Chapter 19: When Winter Comes Without a Spring

28 Solmath, S.R. 1312

Bilbo had thought the worst of that horrible winter had passed until that day his father received Uncle Bingo's letter. The days that followed were more dreary than ever, and the news of his grandmother's death was only the beginning of more bad news that began to trickle in from various friends and family. First came a letter from Cousin Polo: Great-uncle Ponto had died just before the Turning of the Year, but isolated as the family was on Cousin Polo's farm between Bywater and Waymeet, the news had taken months to arrive. Then Cousin Herry's grandmother, Great-aunt Pansy Bolger, had succumbed to lung fever after all thought she had recovered well from her bout with the catarrh. Not even a week later, Cousin Fosco arrived at Bag End's front door with the sad news that his father Great-uncle Largo had suffered an apoplexy among his wife's people in the Southfarthing, and was not expected to live. Cousin Fosco was distraught, for he could not travel to be by his father's side. Even if the snow had not still made travel difficult, he could not leave his wife and baby Dudo now.

And just this past Sterday had come word up the Hill that Great-aunt Lily Goodbody had slipped away in her sleep. Her daughter-in-law, also named Lily, had gone to take her morning tea, and found her cold and peaceful in her bed.*

Bilbo often felt tears pricking his eyes as he looked at his father, who had begun to wince at every knock on the door, fearing that it would only bring more bad news. Bungo seemed to have aged ten years in the last three weeks. Mistress Rose said the lung fever had affected his heart as well as his lungs, and that he would have to be careful not to over-exert himself from now on. His father needed a cane to walk, and it seemed that even after short distances he was out of breath.

His mother, too, seemed older and quieter. The Tookish twinkle in her eyes had been extinguished, and Bilbo could think of nothing that would bring it back. There was more grey in her chestnut hair now as well. It was hard to even coax a smile from her anymore.

And there had been no break in the weather. The woodpile had been depleted, and an old dresser, a small cupboard and a ancient table had followed the rickety bookcases and the decrepit chairs into the hearth. The mathom rooms were nearly depleted of worn-out furniture, and if spring did not come soon, then they would have to begin burning pieces that were still good. And Bilbo was not deceived: he had seen his father gazing with pain-filled eyes at the books in the study. If push came to shove, they would burn the books, though that would only be a last resort, he knew.

Today had been the bleakest day yet. They had used up the last of the preserved fruit that the Tooks had brought, it seemed so long ago, and every meal had been barley gruel. The  three Bagginses had passed their day in unbroken silence so far, too discouraged even for polite conversation. What was there to say, after all?

As they huddled around the scant fire in the parlour, sipping weak tea, they heard another knock at the door. Bungo gave a start, and dropped his teacup. He looked at it in dismay, but made no move to pick it up. He had gone quite white, and Belladonna was biting her lip.

Bilbo stood up. "I will answer the door, Papa," he said. His voice sounded rusty and unused.

"Thank you, son," Bungo whispered.

Bilbo went to the door with dread. If it was the posthobbit, he thought he might just slam and bolt the door. His parents simply could not take anymore bad news.

To his surprise, it was Farmer Button. He stood on the step, twisting his cap. Bilbo could see his sledge in the lane by the gate.

"Afternoon, Master Bilbo. How's the Squire?" he asked.

"Papa has not been feeling well, Mr. Button. Do you need to speak to him?"

"It's only that I thought that folks could use some wood. That old byre in my back pasture, it just fell over t'other day. 'T was a good-sized building a-fore it went to ruin. I'd planned to pull it down this spring, since we built the new one last year. Anyhow, me lads and me, we thought to share the wood--there's a goodly lot of it, young sir."

Bilbo could have jumped with joy, but he restrained himself. He was representing his Papa right now. "Oh, yes, Mr. Button! That would be wonderful! But can you spare it?"

"We've kept enough for our needs, Master Bilbo, and we've still got some o' the ice storm wood, for we lost so many branches in the orchard!"

"Thank you, then, ever so much! Let me tell Papa and Mama, and I will put on my coat and come help you to unload some!"

They left enough of the well-seasoned old wood to last for several more days, if the Bagginses were careful. They still had more in the sledge, but it was to be distributed to other families.

Before Farmer Button and his two sons left, Belladonna invited them into the smial, where they were given tea. Weak though it was, it was hot and welcome.

Bungo thanked them, his voice soft and weak, "It is kindly of you to think of us and of your neighbours; I appreciate your sharing the wood. I hope that you kept enough for your own families."

The old farmer blushed, the tips of his ears bright red, and he said, "Well, you're most welcome, Squire, sir. I know as how you'd've done the same if you'd had the wood to spare. And don't worrit for us--we kept as much as we brought away, sir, I promise." He looked at Bungo, and his brow creased in worry.

