Sunlight & Shadows by Elenna

Sunlight and Shadows

by Elenna

I II III IV V VI

Chapter 7: Winter Does Not Last Forever

Part I

All of the forebodings for the season were being fulfilled as winter continued to blast its furies. The skies remained dark and dismal delivering rain, freezing rain, ice, sleet, snow or the promise of more of the same. The sun shone little to relieve the mounting snow and ice. Travel other than the barest distance of a mile or so was next to impossible. Brave souls had strung ropes between barns and smial on farms to tend their livestock. The same practice was being undertaken in the towns to move between buildings or smials. Even the postal system had come to a halt. For the most part the inhabitants of the Buckland stayed indoors to wait for spring hoping against the inevitable that it would come soon.

Frodo was forlorn as he sat pouting with his chin on his fist in the great hall of Brandy Hall. There were no new games to interest him with his cousins. He had drawn all the pictures he wanted to draw in the past several weeks. He had written a letter and drawn a picture to send to Veronica for her birthday but he could not even mail them. There was no one he wanted to talk to or make up a story with. He had been shooed out of the kitchens and reprimanded for running so many times he had lost count. He could not even play outside. It was a miserable time for on active young hobbit lad. All he felt like doing at the moment was staring out the window at the swiftly piling snow.

“What’s bothering you, Frodo, my love?” Primula sat gently at his side; a cup of hot clover tea sweetened with extra honey in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other. She placed them on the table and readjusted her shawl against the chill.

“I want … I need … There’s nothing to do.” Frodo mumbled his complaint into his sleeve. “We can’t even play outside.”

“The weather will change soon enough. Winter does not last forever.” Primula placed her arm around her son squeezing him tightly and kissing the top of his head. “Then we won’t be able to keep you inside.”

“I wish Merry was here. He always knows how to have fun. If it weren’t for the ice he probably would have come back and then at least there would be something to do.”

Primula listened to her son complain. Her thoughts turned toward the nephew that had disappeared in the storm three weeks before. When the weather let up enough to be able to leave the premises, her brother had searched for him every day for a week. No sign of Merimac was found. The rapid onset of the storm had made safety anywhere but Brandy Hall or Bucklebury challenging. The family was trying to be brave but the simple fact was the lad had perished to be found somewhere in the spring with any luck – if the animals of the wild did not survive by finding him first. Primula shuddered and was grateful her son was unaware of the fate that had befallen his favorite cousin.

“Are you all right Mum?” Frodo glanced at his mother when she stopped talking. He noticed tears in her eyes. “Mum …?”

“I’m fine son. This weather does get to a person after a while.” Managing a smile she gave her son a reassuring hug. “Why don’t we play a snow flake game … We can look for matching snowflakes.”

“All right,” Frodo consented, “but I bet I find some before you do.” He grabbed a teacake eating it in a hurry.

Mother and son laughed as they shared their tea and cakes and played their game for nearly an hour before the boy exclaimed that he had definitely “found a pair this time.” Before Primula could substantiate his find the wind had whisked one flake away and placed another on top of the other giving it a totally different appearance. Primula laughed and declared Frodo the winner anyway, glad to see the boy back in his bright spirits.

Finishing the last teacake Frodo told his mother he would find some of the other fry to have them take a turn at playing this game. Remembering not to run, the lad headed down one of the passages, walking more slowly as he overheard two matrons discussing something around the corner.

“It is not my fault he allowed that boy to grow willful, rude and disrespectful. That lad was taking on more and more strange ways with all his wandering about.” That had to be Aunt Amaranth from the sour tone to her voice.

“Perhaps it was just time for him to marry and settle down.” Frodo had to think for a moment on this voice. The corner was still a ways down the hallway. The voice was a little more even tempered; he thought perhaps it was his Aunt Holly.

“Well that might be so, but not with the likes of that … that lass. Rorimac should have had more sense than to encourage it.”

“Need I remind you Amaranth what Rorimac said about badmouthing the Bolger family?”

“Rorimac can have his precious friends then! My brother has no right to make such threats. He was just upset at the time.”

“Still, I would not press the issue if I was you. He blames you for his son moving away and the illness Lily Bolger has taken.” Frodo stopped in his path hearing these words. He had wondered who his aunts were speaking of in tones that were not very hushed; now he knew they were talking about Merry and Lily.

“He can blame others all he wants, but he has to accept some of the responsibility himself.”

“Still, Amaranth, I would stay shy of him and not push it. Rorimac is hurting enough over the loss of his son.” The boy’s eyes widened with shock. What were these women talking about?

“I will not be accused in this manner …!” Amaranth’s voice screeched. “Nor will I accept the blame because that lad was foolhardy enough to leave Brandy Hall during a snow storm. It is not fair to blame me because his son was fool enough to perish in the storm.”

Frodo had continued walking towards the corner without understanding all of the words he had overheard, but he knew something had taken place concerning Merry. He heard as much as he came around the corner.

“You might at least show a bit of pity …”

Amaranth spotted the boy with a wide eyed expression and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Confound it all, Frodo Baggins! You should know better than to go about listening to conversations which do not concern you. If I ever catch you eavesdropping again, I will take a stick to you! Do you understand?” Frodo nodded. “Good … Now be off with you.” Amaranth gave the boy a little push and glared at her nephew as she watched him run down the corridor.

“This will be hard on him, Amaranth.”

“I know.” Amaranth’s voice had softened.

“Frodo and Merimac were close.”

“Too close if you ask me …” Amaranth wiped a tear from her eye.

Forgetting all about the snowflake game, Frodo wandered aimlessly in the corridors thinking about what he had overheard. He had not lain in wait; he had come upon his aunts quite by accident. Past dealings had taught him it never did any good to try to argue with Aunt Amaranth because she was always right. His mind was filled with his various aunts and the subject matter he had overheard. Not looking where he was going, he ran straight into Esmeralda.

“Hullo, Esme… I’m sorry … you look nice today.”

“Why thank you, Frodo, I think.” She laughed causing the boy to look at her quizzically. “You look as if there is something on your mind. Do you want to talk about it?” She led the two of them to some benches near a window.

Frodo had developed a fondness for Saradoc’s wife. She was not the same as Lily Bolger who would forever remain his first love, but she was witty and fun to be around and easy to talk to. It was her way to put people at ease from the start.

“Esme, what does the word ‘perish’ mean?”

Esmeralda was watching the lad and smiled at his inquisitive nature and the innocent expression on his face. “Well, there are two words that sound alike but have different meanings. Can you give me an example with your word to help me out?”

Not wanting to admit he had overheard a part of someone’s conversation, Frodo was in a spot; he had to quickly think of another example instead of the words he had actually heard. He closed his eyes as he thought. When he opened them, Esmeralda was startled by their clarity.

“The partridge had a perish in the garden.”

His sentence made little sense; Esmeralda found herself giggling at Frodo’s serious face. “I see … One word, ‘perish’, would mean the partridge died in the garden.” She watched his eyes grow wide with alarm. “I am sorry. That is not a pleasant thought is it, Frodo?”

The boy shook his head. “What does the other mean?” He asked quietly.

“The other word, ‘parish’, would mean your partridge had a lot of neighbors grouped together in his garden … mayhap a whole flock.”

“Like a village?” Frodo brightened.

“You could see it like that …”

“Thank you, Esme.” Frodo was on his feet hurrying he knew not where.

This last thought that Esmeralda had given Frodo had lightened his mood. He was happy as he ran burning off his pent up energy. His path led him from one corridor to the next.

“Frodo Baggins … how many times must I tell you to stop this annoying running!?!”

The voice forced the lad to stop like a statue in his tracks. “I’m sorry, Uncle Rory.” Frodo fidgeted as he spoke to the Master of the Hall, nervous at the prospect of disappointing his uncle who was suffering ‘the loss of his son’. “I wanted … I just needed to … It’s not important.”

Rorimac watched his nephew so much like his younger son stammering out his excuses for misbehavior appearing much in the same manner as Merimac had at the same age. “Just stop your running lad … You could get hurt …” His voiced trailed off.

Usually Rorimac’s reprimands frightened the boy, but not this time. Frodo had caught the pain in his voice; had seen it in his eyes. “Uncle Rory … is …? Did something …?” Frodo again caught something in his uncle’s eyes that told him he did not want to know the answers to his questions. “I’m sorry for running.” Rorimac reached out tentatively squeezing his nephew’s shoulder. “I’ll … I’ll try to do better.”

“That is all I can ask …” His voice trailed off once more. The Master of Buckland turned down the corridor making his way towards his study.

Frodo continued slowly on his way; his mind pondering more facts in the mystery. The lad’s steps were slow and deliberate until he knew Rorimac was out of earshot. He then bolted for his room.

Frodo entered his room closing the door behind him; leaning against the door as if bracing it fast to keep out the world. His heart was pounding; his head throbbed as he struggled to take in breath. Thoughts surged through his mind to match the howling winds and swirling snows of the current storm.

The lad moved slowly across the space of the floor to stand at the window. He stood a long time in the faltering twilight granted light by the brightness of the snow. Frodo thought of Merry and the last time they had been together. They had been in Merry’s room watching the snow as it began to fall. Through the deep surge of pain Merimac had been feeling he had told Frodo to be hopeful and never give up. Merry had pointed to the stars and taught him a word he had in turn learned from Bilbo, but Frodo had forgotten the word. At the moment he felt lost. The word was gone, Bilbo was not here, Merry had ‘perished in the snowstorm’, and no one would tell him anything as if they were avoiding the mention of Merry’s name. Tonight even the stars were invisible because of the ongoing storm.

Frodo watched as a lone sparrow tried to make its way between the window ledge and an overhang to seek better shelter. The winds made flying difficult at best; the snow creating ice on the bird’s wings made flight impossible. Frodo let out a gasp as the wind carried the poor creature from his sight. The lad knew the words he was dreading were true. Esme had said if the bird was part of a parish he was part of a group, but for the lone partridge to perish meant he had died. Merimac had been as the lone partridge. Rorimac’s visage and mannerisms bore out the truth. The young hobbit lad watched out the window he knew not what for with tears streaming down his face.

The following two weeks saw a much subdued young hobbit lad. The child had finally stopped running in the passageways and corridors of Brandy Hall. His boisterous spirit was gone. He even purposefully allowed the other children to win at all the games. His rest was fitful causing him to need naps on most days. The lad began picking at his food. He became almost obsessed with the need to see any stars at night before going to sleep.

Many theories were bantered about as to what ailed the boy, but none hit upon the truth. One said he had a cold; another said it was fever; and another said it was a belly ache. Still another said he would be fine as soon as the weather cleared enough to allow the children to play out of doors. The fresh air would do him well. Amaranth said the boy needed to drink an extra glass of buttermilk every day and stood as a warden to see her wishes carried out. It was noted Frodo never put up a fuss but dutifully drank the buttermilk. Without saying a word to anyone he would leave the board immediately not to be seen again until elevenses or even lunch.

