Chapter 10. Well-Met at Waymeet

The Travellers rode away from the little settlement, waving to the farmers and their families before urging their ponies to an easy, road-eating pace.

’I’d like to see their faces when they unpack that pony,’ Merry said. ‘Sam, you’re a wonder! I wouldn’t have thought of half the things you included.’ 

Sam grinned and ducked his head at the praise, blushing when Frodo added, ‘Very resourceful, our Sam is.  He knows what supplies will go the farthest, and how to pack an enormity of stuffs—food and otherwise—into an economy of space.’

’You really ought to write a book, Frodo, with your grasp of the language,’ Merry teased, and Frodo shook his head with a grin.

’I suppose you’re ready to sit down and finally write that book on herblore,’ he retorted.

’All in good time, my hobbit, all in good time,’ Merry said placidly. He gazed over the scenery that they were passing; more ramshackle farms, buildings apparently about to collapse of their own weight, fields overgrown and neglected. ‘Clever of those farmers,’ he said to himself.

’Eh? What was that?’ Frodo said.

’I was thinking about what Farmer Barleygrain said back there, about how they’d let the buildings fall into disrepair, dressed the children in rags, made it look to passing ruffians as if it weren’t worth their while to stop. They suffered few losses in terms of crops and livestock, compared to some of the more prosperous-looking farms,’ Merry answered.

’Farmer Cotton did much the same,’ Sam said. ‘From the outside you’d swear his barn was about to fall on the cows. It’s nicely braced on the inside, but you can’t tell that from the road.’

’Yes, and he let the weeds grow up in the fields. It made for a poorer harvest, but the ruffians didn’t bother him too much in their gatherings, either,’ Frodo agreed. ‘Still, with all the trees the ruffians cut down, and all the bricks and boards from those... travesties of buildings they built—‘

’Those will be pulled down, first thing,’ Sam predicted.

’There ought to be plenty of material available for repairs on hobbit dwellings,’ Frodo finished.

’You’re sounding more and more like a Mayor all the time,’ Merry teased, and Frodo gave him a sour look, then sighed.

’I’m going to have to take it on, am I not?’ he said with a twist of his mouth.

’I’m afraid you are,’ Merry said. ‘But fear not, ‘tis only until Mayor Will gets back on his feet.’ He laughed as Frodo shook his head and muttered under his breath.

They rode into Waymeet as the afternoon shadows were lengthening. Pulling up at the inn on the western edge of town, they stared in dismay at the building, windows broken, door boarded up. Merry and Sam got down from their ponies to peer into the broken windows. They saw cobwebs and dust, overturned and broken furniture, a drift of leaves that had blown in. Some small creature scurried across the floor.

’The inn is not habitable,’ Merry reported to Frodo, ‘not even if we pulled the boards from the door. It’ll need a lot of work to clear away the debris and make it welcoming again.’

’Where, then?’ Frodo said. ‘Freddy needs to rest this night, not drive on through the icy cold in a coach, no matter how well-appointed.’

’How about the Boffins?’ Merry said. ‘Don’t they live in Waymeet? It would be easier to impose on a wealthy family than a poor one, I’d say.’

Frodo nodded, and they proceeded to the home of the Boffin family, only to find it empty, deserted, looted by ruffians, the windows broken out, door hanging half off its hinges and no evidence of the owners.

’Perhaps someone at the Shirriff’s house might have a suggestion,’ Frodo said at last. They turned their ponies towards the centre of town, where the ugly brick building erected by the ruffians was to be found.

'I certainly hope so,' Merry muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the western horizon. 'The Sun will be seeking her bed soon, and we have no bed for Freddy as yet.'

To their surprise, they found the Shirriff’s house a hive of activity, with hobbits working as busily as bees at pulling the building down. Already there were tidy piles of rescued bricks and floorboards, the doors and windows had been neatly removed and stacked nearby, and hobbits atop the roof were pulling up shingles, tying them together in bundles, and lowering them to the workers on the ground.

