45. Gathering Strength
The River had continued to rise as the night progressed. In the dim light of a watery dawn, Merry sat with other exhausted hobbits who had worked through the night in a desperate race with the rising water, placing sandbags to protect the Hall. He was wet through and numb with cold. So soaked was he, that he couldn't tell if the water he felt on his back came from the heavy rains he'd endured earlier or if water was seeping through the wall of sandbags that served as a backrest of sorts for the moment. Or was he bracing that wall with his own body, in an effort to keep the River from pushing it over and flooding the land?
At least the pelting rain, falling so hard that it had felt like a beating at times, had subsided to a gentle mist that blessed rather than blasted the hobbits sitting or standing there.
He became aware of voices approaching, saying the same phrase repeatedly. Metal rattled, an ongoing accompaniment, sounding like a string of tin cups hanging from a tinker's waggon. But what would a tinker be doing here, in the midst of the worst flooding in living memory? He opened his eyes.
'No... No, don't get up.' Cooks from the Hall’s enormous kitchen were wheeling a large, steaming kettle of thick, hearty soup down the line of workers at the protective wall. An assistant cook unhooked tin cups from the lines strung above the kettle on poles, two at a time, and held them steady for another to ladle them full of soup before placing them in the workers' hands.
When they reached Merry, he took the cup between his hands a moment to warm them before gulping the still hot contents. Nodding his thanks, he handed the cup back to one of the workers following the kettle and collecting the empty cups, then forced himself back to his feet. As he reached for another sandbag, he noted that the floodwaters that still flowed rapidly past the Hall were part-way up the protective wall of sandbags. He thought the flood might have been higher in the predawn darkness; he fervently hoped so, for that would mean the River had crested and was starting to recede.
He placed the sandbag on top of the highest row, rested his head on it a moment, and then caught himself, for a wonder, nodding off. None of that, now. He turned back to the line of sandbag-wielding hobbits who were passing the bags along from the temporary but sturdy shelter Merry's Uncle Merimac had constructed to shield the waggonloads of sand dumped there, along with the hobbits who were filling the bags.
Was it his imagination, or were the bags getting heavier?
He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Merimac himself. His uncle rumbled, 'Go on in, lad, get some rest. The water's starting to go down. We just might have it licked.'
Too tired to reply, Merry nodded and trudged back to the Hall through the shallow water that had seeped through the sandbags. One of his cousins – he was too tired to lift his eyes to see who it was – met him at the door with a blanket. He numbly nodded his thanks without looking up and wrapped it around himself. He moved a few steps along, then stood irresolute. Should he go to his father's study? Was there something else he needed to do that he'd forgotten?
At last he gave up the attempt at rational thought. If some task was going wanting because it awaited Merry's effort, well then, it would have to wait. Or, if important enough, surely it would command some other hobbit's attention. All he wanted was to be with Estella. Shaking his head, he stumbled to the rooms he shared with her.
He stood a long time in the doorway to their bedroom. His beloved lay sleeping, still curled as he had left her when the call went out for all able-bodied hobbits to defend the Hall from the relentlessly rising waters. Too tired to undress, and not wanting to inundate the bedclothes with the water that saturated his clothes, Merry sank into the chair by the bed and was instantly asleep.
He awakened a few hours later, stiff and cramped. Estella was stroking his hair. 'My poor lad,' she whispered. 'You're a sight! You look worse than I feel...'
He shrugged off the blanket he'd carried from the Hall's entrance – which cousin had wrapped it around him? Perhaps he'd never know – and reached out to her, tenderly gathering her to himself. 'Oh, my lass,' he whispered against her hair.
Estella let herself sag against him, but when she had taken strength from his embrace she pushed herself back. 'You slept in those wet things? I swear... Diamond was saying the other day that husbands have no sense – and I'm finding myself agreeing with her!' She pushed his damp curls off his forehead and crooned, 'Now you change into dry clothes, beloved-mine, whilst I'm off to find you something hot...' But then she faltered, and he caught her as she swayed, and eased her back onto the bed, laying a kiss upon her forehead.
'But Merry... you look so exhausted...' she protested weakly.
'It's all right, love,' he answered, and somehow he did not have to force a smile as he continued, 'You have taken care of me for so long... Now, let it be my turn for a change.'
'But my love...'
'For me?' he asked, taking her hand in his and giving a gentle squeeze. 'I should consider it a great favour.'
Her forehead wrinkled, and he thought she might be trying to come up with some witty observation about favours and the obligations they incurred, but he put a quieting finger to her lips. 'Hush,' he said. 'Just you wait here a moment and think of all the things you might ask for in return...'
She smiled, unusually cooperative – though he supposed she might already be extending him a measure of favour and grace, this incredible hobbit he'd married who usually kept him on his toes with her sparkling wit, but also seemed to know and understand when his soul yearned after stillness. Rest. Repose. 'Good,' he said. 'Thank you.'
She remained quiet as Merry quickly changed into dry clothes. Turning back to Estella, he kissed her forehead and said, 'I'll find us both something hot. Preferably food and drink, though I suppose a bedwarmer would not go amiss.' She smiled at his lame joke, and he smiled back and finished, 'You stay there. Rest.'
The following days found Merry busy about the re-ordering of Buckland after the flood. The Brandywine Bridge had withstood the River's assault, but enough damage had been done that repairs would be needed before any heavy traffic could be allowed to cross over on the ancient structure. In addition, the Ferry moorage on the Marish side of the River had been washed away. Roads were gone in places, and too many hobbits were left homeless.