Menegilda had grown reserved. Frodo had seen her weeping on more than one occasion. Though she still managed the household, she spoke but little and worked at her needlecrafts. She tried to avoid looking at Frodo who reminded her of her younger son. Rorimac had all he could do to keep from holding his nephew tightly in his arms and telling the younger version of his son not to carry on so, that all would be well. He was unable to do so; the pain in his heart too great.

II.

The sun finally smiled on the Buckland the first day of Solmath causing enough of a thaw that the children could safely play outside. The heavy ice had caused much damage to property and the breaking of tree limbs. Primula and Drogo watched anxiously as Frodo ventured outside with the rest of the children. Much of the play was yet restricted by the ice coating on everything which would linger thawing little by little in the sunlight only to refreeze overnight in the chill air.

Frodo seemed happy enough at his game of skating tag with the other children. He delighted in the warm spicy cider and doughnuts served up as a treat when the children returned from their play. He wrote a letter to his cousin Bilbo and was excited to be able to finally mail his letter and picture to Veronica. Dinner was eaten with relish. The adults were pleased knowing the good the fresh air had done all the children.

The gloom that had settled over Brandy Hall since the Yuletide celebration had been felt by all the adult residents of the Hall as well as the children. The sunlight would work its magic on the youth as its bright orb warmed the heart and soul to bring about the hope of spring. The stormbound condition in the hearts of the adults would take more time; knowledge of events well hidden from the children necessitated the need for cheering to a greater degree.

Dodinas Brandybuck, brother to the Master of the Hall, volunteered to tell the children stories after dinner dragging Saradoc along to assist him. It had not been that many years since Saradoc was a tween and before that a teen that he would have difficulty telling tales the children would enjoy. They seemed to take pleasure in anything which spoke of a misadventure among their elders. These anecdotes made them seem a little less lofty and more a family of normal hobbits. The entertainment was aided by the fact that the elder generation did not mind being laughed at for their foibles. The children in turn were thrilled to learn a thing or two about their parents, aunts and uncles.

Saradoc was of a similar relationship to his uncle Dodinas as Merimac shared with his cousin Frodo. Saradoc as a child had delighted in the company of his father’s brother. It was Dodinas who had accompanied Rorimac and Saradoc on outings when the fry was taught to fish and swim. Dodinas and Saradoc shared some resemblance with each other in appearance and mannerisms, yet not as pronounces as Frodo’s semblance to Merimac.

Uncle and nephew took themselves off to a corner to decide which stories they would impart for the entertainment of all. They laughed as one while practicing facial expressions and gestures. Their antics in preparation were often as entertaining as the stories they would tell.

In an effort to make the master of Brandy Hall at least smile, Dodinas and Saradoc decided to tell stories about Rorimac and his siblings. Frodo listened wide-eyed to the stories detailing his uncle’s habit of running through the corridors of the grand smial, the same habit for which Frodo was reprimanded time and time again as had been Merimac when he was of a similar age.

Rorimac, it was divulged, ‘would not only run through the corridors, he had the habit of tossing objects and catching them as he ran.’ The humor of the story was increased by the hilarity of the pantomiming performed by the story tellers as they ran about trying to catch imaginary objects, bumping into each other as they ran and pretending to be horrified and reprimanded for breaking the objects. ‘After breaking several items by either not catching whatever he was tossing into the air at the time or by collision as he made his catch, the now Master of Buckland was forced to spend one week living in the stables.’ Dodinas made pretense of Saradoc in imitation of his father smelling incredibly strong for his time in the stables.

‘The punishment, on the one hand, produced the desired result of the lad no longer throwing things within the smial itself; but on the other hand, young Rorimac had taken up the habit of tossing and catching things outside the smial instead.’ Saradoc mimicked tossing items of various shapes and sizes eying his father’s somber reaction. Even Rorimac chuckled as he watched the elder of his two sons pretend to throw a pony into the air and fail to catch the poor creature.

‘After a third set of windows had to be replaced at Brandy Hall, his friend Andwise Bolger stepped in claiming he had broken the windows and took the beating that had been intended for his friend. Some good did come from the situation: the lads remained the best of friends and Rorimac is still the unequaled champion of the annual snowball fight.’

The children laughed. Frodo felt his heart clench as he thought of the snowball fight this past Yule and the wonderful time he had when he and Merimac had teamed up with Rorimac.

Amaranth was the next target of the amusing stories being imparted to the younger generation of the Brandybuck family. The younger children would now be privy to some surprising information.

‘Amaranth had been a very attractive lass with very long hair which she wore plaited into a single braid reminiscent of her namesake. It was unfortunate that the lass was well aware of her beauty.’ Saradoc skipped around pretending to smell flowers and held up a make believe looking glass into which he glanced often and fluttered his eyelids. ‘The young lass had become exceedingly vain thinking herself the prettiest of all the maidens in Buckland. Everyone was tiring of her self-glorification.’

The narrative was suddenly interrupted as a loud “Oh no! Please don’t tell this …” was heard from a laughing and embarrassed Asphodel.

Saradoc looked at his aunt and laughed having heard the story before. Dodinas chuckled as he tried to appease his sister. “Now calm down, Asphodel; everyone gets a turn here tonight. It is high time these fry and teens hear some of these tales.” With a wink at her and a grin at Amaranth he continued his tale.

‘Amaranth was convinced the secret of her great beauty was buttermilk …’

An audible groan issued from each resident of the younger generation of Brandybucks followed by laughter from the elder generations. Even Rorimac smiled as he recalled the episode. Dinodas recalled the incident well laughing to the extent he held his sides.

“At this rate we will never make it through this tale.” Saradoc winked at his bride and laughed. Esmeralda was hearing many of these tales for the first time herself.

Dodinas was still chuckling as he began again. “You know I’ve always hated the taste of it myself.” His comment brought more laughter.

“Humph … and that’s why you look the way you do.” Amaranth snorted and pretended to be upset but joined in the laughter her comment had brought.

“Now Aunt Amaranth, don’t get into a huff. Your brother’s turn is coming.” Saradoc winked at his aunt.

“See to it you tell it true then, lad.” Amaranth grinned at her nephew.

“I shall most assuredly see to it.” Saradoc returned her grin and bowed. He chuckled as he clapped his uncle on the shoulder. Dodinas knowing which story Saradoc intended to tell, blushed at the memory.

The interaction had caused further delay as the storytellers had to wait for the laughter to die down. The evening was proving to be a balm for the souls of most who were present.

“Let’s see, where was I? …Ah, yes … ‘Amaranth insisted buttermilk must be served to all the young lasses at each meal and the lads for both first and second breakfast. Young Asphodel despised the taste of buttermilk.’ Saradoc pinched his nose and pretended to drink something unpleasant.

“Ohhh …” Asphodel groaned causing more laughter. Dodinas held up a hand to silence the audience.

‘… The clever Asphodel schemed with Dinodas.’ Saradoc pretended to whisper in Esmeralda’s ear. Playing along, she pretended to be shocked. ‘They filled a large pitcher with the beverage and placed it above the door to the parlor where Amaranth had planned to receive Andwise Bolger as a caller.’ This bit of news brought giggles from the children who had not previously heard their aunt had at one time been courted by the healer.

‘Amaranth had rightly guessed her brother and sister were up to no good. As she came down the corridor, she noticed the door was ajar and seemed a bit heavier to push than usual. Looking all around the door and finally up, she spied the pitcher.’ There were more giggles and laughter as Saradoc and Dodinas acted out the scene as it was being told. ‘Asphodel and Dinodas had not counted on their sister being able to squeeze through the doorway to remove the pitcher.’ There was much laughter as Saradoc and Dodinas pretended to squeeze through a narrow space.

‘Amaranth knew our brother’s weaknesses …’ Dodinas grinned at Dinodas and patted his stomach. ‘Amaranth was not about to spoil her afternoon with the handsome Andwise.’ Saradoc batted his eyes and sighed. Again they had to wait for the laughter to subside. ‘Amaranth bribed Dinodas with a berry tart to help place the pitcher above the alternate entrance to the parlor. The plan was to have Asphodel called in to see about refreshments for Amaranth and Andwise and have the pitcher emptied over Asphodel’s head.’ Saradoc and Dodinas shook their heads in mock disbelief.

‘Dinodas was a clever young lad who knew there was more than one tart to be found in the kitchen.’ Dinodas laughed so hard he had tears coming from his eyes at the memory. ‘To her horror when Amaranth called, it was Andwise who came through the door. Having arrived early, he was in the kitchen sharing a tart with Dinodas. Andwise stood in the doorway dripping buttermilk while licking the remains of a berry tart from his fingers.’

“It was too easy to hoodwink him that day…” Dinodas laughed.

“It served him right,” Amaranth called out amidst the surrounding laughter.

“… And he has hated buttermilk to this day,” added Rorimac with a laugh.

“Don’t we all?” asked Asphodel innocently.

“It’s good for what ails you. Even Frodo has learned to drink two glasses of buttermilk every morning.”

“I’ll bet he doesn’t like it …”

“He likes it well enough until someone sneaks a cup of coffee to him.”

Frodo felt embarrassed having become the open subject of this discussion. He hated buttermilk every bit as much as Aunt Asphodel. He would drink it now if he had to knowing when he was as old as Merimac he would never drink it again. All the talk of buttermilk and the mention of Andwise Bolger brought thoughts of Lily to mind. The lad found himself wishing more than ever that Lily was there to sneak coffee to him. Thoughts of Lily made him blush but they also brought thoughts of Merry. Merimac loved to tell stories and would have enjoyed this evening very much.

Dodinas and Saradoc had moved on in their storytelling. Frodo had totally missed the story told about Uncle Saradas and the pony; his thoughts dwelt on his missing cousin. He had missed the beginning to the tale being told about Dodinas. Amaranth’s comment about Dodinas’ appearance was unfounded as her brother had cut a fine figure of a lad and had been sought after by many a lass … This subject too reminded Frodo of Merimac and Lily. Why was it acceptable for this older generation to have courted but not acceptable for Merry and Lily to be friends? Now Merry was gone and Lily was ill … His thoughts drifted to Merry and Lily the previous winter when Merry had been the one who had been so ill he nearly died. Now Lily was ill … What if she should die? If Merry had died last year, would they be together …? The boy’s thoughts rambled and wondered. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his head on his knees. Everyone was laughing but him. His mind continued to wander always coming back to Merimac and Lily. Why did Merimac have to ‘perish in the storm’? Frodo listened half-heartedly to the rest of the tales being told about all of his aunts, uncles his mother and cousins noting the careful avoidance of any mention of Merimac. Thinking Frodo had fallen asleep given the venture out into the fresh air through the laughter all around him, no one noticed the lone child with tears trickling down his cheeks soaking his sleeves and the knees of his breeches.

****************

The next day proved to be warm and sunny melting much of the layer of ice. Frodo had begun to worry and fret over his friend in her illness in the same manner he had his cousin. The trio seemed to be interwoven in a tapestry fraught with joy and pain as it echoed some of the sunlight and shadows of life. Seeing the brightness of the day and feeling an attachment to his cousin, Frodo begged his parents to visit Lily Bolger. He wanted to take a drawing he had made to her to cheer her in her illness. Primula and Drogo were forced to decline his request because the roads were not yet safe to travel. To the mind of the child, his parents were trying to keep him away from Lily just as Merimac had been kept away.

