Finding Friends

The two young Brandybuck couples had left the Harvest Festival as soon as the books were all sold. Other packed his knives away, they folded up both tables, loaded everything into Jebbin’s carriage and headed back the way they had come.

Other was driving. He and Athelas had started to climb into the back seat but Jebbin had stopped them.

“Other, no,” the elder brother said. He laid a trembling hand on Other’s arm. “Drive. I’m not sure I can.”

Other turned to look at Jebbin. At first, after he had finished his presentation of the book’s subject matter, Jebbin had been flushed with excitement. He had stood at the table between Athelas and Marjoram handing each book to its buyer himself and shaking the hobbit’s hand. But the thrill of it had now faded away, leaving Jebbin tired, pale and looking much older than his thirty-nine years. His knee gave out under him as he tried to step up into the carriage. Other had steadied him, then helped him settle into the seat.

Jebbin slept the whole way to Frogmorton, his head in Marjy’s lap. He had managed to eat a reasonable amount of the supper the proprietor of the Floating Log served them, but was asleep as soon as he lay down upon his bed. He was better the next day as they made their way to Brandy Hall, though his eyes were still shadowed. When they were home in their apartment in the Hall, he ate a light supper then went straight to bed.

Most of those attending the Harvest Festival stay for the Harvest Festival Ball. The Festival itself only lasts one day and those in Hobbiton, Bywater and Underhill are out and about the next day, albeit somewhat later in the day than usual. Those from further off usually would spend one more day in Hobbiton in order to recover from the night before. The hobbits who had bought Jebbin’s book most likely would not start to read it for three to four days after they had purchased it.

The third day after the Festival, Jebbin spent in bed. The fourth day he didn’t rise till luncheon, then spent the afternoon, still in his nightshirt and dressing gown, in the parlor staring at the fire. The next morning he dragged himself to the table for second breakfast, still in his nightshirt and dressing gown, then shuffled into the parlor to sit in a corner of the sofa in front of the fire. Marjy left the meal’s dishes on the table to follow after her husband. For a while they sat in silence, holding tightly to each other’s hand.

“Nothing to do now but wait,” Jebbin finally said. “Wait. For what? And for how long?” He sighed, laying his head back to stare at the ceiling. “It will take a while for even a quick reader to finish it. A week? Perhaps two, if he is a gentlehobbit of leisure. More if he is a merchant or business hobbit. Then there will be time spent in telling those who cannot read all about it at the taverns and inns as well as passing it along to others who wish to read it for themselves. Then they will come for me . . . for us.” Jebbin sighed again.

“It might not be that way, Jebbin. They . . .”

“They what?” He cut her off, his voice expressionless. “They will come to carry me about on their shoulders, thanking me for bringing them the light of the truth? I’m certain that is how it will happen” Jebbin gave an defeated grunt. “They will storm the Hall like the orcs stormed Helm’s Deep, wanting the traitor’s head on a pike.”

“Jebbin! These are hobbits you’re talking about, not orcs or Ruffians. I’m sure they . . .”

“Sure they won’t try to kill me?” Jebbin cut Marjy off again. He closed his eyes. He said nothing for several long minutes. “No. You’re right, my dear, dear Marjoram. Just drag us off and lock us up, have a hearing at which no one will hear anything we say, then banish us to roam in the Wilds till death finds us out there.”

Marjy had no answer to this. It was an outcome that was all together possible. They sat there, each wishing they had some word of cheer to lighten the other’s load.

Their thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of jingling bells.

“May we be here?”

Jebbin grinned. As best he could remember, it was the first time the Ghosts had asked leave to appear. “Yes,” he replied.

Meriadoc the Magnificent and Peregrin the Peerless slowly became visible, seated in the two chairs that stood set off at an angle from either end of the sofa.

At the same time a soft knock sounded at the door before it opened and Other’s head poked through the narrow opening. “Might we come in?”

“Yes,” Marjy called out. Other and Athelas came in and sat beside Jebbin and Marjy on the sofa.

For several minutes, no one spoke.

