Chapter 10

Four days was not a long time for a hobbit kept busy with the daily requirements of living. For such a hobbit, there never seemed to be enough time to finish everything that needed doing. From rising in the morning for a large first breakfast that will sustain him through his work until luncheon, to stopping from his toil for a cup of tea and then cleaning up his work and putting his tools away to head home for dinner, the hours passed so quickly as to be disbelieved.

But for a hobbit bound to bed, the time stretched indefinitely. The hours between sunrise and sunset, determined only by the play of sunlight on the walls and floor across the tunnel spied through the open doorway, grew so long that Sam almost thought the hours themselves had doubled in length. He longed to get up, to move about, to go across the tunnel and soak in the sunlight. Instead, he spent the hours quietly reading, or writing, or working on the translation Frodo had given him, or whittling gifts from carving blocks for his friends and master. This helped the time to move more quickly, even if the hands on the clock did not move as fast as he would have preferred.

Having visitors helped. The Cottons returned the following morning, having stayed the night at Number Three, but they could only stay through first breakfast before having to return home. They were unable to come back again while Sam was at Bag End. Finch Fernbrook came that afternoon for a couple of hours and he added to the artwork that Jolly had started on Sam’s cast. Furzy began work in the garden the following day and with him came his brother Alden. They took their breaks with Sam, both to keep him company and to get his advice on what else needed doing in the garden; spring was coming up quick and the beds needed to be prepared. Marigold came every afternoon after luncheon and usually stayed through tea, before she had to go home and prepare dinner for the Gaffer. On the sixth day of Sam’s convalescence, she was late in arriving.

“I’m sure she’s well,” Frodo assured a fretting Sam.

“She’s late,” Sam could only say.

He was not worried that something amiss had happened to his sister, though he did wonder at the delay. She must be busy with a hundred different things, what with Sam not being there to help and the Gaffer still hobbling about with his arthritis. She had reported yesterday, after Furze and Alden returned to the garden, that Gaffer was getting up and down more easily now that the weather was beginning to warm again, and he could move around the smial without too much trouble, but she worried that she wasn’t as good at rubbing the ointment into his joints as Sam was. Sam couldn't help feeling a stab of guilt upon hearing that. It made him yearn all the more to be home, to be able to help, to be able to do anything.

“Maybe she won’t be able to come today,” Sam said lightly, feeling the full weight of his isolation as never before. He had come to rely on his sister’s visits but he knew she wouldn’t always be able to come. She must be getting further and further behind on the household chores with every hour she spent at Bag End, help from the neighbors or not.

“Maybe,” Frodo agreed. “I could go and make certain that everything is well, if you like.”

Sam paused, weighing this option. It was kind of his master to offer, but Sam could well imagine the look on Goldie’s face to find the Master of the Hill on the stoop of Number Three, asking why she hadn’t come to see her brother yet. “Thank you kindly, sir, but I’m sure everything is fine.”

“I could send Merry,” Frodo suggested next but before Sam could decline, the bell ran in the entrance hall. “That must be her now. Merry!”

“I got it!” Merry called from the kitchen. Moments later, the door opened and closed in silence, and silence filled the smial as Frodo and Sam strained their ears for any sound of their guest.

“Merry?” Frodo called again, standing up. He moved toward the bedroom door but only took two steps when the Gaffer entered the room, followed by Marigold. Merry stayed just outside the door.

“Dad!” Sam exclaimed, joy and relief flooding over his face.

When Hamfast entered the room, he was hunched over and straining to move, breathing shallowly from his long, slow walk up the Hill. At the sight of his son, his face brightened into a smile as full of love and relief as his son’s. He straightened to his full height and walked toward his son like a hobbit twenty years younger.

Frodo circled the Gaffer and Goldie and watched with Merry at the doorway as Hamfast leaned over the bed and embraced his son for a long, lingering, reassuring hug. No one noticed when Frodo closed the door behind him, leaving the family in private reunion.

“There’s my good lad,” Hamfast mumbled into Sam’s ear. “Darn bones kept me from coming sooner. Worst time for a snow storm if you ask me.” He turned his head and kissed Sam’s temple.

“I know, Dad,” said Sam. “I know.” He squeezed his father tighter for a brief moment before releasing him.