’Folco!’ Frodo cried. ‘Folco Boffin! Hoi there!’

One of the workers on the roof straightened to look, waved, and slid down a rope to the ground. ‘Frodo!’ he shouted. ‘Frodo Baggins, you ne’er-do-well, if it isn’t you in the flesh! I’d heard you were back, and instrumental in throwing out the riffraff. Welcome! And about time!’ he finished, hugging Frodo, who’d slid from his pony to meet him.

’We were looking for a place to stay,’ Merry said, cutting to the meat of the matter. ‘The inns are all closed, I take it, and we went by your home...’

Folco shook his head. ‘We’ve lost everything,’ he said ruefully. ‘The ruffians took all. My father signed his fortune over to Lotho to keep his Men from hauling me off to the Lockholes on trumped-up charges. I’m just a working hobbit, now, doing odd jobs to keep body and soul together.’ He brightened. ‘But come home with me! We’re staying with old Gammer Goodbody; she opened her hole to us. A more generous, kindly soul you’ll never meet.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Rations are a little scanty,’ he said, ‘but we’ll make up in merriment what we lack in provender, shan’t we?’

Merry laughed. ‘We’ll do better,’ he said. He raised his voice. ‘We’ve brought provisions, courtesy of the ruffians!’

The workers laid down their hammers, prybars, saws and other tools and crowded round. Samwise handed out bundles of food to all, and happily there was enough to go round and some left over.

’Now I see why you insisted on each of us leading a string of ponies,’ Frodo said to Merry. ‘I was afraid you’d been infected by the ruffians’ greed!’

’Simply good plain hobbit sense,’ Merry answered cheerily.

Widow Goodbody had a warm welcome for the Travellers. ‘The more the merrier!’ she cried, bustling to put on the teakettle. ‘We’ll just add water to the soup and it’ll go far!’

’You can add more than water, Gammer,’ Folco said, dropping a kiss on her withered cheek as she bent to stir the soup. ‘Our guests have not come empty-handed.’ Indeed they had not. The widow exclaimed as package after parcel was laid upon her well-scrubbed table, and tears began to trickle down her wrinkled face.

’It is wonderful,’ Mistress Boffin said, putting an arm about the widow’s shoulders. ‘We brought nothing when we came to you, and still you took us in. Now your shelves will be replenished, and I won’t feel so much like a beggar on the doorstep.’

’You were never a beggar!’ the widow said sharply. ‘Many’s the time you came with a basket on your arm when I was poorly. I’ll never forget your kindness!’ She hugged the Mistress, wiped her eyes, and said, ‘I’ve some bread nearly “riz”, shall we bake it up in the oven or twist it on sticks and bake over the fire?’

’I haven’t done that since I was a lad,’ Master Boffin said, after washing away the grime from helping dig ditches to bury the ruffians’ refuse. Waymeet would once again be a neat and tidy little town, sooner than later, it seemed.

The Travellers refrained from mentioning that much of the bread they’d eaten fresh, over the past months, had been baked on sticks over a fire—when they could have a fire.

While Mistress Boffin and Widow Goodbody put the finishing touches on supper, Master Boffin and Folco told of the difficulties of the past year. ‘I was never so glad as when I heard you’d come back and tossed those ruffians out on their ears!' Folco's father finished. 'Is it true that their Boss is dead?’

’Do you mean Lotho? Or Sharkey?’ Frodo said.

’Either. Both,’ Master Boffin said.

’Both are dead,’ Frodo said quietly. ‘Lotho was murdered by one of Sharkey’s Men.’

Master Boffin shook his head. ‘Poor Lotho,’ he said softly. ‘Bit off more than he could chew, I think. There was so much promise in that lad. He could have gone far...’ They all sat silent for a few moments, and then Widow Goodbody bustled up.

’Haven’t you finished baking that bread yet?’ she asked. ‘Soup’s on the table!’