“You did very well, Jebbin.” Pippin finally offered. “You truly did. But then again, you’re a Brandybuck and they have always been powerful speakers.”

Jebbin huffed.

“They’re reading it,” Merry said.

Jebbin looked at the ghost. “One of those things you just happen to know?”

“Yes. Or well, that we know a little about, yes. We don’t exactly know where every book is at any given time, but things are stirring, getting talked about. That we do know.”

“It won’t all be bad, Jebbin,” Athelas said softly. “They won’t all turn against you. Marjy felt as you and Other do even before you met her. I had too. There are others.”

Jebbin perked up a bit at that. “You’ve made a good point, Sister. You both fell right in with all of this. There must be others, mustn’t there?” He looked eagerly from one ghost to the other.

“Yes,” Pippin said, dragging the word out a bit as he said it. He closed his eyes for a moment then opened them to look at Jebbin. “Yes, there are others, but . . .” He paused.

“But?” Jebbin asked.

“It’s not as though . . . It won’t be as if . . .” The Ghost straightened up in the chair, pursing his lips as he gave the slightest nod of his head, as though bringing himself to a decision. “You’ve a battle ahead. There. I’ve gone and taken the starch out of you as I feared I would. But I’m not being discouraging.”

Jebbin had slumped back against the back of the sofa.

“I’m not! You’ve a confrontation to face and that’s not all that bad a thing. Evil doesn’t always come marching in bold as brass with Ruffians at its head. It was already at work in the Shire of our day before ere a Ruffian set foot over our borders, and it’s been at work now. It is hard, it isn’t an easy, fun lark, but good comes from standing against evil.”

Jebbin turned his head toward Merry. “I thought he was known for being cheerful,” he moaned.

Merry smiled. “He is. He just doesn’t want you to start deceiving yourself into a false sense of security. We really do have a good feeling about all of this though it won’t be easy.”

“We do!” Pippin said brightly. “So get yourself up off of this sofa, Jebbin Brandybuck. Get yourself dressed and presentable. They will start coming. The ones that come to you, straight to you personally, they will be the ones who either already agree or are only needing a bit more convincing. You need to show yourself as a steady, right-minded hobbit.”

“Marjy,” Athelas rose to her feet and held out her hand to her sister-in-law. “Let’s plan for some extra baking. It will help immensely if those visiting doubters can be well fed while questioning your husband.”

“I really should check my supplies. Jebbin?”

Jebbin had also got to his feet. “I’m fine. Off to get myself dressed as I’ve been told, like a good lad.” He winked at the ghost of Peregrin Took. “You and Athelas go and make your plans. Make a list of anything you need. We’ll all go into Bucklebury this afternoon, shop and then have tea at that tea room you lasses are so fond of.” He looked at the ghosts. “You’re right. Chin up. Shoulders back. Chest out. I’ll only make everything worse if I cringe in the shadows. Other,” he turned to his brother, “I’ll meet you in the Hall’s game-room for some darts in fifteen minutes.”

Jebbin left to get dressed. Other stood, then looked back and forth at Merry and Pippin, winking at each of them.

“I told you that you two could get him going.”

The grinning ghosts faded from view as Other headed for the game-room.

Two days later Macidoc Brandybuck sat across from Jebbin at the small game table in Jebbin and Marjy’s parlor. The Master’s son toyed idly with his signet ring as he considered not only his next move on the chessboard, but also his next comment in the conversation. He had his reasons for inviting himself to Jebbin’s apartment as opposed to having their game in the common game room.

“I’ve missed our weekly games these last few months,” Mac said as he moved his knight to threaten Jebbin’s queen.

Jebbin’s eyes widened at the unexpected move on the board. “I’ve been busy of late, but I have some free time just now.”

“Writing a book so it seems. I was a bit hurt that I knew nothing about it.”

Jebbin looked up to find Mac’s deep blue eyes staring back at him.

“I was at the Harvest Festival, Jebbin. You know I often go even though Father doesn’t. He and Thain Adenbras only go to the Free Fair as is customary. Be that as it may, I was there on the edge of the crowd. Why hadn’t you told me?”