Hamfast stood back and stared long into his son’s eyes, wanting to be sure that Sam really was fine as Goldie had been telling him. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he patted Sam’s hand and sat in the chair that Goldie brought him, close to Sam’s side. Goldie sat next to him.

“You never stop causing me grief, lad,” Hamfast said. “I told you not to be a coming up here that day, the garden will be fine without you. Maybe next time you’ll listen to an old hobbit. Has Mr. Baggins been doing right by you?”

“Aye sir.”

“You best not be causing him no grief.”

“No sir. I’m being good.”

Hamfast patted his hand again, then sat back fully in the chair, exhausted by his walk. The healer had told him to stay home, that he shouldn’t be exerting himself like that just yet, that Sam would likely be home in just a few more days, but he was impatient to see his son. Six days his son has been lying up here injured, alone except for his master and his master’s cousin. He didn’t doubt that Frodo was giving all care to Sam, but Frodo wasn’t family.

“Are you all right Dad?” Sam asked with concern, seeing the fatigue on his father’s lined face.

“Aye, I am now,” Gaffer mumbled and looked at Sam sharply. “Being good, are you? You doing as Miss Willow says and keeping put?”

“Yes sir. I haven’t flexed a toe,” Sam said and pointed to his cast.

Hamfast looked at the cast and shook his head. “Clumsy-looking thing, if you ask me. That’s supposed to make your foot better?”

“It don’t hurt no more,” Sam said. “The medicines help too, though the one is fouler than anything I’ve ever tasted afore.”

“Aye, healers and their tonics,” Gaffer said. “You think they’d find a way of making them more drinkable.”

“It’s drinkable enough and I only have to take it twice a day now,” Sam assured.

“That’s a relief,” Goldie said. “And Miss Camellia is due back tomorrow. Maybe after she takes a look at you, you won’t have to drink that juice at all anymore. You’re healthy enough.”

“Hardly never been sick a day in your life,” Hamfast said proudly. “Mayhap you should speak to Miss Willow instead though, as she’s the one caring for you. Miss Camellia can only advise her what to do. It’s up to Miss Willow to decide if that’s what’s best for you.”

“She ain’t coming back till the day after tomorrow,” Sam said of Willow. “She’ll decide then if I can go home or not.”

“Daddy’s already said we can use his trap to cart you home,” Hamfast informed. “We went to the post messengers and had them jot down a letter to Fred that we might not be able to come up until the cast is off your foot, but Miss Willow said if the trap ride down the Hill goes well enough and doesn’t aggravate nothing, you could come with us as early as next week. She could send instructions up with us for the local healer there. She already sent the healer a letter saying you’ll be coming.”

“She has?” Sam asked, surprised by this development.

“Just yesterday,” Goldie explained. “She was there at the post master’s office when I arrived, after leaving here. Harman was there too; he and Daisy will be by tomorrow with little Bell. The lass has been wanting to see her Uncle Sam.”

“She’s got it in her head that she can make you all better,” Hamfast said, already beaming at the thought of seeing his granddaughter again.

“How’s she going to manage that?” Sam asked, grinning to see his father so happy.

“That’s to be found out tomorrow I reckon,” Hamfast said. He noticed the bedside table then, littered with all of Sam’s various projects. “Now, what’s all this nonsense you’re working on?”

So Sam showed him the carvings he had finished so far: a rose blossom for Rosie, a dove for Tom, and a duckling for Jolly. He was working now on a furze blossom for Furzy and next planned to carve a colt for Merry and an eagle for Frodo. He wouldn’t say what he had made for Goldie, but he had the fawn tucked away safe inside the table drawer. Then he showed them the poem he was translating. He had only managed two stanzas so far and he read them tentatively to his audience.

“I’m not sure how accurate that is,” Sam said when he finished. “Probably not very. Mr. Frodo will have to do it all over again most like.”

“Sounds like twaddle to me, either way,” Hamfast said. “Dragons and cities of elves.”

“Sounds exciting,” Goldie said. “What about that poem you’re writing for Rosie?”

Sam blushed and put his writing aside. “I’m still working on it.”

“You better finish it, if you want to have it ready for your birthday,” Gaffer said.

“If we go to Fred’s I likely won’t be here for my birthday,” Sam pointed out. “I can keep working on it till Rosie’s birthday then.”

“Well, read us what you have so far,” Goldie suggested. “We can tell you if it’s any good or not.”