****************

Two more days of sunshine allowed Andwise Bolger to visit Brandy Hall to ascertain the health and welfare of its residents. As everyone had been forced to remain inside, the illness at the Hall was minimal save for a couple cases of sniffles and several sprains and bumps and bruises caused by falls on the ice. Andwise halted his perusal and took elevenses with the Master of the Hall in his study.

“You look awful, Rory.”

“I’m fine …”

“Still no word …?”

Rorimac buried his face in his hands and shook his head. “I’m sorry …” he spoke at last. “How is Lily faring, Andy? Is she any better?”

“It was a close call, Rory, but I think she is beginning to mend. We have not told her about Merimac. We … did not know what to say …”

“I know …” Rorimac’s voice broke with emotion. “I’m sorry. What is there to say?”

“Did you know he spoke for her?”

“I was not certain … but thought as much.”

“She asked us to refuse his request.”

“Watching them together was agony …” Rorimac spoke as if to himself.

“Fern and I know the truth of what happened, Rory.”

Rorimac eyed his old friend. Hoping to have spared him a grief he had destroyed their children instead. “Andy … I am so sorry … so very sorry …”

“We have been friends far too long not to see … and hear what was taking place, particularly when the refusal was so sudden. It was not difficult to fit the pieces together.”

“I would banish my sister for her mean spirited attitude and allow them whatever they wished if I could have my son back.”

“He is a good lad, Rory.” The healer refused to speak of the lad in the past tense.

“My heart broke when Merimac moved from Brandy Hall.”

“I warned you the day would come when he would need to stand up on his own.”

“But he needn’t have left the Hall.”

Andwise smiled at his friend. “Well, in truth, leaving home is a step most young lads do take.”

“I had forgotten; Odovacar is to wed this spring, is he not?”

“Yes … I’ve never seen him so happy. I must actually thank your sister for that one.”

“She isn’t always a bad person.” He smiled wanly. “You must have one or two fond memories of her.”

“Hmmm … one or two, but to have one’s best friend as a brother is no reason to wed.”

“I know. I wish she would have found someone else … Merimac had nerve to do what I could not. The lad had harsh words with her the night he disappeared.”

“Did he? That does not surprise me.”

“I miss him, Andy …”

“I know … I have felt your pain …”

“That was my reasoning, Andy. I could not bear to have Amaranth destroy your family all over again. I would never have spoken to Lily otherwise. Now she may never forgive me. If she had not listened to me, none of this would have happened; she would not have taken ill and he would not have disappeared.”

“She will hold you no ill, Rory. Fern and I will help her and you and ‘Gilda if the situation proves the worst.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Rorimac wiped a handkerchief across his eyes.

Andwise clapped his hand on the shoulder of his friend. “How is young Frodo reacting to all of this? I have not seen him today.”

“He doesn’t know; he would be devastated. None of the children were told of Merimac’s disappearance.” Rorimac thought for a moment while drinking his tea. “Now that I think of it, he has been quieter than normal, though, and moping a bit, but I am certain it is just the weather.”

****************

As Andwise Bolger left his friend’s study he asked about and searched for Frodo eventually finding him leaning at the window in the room once occupied by Merimac. The lad did not turn from what occupied his mind as he stood by the window to see who had entered the room. The kindly healer noted the stance as he moved quietly to stand behind the boy placing his hand gently on the lad’s shoulder.

“You seem like a lad with something on his mind, Frodo. Would you like to talk about it?”

Frodo thought about his cousin and the sparrow whisked away by the wind during the storm. He shuddered but gave no other response. The healer astutely noted the boy’s reaction and patted him gently on the head.

“Mister Bolger, sir, how is … Will Lily be all right?”

“She is much better Frodo.”

“Does she kn … May she have visitors? May I see her?

“Andwise was surprised by the request, but smiled as he answered. “I think she would like that very much Frodo.”

“Could you … Would you please speak to my mum and da’?”

Andwise looked closely at the upturned face seeing pain and sorrow in his eyes. “I would be most happy to speak with your parents. Would you like to come for dinner tomorrow?”

“Thank you, sir.” Frodo attempted a smile and turned back to the window.

III.

Frodo entered the home of the family of Andwise Bolger followed by his parents. The lad felt somewhat in awe of the healers, Mister Bolger and his daughter Lily, as well as the healing arts they practiced. He had not been inside their smial since he had fallen from the great tree a year and a half before. As they entered Drogo walked with his hand on his son’s shoulder as if guiding him or giving him support.

Fern Bolger, a rosy hobbit matron, had welcomed them upon their arrival and led the Baggins family into the parlor. Her bright cheery eyes sparkled; reminding Frodo of stars in the night sky. He decided Lily strongly resembled her mother. Andwise Bolger looked up and smiled at their guests as he put down the book he had picked up moments before and returned his spectacles to his pocket.

“Come in, come in,” Andwise beckoned. “How is everyone doing today?” He looked questioningly at Primula and Drogo as he nodded in Frodo’s direction.

“I think we are all well today, aren’t we son?” Frodo did not answer. “Frodo …?” Drogo patted his shoulder to encourage him.

“Yes … I … I’m fine, Mister Bolger, sir.” Frodo did not know why but he felt uneasy.

“Why don’t we all take a seat? Dinner is nearly ready, yet not quite. I’ll bet you are hungry, Frodo.”

Frodo had been looking around the room trying to determine if everything was still the same. “Yes, Misses Bolger,” he nodded and tried to smile at their hostess. He eyes did not seem their normal shade of blue to her.

“Well, we won’t have to wait too long now.” As the boy had already resumed his perusal of the room, Fern caught her husband’s eye and nodded to him.

Two tweens came bounding into the parlor. “Hullo, Mister and Misses Baggins … Frodo.” They spoke as one. If one did not know better, they might have been twins with their dark brown curls and eyes to match peering out of ruddy round faces.

“Is dinner ready, Mum?” Alicar asked.

“I’m starving…” added Merdacar.

“It smells delicious … Oh hullo, Mister and Misses Baggins and Frodo Baggins.” Bodacar joined his brothers colliding with them in the doorway, yet recovering his composure enough to make a slight bow. Bodacar stood a little taller, slimmer and fairer of feature than his brothers. His eyes were green.

“Umm-mm …” Andwise softly cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry …”

“I am too …”

“… And me …”

Fern laughed. “It will be a little while, I’m afraid.”

“In that case, why don’t you come with us, Frodo?” Bodacar offered.

“We’ve something to show you.” Merdacar added.

The young boy was distracted watching the fire in the hearth. “Frodo … the lads are speaking to you.” Drogo patted Frodo’s arm.

“What Da’?”

“The lads are speaking to you.”

Frodo glanced at the lads who stood glancing back and forth between the boy and his parents and their own parents. “I’m sorry …”

“Why don’t you come with us?” Alricar offered.

“These grown-ups can be a mite stuffy.” Merdacar grinned. Bodacar gestured stifling a great yawn towards the adults.

Andwise nodded his approval at his sons as they led the boy from the room. He thought for a moment on what he had witnessed before speaking. “How long has he been acting like this?”

“Almost a fortnight; we thought it was connected to staying indoors because of the weather.” Primula ventured.

“He seemed to cheer up a few days ago when the weather changed.” Drogo added.

“He hasn’t been sleeping well.”

“He picks at his food accept for the buttermilk.”

“Buttermilk …?” Fern could not resist asking; she had heard from Lily that the child detested buttermilk.

“Yes ... well, you know my sister.” Primula glanced at Andwise. “She insists he drink two glasses of it to help him feel better.”

“… And stands over him to make certain he drinks it.” Drogo added.

“Hmm … I suppose she would.” Andwise grinned at some memory. “He drinks it willingly?”

“He hasn’t said a word.”

“He hasn’t had a choice either.” Drogo could not hide his irritation with Amaranth’s interference.

“Hmm …” Andwise thought. “It might be he was in need of some sunshine in his life. This outing today cannot harm him. Let us see how his visit with Lily goes. That might be the very thing to cheer him.”

“How is she faring?” Primula’s motherly instinct was in gear.

“She had a bad night.”

“She is not up to joining us for dinner, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry … perhaps we should have postponed this visit.”

“No … not in the least. Frodo and Lily may share a couple of short visits. I think she may need a visit from him as well.”

^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *

Fern Bolger led Frodo to Lily’s room after dinner. The room was darkened and held the same odor of sickness that Frodo had smelled in Merimac’s room at Brandy Hall a year ago. The room was silent save for the wheezing figure of the hobbit lass who lay in the bed. Frodo was quiet as they moved towards the bed. Fern drew open the window coverings to lighten the room before she gently touched her daughter on the shoulder.

“Lily, dear,” she spoke softly, “Frodo Baggins is here to call on you.”

Lily’s eyes fluttered as she struggled to focus. “Hullo Frodo.” She spoke weakly.

Frodo looked at the pasty features, her pale lips and once sparkling eyes now dulled by illness and still found her beautiful in his heart. “Hullo, Lily”. He took her hand in his watching her quietly for a moment. “I brought you a drawing.”

“Thank you … that was very kind …” Frodo handed the lass the drawing he had made of lilies; there were stars sparkling in the sky overhead.

“I hope you like it …” He quickly turned away when he saw the tears in her eyes. Noting the green colors prevalent in her room and the flowers painted here and there made him smile to know this about her.

“I … It is beautiful Frodo ...”

Frodo turned back towards his friend and smiled. By the light now entering the room, Frodo was able to see for himself how terribly ill Lily had been. The sight of her brought to mind thoughts of Merimac.

“I heard you were ill, Lily. I was worried for you.”

Lily attempted a smile. “I’ll be feeling better … soon enough … Frodo, my love .... Don’t fret … for me.”

She had meant her words to comfort the lad. Frodo colored at her words. She took hold of his hand keeping it against her cheek for a moment. Being together they both felt somehow that Merimac was near as well.

“I’ve missed you Lily. Aunt Amaranth is forcing me to drink buttermilk.”

“I hope … I mean more … to you than that … Frodo Baggins.”

“You do …” They shared a laugh causing a great bout of coughing for Lily. “I’m sorry Lily.” Frodo looked around and found Fern pouring liquid from a pitcher into a cup. She handed it to Frodo. “Try to drink this Lily; it will help.” He helped Lily as she drank the medicament.

“Thank you,” Lily had taken a few moments to be able to speak once more. “Tell me … what have you … been doing Frodo?”

“The storms were terrible, Lily. None of us could go outside until the sun came out a few days ago. We played games and told stories.”

“That sounds like fun …” Her voice trailed off.

“It was at first. I was always in trouble for running through the hallways.”

“Now … that does not … sound like fun.” She smiled at a memory.

“Your brothers showed me the kittens.”

“Kittens …?”

“There are four of them.”

“Really … No one told me about them.” She watched the lad’s face as he spoke. She had missed his animated banter.

“One is all black with a little bit of white at its neck, one is all orange, one is striped with patches of orange, and one is all striped.”

“They sound pretty.”

“They are very small yet.”