Bilbo escorted them to the door. Farmer Button turned and looked him in the eye. "Master Bilbo, how's your da, truly? He's a good Squire--I hate to think of aught a-happening to him?"

Bilbo swallowed hard, and put on his most grown-up face. "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Button. My father has been ill, but Mistress Rose says he is stronger now than he was."

"Well, you be sure to let us know if there is aught we can do, Master Bilbo. The Master o' the Hill has allus taken care of everybody else. 'T is the least we can do to return the favour."

Bilbo watched the farmer drive the sledge down the Hill. He knew they were taking some of the firewood to Greenbriars, and he was glad, for it was hard to think about his little cousins Dora and Drogo shivering in the cold, and baby Dudo was still very weak. How lucky that the Button's old byre had chosen this time to fall over!

4 Rethe, S.R. 1312

For the last few days, Bilbo and his family had spent most of their time sleeping in the parlour, only stirring for meals. "Like a sett of old badgers," Papa had said, in a now rare attempt at humour, "sleeping the cold weather away."

Bilbo was in the kitchen, helping his mother prepare a luncheon of thin soup, using the last of the dried vegetables left by the Tooks, when there came a rapping at the back door.

He gave the mixture in the pot on the hearth a stir and then went over to answer the door. It was Mag Twofoot.

Belladonna looked around as Bilbo opened the door. "Come in, Mag!" she said. "We were about to have lunch. Won't you join us?"

Mag blushed and stepped into the smial "No thank you, Mrs. Baggins, ma'am. I just came by to ask Master Bilbo if he'd like to go ice fishing with us this evening. My mam was telling us how her nuncle from the Northfarthing used to go out and cut a hole in the ice and fish through it in the winter. We thought we'd go down to the Water and give it a try. Don't know as we'll catch anything, but we might, and a bit o' fish might be a good change."

Bilbo grinned. "I'd like that," he said.

Belladonna frowned. "On the ice? Is it safe?"

Mag nodded. "The ice is thick as thick, ma'am. Mam said her nuncle allus went at dusk, and usually had good luck."

After tea, Bilbo bundled up: leggings, sweater, jacket, scarf, coat, and hat. His father gave him a pair of leather gloves with no fingers, so that his hands would be warm but his fingers free to work. His mother tried to get him to wear his cloak as well, but Bilbo insisted it would be too awkward. He took his creel and some hooks and fishing line; Mag had told him not to bring a pole. "No casting into the ice hole. You just drop the line straight down. You can just use your hand or you can wrap the line around a short stick."

He headed down the lane, and soon met up with Mag, Jack and several other tweens similarly equipped. The lads had all brought with them a few cleverly carved and brightly painted wooden lures. They were rarely used in summer fishing, for worms and minnows were plentiful, but this winter they had none, and no one would waste meat as bait when they weren't sure they'd have a catch.

Mag and Jack had scouted out several spots upon the ice as likely, and now they went down to them. Jack used a long-handled chisel to chip away a tiny pilot hole in the ice, and then Jack use a saw to cut out a hole a little over a foot in diameter, then they moved on to another spot. "Two can fish in one hole," called out Mag.

Bilbo found himself sharing a hole with Herry, whom he'd not seen since before the wolf hunt. "How's your knee?"

"It's all right now. Still aches some, but I get around with it."

Bilbo wanted to ask more, but the look on Herry's face kept him from it. He applied the lure to his hook, wrapped the end of his line around his hand and dropped it in.

The Moon rose before the lads were ready to give up; He gave plenty of light with the snow below, but they were getting colder, and hungry. All of them had caught something, and Bilbo was pleased with the four perch in his creel. He could imagine how good they would smell as his mother roasted them in the embers on the hearth--or maybe she'd even spare a bit of meal and enough lard to fry them! The thought made his mouth water.

25 Rethe, S.R. 1312

Expeditions down to the Water had become more common as word of the lads' success became known. The fish was a welcome addition to the diets of those who had long before run out of meat.

But not all trips were successful. Bilbo was trudging back up the Hill with an empty creel, wondering if there would be any fish left in the water by winter's end, or even if winter ever would end. They had a sunny day, and the Sun was still in the sky even now, but it seemed that the world was still dreary and white as far as he could see. He looked around, and sighed. White, white, white...

White with a hint of green? There, along the verge?

Bilbo gave a wordless shout, and darted over to look more closely. There, peeking up shyly through the cold blanket of snow were the first tiny blooms of snowdrops!

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*AUTHOR'S NOTE: The deaths of Ponto Baggins, Largo Baggins and Lily Goodbody are all canon: Ponto died in 1311, and both Largo and Lily died in 1312. Pansy's date-of-death is not given, but she would have been 100 that winter and it is highly likely that she would not have survived given the circumstances. It was in fact, noticing this that made me begin to think of the events of the Fell Winter.