Sam blushed further and shook his head. “It’s for Rosie.”

“Not if you never give it to her.”

“I’ll give it to her,” Sam insisted, “when it’s ready.”

“Leave him alone, lass. It ain’t easy for a lad to figure out something that’ll impress his lass,” Hamfast said.

“All the more reason he should read it to us,” Goldie said. “I am Rosie’s best friend after all, and a lass myself. I’ll know if it’s something Rosie’ll like.”

Sam shook his head again. “It’s for Rosie.”

“She’s just going to read it to me anyway,” Goldie pointed out.

“Then you can hear it then,” replied Sam.

“What sorts of things would you do to impress Ma while you were courting, Gaffer?” Goldie asked now.

“Just the usual,” Hamfast replied. “Brought her flowers or candies, took her to socials if any were being held while I was in Tighfield visiting, took her on picnics. I’d buy her hair clips when I had the extra coin or could work it off somehow and send them off to her. I made her a keepsakes box one Yule, for all her little earrings and whatnot. That’s the one your sister May has now.”

“Did she ever do anything for you?” Sam asked.

“Aye, she didn’t send ‘em back,” Hamfast laughed. Long-distance courtships were common in the Shire, particularly among the working class, but they did not always last to see a marriage. Lasses or lads sometimes found a suitor closer to home and the accepted way of letting the old suitor know this was to return any gifts of courtship.

“She never got you nothing?” Goldie asked.

“She’d make me things, like hats or sweaters and the like and send those on to me when she could afford the post or find someone as was traveling this way,” Hamfast said.

“Like that hat you gave me at your last birthday,” Sam said and Hamfast nodded.

“Maybe I should make Tom a hat,” Goldie pondered. “Do you think he’d like a hat Sam? See how I ask you what he would like?”

“I’m not reading you the poem Goldie,” Sam said with a chuckle, “and yes, he’d fancy a hat to keep the sun out of his eyes.” Goldie pouted and Sam laughed harder. “That won’t work this time, lass.”

“Daddy,” Goldie complained and pouted at her father.

Hamfast grumbled something under his breath about manipulating children and stood with a wince. “I’d better check what all Furze and Alden are doing with the garden,” he said and escaped before he could give in to his daughter.

Goldie huffed disappointedly at her failed plan. She looked at her brother with arms crossed. “Boar,” she accused.

“Brat,” he returned.

“Mule.”

“Tease.”

“Goose.”

“Pest.”

Goldie laughed and swatted her brother’s arm. “Write me a poem then,” she ordered.

“Oh, well that’s easy enough,” Sam said and thought for a moment before laughing. “There once was a lass named Marigold, who was quite pretty or so it’s told, but her voice was shrill and her personality nil, and she lived alone till she was very old.”

Goldie gawked at Sam when she wasn’t bent over with laughter. “You’re horrible Sam!” she said at last and got her revenge by tickling him mercilessly. He tickled her back and soon they were both laughing uncontrollably, slumped on the bed with tears streaming down their eyes.

A light tap sounded on the door and Frodo peeked inside. “Is everything all right in here?” he asked, looking at them with curious amusement.

“She called me a boar,” Sam said, pointing at Goldie, who was lying against his side.

“He said I was shrill,” Goldie said, giggling still.

“Very well,” Frodo said, smiling at the siblings. “Are either of you getting hungry? Merry finally cleaned out the oven this morning, so I made apple crumble and cinnamon rolls. I’m sure the healer wouldn’t protest if you have a small serving of each, Sam.”

“That’d be right wonderful, Mr. Frodo, thank you,” Sam said. He waited until Frodo was gone and the door was closed before draping an arm around Marigold and hugging her briefly. A moment later, he was tickling her again.

She shrieked and wiggled out of his grasp, escaping across the room. “You’re insufferable Sam,” she accused breathlessly. “You think about that while I go help Mr. Baggins serve.”

Merry was kind enough to share his treats with everyone, and he called Furzy, Alden and Hamfast inside so they too could sample the delectables. They were served in Sam’s room so they could visit while they ate, then Furzy and Alden returned outside. Hamfast and Goldie left early, needing the extra time to make their way back down the Hill. They kissed Sam good-bye and Goldie promised to return tomorrow with Daisy and her family.

