably, though it did not alleviate the discomfort entirely. Still, the weight was bearable enough now and Sam felt he would be able to ignore it more easily.

“I will return tomorrow afternoon to remove the cast box,” Willow said to Sam when she was finished, and picked up her satchel. “Do you have any other concerns before I go?”

Sam nodded and glanced furtively at Frodo. Frodo excused himself again, saying, “I’ll see if I can find where Merry put those herbs.”

When Frodo was gone, Sam turned to the healer but at first did not know how to start. He gripped the blanket unconsciously and bit on his lower lip as he tried to piece together what he wanted to say. At length he drew a deep breath and asked awkwardly, “If it’s true that I’m… well, that I can’t… if I’m crippled… How bad will it be?”

Willow considered this question at length. She had been curt and direct yesterday to get her point across. The message had been received and she knew there was no harm in comforting the gardener now. “That depends,” Willow answered, her voice soft and soothing, her eyes gentle. “The rupture was extensive and you already know you could not move your foot before. If it does not heal completely, or heals incorrectly, you may never regain full mobility of the joint, but you will still be able to walk. You’ll limp but I doubt very much it will slow down a lad like you. The joint, as well as the leg for having to accommodate the limp, will be sore if used too much or too excessively at least at first. You won’t be able to work all day as you do now, not such strenuous work at any rate, but it certainly won’t prevent you from finding other ways to help.”

“I’ll be like some old gaffer,” Sam stated, his voice steady even while his eyes filled with dismay.

“I think your father would agree that there are worse things to be,” Willow said and smiled when Sam smirked. “You will not be an invalid Sam.”

Sam nodded, the words not quite sinking in yet. “Thank you, Miss Willow, for coming and all.”

“You just do as I say and you’ll be right as rain,” Willow promised. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

She went into the kitchen, where Frodo was setting out the remaining supplies from yesterday that he had found in the tea cupboard. Willow was in the process of removing the medicinal herbs from her satchel when she heard Merry enter behind her. At his cousin’s appearance, Frodo excused himself to check on Sam.

Willow finished what she was doing, being deliberately slow to give herself time to collect her calm, and snapped her satchel closed when she was finished. Only then did she turn around and find Merry standing just inside the doorway, looking at her with what could only be described as awe and wonder. Her knees threatened to go weak and she carefully, gracefully, placed her hands behind her on the table to keep herself on her feet.

“Mr. Merry,” she breathed in greeting.

“Miss Willow,” Merry greeted in return. He was no more eager to leave his doorway than she was her table. He openly stared at her for many more moments and finally forced himself to enter the kitchen, approaching her halfway before stopping at a respectable distance. “You look quite lovely today.”

“You look quite dashing yourself, Mr. Merry,” Willow said.

“Please, call me Merry. I insist,” Merry said.

“As you wish, Merry,” Willow said. She released her knuckle-white grip on the tabletop and smoothed out her dress. She searched for something clever to say but in the end could only think of, “I’ve brought more herbs for the tea. Frodo said that you were running low.”

“We are,” Merry said. “We’ve been giving Sam an extra half-cup of the tea after that juice he has to drink. It’s rather vile, the juice that is, and the tea helps to wash out the aftertaste. We figured it couldn’t hurt for him to have more, but if he shouldn’t be having any more than what you said, then we can give him something else.”

“No, no, extra tea is fine,” Willow said, relaxing now that they were speaking of something familiar to her. “I will remember that and bring more supplies when I return tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Merry said and the situation threatened to become awkward again until he took another step toward her. “I’ll see you to the door.”

“Thank you, Merry,” Willow said and followed him to the entrance hall. He helped her into her jacket and stood back fidgeting as she buttoned herself up again. She was just about to pull on her mittens when he shuffled his feet uncertainly and looked at her frankly. “Miss Willow,” he began.

“Please, call me Willow,” she said.

Merry smiled, relieved at this allowance. “Willow,” he began, “I need to know something. Were you… Were you being serious yesterday or were you just teasing?”

“Teasing? Maybe I was, a little,” Willow admitted, “but you have to admit that you’re an incredible tease yourself, always coming around all smiles and charm. Were you ever serious?”

“I guess I wasn’t,” Merry said and hesitated.

Willow nodded. “You’re a fine lad, Merry, one that I’m very glad to know. I know you don’t really feel the same way about me as I have come to feel about you. You have your lass. What’s her name?”

