Wedmath 1461 SR

Merry Gamgee stood on a slope near Whitwell and surveyed the land below with a quiet satisfaction. On one side he could see the fluffy shapes of the Thain's sheep as they grazed the fields below; the farm was managed for the Thain by Everard Took and his son Abelard. Turning to his right, Merry grinned as he took in the laden fruit trees and new buildings where he and his brother Pip-lad were hoping to make a living. They had acquired the smallholding and had just spent months pruning, weeding and re-building in order to have a harvest to sell. It had been in a terrible state when they took over but in six months they had managed to achieve the near impossible. The trees were full of fruit and the soft fruit garden was yielding pretty well. The sight gave Merry hope for the future.

       "Well I do declare! If it isn't Merry Gamgee! Good grief, I haven't seen you for ages!" said an amused voice from above.

       Merry started and peered up into the branches, which parted to reveal a face of exquisite beauty - creamy skin, huge eyes, hair the colour of banked embers in the dappled sunlight.

       "Miss Persimmon! No, I suppose it must be four or five years."

       "Oh! No comments along the lines of 'what on earth are you doing up a tree?' and 'That isn't very lady-like behaviour'?"

       Merry shrugged. "Hardly. My sisters climb trees all the time."

       "So they do. Silly me, I'd forgotten. Are you sure the Tooks and the Gamgees aren't related?" She dropped lightly to the grass beside him.

       Merry tried to look at her face and not allow his eyes to wander. Persimmon was wearing an old shirt and breeches belonging to her older brother, and filling them in ways Abelard could never have imagined. Looking at her face was not much better, because she had jade-green eyes fringed with dark auburn lashes and a sprinkling of pale freckles across her nose and over her pronounced cheekbones. When she smiled she could have stopped traffic in the White City and distracted any male hobbit between twenty and a hundred on his way to second breakfast. Merry gulped.

       "I don't think our families are related. I certainly didn't expect to see you up here though."

       "I hide up here sometimes. You won't tell anyone, will you?" She gave him a pleading look.

       "Course not. Who are you hiding from?"

       "Lads mostly. They all want to own me, like I'm a.....a....pony....or a new carriage! I'm not going to be anyone's property. And they want to 'tame me'!" her fists clenched as she spat the words. "They seem to want to put me in a cage."

       Merry tried not to get lost in those jade eyes. "Don't that defeat the object? If they cared about you they wouldn't want to do such a thing. Besides, if something is wild and beautiful you don't throw it in a cage. You wait for trust to grow."

       Now it was Persimmon's turn to gulp. She stared at Merry, doubt and disbelief written all over her lovely features. Merry thought she looked like a wary doe allowing herself to be approached. "You mean that?"

       "I'm like my da. I never say anything I don't mean. If a wild doe comes to the back door and takes food from your hand, you leave the door open and let her come and go as she will."

       "You are like your da. That's exactly the sort of thing he'd say, bless him." She favoured Merry with a dazzling smile and he ran a finger round his collar, suddenly feeling very warm. "Sardo Bracegirdle says I'm a shrew!"

       "Sardo Bracegirdle is a mutton-head who couldn't find his own backside with both hands and a map!" Merry snorted, and was surprised when Persimmon broke into giggles.

       "Oh Merry, you are funny."

       "I hope you're not going to throw yourself away on the likes of Sardo - or that lunk Taviso Sackville........not that it's any of my business," he added hastily. "I just think they have an unpleasant and backward attitude to lasses."

       "You don't miss much, do you? No, I have no intention of marrying either of those two - or any other lad who's asked me so far." She pulled a face. "If I was daft enough to marry Sardo I'd have to murder him within the week! He's an insufferable boor."

       Merry nodded. "And that's the best thing you can say about him!" He was rewarded with another bubbling laugh.

       "I hear you and Pip have taken over the Deeploam smallholding. That must be hard work - poor old Widow Deeploam hasn't been able to find any willing help for years and the place has gone down badly."

       "It's kept us busy but at least we've shifted all the weeds now, trimmed and pruned the trees and prepared the ground. We probably won't turn a profit for two or three years but we're prepared for that."

       "Will you be able to manage on no profit?"

       Merry chuckled. "We're very lucky - we have a silent partner in the business who has helped with the money and some sound advice."

       "Really?" She tried to sound casual but her curiosity was overwhelming.

       "No doubt you'll guess that it's Uncle Fro."

      She gave a throaty laugh. "Of course. It would be! Never heard that he put his money into anything which failed, so I'm sure you'll be a roaring success soon. Going in for livestock?"

       "Yes, but not sheep."

       "No?" Persimmon arched her lovely brows.

       "Not going into competition with your da. Everyone knows the Whitwell sheep are unbeatable in this part of the Shire. Thought we'd get a few goats. Reckon there might be a market for cheese and milk, and the wool for some things too. Apparently in Harad they like goat hair for rugs."

       "You have given it a lot of thought. Some youngsters don't digest cows' milk well - I know Pinto didn't and Aunt Pearl had to search all over for goats' milk - so mothers would probably be glad of a reliable supply.. What breed are you going for?"

       "Northfarthing Shorthorns. They're tough, love poor ground, eat anything and have very long coats."

       "Perhaps you could set up a stall near the gate and sell produce - milk, cheese, fruit and vegetables, and jam and pickles. Your mum's pickles would sell like a hot cakes - so would her cakes, come to that." She twinkled mischievously.

       "That's a wonderful idea! If we had time one of us could run it for a while during the day, I suppose."

       "Sounds as though you two need organising. Didn't I hear that Pip was betrothed?"

       "I know he's a mite young but he's been soppy on our cousin Lily since he was a faunt. Never looked at another lass."

       "A good choice - she's a farmer's daughter after all." Persimmon looked at him with a strange expression on her face. "What about you, Merry? Any lasses in tow?

       He shook his head. "Not yet. I thought you and Freddy might have started courting."

       "Freddy's a sweet lad but I have always regarded him as another brother, not a potential husband. He's in great demand, I gather - the lasses adore him and think him very dashing, especially since he joined the Rangers." Persimmon smiled and Merry's stomach flipped over. "I believe he's quite sweet on Opal."

       "Your Aunt Nell's Opal? Well, she's around his age and a pretty lass if I remember rightly. Last time Freddy came through Hobbiton with Fari, Theo and Torni, all in their Ranger cloaks and carrying swords and bows, all the lasses were swooning."

        The lass chuckled. "Don't they love the attention! Fari's always a target for the ambitious mothers, but I think they're going to have to concede defeat soon. It's pretty obvious he's going to wed your sister."

       "Da will need smelling-salts!"

       "He doesn't approve?"

       "You know what he's like - a gardener's family shouldn't be going above their station, marrying into a great family like the Tooks."

       "Uncle Pip says it's the Tooks who should be honoured, with Uncle Sam being a Lord and Mayor and one of the Ring-bearers. Besides, we're not snobs like the Bracegirdles."

       Merry grinned. "Oh Da'll come round. Mum and Uncle Fro will just tease it out of him. He'll say it's not proper and they'll call that nonsense and eventually he'll hold up his hands and give in."

       "Coming to the Whitwell dance tomorrow?"

       "Wouldn't miss it - although I'm not much of a dancer."

       She gave him a sly smile. "I'll teach you." Impulsively she leaned towards him and brushed her lips against his cheek. "Till tomorrow night."

       Then she was gone, running lightly down the slope towards Whitwell. Merry touched his cheek and lolled against the tree, his face smothered in the most idiotic smile.