Before they left though, Hamfast wanted a word with Frodo. Goldie waited outside, chatting with Furzy and Alden while Hamfast sought Frodo out in the study. He stood in the study door, twisting his hands together, and cleared his throat. “Mr. Baggins sir, if I could take but a moment of your time?” he asked.

“Of course,” Frodo said and closed his ledgers. He took Hamfast to the parlor, where he knew the old gardener would feel more comfortable, and indicated he should sit down. When they were both settled comfortably, he asked, “What do you wish to speak about?”

“I just wanted to be thanking you for looking after my Sam and being so kind to him and all,” Hamfast said, appreciation brimming in his eyes and filling his voice. “You’re a proper hobbit, I’ve always said, and you’d do Mr. Bilbo proud if he were here to see you.”

“Thank you Master Hamfast,” Frodo said, swelling with pride and warmth at the praise. “That means a great deal coming from you. I’m glad to do all that I can to help Sam. I am very fond of him.”

“As he is you,” Hamfast replied. “You do a lot for us folk and you never ask for naught in return. You could of sent Sam home to us a long time ago, never mind what the healer said, but you didn’t and I thank you for it. But I won’t take advantage. You’ve used a good deal of your food and all taking care of Sam and I know the healer ain’t cheap…”

“Master Hamfast, you needn’t worry about any of that,” Frodo said, seeing where this was going and hoping to put a stop to it now before the conversation could go any further. “Sam fell on my property, in his duty to me. The costs belong to me alone and I am happy to pay them. I seek no repayment, nor do I require any.”

“That’s right kind of you to say sir, but he’s my son.”

“And he’s my employee,” Frodo insisted gently. “As his master, it is my responsibility to look after his welfare, and I intend to do so. I will keep Sam here until Miss Willow releases him to go home. I will continue to pay her fees for as long as Sam requires her services, as well as the Northfarthing healer. I have directed Willow to send all bills to me directly, and I will send a small purse with you when you leave for Little Smithy to pay for the healer there. That is how it will be.”

Hamfast was on the verge of arguing but upon seeing the Master’s determination and obduracy he knew he would not be able to win an argument. He bowed his head in acceptance of the offer, relief mingling with pride. While he was glad that he wouldn’t have to worry about the expense, he still wanted to find some way to repay Mr. Baggins for his hospitality. Perhaps a couple of kegs of ale and a sack of potatoes on his next birthday would do the trick. “Thank you, Mr. Baggins. You’re a proper hobbit, as I said afore.”

“And thank you Master Hamfast. Your son has been a joy to me in more ways than I could count. It’s an honor to return the favor to him now,” Frodo said.  

The following day brought Goldie earlier than normal, just after elevenses. Not more than a half-moment passed after Frodo answered the door than little Bell was giggling and craning her neck as she peered around the unfamiliar smial in search of her favorite uncle. “Unc’ Sam!” she called as she squirmed against her father’s arms. Harman tightened his grip on the faunt and urged her to maintain her voice.

“I’m sorry Mr. Baggins,” he apologized as she continued to squirm. “She’s been that eager to come see Sam all mornin’.”

“You don’t mind us coming early, do you sir?” Daisy asked, her hands full with a picnic basket. “We figured it’d be better to bring her now than keep making her wait.”

Frodo looked at the wiggling little lass and smiled at her beaming face. She was the spitting image of her Aunt Marigold, who was said to look the most like her mother of all the Gamgee children. Both lasses had inherited many of the late Bell's comely features, including her round face and full cheekbones. Little Bell had her mother’s caramel-colored curls and slender nose and her father’s grey eyes and dimpled chin. Bell giggled at Frodo. “Hi!” she cried happily.

“Hello, little miss,” Frodo said, grinning like a fool but not able to care.

Merry joined them then and Bell greeted him also. “Well aren’t you the cutest little thing?” Merry cooed.

“Yes,” Bell agreed, making everyone laugh. “Where Unc’ Sam? He play peek-boo?”

Frodo nodded with as much seriousness as he could muster. “He is. He hid just as you got here. He’s waiting for you to find him.”

“Go, Daddy!” Bell cried, bouncing on her father’s hip and leaning toward the tunnel, her arms outstretched. She made grabbing motions with her chubby hands. “Peek-boo, Unc’ Sam!”

“Which door is it?” Daisy asked Frodo.

“I’ll show you,” Goldie said and led them to Sam’s room.