“Estella,” Merry said, his face flaming with shame. She had known the truth all along, known Merry’s heart belonged to another. Frodo was right to worry that she could be hurt just as easily as him.

“Estella,” Willow echoed. “That’s a lovely name. And the lad she’s courting?”

“Gordi. Gordibrand. He’s a good lad, treats her right. He loves her.”

“And you’re going to let him have her?” Willow asked.

“Seems the right thing to do,” Merry answered.

“The right thing would be to give her the choice and not make it for her,” Willow said.

“She chose him,” Merry said, then repeated it as if it were a revelation. “She chose him, and I’ve been a fool.”

“A fool in love,” Willow said, a small smirk on her lips and understanding in her eyes. “Aren’t we all though?”

Merry chuckled ruefully. “I suppose we are at that.”

They looked upon each other, silence filling the room, and the moment yawned between them. Merry looked at her and thought of the lass he had lost because he was too afraid to accept the offer of her heart and love, such fragile and delicate things to be entrusted into his unsure hands. He looked at Willow and saw new hope. He was no longer as clumsy as he once was, nor as scared.

Merry stepped toward her, feeling more terrified than he ever had before despite his conviction. “So you were serious then?” he asked.

“I was,” Willow said, holding his gaze.

“Then let’s give it a go,” Merry said with finality. “Let us see where the wind takes us.”

Willow let out the breath she had been holding and smiled wide with relief. She bridged the remaining gap between them with another step. “Here’s to hoping we land somewhere favorable.”

They sealed their fates with a kiss.  

Around noon, Marigold arrived with food and a letter from Halfred. She had made a couple of casseroles and loaves of bread and she followed Frodo to the kitchen to deposit them there. “I’ll bring up some preserves and taters next time I come up, Mr. Baggins,” Goldie promised as she set the food on the table.

“You don’t need to go through so much trouble, Marigold,” Frodo stated.

“Tis no trouble at all,” Goldie insisted cheerfully. “You’re the one as being put upon and we are more grateful than we could say. You’re showing a real kindness to Sam.”

“It’s the least that I can do,” Frodo said.

He led Goldie to Sam’s room then he and Merry left the siblings to themselves, exiting the room while Marigold was fussing over Sam, fluffing his pillows and straightening the sheets. They couldn’t help but notice that Sam was thoroughly enjoying the attention. When the door closed, Goldie leaned over and kissed her brother on the brow.

“Jasmine’s looking in on Gaffer for me and they both send you their love,” Goldie informed and continued to fret over her brother, tucking in the blanket to make sure he was snug and secure. “You poor dear. How are you feeling? Does the ankle hurt? Which one it is? Can I look at it?” She lifted the blanket aside and tilted her head at the box. “I’ve not seen a cast like that afore.”

“The cast is inside. It’s still drying,” Sam explained. “I can’t move my foot a bit no more, or so I would assume. I haven’t tried and I ain’t about to until Miss Willow says as I can. The cast is fair heavy. She propped my foot up good this morning though and it’s feeling better than it was. It helps to roll over onto my side every now and then also, but I’ve been sleeping on my back. I keep thinking that with all that extra weight, I might roll outta bed during the night if I try sleeping on my side now.”

“But you like sleeping on your side,” Goldie said.

Sam shrugged. “It’s not so bad really, just takes some getting used to. The teas they give me at night help. It makes me drowsy-like so it don’t take as long to fall asleep. The worst part is being waited on by Mr. Frodo and Mr. Merry, but there’s no way around it no how. It’d be one thing if they let me be, but one of them is always in here, if they both aren’t. It’s like they don’t trust to leave me on my own, though I suppose I deserve that for not asking for their help in the first place. I just feel as I’m keeping them from more important things and I know for a fact they’d be heading out tomorrow to Whitwell if it weren’t for me.”

“I can’t see how any of that would be all too bad. Mr. Baggins is awful kind to take care of you like he is and to be sticking by you so as you don’t get lonely in here by yourself. He’s a good master. I can see why you’re so fond of him,” Goldie said, dropping the blanket back in place. She pulled the chair up to the bedside then and handed Sam the letter. “The messenger said it’s from Halfred, but he must’ve hired a different scribe acause the handwriting’s different.”