“Which … is your favorite?” Her voice trailed again.

“The black one. He has green eyes. He is also the biggest …”

“That’s nice …”

“… And the only one I could pick up.”

Lily smiled faintly but did not speak. Frodo heard the rattling and wheezing more pronounced as she slept. The boy stood by her side stroking her hair back from her face in the tender manner others had done for him when he was ill. He gently placed a kiss on her cheek and turned towards Fern who had remained in the room in case of need.

“I think we will allow Lily to sleep for a while. You can see her again after her nap.”

Frodo followed Fern towards the parlor. As they came down the hallway the sounds of talking and laughter could be heard coming from the kitchen. Frodo glanced in the direction of the noise and smiled wistfully. The Bolger lads were doing the washing up after dinner and seemed to be having some fun along the way. It seemed more exciting at least than sitting in the parlor with the adults.

Entering the parlor, Frodo found his parents deep in conversation with Andwise Bolger. The conversation abruptly stopped. Primula and Drogo glanced anxiously at their son as he entered. Frodo’s reassuring smile allowed them to see the short visit with Lily had helped.

“Frodo, I would like to have a short visit with you … just the two of us, if I may, and then I think the lads have something planned.”

Frodo looked to his parents and then to Andwise. “Will I be able to see Lily again?”

“You most certainly shall.” Andwise stood and walked over to the boy. “First I should like to talk to you a bit.” He placed his hand on Frodo’s head for just a moment as he passed, leading the boy to his study across the hallway.

Frodo had never been in the healer’s study before. “I thought it would be different,” he half whispered.

“Different …?” Andwise was not certain he followed.

Frodo met his gaze with his bright blue eyes. “Your study … I thought it would be different from Uncle Rory’s and Cousin Bilbo’s and even Cousin Otho’s.”

“Hmm …I suppose that all studies are pretty much the same with a writing desk and a couple of chairs and that sort of thing. Please have a seat, Frodo, wherever you like.” He waited to speak again until they were both seated. “What would you have in your study, Frodo?”

“I don’t think I will ever have a study Mister Bolger, sir, but if I did, I would have lots of books.”

Andwise smiled. “Books you say?”

“Lots of them,” Frodo looked around the study, “and maybe some drawing paper to draw pictures.”

“I remember now … you like to draw.”

“I brought a picture I drew for Lily. It had lilies and stars in the sky.” The lad grew pensive. “She said she liked it, but then she looked as if she would cry.”

Andwise had been watching Frodo. “I’m certain it was just that she liked your gift.”

“Do you think so?” The lad’s face brightened.

“Yes I do. Sometimes lasses become weepy over special gifts.”

“She is very ill, isn’t she Mister Bolger?”

“Yes … but she is getting better.”

“She sounds like Merry … did.” Frodo had whispered the last word.

Andwise caught the hesitation and watched the boy’s face cloud over. He thought it prudent to move the discussion away from Merimac. “What did you think of the kittens?”

Frodo glanced at the healer wondering why no one would speak of Merry. “I like them.”

“You may have one if you like.”

“Really …!” His face brightened.

“Really, but for their health, you will have to wait until they are a little bigger.”

The lad frowned. “Mister Bolger, sir, why do … things … die?”

The kindly healer read the sincerity in the boy’s eyes. He furrowed his brows contemplating an answer to this unexpected question.

“That is a question, lad, that I would say is both easy and difficult to answer. All things are meant to live only a set length of time. When that time has passed, they leave us.” Frodo watched Andwise as he spoke. “Think about the trees, Frodo. Right now the trees look as if they are dead but in a few weeks we will see new life in the leafing out of springtime. By the harvest the leaves will be turning colors and begin to fall so that by the next Yule the trees will once again appear to be dead, but they are in reality just sleeping.”

“So death is like sleep, Mister Bolger?”

“For some plants it is…”

“What about people?”

Andwise felt he had a good idea as to the reasoning behind this line of questioning. He had seen enough evidence over the past couple of days. He prayed the lad’s fears were not true.

“For people I suppose it is like this too …”

“Then they wake up again?”

Andwise looked intently into the earnest blue eyes. “There is no hobbit I have ever heard of who has awoken from this sleep. This is the difficult part I spoke of, Frodo.” The healer looked at the child and sighed. “Usually it is the elderly who die. They have lived a long and usually a happy life. Most often they are ill, but not always; sometimes they are simply worn out and ready to ‘sleep’ if you will.”

“…But the baby Mum was going to have was not old!”

“I know lad sometimes things are just not the way they should be and sometimes the person is very ill …”

“Is Lily going to die?”

Andwise swallowed. “I hope not, lad. I hope not.” He whispered. It was impossible for him to keep the tears from welling in his eyes as this precious child asked aloud his unspoken fears. “I hope she has a long and happy life yet.”

“Like Merry …?” Frodo watched the healer from the corner of his eye knowing he would speak truth.

Andwise smiled. “Just like Merry, Frodo.”

“Then where is he?”

“I don’t know, but I think, knowing Merimac, you’ll see him soon enough.”

“Do you think so, Mister Bolger?” Frodo was judging the healer by his reaction.

“Yes I do … Frodo, death is not a bad thing. It comes to each of us one day.” Frodo watched the healer again full of uncertainty. “Think of your favorite thing to eat. After you take that last bite, there is no more left on your plate. Am I right?” Frodo nodded. “It is gone. It will never be on your plate again. Is this true?” The boy nodded; his face was somber. The healer placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder while holding his gaze as he spoke. “Is the taste still in your mouth? Can you still smell what it smelled like? Can you still picture it on your plate?” Frodo nodded once more. “This is memory, Frodo. We remember the person we have loved and keep them in our heart. In this way they are never truly gone. They still live; they are just changed.”

Frodo could not stop the tear that trickled down his cheek. “But t feels so lonely.”

“I know lad … I know. But if they live in our hearts they are never truly gone …” Andwise took on a faraway look as he and Frodo sat quietly for a moment. “They are not truly gone …” He looked at the boy and smiled. “Well, Frodo, why don’t we see if my lads have finished the washing up shall we?”

“Thank you, Mister Bolger, sir.” He looked up at the healer and smiled.

“I know it is difficult to talk about everything with your family. Any time you feel you would like to talk, Frodo, I am right here.” The lad nodded and gave the healer a hug.

Leaving the healer’s study, Frodo caught a ball as it was tossed in his direction. The lad looked up at the healer and grinned. “It looks like they are done, Sir, may I?”

“Run along, lad, I’ll be in the parlor with your parents.”

Frodo did not hesitate but ran off to play a game of football and then tig with the three younger Bolger lads. Fresh air and sunshine were adding color to his cheeks once more. Appetites encouraged by the fresh air and activity argued for an early tea.

Lily had had a bad night and day with her illness. Her bouts of coughing had increased both in frequency and duration and her breathing was ever more labored allowing little rest other than that induced by medicament. It was suggested immediately following tea that Frodo pay her a second visit allowing the lass to retire early for the night. Andwise led the boy to her room.

“Lily, Frodo is here to see you.” He stroked his daughter’s cheek with the back of his hand and felt her forehead for fever. The healer frowned while his daughter struggled once again to open her eyes. The increased congestion was noticeable.

“Hullo Lily, I’ve come back to spend a little more time with you.” Frodo saw the change over the past couple of hours. His eyes revealed his fear.

“Hullo Frodo.” Lily’s voice conveyed her condition. “You look rosy ... How have you spent … the afternoon?”

“I played football and tig with your brothers. Alricar and Merdacar teamed against Bodacar and me. They tried to cheat, but we won!”

The boy laughed at the memory and began to recount the events of the game. Lily smiled as best she was able. Andwise patted Frodo on the shoulder and left the room after checking various medicinal items on a small table. The boy’s chatter filled the air; Lily made no response save to watch him with dull and glazed eyes and her shallow breaths amongst the wheezing.

“Frodo …” Lily spoke weakly as if she were still asleep, “is Merry … with you? We … have not spoken … in a long time.”

The young lad choked back his tears. “I’m sorry, Lily. He has not come today.”

“I thought … I heard … his voice … maybe it was … just a dream.” Frodo watched her; his mind filled with images of his cousin the previous year. “When you see him … would you tell him … tell him … I asked about him.”

“I promise Lily …”

“I want to … I need to tell him … something.” Frodo stood quietly at Lily’s bedside unable to stop his tears for Lily and for Merimac. “Frodo …?” The lad could not answer. “He’s gone … isn’t he, Frodo?”

Frodo just stood staring at Lily and finally was able to nod his head. “I overheard two of my aunts talking in one of the hallways.” The lass struggled to understand what he was telling her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to listen Lily. They said he had perished in the storm.”

Lily’s eyes filled with pain as she listened to his words. “No …! No Frodo … That cannot be … Why are you … telling me this?”

“Lily … I thought you knew.” Frodo began to cry. “No one will talk … about him … as if he has … done … something wrong.” He sniffled.

“Merry … is the nicest … person … I know, Frodo … He has done … no wrong …” Tears streamed down her face as she tried to comfort the lad though her own heart had broken.

Andwise returned to the room to find the young lad and his daughter clinging to each other as they both wept. Lily had begun gasping for breath and making the same rasping noises that Merimac had made the previous year. It was fortunate for the lass that Frodo had been with her and as he had done with Merimac helped to elevate his friend. He was attempting to pat her back in the same manner he had helped Merimac.

“Da’ … Merry … cannot … have perished … I cannot … I … I don’t want to … to live … without him.”

“Don’t say that Lily. Please don’t say that … He loves you … He would want you … to live. Merry would tell you … to have hope.” Andwise could not hide his tears as he struggled to save his daughter’s life.

IV.

The month of Solmath was nearing its close. Bright golden sunlight had continued the thaw which melted the ice and snow blanketing the Buckland. Most of the inhabitants were able to resume their normal activities and life was getting back to normal in anticipation of the arrival of spring.

Lily’s health had continued in its downward spiral as if caught in a swirling eddy pulled ever downwards by the inadvertent words spoken by Frodo thinking they were sharing a grief she had not been alerted to. In fairness to the lad, her health had begun to fail before his visit planned with the hopes of bringing to the fore what was ailing the child and filling the lass with a sense of hope.

The visit had produced the desired effect on the boy permitting him to openly express his fears which would allow the adults in his life to grant him succor. The life of the young healer, on the other hand, hung in the balance for four days. Her body was wracked by fever and great bouts of coughing as she gasped to take air into her lungs. Her mind existed in a delirium alternately filled with a dark and empty void and that of images filled with Merimac and stars, Frodo and her family all telling her to have hope. Eventually the side of hope won the struggle.

Lily could not hide the deep sorrow she felt in her heart, could not speak of her pain. She spoke no more than to give the barest of answers when spoken to; she initiated converse with no one. Her convalescence often found her sitting by a window seemingly staring out while fingering the necklace she wore about her neck made of dark green ribbon and decorated with stars flanking lilies. When the tears would overtake her mood she removed her self from the sight of others to take to her room.