There was no surprise this time, for Sam couldn’t possibly miss the cries of his excitable niece. He was sitting up and waiting eagerly to receive his guests, and after the hellos, hugs and kisses, Bell was plopped onto his lap. She turned her head to look at the cast on his foot and giggled, pointing. “Your foot is hiding,” she said. She crawled forward to get a better look. “Peek-boo! I see your toes.”

“Careful, Bell,” Daisy said gently, picking up her faunt and turning her about. “Your Uncle Sam hurt his foot and it will only get better if it’s not bothered, so don’t go touching, understand.”

“Yes Mama,” Bell said and cuddled into the crook of Sam’s arm to listen to his heartbeat. “It’s loud,” she announced.

“It’s happy to see you,” Sam said. “It gets louder when it’s happy.”

“I make it happy?” Bell said.

“You do at that,” Sam said, resting a hand on Bell’s curly head, and beamed up at his sister and brother-in-law. “How are things on the farm?”

“They’re good,” Harman said and looked at his wife meaningfully. She nodded and he continued. “In fact, Daisy and I were talkin’, and if it ends up that you can’t garden no more, we could use an extra hand about the farm to help tend the geese and make the pillows and quills and such.”

“Gaffer explained everything to us this morning,” Daisy said. “It’s not so bad as we were hearing, but we know it can’t be easy for you to be a wondering what’ll come of you if worse comes to worst. How are you holding up with things?”

“Better,” Sam said with a shrug. “If I end up crippled, then I end up crippled. Nothing much I can do about it really, except do as Miss Willow says and hope for the best. I appreciate the offer, more’n I can say. You’re close enough that I could still stay at Number Three with Gaffer and Goldie, though I’ll likely have to find a pony to make the journey if my foot winds up being bothersome.”

“You could use our pony,” Harman said, “and stable it with Daddy’s.”

Sam nodded. That was sensible enough, since his brother-in-law didn’t require the pony to be on the farm during the night. “That sounds like a plan. I could offer to help tend Daddy’s beast to cover the cost of any feed he has to give for sheltering your pony,” he mused aloud. It was the best plan he had heard so far and he would certainly take them up on it if it came to that. “Thank you Harm, Daisy. That’s a load off my mind.”

“Anything to help, little brother,” Daisy said. “If you end up being fine, then maybe we could talk Furzy into coming over after he’s finished helping you here. In the meantime, we get day workers coming by often enough, looking for work. We were considering taking one of them on permanent, when we heard about your accident.”

Bell listened attentively to all this and when her mother stopped talking she looked up at Sam seriously. “Unc’ Sam will take Peanut?” Bell said of the pony, that being the only part of the conversation she really understood or cared about. “You take good care of Peanut.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam agreed. “I wouldn’t never do aught to hurt your pony, have no fear of that, lass.”

They visited through luncheon, which they had brought with them in the basket. Frodo might not want repayment for his expenses in taking care of Sam but that didn’t mean they had to eat any more of his food than was necessary. They had bread, cheese and the last of the winter berries, as well as a jug of warm tea. Sam fed Bell from his plate, then showed the lass the wood sculptures he had finished whittling. She played with them for the rest of their visit while Sam spoke with his eldest sister, his surrogate mother in many ways, and learned everything that was happening on and around the farm. They stayed for just over an hour after luncheon before they had to go, and then Sam was alone again.

When Frodo checked on him an hour later, Sam was staring with blank puzzlement at a piece of parchment that was laid out on the dinner tray, the edges of the yellowed parchment curling inward. Sam looked up when Frodo entered the room and sighed. “Mr. Frodo, can I ask you for some advice sir, if you have the time?”

“Of course you may, Sam. What do you need?” Frodo asked.

“How do you write a poem?”

“Haven’t you written poems before?” Frodo asked, being fairly certain that Bilbo used to make Sam write poems as part of his lessons.

“Aye sir, but they were always silly, nonsense things. How do you write a real poem, like the elves do?” Sam asked. “I’m writing this poem for Rosie, see, but it’s not very good.”

Frodo sat at the foot of the bed and considered the question. “Well, you should write from your heart, that’s always the most important thing,” Frodo suggested. “Don’t worry about making it rhyme, not at first. Just write what you want to say. If it helps, you can try writing a letter instead. Then you can go back and put the key points into meter. Whether it’s four lines or forty, she’ll love it, so don’t fret about the length either. So long as it carries your deepest and truest intentions, that’s all that matters.”