Sam glanced quickly at the handwriting before breaking the seal and unfolding the letter. Not only was the handwriting different, but the syntax of the sentences was different also, more formal than the usual messenger Fred used. Sam wondered at the change but quickly dismissed it as unimportant. He read the letter thoroughly then relayed the highlights. “This says that Astrid and Ashley are well and good. Astrid’s mother and eldest sister are staying with them right now to help with the bairn and all, but they’ll be leaving in a couple of weeks. Gaffer can go up at the beginning of Rethe and stay on for a month. And look at this. Hale and Joy are expecting their third child this autumn. They’re hoping for a lad this time.”

“A whole month? Gaffer will be thrilled,” Goldie said and gave a little jump of excitement. “You can come with us now, since you’ll not be working in the garden. The three of us can go together! Oh, it’s been so long since we’ve seen Fred, and I know you want to see your newest niece as much as we do. You should be able to travel by then surely. We’ll rent the Twofoot’s trap and you can lie in the back.”

“I suppose that’ll work,” Sam said. “So long as I’m allowed to travel that is.”

“Who’ll be taking over the gardens for you?” Goldie asked.

“Mr. Frodo’s going to ask Furze Smallburrows tomorrow. He reckons the snow will be melted enough by then for a walk down the Hill,” Sam said. “Mule can help Furzy when he’s available.”

Goldie nodded, approving of the selections. “They can handle the garden on their own for a month,” she said, “but there’s no need for Mr. Baggins to go taking himself down the Hill. I’ll let Mr. Twofoot know and he can take the word to the Bush tonight. He was planning to go anyway, now as the snow’s melting.”

“How is it looking out there?” Sam asked. He yearned desperately for a sight of the outdoors and the smell of fresh, crisp air.

“Much better than yesterday, though I’m sad to see the snow go away so soon. It’ll be all gone by tomorrow, I’m sure,” Goldie answered then returned to the previous topic. “Now, if you can’t travel by the first of Rethe, we can wait a week or two until you can. We’ll just send a post explaining our delay and that way they can prepare a room for you so as you’ll be more comfortable. You will come, won’t you Sam? Mr. Baggins can survive a month or so without you.”

“It would be nice to see Fred again, and Astrid and little Ashley,” Sam said. “But it’ll depend on Miss Willow. She made it very clear I wasn’t allowed to do anything without her say so. I can’t so much as flex a toe.”

“Well, Gaffer said you’re to listen to Miss Willow and not be any more of a burden to Mr. Baggins than you can help. He also said that if you ever do anything this careless again and scare him half out of his wits again, that he’ll thump you a good one,” Goldie said, smiling warmly despite her words. “He’s been fretting ever since we heard the news and it’s only his joints keeping him from marching up here to check on you himself.”

“He’s that worrit?” Sam asked, wishing he could rush home and reassure his father that all was well. Goldie would just have to do that for him when she went home.

“He is. He was grumbling the whole while in that half-muttering way of his, so his lips don’t move, so I know he’s real worrit. He said it’s a good thing you learnt to make rope that one summer you were in Tighfield, acause you can always do that if you can’t garden no more.”

“Make rope?” Sam said half-heartedly.

Goldie place a hand on her hip and looked down at Sam, ready to lecture. “Roping is good, steady work and it’s a respectable job. You always need rope. ‘Sides that, it’s in the family and you can’t be telling me that something as is good enough for our uncle and cousin ain’t good enough for you, and you did say as you enjoyed it well enough while you were visiting. If you turned sour towards it, it’s only from listening to the likes of Ted Sandyman, and you know better than to be listening to him. And there’s plenty more that you could make asides rope. You could make yarn and thread too.” She ended her lecture with a nod then smiled sweetly. “’Sides, there’s plenty more’n that you could do. You could do your wood sculpting that you like, and maybe branch out to carpentry work. That don’t require so much moving about as a garden does.”

“Miss Willow said I might just have a limp,” Sam said. “I could walk about just fine but I’ll get sore and tired quicker.”

“So then you could still work a garden, if it’s a small one or you get help with this one here,” Goldie pointed out. “You could teach just about any prentice you take on. I wouldn’t be surprised if Furzy were to agree to stay on permanent like. He’s always been interested in gardening and he’s a quick study. With a lad like him about, you could still keep Bag End as beautiful as ever. ‘Sides, it’s no use making such decisions afore we even know if you’re going to be crippled or not.”