The Master of Buckland and his wife sought to comfort their friends as they endured the possible loss of another daughter. In truth, Rorimac Brandybuck held himself to be partly responsible. Frequent visits to the home of the healer in Bucklebury gave Rorimac and Menegilda the feeling of doing something and helped to assuage their own helplessness over their son.

Rorimac stood in front of the parlor window watching the world outside lost in thought of bygone days. The sunlight formed an aura around his person.

“Merry …?” The voice whispered tentatively behind him. Rorimac turned from the window to find Lily wrapping her frail arms around him. “Merry …” She began to weep.

Rorimac held the lass he loved as a daughter, the lass he had hoped to have as a daughter-in-law offering what comfort he could as her tears soaked the front of his jacket and her body shook with her grief. “Lily … I’m sorry. I wish it were true …”

“No … I’m sorry, Uncle Rory.” She used the familiar name she had used for him as a child. “It’s just that … for a moment … I thought you were …” Her words were lost as she sobbed into his jacket.

Rorimac held her close. “There …there …”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she finally whispered.

The Master of Buckland could only nod to acknowledge her words of condolence. “He loved you well, Lily …” Her tears fell harder and his began.

“Rory, has there been word?” Andwise entered the parlor noting the tears.

“None ...” His voice was quiet.

“I miss him so …”

“I know, lass, I know … He would want you to have hope. He would want you to go on.”

“He would want us all to have hope, Rory.” Andwise placed his hand on the shoulder of his dearest friend.

“I’m sorry, Da’” Lily moved from Rorimac to her father.

“It is good to hear your voice again dear Lily. All will be well … one way or another …” Andwise rubbed his daughter’s back while looking at his friend. “Just because we do not know the whole truth of a matter does not mean we should fear the worst … Hmm …?” Lily nodded her head against her father.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As harsh as the winter had been, its duration was proving to be short lived as the land opened its arms to an early spring. Solmath turned the reigns of nature over to Rethe. With Rethe came the predictable winds … winds which continued to dry the mire left by Solmath’s thaw … winds which carried the words of news and gossip throughout the Buckland and the Shire. Some words were carried on the written page; some found their way by word of mouth. It was inevitable that words should spread to notify the inhabitants of births, deaths, illnesses and impending marriages following the treacherous weather. Likely locales for sources to spread the news were the post offices, markets, shops, inns and taverns. News was a mainstay of every community and a means of entertainment eagerly received and passed on. Similar conversations were heard in each community throughout the Buckland and much of the East Farthing of the Shire as the inhabitants gathered in groups all eager to hear the news.

“A baby was born to Ivy and Holcomb Brownlock during the height of the storm.”

“She’s the daughter of Tolman and Lobelia Wheeler. His parents are Rufus and Daisy.”

“Yes … They are a lucky pair, I’ll say, this being their first and all.”

“No one could have reached them with that weather we were having, but the lad did well by himself.”

“They had a girl … named her Crystal on account of all that ice and snow.”

“You don’t say? Well it seems a rather pretty name for a wee lass.”

“Did you hear Pearl and Rudigar Tolmidge had their baby during the snows as well?”

“No… Now isn’t she the daughter of Carl and Hyacinth Greenthatch?”

“That’s right … He’s Andicar and Rose’s lad. ‘Course this is their fourth babe, but their first son. They named him Fredigar after his grandfather.”

“Well, that is nice to hear.”

“Yes, well I told my sister, Myrtle, it was high time for them to have a son, don’t you know.”

“Yes, I think so too. A family needs a son to carry on.”

“All that snow and ice put a lot of moisture into the ground.”

“It did … Now, my husband, Tobald, says it gives the promise of a right bountiful crop of winter wheat.”

“It just goes to show there are hidden blessings in everything.”

“Anson Cottar had a bad spell a few weeks back.”

“You don’t say?”

“Yes … well, he’s much better now, but he’s getting on in years.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

“I always feel a mite sorry for the ones who are alone especially in the winter.”

“Yes … I know what you mean …”

“Poor old widow Longbottom in Bucklebury took awfully ill during the storms.”

“They nearly lost her. Lucky it was her youngest daughter Willow was with her and able to send for the healer.”

“That was an ordeal for him this winter what with his own daughter being so ill and all.”

“They nearly lost her a couple of times.”

“They said she stopped talking altogether for a full month after she found out …”

“Well, that was a bad situation all around, it was, what with her finally convincing that lad she didn’t want him…”

“Yes … and then him up and disappearing during the storm.”

“No one has seen any sign of him since the night the storm began.”

“No … nor will they. The lad died in the storm and that’s as good as certain.”

“It’s turned that whole Brandybuck clan upside down, it has.”

“The Master and his poor wife were beside themselves with grief.”

“He went out looking for the lad every day for a week and never saw a sign.”

“Some say he drowned in the river; he’ll never be seen again.”

“I heard the wolves took the lad.”

“Yes … That’s what my sister said was feared up at the Hall.”

“I wonder why he wanted to go off on his own anyway.”

“Well, he does … er … did go around with that Old Mad Baggins; he’s some sort of relation, you know.”

“I wonder if he went to visit the old gent.”

“No, that’s not likely. There wasn’t a thing going to travel in that storm. The lad is dead and that’s a fact. They’ll be lucky to find his scattered bones where the animals left them.”

“My sister told me her nephew will be talking to the healer soon about courting his daughter now.”

“Isn’t this a bit soon?”

“She is free to see whomever she wishes and she did give my sister’s nephew a fair amount of encouragement at the Yuletide festival from what I hear.”

“Did she now?”

“Yes … He was the only lad she would willingly dance with other than a relative or that young nephew of the Master.”

“It’s a pity she is following her father as a healer.”

“Yes, well I don’t think we need be too concerned about that.”

“Oh, what do you mean?”

“My sister’s nephew, Rancid is his name … He seems very quiet and good-natured … Well don’t get me wrong; he is, but he has a mind of his own, if you know what I mean.”

“Say on …” The women leaned close again.

“No wife of his, or so he says, is going to be doing anything outside the smial other than to hang the wash, tend the garden and do the marketing.”

“How can he be thinking of marriage when they haven’t even begun to court?”

“Well the lass is pretty enough and that’s a fact, but who else will want her? It is being whispered about that she is ‘tainted’.”

“Oh my ….”

“Yes, well she doesn’t just help the women with their birthings you know; she takes care of the lads and men when they are in need as well.”

“That just isn’t proper or so some are saying.”

“Still, she’s a nice enough lass and the Master’s son is dead and gone, not that there was anything between them.”

“That isn’t what I heard.” The group of women leaned closer together and loudly whispered for all to hear.

“Do tell us …”

“They had been meeting alone in secret for a long time. His aunt caught them when the lad was supposedly so ill last year …”

“Do you hear that? That’s just what I was telling you.”

“Yes and do you know …..”

----------------------------

The thaw brought no further word of the missing son to Brandy Hall. It is said that time heals all wounds. Not enough time had elapsed to heal the pain of this wound or the sight of those the Master of Brandy Hall held responsible for the loss of his son most notably his sister, Amaranth, and himself. It was particularly difficult for him to spend time with his young nephew Frodo who reminded everyone of Merimac and therefore the absence of Merimac.

The blessing came in the skilled words of Andwise Bolger who was able to get through to his friends and family the message that they should not grieve without hope for as yet their grief was unfounded. It was necessary for them to deal with their fears and see them for what they were. For the sake of all, each in his or her own way tried to remain positive and attempted to smile and even jest with one another. Secretly they prayed for some news to come their way.

Frodo was trying to deal with his own fears. He was allowed to visit Lily frequently. The visits comforted them even though she spoke only to answer his questions at first. Eventually she and Frodo were able to smile at each other and hold each other’s hands as they spoke openly of Merimac and their hopes for his return.

The residents of Brandy Hall were as eager for the news and gossip of the Buckland and the Shire as everyone else as they ventured to Bucklebury making stops at the market, the shops, the post office or the taverns. Whoever made the trip to town brought letters and packages from the post office and carried the same to post as outgoing mail. Esmeralda received much of the mail as she had a running correspondence not only with her family but her cousin Rosamunda who was to marry Odovacar Bolger in the spring. The Tooks wrote expressing their thoughts for Merimac and his safe return. Bilbo Baggins wrote of his deep concern for Merimac to both Rorimac and Menegilda and to Frodo. Veronica Sandyman wrote to Frodo thanking him for his letter and the picture he had sent and spoke kindly of his cousin Merry. Tosco and Daisy Sandyman wrote expressing wishes for a positive turn of events. Togo and Tigerlily Chubb wrote letters of hope and spoke fondly of Merimac to Frodo, Primula and Drogo and to Rorimac and Menegilda as well. Budger Birdfoot wrote on behalf of the Shirriffs of the West Farthing giving their condolences to the family of the Master of Buckland while hoping matters would turn out amicably all the same. The letters of well wishes and condolences continued to pour into Brandy Hall day after day. Generally they served to ease the tensions as love was expressed for this family caught in the turmoil of uncertainty.

When even the letters proved too much, Rorimac allowed them to lie on his desk. He would have a buggy made ready and take his wife for a ride generally crossing the Brandywine River. Without saying a word to each other, each secretly searched the trees in their line of vision for the sight of their son to come walking up the path to meet them.

Rorimac sat in his study looking at the new stack of letters on his desk. “Would they never end?” he thought to himself. He and Menegilda had been gone for five days, having traveled as far as Tuckborough simply to be away from Brandy Hall for a time. He knew if there was anything pressing or if word of Merimac arrived, Saradoc would send for his parents immediately. There had been no word.

They had arrived back at Brandy Hall weary from their travel and taken a late supper with Saradoc and Esmeralda elaborating on their trip. Now the Master of the Hall, feeling sick at heart, sat at his desk making an attempt to deal with the affairs of his office. His heart was not in it. Normally he was organized to the point of sorting out the mail according to the date of its arrival. This evening it did not matter. Menegilda entered with a tray laden with a tea service and fresh apple tarts. The couple found great solace in their time together.

Rorimac glanced up and smiled for her noting how worn she was looking. “Look at this ‘Gilda; they just keep coming in from all over the Buckland and the Shire.”

“It is because they care, Rory.” She brushed back a stray wisp of hair and poured tea for her husband.

“I know they care. I am sorry. I don’t mean to complain because I am grateful. Thank you…” He took the cup of tea she handed to him and stirred in a bit of honey. Taking a sip, he smiled up at her. She had prepared his favorite blackberry tea knowing it would soothe his pain. “‘Gilda bring some of your needlework and sit with me while I go through these letters.”

“Anything for you, dearest.” She planted a kiss on his cheek before leaving.

“This is tedious work tonight.” He commented when she returned. “My heart feels so heavy.”

“I know …” She sighed as she refilled his cup.

“They all say the same thing wishing us news on Merimac or telling us they are sorry … None of them tells us where he is.” He slapped the desk with the palm of his hand.

“Rory …”

“It is my fault, you know?”

“No … no, Rory, it isn’t. It is nobody’s fault. Merimac was feeling hurt and needed to be alone. He’s very much like somebody else I know and love.”

Rorimac glanced at his wife knowing her meaning. “I just wish we knew what happened to him.”

“I know …” She wiped away a tear.