Sam nodded, looking at his parchment with renewed determination. “Thank you sir.” Frodo was about to leave when Sam spoke again. “Could you maybe, if you want, if you don’t mind, could you maybe take a look at it afore I give it to her?”

“If you want to me, certainly I would be glad to,” Frodo accepted. “Just let me know when.”

Sam nodded again, dipping the quill and pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment. “I will. Thank you Mr. Frodo.”  

Willow arrived early the following morning, just after first breakfast. Merry was washing the morning dishes when she knocked upon the door. Since Frodo was in his room, having just awoken, Merry set the pan he was scrubbing back into the washbasin and answered the door. He was surprised and delighted when he saw Willow standing on the stoop.

“Good morning, Willow,” Merry said, letting her in and taking her jacket. While the days were warmer, the mornings were still chill and jackets were carried if not worn in case of a sudden turn in the weather. “I didn’t think to see you until closer to noon or after.”

“I figured I’d check on Sam first thing. If he is well enough to go home, there’s no reason to delay his father from retrieving him, or so Hamfast was kind enough to point out to me yesterday,” Willow said with a laugh. “He’s eager to have his son back home, and there was something about a trip to Northfarthing. I don’t know about the trip, but if Sam’s leg is sound and if he can manage the crutches well enough, there’s no reason he can’t go home right now. Is he awake?”

“Yes, we just finished first breakfast,” Merry said and took her arm to escort her down the tunnel, walking leisurely. “How have you been? I understand that Miss Camellia has returned.”

“Yes, just yesterday. She’s going to rest from her journey today, then tomorrow she will start seeing her patients again. It will give me more time for socializing,” Willow informed hopefully.

Merry looked at her, crestfallen. “Frodo and I will likely be leaving for Tuckborough as soon as Sam is gone. It’s Pippin’s birthday in another couple of weeks and it’s to be held at the Great Smials this year.”

“You’ll be leaving right away?”

“Well, I assume by tomorrow at the earliest,” Merry guessed as they reached Sam’s room. Across the tunnel, Frodo’s door opened and he smiled pleasantly at Willow.

“Good morning, Miss Willow,” he greeted.

“Good morning, Mr. Frodo. I hope you don’t mind my coming so early,” Willow said with a diffident dip of her head.

“Of course I don’t,” Frodo said, stepping into the tunnel and following the healer and his cousin into Sam’s room, where the gardener was waiting. He perked up at sight of the healer and looked as eager as a child on Yule morning.

“Good day, Miss Willow,” he said.

“Good day to you, Sam,” Willow said, setting her satchel on the bedside table. “How are you this morning?”

“Much better,” Sam answered. “I’m feeling right fine, actually, certainly good enough to go home.”

Willow chuckled softly. She had seen her share of overly-eager patients and she knew that hopeful gleam in his eyes all too well. “I’m sure you are, but we have to be certain first,” she cautioned. She checked his breathing and heard no more restriction. His pulse was strong and his glands were not swollen even in the slightest. His coloration, as best as could be told in the fire and candlelight, was his usual brown pallor, and his eyes reacted normally to changes in light.

“Very good,” Willow said. “You’re healthy as ever, Sam. I think we can dispense with the medicinal juice and cut the tea down to one cup at nights, to help you sleep. How has your sleep been?”

“Good enough,” Sam said. “Sometimes I wake up, when I want to roll over and can’t, but I get back to sleep real quick once I resettle myself.”

“That’s good. No dreams?”

Sam shook his head. “No, Miss Willow, none out of the usual.”

Willow pushed up the breeches leg of the injured foot and uncovered the top of the cast. There was a space of an inch or two between the top of the cast and the kneecap. “This might hurt,” she said calmly, then pressed her fingers all along the muscles within that area. Sam’s quick intake of breath, hissed through his teeth at the pain that erupted wherever she pressed, made Frodo and Merry wince in sympathy. “Deep breaths, Sam,” Willow said. “With me.” Then she breathed in deeply and slowly and nodded encouragingly as Sam did the same. She held the breath a moment and let it out, just as slowly, and Sam did likewise. “Good. Keep doing that, and try to relax.”