Jebbin shifted his gaze back to the chessboard. He began to reach for his queen, but ended up putting his arm down on the table at the side of the board. He sat for a bit just staring. This was something he should have foreseen but hadn’t. He wasn’t sure how to handle it.

“It was something that . . . well it wasn’t something we made a specific decision about, it . . . we, Other and the lasses and I, we . . .” He paused a bit longer. He picked up one of Mac’s pawns that he had captured earlier and rolled it about between his fingers. “We never gave thought to telling anyone else. It’s a dangerous thing. Like an herb that in the proper dose heals but a bit too much of it kills. One needs be careful how one handles it. We . . . we weren’t . . . we weren’t sure how to handle it other than keeping it all to ourselves until it was completed.”

“I’d like to read it, Jebbin.”

“There aren’t any copies left to sell you, Mac.”

“I know better than that, my dear friend. You wouldn’t have sold the original, so there is a copy available.”

Another pause. “As you say, I can’t sell the original.”

“That all came out wrong, Jebbin. I didn’t mean you should sell me the original. May I come to your apartment and read it?”

Jebbin’s eyes returned to those of his friend. Mac saw hesitation and, yes, more than a touch of fear in his eyes.

“You’d best not refuse me just because of Father. You know full well I’m my own hobbit and never have been the sort to run to him with everything I see or hear. He’ll hear all about it anyway, you can be sure of that, but it won’t be from me if you bid me be silent. I want to read it for myself, Jebbin, not just hear what others think of it. Especially, I want to know what it says before Father has had his reports. How can I defend your work if I haven’t read it?”

“Defend?” The look in Jebbin’s eyes changed. For a moment hope replaced the fear. But the doubt quickly returned. “Defend, you say. Defend what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Jebbin. I said I was at the Festival at the edge of the crowd. I heard your speech, old lad. You are a most convincing speaker. I have never thought too much about the stories of the Travellers. I always took the tutors at their word and went on. But I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about them now, after hearing you that morning, and I must say that when one thinks about it, much of what we were taught does sound a bit outlandish.”

Mac placed a hand over Jebbin’s that was fiddling with the pawn. He leaned forward until he was nearly nose to nose with his friend.

“Please, let me read your book, Jebbin.”

“Yes, let Mac read the book, Jebbin.”

Both hobbits jumped a bit, turning to stare at Athelas.

Jebbin did what he usually tried not to do, he looked into the lass’s green eyes. Green eyes. Green stars. And a voice that was as much deep in his mind as it was in his ears.

“Let Mac read the book, Jebbin.”

“Yes, of course. Foolish of me, Macidoc.” Jebbin spoke to his friend but still looked at his sister-in-law. “We’ve sold the copies. It is being read here and there about the Shire. Why shouldn’t you read it? Would you like to start now?”

Athelas closed her eyes, then opened them to look at Mac. “I’ll just go and fetch you lads some refreshments. I’ll bring them to you in the study,” she said brightly, then left the parlor.

Mac stood. “I would love to start now, Jebbin! I’ve been champing at the bit to have a go at it.”

Jebbin rose slowly. He blinked and shook his head a bit as though he had just awakened from a nap. “Yes. Ah . . . it’s in the study, Mac. I . . . I’ve some reading of my own to do, I’ll keep you company.” They headed toward the hallway that led to the study. “Did she say something about refreshments?” Jebbin asked as they left the parlor.

A short time later letters began to arrive, all being variations on; “You’re book has piqued my interest, Mr. Brandybuck, and I’m wondering if I might call on you to discuss these matters further.” A letter from Togo Goodbody, who first stopped at Jebbin’s table at the Festival and who lived in Oatbarton. One from Myrtle Fairbairn from Undertowers. One from Isenbras Took who owned a large farm near where the Longbottom Road split off from the Waymeet-Sackville Road.

They came to Brandy Hall, meeting in the humble apartment of the young Shire historian and his wife. When they left, they did so with dates set for Jebbin to come and speak to the hobbits in their Farthing of the Shire, so others could learn the truth.