They sat lost in thought before each glancing at the other gave one another a reassuring nod. Menegilda picked up her needlework and began stitching; Rorimac slit open the next envelope. They worked in companionable silence occasionally sighing or sipping from their tea.

“‘Gilda …” Rorimac rose from his chair and brought a letter with its envelope to sit on the settee by her side. “‘Gilda, read this one, dear …” Menegilda put down her needlework as Rorimac handed a letter to her. The letter looked to be very short:

Forgive me, Father. I was unaware.
I am sorry, Mother. Please tell my brother and my cousin.
~ M. ~
Menegilda read the letter and looked at Rorimac a questioning look in her eyes. They read it again together.

“Can it be? The hand is like his and yet unlike.” She covered her mouth to keep from audibly sobbing as tears trickled down her cheeks.

“That is why I am showing it to you. These are words he would use, yet everyone knows of his family and closeness to Frodo.”

“It is the shaky hand that bothers me. He was so thin at Yule …”

“Why would he just post a letter? Why not come home to us?”

“Perhaps he is afraid of his welcome. He did have harsh and disrespectful words with Amaranth … Is there no return address?”

“No … just a Newbury postmark. I will leave first thing in the morning. I pray this is no hoax.” The Master of Buckland slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders pulling her close. Holding one another they wept as they reread the letter afraid to give way to hope.

V.

Exhausted from travel and wearied by the task of dealing with correspondence heightened by greater emotional upheaval left the Master of the Hall and his wife unable to sleep. Menegilda had packed a satchel for Rorimac and served him first breakfast well before the dawn. Sitting at the table they spoke in low voices trying to reassure each other.

Concerned with the unknown fate of his brother, Saradoc had grown restless of late. His heart sank as he entered the kitchen to find his parents with red and puffy eyes showing little sign of having slept or even rested at all. Rorimac and Menegilda exchanged a parental glance that failed to hide the fact they were withholding information.

“You’ve had some word! How bad …? When …?” The young man sat next to his mother at the table grasping onto its edge to steady himself. He ran his fingers through his dark hair and clenched his fist to his mouth to stifle his emotions as his eyes filled with tears. He grasped the edge of the table and with a nod revealed he was prepared to accept the news his parents had to impart.

Rorimac’s hand shook as he reached into his breast pocket to remove the letter and handed it to his son. Saradoc read the brief missive quickly several times before furrowing his brow and mouthing the words to himself. He glanced at his parents before reading the letter one final time. Shaking his head, he slid the letter back across the table to his father.

“Is this some sort of cruel joke? I’ll find whoever did this, Father. Don’t they know how much pain our family has been through these past months? Whoever wrote this should be thrown in the lockholes or banished from the Buckland.” Saradoc’s angry outburst was an unusual occurrence.

“And what if he really wrote it, Sarry? We have to know ...” Menegilda sought to calm the elder of her two sons.

“I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Saradoc patted his mother’s hand and looked his father in the eye.

“No, son, I need to go myself. This is something I need to do.”

“Then let me go with you.”

“I’m sorry son, I need you here … just in case … I shouldn’t be gone more than a few days. If the weather holds, start on the south fields.”

“Yes, Father.”

Rorimac rose from the table. Menegilda and Saradoc joined him as he headed towards the door. He clapped his son on the shoulder. “Take care of your mother, Saradoc.” Saradoc nodded. Folding his wife into an embrace, he whispered, “All will be well. If I find him, I will do my best to bring him home with me. I love you.” He kissed his wife’s cheek and headed towards the stables.

Leaving the stables, Rorimac headed southeast taking the road through Bucklebury. He had need of making certain of Merimac’s piece of land and what his eyes had revealed to him so often as he searched for his missing son. He maneuvered his pony off the main road and onto a path leading towards the Old Forest eventually moving off the path and heading north. Coming through a break in the trees, the setting was as beautiful as it had been that day nearly a year past when Merimac told him this was where he would live. The sun was just beginning to break across the morning sky. As anticipated, he saw no evidence of a smial. Pain clenched his heart. Rorimac clutched at his chest, hung his head and wept.

A notion told him to give up and go home. This was all a cruel joke perpetrated by a vicious prankster. His heart told him he had to know for certain, had to be able to tell his wife something. The Master of Buckland swung his pony to the northeast. He was aware he could have lessened his trip by traveling across open country, but the ground was uncertain. It would prove safer in the long run to take the road. Skirting Bucklebury and Brandy Hall, he traveled slightly north to overtake the road heading towards the Bridge of Stonebows grateful for the pleasant weather for the start of his quest. Midway at a branch in the road, Rorimac found it necessary to stop to don his cloak against the wind before turning off on the road which led directly into Newbury. He had traveled swiftly; it was not yet midmorning.

Newbury was a pleasant town. It held all the usual attractions for a modest sized village: a market, a dry goods shop, a mill, a smithy, a livery, a post office and a tavern. He noticed several inhabitants eyeing him curiously. That was to be expected; he was a stranger in a small town. Rorimac wondered if any of these people could be so cruel as to try to hurt his family. The post office was the logical place to look first.

Entering the post office, Rorimac smiled as he noted the decorations hung on the wall including several drawings made by a child. The postal clerk glanced up from what he was doing.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, my good sir.” The man rubbed two fingers across his forehead as he thought and then returned to the package an elderly woman was trying to send to Hardbottle.

“Take your time.” Rorimac did not wish to deal with a prankster in front of someone who might be inclined to gossip about his presence and thereby satisfy the prankster.

The grey haired matron smiled at Rorimac as she left the building. The postal clerk watched her exit and then sighed. “I apologize for your time. She comes in several times a year to send packages; each time she needs to make her request unusual ... and complicated.” He sighed again. “I am sorry … What may I do for you good sir?”

“A letter was posted to Brandy Hall a week ago. Can you tell me aught of its author?”

The clerk squinted at the stranger finding him to have an honest appearance. “Hmmm … Let me see, now … Oh yes … a lad, light brown hair, dark brown eyes … I’ll bet he had some mischief in him at one time! Only, he was lookin’ a mite poorly the last time I saw him … more so than usual even.”

“Can you tell me where he is?”

“I can’t rightly say. I don’t know much about him. He’s only posted letters maybe three times. That day bein’ the third. There’s never any return address. He seemed a mite desperate to post that letter; his hands was shakin’ so. I can’t say as I’ve seen them shake before. I knew he had no coin for writing materials; I just gave him the paper and the envelope and a pen to borrow. I was surprised he could read and write … didn’t have the penny it cost to post the letter. He begged me to hold the letter whilst he went and mucked out the stalls at the livery to put money on his bill at the market … Seems a nice lad … a hard worker too.” The post master shook his head. “Somethin’ went wrong for the lad somewhere that he fell on hard times. I went ahead and posted the letter while the lad was gone … He was kind to my son … the boy has a limp. He made him a toy just to be nice.” The man held his tongue at last as he mused.

“Does the lad owe you any money?”

“No … that penny was a gift. As I said, he was kind to my son. He’s always been able to pay for his postage in the past. He was right grateful I had posted his letter by the time he returned; his eyes fair sparkled which was a sight better ’n the deep down sadness I usually saw. You might want to ask over at the market. They might have a better idea as to where to find the lad. He gets shipments of some sort in there ever so often.”

Rorimac thanked the clerk and headed up the street to the market. He thought about what the man had told him; the description seemed to fit Merimac even to the unhealthy appearance. The Master of Buckland entered the market hearing the tinkling of a small bell which would announce to the proprietor that someone had entered the shop.

“Just a moment,” a jolly sounding matron’s voice sounded from a back room. A sudden loud thumping and toppling sound revealed a mishap taking place. “Oh dear … Well, there’s nothing for it; it’ll have to wait ‘til later.” The plump matron spoke to herself and came from her storeroom brushing off the front of her apron and tucking bits of hair behind her ears. “Oh … please forgive me.” She seemed embarrassed as she viewed the well-dressed stranger standing in her shop. “What might I help you with, Sir?”

“I am looking for someone; perhaps you have seen him … a lad … I was told he was here about a week past …not much beyond his coming of age, light brown hair, dark brown eyes …”

“Oh he was here … the clumsy young fool broke not one but two glass dishes, mind you two of them.” Rorimac arched a brow at the matron minding the shop. “Course he was all apologetic and said he would pay for them. To which I told him he had just better. I know he hasn’t a farthing to his name. I would have just added them to his account.”

“The lad comes in often then?”

“Every couple of weeks nigh on a year now. He has items shipped here every so often.”

“Does this lad have a name?”

“Well of course he has a name. Everyone has a name of one sort or another … Oh, begging your pardon, Sir, but it was a strange question.” She eyed the gentlehobbit standing before her wanting to be helpful but at the same time knowing there had to be information she could glean to pass on as well.

“No offense is taken, my dear woman. Would you be so kind as to tell me the lad’s name?” Rorimac saw through the woman’s game and would provide no more information than necessary himself.

The matron gave pretense of the need to review her ledger. “Yes, well, his name on the accounts here is Marmadoc Boffin.” She carefully watched the Master as she spoke.

Rorimac frowned feeling discouraged that he was not given the name that he had prayed to hear and continued to frown as he mulled the name over in his mind. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Lack of sleep and the emotional stress were giving him a headache. The last thing he had wanted was to spar with a nosey matron who would spread every word he spoke to the four winds as soon as he left her shop. The failure to receive word on the whereabouts of his son was fraying his mood at the edges.

“Thank you, dear lady. You have been helpful.” The Master of Buckland turned from the counter where the matron had been rearranging a display and made his way to the door. He stopped short with his hand on the door pull and turned around. “Could you tell me where I might find this lad … Marmadoc Boffin, did you say his name was?”

“I’m sorry, Sir, that I cannot do.” Rorimac frowned. “Oh, I would if I knew, but the truth is I don’t know where he lives. When he stays the night, he usually sleeps at the livery.”

Would you be so kind as to tell me of the lad …?”

The woman smiled eager to impart all she knew and more. “When he arrives, he checks to see what is available …”

“…available?”

“Yes, whether items he has ordered have arrived and various tools … as far as food items, he isn’t particular. Then he goes about looking for work … odds and ends … mostly he spends time at the livery, I think. Though, he does a bit of repair work for different people … mostly elderly who can’t do as well for themselves. And,” she smiled, “he takes a meal now and then at the widow Hayward’s. I have heard tell he has stayed the night once or twice. Her husband, Will, took a fever and left her alone seven years ago now. She has five daughters … The eldest, Clover, seems to be sweet on the lad from what I hear. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised to hear of a marriage in the very near future. They make a handsome couple. I can’t imagine what they would live on. Still, when a young couple is in love there is no telling them; they do their courting and marry and somehow it all works out. Of course, he could take over the old family farm. It is hard work, but I think he could handle it, if you ask me. Still, he has been looking rather poorly. It would be a shame to have Clover and the lad wed only to have him pass on early leaving her with a smial full of fry just like what happened to her poor mother.”

“Eh … hem …” Rorimac cleared his throat and arched a brow at the woman.