“Relax?” Sam said incredulously, then hissed again when she pressed into a fresh spot before remembering he was supposed to be breathing deeply. By focusing on his breathing, he found the pain didn’t hurt quite as much.

Willow finished her examination and patted Sam’s hand. “You can relax now,” she advised with a smile.

Sam nodded and let out one final breath, the tension in his body draining with it.

“Is everything all right?” Frodo asked with concern.

Willow nodded. “Oh, yes. Sam’s recovering well, right on schedule. I don’t see any reason he can’t go home today, so long as we can get him a suitable pair of crutches. You said you had some, Mr. Frodo?”

“Yes, in the mathom room,” Frodo said but he didn’t leave. He was still concerned about the amount of pain he had seen in Sam’s face during the healer’s examination. “Is the pain normal then? That isn’t where Sam was hurt.”

“All the lower leg muscles connect to the heel or near it. When Sam fell, he not only twisted the ankle, but sent those muscles into spasm,” Willow explained. “That was another reason for keeping not just the ankle but the whole leg as immobilized as possible. It helped those muscles to settle, but they are still tense. By pressing along the attachments around the knee, especially the ones that hurt the most, it will help to release some of that tension, which will then release the pressure on the ankle and help it to heal faster. The deep breathing helps to both ease the pain and relax the muscles further.”

“Really? Fascinating,” Frodo intoned, “but I’m sure the only thing Sam is interested in is getting on a pair of crutches. I’ll get them. I looked for them yesterday and set them just inside the mathom room’s door. I’ll be right back.”

Frodo returned a short while later with the crutches. They were no more than two sticks with the tops curved in a u-shape to fit the armpit. Halfway down the shaft of each crutch was a knob for the hand to fit around. Willow inspected them and announced them to be sound, so Merry and Frodo helped Sam to sit on the edge of the bed and stand up. Sam took the crutches and tested how to hold his weight on them with Frodo and Merry still standing on either side of him.

“Stand up straight Sam,” Willow instructed and Sam did. “Go toward the fireplace.” Frodo and Merry released him and he made his way, slowly and awkwardly, to the hearth. She watched him closely, scrutinizing his every move, then moved to his side to physically measure the distance from the top of the crutch to his armpit. After a few moments, she nodded. “These will do. I’ll stop by Number Three on my way home and tell your father he can come collect you.”

Sam’s face split into a joyous grin. “I can go home?”

Willow nodded, smiling just as cheerfully. “You can go home, and go right to bed once you get there. I’ll be by in the afternoon, after you’re settled, to give you and your family further instructions on your care. Pack up, Sam.”

“Thank you Miss Willow,” Sam said, full of gratitude and downright giddiness. He couldn’t stop grinning and would have jumped for joy had it been advisable. Instead, he settled on giving the healer a sideways hug.

“You’re quite welcome,” Willow said, returning the brief embrace before stepping back. “Mr. Frodo, can you help Sam back to his bed? I still want him off his feet as much as possible. We’ll introduce walking with the crutches slowly. Merry, accompany me to the kitchen, please. You know where the extra medicinal supplies are located?”

“Yes, of course,” Merry said. He followed her to the kitchen and if they took longer retrieving the supplies than was necessary, Frodo and Sam pretended not to notice.  

After Willow left, Sam gave Merry and Frodo their gifts then packed his things while the cousins began packing for their trip to Whitwell; if they left tomorrow morning, they could still arrive at the farm and surprise Pippin there before the family set out for Great Smials. They could already hear all the questions Pippin would have for them when they arrived.

The Gaffer wasted no time in collecting his son. Not an hour passed since Willow’s departure before he was knocking on the front door. Behind him, a pony nibbled on fresh grass in the Lane, the trap hitched up behind her. Frodo let the Gaffer inside, as well as the help he had brought with him.

“Dandy Twofoot,” he greeted. “What a delightful surprise. Is Randy with you?”

“Good day to you, Mr. Baggins,” Dandy greeted back, ducking his head as he twisted his cap nervously in his hands. He had never been inside Bag End before and he wasn’t sure how to conduct himself or if it was safe to touch anything. He stuck by the Gaffer’s side like a burr. “Randy couldn’t come, sir. He had to go into town to fetch a few things for our pa.” He looked over Frodo’s shoulder as Merry joined them and before even being introduced he said, “And good day to you Mr. Merry. It’s good to be seeing you again sir.”