’We’re just done,’ Frodo said, rising hastily. They brought the platter with its twists of bread to the table and bowed to Widow Goodbody. ‘We thank you for your hospitality,’ Frodo said.

’You’re more than welcome, lad,’ the widow said. ‘Now sit down and eat before it gets cold!’

While they ate, they told of releasing the prisoners from the Lockholes. ‘The Bolgers are on their way as we speak,’ Frodo said. ‘We were able to travel much faster, ponyback, and pressed our mounts for speed so that we could find a place for them to stop over here in Waymeet.’

’They can stay here!’ the widow said firmly. ‘The more the merrier! Most of my children are grown and gone away; there are plenty of beds, and for some reason the ruffians never bothered me, never came in to steal the linens all neat and folded in the cupboards.’ She smiled a sly smile, and the Travellers remembered the ramshackle appearance of the outside of her dwelling, in complete contrast to the warm, comfortable interior once you passed the bleak, shabby entryway and the dusty, cobwebby parlour.

While Frodo conversed with the widow and the Boffins, Sam and Merry prepared a bed for Freddy in one of the spotless bedrooms. They made up the bed with linens that smelt faintly of lavender and coverlets that the widow provided, tucked heated bricks in to warm the bed, and then Sam started a fire on the little hearth. ‘It’ll be nice and cosy for Mr Freddy,’ he said. He added a few plump cushions to the bed so that they could sit the sick hobbit up to feed him, then stepped back to survey the effect. ‘That bed looks cosy enough to sleep in,’ he decided, stifling a yawn.

’I should imagine, Samwise, that you’re ready to seek your own bed,’ Merry said. ‘You were up early, looking after Frodo, and have earned a bit of rest.’

’I’m fine, Mr Merry, really I am,’ Sam said, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He and Merry made up the rest of the rooms needed, and then Merry sent him off to bed, not taking any argument.

’Where’s Sam?’ Frodo said, when Merry returned to the kitchen.

’I sent him off to bed,’ Merry said. ‘And you ought to be the next to go.’

Frodo’s eyebrows went up. ‘Just who’s the eldest cousin, I’d like to know?’ he said.

’I am,’ Merry responded. ‘At least, I’m the eldest when it comes to sense. You take yourself off to bed, Fro, and I’ll make sure the Bolgers find this place.’ It took a little more persuading, but Frodo finally acquiesced.

After the washing-up was finished Merry turned to Folco. ‘Would you like to come along?’ he asked. ‘It’ll be a bit cold, waiting, and I don’t know exactly when to expect them.’

’You make it sound so inviting, I don’t know how I could refuse,’ Folco laughed. ‘If I may, Father?’

Master Boffin chuckled. ‘I’m hardly in charge anymore,’ he said. ‘Head of the first family in town? Not for months, now. You go ahead, Folco, and we’ll make sure there are pots of hot tea for you and the Bolgers when you get back with them.’

Merry and Folco mounted ponies and rode to the inn at the western edge of Waymeet, stopping off at the healer’s to let him know his services might be needed later. Reaching the inn, they scavenged enough wood for a bright fire, and sat down, huddled in their cloaks against the icy air, warming their hands and talking to pass the time.

’So where did you and Cousin Frodo go when you disappeared?’ Folco asked. ‘Everyone said you were dead, but I had my doubts.’

Merry told him the short version, but even so, he was not finished when they saw the lanterns of the approaching coach. ‘Hoi!’ Merry shouted, standing and waving his arms. ‘Well come, and well met!’

Rudi drove up to them and pulled the ponies to a stop. ‘How long have you been freezing your toes off out here?’ he said in consternation. ‘It’s very late!’

’Meriadoc Brandybuck, at your service!’ Merry said with a sweeping bow. ‘The inns are closed, as you can see, but we have found you accommodation and will guide you there. May I present my fellow guide, Folco Boffin.’ Folco added a bow of his own.

’Young Folco!’ Rudi said. ‘I’d heard you were hauled off to the Lockholes, and when we didn’t find you there I feared the worst.’

’Rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated,’ Folco said with a grin. ‘Are we going to stand here talking all night? I’m freezing my toes off!’ 

‘Lead on, o guide,’ Rudi said with a flourish of his whip. Merry and Folco mounted their ponies, and the coach followed them through the silent streets. The only sign of life this late at night was the glow of watchlamps in the windows, but it was a nice, homey sight to Merry after the dark wilds.

Arriving at Widow Goodbody’s, they quickly had Fredegar settled in the soft, warm bed. He roused enough to ask, ‘Where are we?’

’Waymeet,’ Frodo said (he'd awakened on hearing the arrival), adding another coverlet and pulling it up to his cousin's chin, while Samwise, all the better for his nap, settled Rosamunda in the chair next to the bed and brought her a cup of tea.

’Too late for supper,’ Freddy murmured, remembering how the rebel band had stumbled into Waymeet in the wee hours, been shoved into a corner of the Shirriff house and forced to watch the ruffians feast while they themselves went hungry, save a wormy apple one of the ruffians threw their way. There had been just enough for each of the hobbits to have a bite, a small one at that, not much more than a nibble.

’Of course it’s not too late for supper!’ Widow Goodbody cried, shuffling in with a tray.

’Are you hungry, Freddy?’ Rosamunda said hopefully.

’No,’ Freddy said. ‘Robin can have my bite of apple; he needs it more than I do.’

’I just so happen to have some lovely apples, baked in the coals of the kitchen fire,’ Widow Goodbody said cheerily. ‘Laced with butter and cinnamon-sugar, smothered in cream and soft enough to eat with a spoon! And more where that came from!’

Rosamunda coaxed half an apple into Freddy, one spoonful at a time, but it was slow going, and more than once he seemed to go to sleep, but she pinched him gently each time to waken him, until at last he moaned and said, ‘No more...’ She sat back in dismay. It seemed to her he hadn’t eaten enough this day to keep a gnat alive, much less a hobbit.

’One step at a time,’ Odovacar said softly, his hands on her shoulders. ‘At least he’s eating.’

Folco had fetched Healer Goodbody, one of the widow’s grandsons as it turned out, and he examined Freddy while Rosamunda and Odovacar ate.

’He is very weak,’ he warned, straightening from the bed. ‘I wouldn’t take him any further than Bywater, and it might be best if he stayed here a few days.’

’If we can take him to Bywater, it would make things easier,’ Odo said quietly. ‘I have business with the Thain, and Bywater is closer to the Great Smials than Waymeet. I do not want to leave my son for any length of time.’

’You could take him to Bywater,’ Healer Goodbody said slowly, ‘but no further, I’d say. He needs a good long rest, and a lot of feeding up.’

’You’re welcome to stay here as long as need be,’ the widow said. ‘Surely your business with the Thain can wait?’

Odo shook his head. ‘I must reunite my family,’ he said stubbornly. ‘My daughter was sent to Tookland for safekeeping, and I do not care to impose on the charity of the Tooks any longer than I have to. Besides, Freddy was asking for his sister earlier. Perhaps sight of her, safe and sound, would chirk him up a bit.’

’I know it would set my mind at rest,’ Rosamunda put in. ‘I haven’t seen her in months! ‘Twill be so nice to have a daughter again.’

’Very well,’ said Healer Goodbody. ‘Take him on to Bywater on the morrow, but keep him well wrapped-up, and try to get food into him, small amounts, as often as you can manage. I’ll leave a strengthening tonic with you as well.’ He shook Odo’s hand, bowed to Rosamunda, and went off to the kitchen with his grandmother, for a chat over tea and the cookies he’d grown up on.

In the privacy of the kitchen, with all the others still gathered around Freddy, the widow sat down with her own cup of tea and fixed her grandson with a stern eye. ‘How is he, really?’ she asked.

’It could go either way for him,’ her grandson said softly. ‘They may be taking him home, in truth, to find healing, or to bury him. At this point, I cannot say for sure which it will be.’