“Oh, begging your pardon. That’s all neither here nor there. The lad is free to marry whom he chooses, but it is a good match, if you were to ask me. He seems handy with building and repairing things … That’s why it surprised me when he broke those dishes.”

“I see …”

“Well, when he came in a week ago, he was happy the hardware he had ordered had arrived … his eyes fairly sparkled … I was glad to see that as he has not looked well since Yule … well, more poorly than is his usual appearance.” She glanced at Rorimac wondering why he wanted to know about this lad. “I did have other customers in the shop at the time and the lad started looking around at other things … things most lads won’t look at. I thought maybe he wanted to purchase a gift for Clover or her mother for that matter.” Rorimac arched his brow again. “Well, to be truthful, I was talking and not paying him much heed and that’s when he broke my dishes … and not both at once mind you. I handed him the broom and made him sweep up after himself. He took his good time about it … Well, he had just finished sweeping up after he broke the first dish when he went right back to the dishes and broke the second one. Well, he went all pasty white and promised to pay for them but left in a hurry as if he were being chased.”

“Did he return?”

“Eventually he did. He paid for his hardware order straight away. He brought a small sack of flour and some dried fruit and some vegetables to the counter. Before he would allow me to tally his bill, he asked about the broken dishes …” Rorimac watched as the matron became solemn; a tear formed in her eye. “He smiled at me … a beautiful smile; I would have sworn I saw stars in his eyes. He gave me coins for the cost of the dishes. ‘I am truly sorry, Mistress’ … That’s just what he says to me as he covers my hand over the coins.” She reached up to swipe the tear trickling down her cheek. “I was called away to tend to another customer. Before I realized what he was doing he was gone leaving the food items on the counter.” Her voice cracked forcing her to take a moment to compose herself.

“Thank you.” His voice was more curt than intended.

Rorimac sighed and furrowed his brow pressing his fingers into his forehead for the pain as he turned away from the woman. He wandered around for a bit taking in the information. It was good to get a feel for the various towns in the Buckland every so often. He was uncertain himself what he was waiting for; yet knew there had to be more information available on the lad. If the lad was in reality Merimac, he had to be credited with using the forename of his great-grandfather Marmadoc Brandybuck who had wed Adaldrida Bolger. The surname of Boffin was the surname of the lad who was threatened with the ban of being ‘tainted’ along with Rose Bolger. As Master of Buckland, Marmadoc had been given the epithet of ‘the Masterful’. Rorimac smiled at the ‘masterful’ notion of Merimac in choosing this name as an alias.

The matron watched the stranger from the corner of her eye as she pretended to busy herself with bolts of material. Curiosity was getting the better of her making her wonder more than ever what the lad had done to provoke this imposing figure. Mayhap the lad was really a thief who had stolen from the wealthy gentlehobbit. She saw the stranger smile and felt unnerved by its possible meanings.

“Good day to you, sir. May I be of service?” Rorimac turned to face the proprietor.

“Matta, he’s come asking after that nice lad what’s been ordering the building materials. This is Mister … er, I’m sorry I never caught your name.” The matron had returned to her overly talkative self. She brushed her hands on her orange apron and smoothed her skirts as she stood by her husband.

“Forgive me; I was anxious over the lad. My name is Rorimac Brandybuck.” Rorimac offered his hand.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.” The owner took Rorimac’s hand. “I am Matta Brockhouse and my good wife, Amethyst.” The matron gave a giggle and a small curtsey.

Rorimac smiled. “I hear the lad has a debt here …”

“Yes he does, but he is a hard worker, sir, paying on it as he is able; though he has seemed a mite poorly of late. I suppose with the winter we’ve had that’s to be expected though.” There was genuine concern for the lad. “I don’t know when we will see him again … An order for him arrived just yesterday … a whole wagonload.”

Rorimac frowned. “Which direction does the lad come from?”

Matta scrubbed his round face and looked at his wife who was silent for a change realizing that it was the Master of Buckland standing in their shop. This would be news to share with all her friends.

“Well I guess it depends on the weather. If the weather is poor, he comes in on the road from the northeast; but if the weather is fair and clear he comes overland from the south.”

“I see …” Rorimac smiled at the news making the proprietors a little uncomfortable.

“Please, sir,” Amethyst worked up the courage to ask, “is the lad in any trouble? He seems to be such a good lad and well-mannered. Is the lad in any trouble?”

A shadow crossed Rorimac’s face. “I hope not, Mistress Brockhouse, I hope not.” Rorimac turned to Matta. “I should like to settle the lad’s account and provide some extra should he return in the future. I will take the order that arrived yesterday with me.”

“But … but what if the lad comes to claim it?” Matta sputtered.

“Then you, sir, may tell him to come to me in good faith to claim it. In the meantime, is there someone I could hire to drive a wagon and its goods?”

“I’ll go to bring Ned Wheeler from the livery. He can tell you about the wagons and their hire.”

“Thank you, sir. And you, mistress, would you put together some food stores?”

“Yes, sir, what would you like sir?” The matron beamed at this unexpected trade both by word of mouth and in merchandise.

Rorimac closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought for a moment before answering. Marketing was not his usual task. The couple watched him and looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Matta went in search of Ned; Amethyst anticipated the items Rorimac would want having already placed several of them on the counter before the order was given.

“Flour, lard, dried fruits, apples if you have them, eggs, vegetables: potatoes, carrots, turnips, onions and the like … hmmm … cheese, something from your smokehouse: bacon, sausage, ham … something that will keep … Do you have any preserves, my good woman?”

“Yes … Apple butter, currant, blackberry, raspberry, strawberry. What kind would you like?”

“Apple butter, raspberry, and currant … and some honey.”

“Will there be anything else?” She watched the Master of Buckland standing in her shop, trying to decide how she could spread the word to all of her friends and neighbors.

Rorimac had continued to wander around the shop. He came to her counter carrying a coffeepot. “My good woman, would you have coffee beans and a coffee mill to go with this coffeepot?”

Amethyst Brockhouse gasped as she recognized the son in the smile on his father’s face. “Yes… yes … right over here,” she stammered.

Part 6

Following a conversation with Ned Wheeler that Rorimac hoped would prove to be helpful in finding his son, the Master of Buckland helped the livery man to secure the goods in the wagon laden with building materials, tools, a stove and food stores. As fortune would have it, Ned volunteered to drive Rorimac himself not to Brandy Hall, but rather to the location where the lad had hired him to deliver building materials twice before.

Amethyst Brockhouse insisted that Rorimac and Ned both join her and Matta for an early noon meal. With all the to-do she had forgotten elevenses. She was nearly beside herself with delight that her invited guests consented to join them. She packed provision from her own larder for their travel. She and Matta wished them good speed that they should find the lad safe and sound. The matron shed a tear at the realization that the lad who had been visiting their village was very likely the missing son of the Master of Buckland.

Rorimac tethered his pony to the wagon before climbing onto the seat next to the driver. The wagon and team would best bear this load by keeping to the road. Amiable conversation was alternated with companionable silence as the road wore on. Rorimac’s mind was filled with the anticipation of seeing his son and anger over the needless worry that had been caused.

The wagon kept to the road for almost two hours of their journey moving at a good pace. The territory was very familiar to Rorimac when the wagon left the road. They traveled for nearly another hour to find the same section of land that he had searched so diligently. As they approached, they saw nothing other than the hillock, the stream and the trees. Rorimac shuddered once more remembering his son’s words as he spied the nests of the squirrels in the upper branches of the budding trees and observed the squirrels clambering and chattering on the branches.

“This is it, Sir.” The driver pulled the wagon to a halt.

“This is what?” Rorimac had been at this same spot in the early dawn of this same day.

“This is where I always leave him off if I drive a load of materials for him.”

Rorimac looked about him. “This does not make any sense! You cannot expect me to believe he has you leave his goods here!”

“Isn’t this his property?”

“Yes …”

“Then this is where I leave his goods.”

“But …”

“Do you see any building materials lying around, Sir?”

“No, but …”

“This is where we unload.” Ned spoke firmly if above his station as he jumped down from his wagon, a smile playing on his face. This would make an interesting story. “I could use a hand, Sir.” Rorimac hesitated. “I’m sorry, Sir. It’s what he wants. I’ve never asked him about it myself, but I’m certain you being his father must know all about it.”

Rorimac dismounted from the wagon. He tethered his pony to a nearby tree to keep it from wandering or becoming frightened by the movement. Removing his jacket and laying it across the saddle, the Master of Buckland rolled up his sleeves and began unloading the wagon. He never noticed the third pair of hands nor the jug of water with cups set out but was grateful for both. They worked in silence for the better part of an hour.

“I had hoped to offer him a hand in carrying this stove and if he needed my help placing it but seeing as how you are here, Sir … Well, begging your pardon, Sir, but as two hands are better than one, well, it just seems to me that if you’re willing, six hands are better ‘n four if he’s ready to install it.”

Rorimac stared at the wagon driver as if he had grown an extra head. The driver stood grinning at him.

“I am and would be most grateful for the help.” Rorimac whirled around straight into his son. “Father … I … I am so sorry.”

Rorimac uncharacteristically threw his arms around his son. The embrace was warmly returned yet the distance between father and son was obvious. “Merimac, why did you leave?”

“I’m sorry, Father, but can we not speak of this later?” He nodded towards the sky darkening with rain clouds. If we could just carry everything inside first, then we can talk.”

“But how are you here? How did you know we had come?”

Merimac smiled, ignoring the first question to answer the second. “I heard your arrival. I had the windows open to the fresh air and recognized your voice.” The lad looked into his father’s eyes and nodded at Ned. “If we each take something, we can have everything inside before the rain starts. We can save the stove for last.”

With no other word, he picked up two bundles and led his father and Ned a scant ten yards to a door well hidden in the hillock. True to his mindset the lad refused to say another word until after the three men had brought the new stove into the kitchen of the smial and set it in place. He quietly left Ned and his father standing in the smial while he went out to settle the horses under the shelter of the trees and retrieve his father’s jacket.

Rorimac availed himself of the opportunity during his son’s absence to move from the kitchen to the parlour. Ned Wheeler followed the Master of Buckland, each letting out a soft low whistle as they viewed the quality of the craftsmanship.

“Would you like a tour?” Merimac’s eyes smiled at the appreciation he saw on his father’s face.

The two men followed the lad as he led them down a hallway allowing them to see four bedrooms; one of which was slightly larger than the others. Coming back up the hallway, Merimac showed them a study of sorts and a sitting room, the parlour, a dining room and the kitchen. The smial was furnished with several store rooms and a bathing room which would double as a laundry room. The rooms had plenty of windows providing fresh air and light from the outside. Rorimac and Ned were impressed by the forethought and the work that had gone into the laying of the floors, the finishing of the walls, and the spacing of the windows and hearths. Equally amazing was the decorative carving in progress forming bosses on the joists, wainscoting and the mantels.

The furnishings as yet were sparse. Only one of the smaller bedrooms seemed finished, containing a bed, a wardrobe and a washstand. Rorimac glanced at his son as he noticed the scarf Merimac had worn at the Yule celebration carefully laid atop the pillow.