“Is it?” Merry asked, wondering who the lad was and how he knew his name.

“Yes it is,” Frodo said, smiling sweetly. “Surely you remember Dandy Twofoot, Daddy’s youngest lad.”

“Twofoot,” Merry said, suddenly remembering Frodo’s confession about the dress prank. He had nearly forgotten that it had been the Twofoot lads who had done the dirty work of putting him into that frock. He wondered briefly if Willow knew anything about that prank and pushed the thought instantly from his mind. Instead, he looked the sturdy lad up and down and smiled pleasantly. “Yes, of course,” Merry said and gamely shook Dandy’s hand. “I’m afraid I was a bit drunk the first time we met, so things are a bit fuzzy.”

Dandy smiled shyly and bobbed his head again.

“Come on, lad,” Gaffer said. “Let’s round up my son and get him home.” He patted Dandy on the shoulder and led him down the tunnel toward Sam’s room, the old hobbit moving as swift as the younger.

They disappeared down the tunnel and came back out a few minutes later, Dandy carrying Sam’s pack and the Gaffer carrying the wooden box and bathing pad. Sam followed behind them, navigating the tunnel somewhat awkwardly on his crutches. Frodo and Merry followed them outside and down the garden path to the gate, staying close to Sam in case he should stumble or need help. Dandy helped the Gaffer and Sam into the trap and the Gaffer pillowed Sam’s foot with old tattered blankets they had brought with them for just that purpose.

“When will you be leaving for Little Smithy, Master Hamfast?” Frodo asked. He and Merry weren’t the only ones who have been delayed in visiting family. Gaffer, Goldie and Sam were all eager to visit Halfred and meet the newest addition to their family.

“First thing Highday morning, if Miss Willow allows,” Hamfast said, as close to being giddy as Frodo had ever seen him. As if having Sam back in the smial wasn’t present enough, the old hobbit simply couldn’t wait to hold his newest granddaughter but he had a long journey ahead of him. Little Smithy was five miles northeast of Long Cleeve, and it was a good four to five day trip from Hobbiton under normal circumstances. With Sam’s injury, they would have to travel slowly and that might stretch the trip out another day or two. Frodo couldn’t blame the Gaffer for wanting to leave as soon as possible, but he wouldn’t go until it was safe for Sam to travel.

“Enjoy your journey and your visit,” Frodo said. “I don’t doubt that you’ll have plenty of fun with little Ashley.”

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Baggins, for everything,” Gaffer said. “You’re a kind soul, I’ve always said, just like old Mr. Bilbo Baggins, and I’ll say it to anyone as’ll listen!”

“Thank you Master Hamfast,” Frodo said graciously then turned to Sam. “We’ll miss you around here, lad. Make sure you get plenty of rest and that you stay off that foot.”

“Yes, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said. “I’m sorry I was such a bother to you, sir.”

“You know you could never be a bother to me Sam,” Frodo said. “Don’t worry about the garden. Furzy will take good care of it until you return to work, and I’ve arranged for him to stay on after you return to help you until you’re back to full strength again.”

“Thank you sir. And you too Mr. Merry. Say hullo to Master Pippin for me,” Sam said.

“We will,” Merry promised. “And we’ll write down all of Pippin’s questions for you about what it’s like having a cast, and any other pesky things he thinks up, so you can answer them at your leisure. That should fill up the rest of your convalescence and then some.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Sam said with a grin.

They waved farewell and Dandy shook the reins, clicking softly at the pony. The trap gave a small lurch then it was rolling smoothly down the Lane. Frodo and Merry waited until the trap rounded the bend in the Hill before heading back up the garden path.

“What are the chances that Sam will ever let us wait on him again once he’s healed and back on both feet?” Merry asked.

“My guess is slim to none,” Frodo answered. “Most likely, he’ll be cooking second breakfast, luncheon and dinner for a month to make up for the last eight days.”

“Really? You think so?” Merry asked hopefully and quickly calculated the estimated time that Sam would be allowed back to work. “In that case, I think Pip and I will be due for a visit right after my birthday. We wouldn’t want all that cooking to go to waste, now would we?”

“Trust me, Merry dear, I would never allow Sam’s cooking to go to waste,” Frodo assured. They stepped into the smial and closed the door behind them.

To be concluded…