By the end of each day, both he and Pippin were weary enough that they nodded over the evening glass of brandy in the Master's study while going over the work accomplished that day and formulating plans for the morrow. And though he stayed close to Estella rather than riding Jewel in the wee hours of the night, as had been his habit before marrying, Merry arose in the mornings after little sleep, for Estella slept restlessly and their nights were broken by nightmare and lingering grief.
One night, quite late, a soft knock came at the door. Merry had just soothed Estella back to sleep after another sad dream. He opened the door to find his mother, her hair down about her shoulders as if Esmeralda had been asleep herself up until a few moments ago, and wrapped up in a shawl against the chill of the spring night.
Esmeralda cupped Merry's face in her hands and tilted his head down to gaze long and deeply into his eyes. At last, she nodded to herself as if her scrutiny had confirmed some inner thought. 'I'll watch with her awhile, lad.' She patted his cheek and then pulled her shawl a little more snugly around herself, adding gently, 'You've had no rest these past days. Why don't you go take a walk, or ride Jewel for a bit? The stars are thick tonight.' She knew the comfort he drew from riding under the canopy of stars; it made all his problems seem small, insignificant by comparison.
He bent to kiss her cheek and drew on his cloak.
Jewel knew his step and greeted him with nods and whickers, head thrust over the stall door. 'Do you never sleep, lad?' he asked the pony, stroking the soft nose. It seemed that no matter the hour, day or night, he came to the stable to find his faithful companion ready to go.
The two of them did not ride far, however. Somehow, Merry found little comfort in the stars this night. Estella's sorrow and despair, so well hidden during the day, haunted the nights lately. As he turned Jewel back towards the Hall, he found himself weeping for his own loss, their first child, a promise and a hope, cut short too soon.
After returning Jewel to his stall with a thorough grooming, making sure he left the pony's haynet full of hay and that a soft bed of straw covered the floor of the stall, Merry retraced his steps to the Hall. It was sometime after middle night, and even though he had not been able to satisfy the restless feeling he could not explain, he was tired to the bone. Perhaps a glass of brandy would help him to find some sleep at last.
Merry found the Master's study quiet, dimly lit by a lamp with the flame turned low. He poured himself a glass from the cut-glass decanter on the side table, sat down in the chair by the desk, and sipped. As he rolled the brandy around in his mouth, the weight of sorrow descended upon him again. Slowly, he put the glass down on the desk and reached into his innermost pocket for Frodo's note, laying it out on the desk, smoothing the creases, tracing the letters in the signature with his finger and blessing the permanent ink that had not washed away when the River had tried its best to claim him during the flood.
'I wish you were here, Frodo,' he sighed to the flickering lamp. 'I could use some of your sound cousinly advice right about now.' He gently rested his hand on the paper, with those phrases that he knew by heart, as if he might somehow gain strength from the touch of his cousin's words, and his thoughts went back to that sunny day by the River.
'I'm doing my best, Frodo ... but I don't know if my best is good enough.' Merry rubbed his stinging eyes and spoke to the surrounding shadows. 'How do I keep walking in the light when the wind's blown out the lamp, and all around is dark? I can't seem to remember anymore...'
He put his head down on his arms on the desk, letting the darkness behind his eyelids wash over him as he slid into welcome oblivion.
Entering the study early the next morning, Saradoc found his son there, still asleep.
'Meriadoc?' He touched the icy right hand, looking up as Pippin entered. 'It's starting early this time.'
Pippin nodded. 'He's worn out.' The younger cousin sighed and turned away. 'I'll build up the fire.'
Between the two of them, they soon had Merry resting in a comfortable chair that Pippin had pulled close to the cheerful fire crackling on the little hearth. They'd wrapped him well in blankets and tucked heated bricks all about him. Saradoc looked up at Pippin from where he knelt by his son's side, holding a mug of warm, sweet milky tea. 'He's not responding at all. I can't even get some of this tea down.'
Pippin's face was drawn with worry. 'I haven't seen him this bad before, not since...' He didn't want to finish the thought. He didn't have to, for Saradoc understood all too well.
The study door opened softly, admitting Estella, who crossed the study to the hearth and knelt before her husband, resting her hands briefly on Merry's knees. 'It came to me, what day this is,' she murmured to the two watchers. She reached up to cup Merry's face between her hands and spoke softly. 'Merry? My beloved? Please come back to me. I'm here, beloved.'
She took the steaming mug from Saradoc's hand and raised it to Merry's lips. 'Come, love, take a sip. Just a little sip. Will you, for me?' she pleaded gently.
At Merry's lack of response, tears brimmed in her eyes and spilled over when she blinked. 'Please, my love?' she implored.
Saradoc sighed, and his face fell. Pippin placed a hand on his shoulder as Estella continued to plead. 'Come, Merry-love, just a little sip?'
Slowly – O so agonisingly slowly, Merry's left hand rose to touch the mug. He sipped, swallowed, and lowered his hand again.
But Estella laughed. 'Yes,' she said joyfully, 'yes, beloved, that's right!' She caressed his hair with her free hand. 'Everything is going to be all right, now. No matter what happens.'
Though the son of the Master responded so softly, it might have been a mere exhalation, all of them heard Merry's whisper. 'No matter what happens. That's a promise.'
***