“You’re right,” Sam said with a sigh, his worry easing considerably at his sister’s reassurances. After all, Gaffer had gardened for years with his arthritis, and the worst Sam could expect was a painful limp. “Thanks Goldie. You’re my favorite little sister.”

“I’m your only little sister, big brother,” Goldie said, beaming at the praise all the same.

Marigold stayed to help the master heat one of the casseroles for luncheon and prepare a salad, and stayed to feed Sam his medicines and food as they talked about the weather, the Twofoots, the Cottons and anything else that came to mind. Sam showed Goldie the translations he and Frodo were working on and read to her some of the sonnets and ballads from the book he kept by his side for the rare quiet moments when he was alone. He read, moving his finger along with the words so Goldie could follow, but she preferred to listen with her eyes closed, saying it helped her to picture what was happening better. Sam only read the love poems or Mr. Bilbo’s works, knowing his sister wouldn’t be interested in the poems about battles or the struggles of Men and Elves against the Darkness.

Before she left, she fluffed up his pillows again and brushed his curls back from his face. “You should ask Miss Willow if you can get up for a bath,” she stated point-of-fact.

“And if I ask and she says no?” Sam returned. “I’m not keen on being bathed like a bairn, healer or no.”

Goldie giggled. “If it’s Rosie you’re worrit about, I’ll tell her you hated every second of it and that Miss Willow smelled like rotten eggs.”

“You’re a dear,” Sam said sardonically. “Now I’ve finished all the stitching. It’s right there in the weave basket. Go tell Gaffer I’m all right, and tell him I’m sorry to make him fret so.”

“I will. I’ll be back tomorrow if I can, but it might be later if I’m waiting on the Cottons. I know they’ll be wanting to see you as soon as they hear what happened.” She kissed his cheek and hugged him tight, straightened his bed sheets and blankets, then collected the tray and weave basket and left him with his book.

Before she left though she peeked into the parlor, where Frodo and Merry were speaking quietly. She curtsied. “Mr. Baggins, sir, I was wondering if I might have a word with you, if you don’t mind. It’ll only take a moment.”

“Of course, Marigold,” Frodo said and beckoned her to have a seat. Merry left them quickly and Frodo waited until Marigold was settled in one of the high-backed cushioned chairs to continue. “What do you wish to speak about?”

“About Sam,” Goldie said. “About somewhat he said. I hope I’m not imposing or stepping out of bounds. I don’t mean no offense and Sam don’t either.”

“What about Sam?” Frodo asked, a cold thrill running down his back. Had he and Merry inadvertently been neglecting some need of Sam’s that Marigold had noticed?

“Well, I just don’t know how it is with gentlefolk and all, when they have a sick or injured one?” Marigold said.

Frodo paused, wondering if that was the question and what that had to do with Sam if it were. “I don’t follow,” he admitted.

“It’s just, Sam’s feeling just awful about keeping you from your work. He doesn’t understand why you or Mr. Merry are always about the room,” Goldie explained in a rush.

“Well, it’s customary to remain in a room with someone who is sick or injured,” Frodo said, still not understanding. After all, the age of the afflicted had no bearing on whether they should be left alone or not. “It’s considered uncouth to leave someone who is ill by himself.”

Marigold smiled with relief. “That’s what I thought it was. I knew it couldn’t be what Sam was thinking, that you didn’t trust him to be on his own acause of how it happened with his foot and all. He just doesn’t understand, see, acause we can’t exactly be stopping our work all day to sit with someone like that. A mother or older sibling will sit with a young child, but once they’re old enough to amuse themselves and call out when they need somewhat, they’re left on their own so as work can get done. Sam knows as you ain’t got no servants here, so he’s just thinking that he’s keeping you from doing what work you would be doing if he weren’t here.”

“Of course,” Frodo said, feeling chagrined for not realizing this sooner. It explained a lot. “I should have thought of that. I will talk with Sam. Thank you for bringing this to my attention Marigold.”

He escorted Goldie to the door and saw her into her wool coat. “Thank you for taking such good care of my brother, Mr. Baggins,” Goldie said. “You really are the sweetest master one could hope for. I see now why Sam is so fond of you.” She curtsied again and left.

Frodo watched her until she reached the gate, then he closed the door and went to talk with Sam.
 
 

To be continued…