The parlour held two large and comfortable chairs with a small table in between. The sitting room was bare. A chair and makeshift desk which held a lamp and some papers suited the study. The washroom was furnished with its necessary appointments including a pump for water and a fireplace on which to heat it. The storerooms were finished with inset shelving for supplies and, in fact, currently held kitchen items while cabinets were being built. The kitchen held a table and two chairs, a water pump and sinks, and now the stove.

“As you can see I have a lot of work to do yet,” Merimac commented as they returned to the kitchen.

“This is beautiful, Merimac. I am very impressed.”

“Thank you, Father. I appreciate your help and yours too Ned. I … I don’t seem to have much to offer by way of hospitality. I am sorry. I haven’t given things like that much thought. Once I have everything in order, I hope to be well stocked.”

“We’ve brought you provision son.” Rorimac watched his second son appearing both pleased and fearing he was failing at the same time.

“Thank you, Father …” His tone had lost some of its exuberance. Merimac hung his head making him appear gaunt and spectral.

“You were too thin at Yule; now you appear more so …”

“Father, I …”

Rorimac held up a hand to forestall his son. “I was merely going to say that I see the reason. You are working too hard, lad. It is no wonder that you forget to eat. This smial is amazing and I am very proud of you, but if you do not eat, you will not be around to enjoy the fruits of your labors.” The Master of Buckland looked his son directly in the eye and smiled as he grasped his shoulders. “Now, good Misses Brockhouse at Newbury has led me to understand that you had forgotten to purchase any food when last you were in her shop. I have for that reason brought provisions and a few other items I thought you might enjoy” Rorimac led his son to the table and showed him the goods he had brought. “Allow this to be the beginnings of the well-stocked larders that a smial of this quality will require.”

“Thank you, Father ...” The lad was delighted by the sight of the various items his father had brought not least of which was the coffee, coffee mill and coffee pot. “… Thank you, Father. You are most generous with me.”

“You are my son, Merimac and I love you.” Father and son looked at each other. The embrace that Ned witnessed was a bit warmer than the first. “Shall we see if this new stove of yours works?”

“I’ll get some wood.” Ned volunteered for the task to remove his presence for a few minutes understanding father and son would need some moments.

“Merimac, why did we receive no word before now? Your mother and I … we were all frantic.”

“I needed to be alone, Father. It is the reason I left that night. Being alone here, I had no idea that you thought I had been lost in that storm … not until I overheard the talk at the shop … Father, how is Lily?”

Rorimac sighed before answering. Merimac read the sadness in his father’s eyes. “It was very grave just as it was with you last year … They nearly lost her. She seemed to be a little bit better and began to fail again … She lost her will to go on …” Rorimac’s voice cracked as he thought of the lass he had loved as a daughter. Merimac’s eyes welled with tears; his hands shook as he went about the task of preparing a meal. “Frodo seemed to help encourage her and she him.”

“And yet you would have me go on without her?”

“She seems to be trying to move on.”

“There isn’t a day that goes by that I do not think of her. I feel as if my life has been ripped apart. To be at the Hall was turning me into someone I did not like nor could I respect. I could not stand idly by and let that … that woman hurt the lass I love.” Anger filled his words. “I was so angry, Father. I wanted to hurt her in return. I’m sure I did hurt her …”

“Her bruises healed.” Merimac glanced at his father; tears unshed filled his eyes once more. “I think your aunt too feels some remorse …”

“Father this is my home now. I promised you I would not become a hermit. I will not come back to the Hall to live. I cannot come back.” Merimac was vehement. “Someday I hope to marry a lass of my own choosing and will bring her here to live.” Rorimac gave his son a knowing nod. “I am sorry I hurt our family by my first choice. I wish Lily well … I truly do. I will never forget her … never …”

“It looks as if that rain has arrived.” Merimac ceased speaking, swallowing his emotions, as Ned entered with an armful of wood. Ned placed the tumbling pieces of wood in the box Merimac had placed by the stove in anticipation. “I don’t think it will be much of a downpour though … The sky is blue again to the west.”

The lad was allowed the honor of lighting his stove for the first time. Placing a pan of pared potatoes on top, Merimac went about preparing the rest of the meal insisting his very first guests enjoy the comfort of the parlour. He needed to be alone with his thoughts as he thought of his conversation with his father and ended up imagining Lily preparing a meal in this self same kitchen; a sight he had no hope of ever seeing.

To the lad’s relief the meal was edible. Merimac did not prove to be the best cook in the Buckland, but he did well enough for a young bachelor living on his own using his new stove for the very first time. Full bellies always served to bring cheer to a group of hobbits. As Ned had fallen asleep sitting by the fireside in the parlour he insisted on making his return trip to Newbury that night. Noting the wagon would pull more easily now that it was empty and given the fact that the sky had cleared there was no need to worry about the weather. Merimac thanked him warmly, promising to stop for a visit on his next trip to town.

Cleaning up from their meal following Ned’s departure, Merimac noticed the exhausted appearance of the Master of Buckland; he had insisted his father sit and keep him company by resting instead of by helping. Rorimac smiled as he watched his son seeing the sense of accomplishment and contentment; he would not dream of denying this to the lad.

“You know …” Rorimac spoke thoughtfully, “we had an agreement whereby you would lend your back to the labors of the field in exchange for a portion of the crops and one meal, was it, per week at the Hall?” Merimac watched his father uncertain of new expectations in exchange for the unexpected aid now given. “I would know: do you intend to fulfill your part of this bargain?”

Merimac thought for a moment while staring at the fire in the hearth, grateful for its warmth amidst the chill of the air. It was the middle of Rethe. He had barely two months if he were to meet his goal of completing his smial by his birthday on the 28th day of Thrimidge. The task was manageable if he put his all into his work. He would still be required to make frequent trips to Newbury to obtain various items and to complete the work he had begun for the widow Hayward. Merimac rapidly performed some mental calculations; the field work would put off completion of his smial by a month.

Rorimac watched the frown form on his son’s face. To force the issue, even in an attempt to provide aid, would drive his son further away. It was necessary to allow the lad to decide.

Merimac tried not to reveal his frustration. He finished wiping the last pan placing it on the top of the stove to ensure it would not rust. He opened out the towel laying it flat by the sink to dry before turning his full attention back to his father’s request. The goal had been set with the hopes of presenting the smial as a gift on his birthday. He weighed his options: was the gift more important than the date? He felt obligated towards his family and what they had been through because of him. Their needs would have to be considered before his. He would need to show his father a sense of responsibility in exchange for his father’s generosity. Merimac sighed before glancing at his father.

“I will honor our agreement, Father.” Rorimac smiled at his son. “In fact, I will return to the Hall with you. I would like to see Mum to let her know … I am so sorry Father. You must believe me when I tell you I had no knowledge of what was thought or being said.”

“I do believe you, Son, but how is it …? I looked for you, Merimac ….” Rorimac quickly glanced at the table.

Merimac refilled their mugs with coffee enjoying the smell and the savor of the rich dark brew. He saw the pain in his father’s eyes as he joined him sitting across from him at the table.

“You know I am swift footed. I managed to arrive home …” Rorimac winced at the choice of word. “… before the worst of the storm. You have seen how well my door is concealed and the windows as well. I was truly trapped inside my smial.” He glanced at his father who was horrified.

“But you could have … and we would have never found you …”

Neither of them wanted to think of that prospect. Merimac closed his eyes as he sipped at his coffee remembering his own terror. Rorimac was relieved when his son continued his narrative.

“There is a second door to the back of the smial located by the storerooms. I was eventually able to pry it open a bit for air. I had the use of the daylight through the ice and snow on my windows. I was relieved to find that my smial was warm enough as I had no means of lighting a fire to keep warm or even a taper to light at night. I had a few hands full of chestnuts and walnuts, some potatoes, carrots, and apples. By rationing it over the weeks, I was able to make it last. After the first couple of days when I was able to pry the door open I was also able to scoop in enough snow for something to drink. I had my work to occupy my time when I had light and the pain in my heart and my anger to drive me.”

“Merimac …”

“I was able to accomplish a lot. When able I made the trip to Newbury through the snow. I exist and work as need be. I survive, Father. I have learned I must move on and so while I will gratefully keep my part of our arrangement, I will also continue to spend time in Newbury. I have become … close to some … to some of the residents of the village.” He glanced at his father and watched the raised eyebrow expressing disbelief in the deeper, unspoken meaning of his words. “I will also request that you say nothing of my smial even to Mum.”

“But why?”

“Because I feel I must ever prove myself …”

“You have proven yourself, Son; you are very resourceful.”

“Yet never quite good enough, Father. I will ever play the second.”

Rorimac sighed. “You have quite the accomplishment here, Merimac. It is hardly the craftsmanship of someone who would come in second. You can be proud of yourself.” Merimac glanced at his father as Rorimac clapped him on the shoulder. “I will respect your wishes but where do you intend to tell people you have been all this while?”

“Newbury, Father,” Merimac smiled, “it would not be so far from the truth.”

“Agreed …” Rorimac smiled once more as he anticipated the next move of his younger son.

“How do you feel, Father? Are you tired?”

“It is only a couple miles. I think I could manage that Merimac.”

Merimac was already on his feet damping down the fires in the parlour grates as well as his stove allowing them to burn out. Father and son donned their jackets. Rorimac winced.

“What is it, Father?” Merimac was alarmed.

Rorimac stifled a yawn. “It is nothing … It has been a long day.”

“Mayhap we should leave in the morning after you have rested.”

“Your mother would have my hide. We leave now.”

“Fine then, Father, but I insist you ride your pony. We can still talk as I walk by your side.”

“You are showing quite the stubborn streak, lad. I can’t imagine how you come by it.”

Merimac laughed as he closed the door to his smial behind them. Looking up into the night sky, the lad smiled as he saw the twinkling of the stars. Thinking of the greeting he would receive from his family, he kept a wary eye on his father until they were in sight of the Hall.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Frodo woke in the middle of the night to see a figure reclining in a chair with his feet propped up on the bed. At first the figure frightened the young lad bringing to mind some otherworldly being mentioned only in stories told of long ago to frighten children. Suddenly Frodo nearly squealed with delight as he recognized the person sleeping in the chair. Instead, he pulled his comforter from his bed and draped it about his sleeping cousin. The shafts of moonlight streaming through the open window coverings emphasized the thin, worn features and the dark circles under his eyes; the smile on the sleeping face divulged a sense of peace.

The young lad was intent on his task of tucking the coverlet securely and snugly around the elder lad. He did not realize there were two bright eyes and a smiling face watching him as he bundled first one foot and then the other underneath the coverlet lifting one foot carefully to cover with the coverlet and lay it down as if it were a basket of eggs before he moved totally around the chair to reach the other foot and repeat his procedure.

“What are you doing?” The voice whispered trying to suppress a laugh.

“Trying to keep you warm …” The lad stopped mid-sentence and turned his head slowly glancing up to see if he had heard correctly. “Merry!” He launched himself towards his cousin. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“I’m here now, Frodo. All is well.” Merimac held his younger cousin. He tried to hold back his own tears as he comforted those of the younger lad. “All is well …”