Chapter Text
Frodo Baggins was all the talk that morning at breakfast. My mother in law and her mother in law were sitting at my table chatting while I picked at my food.
“Remember when we first heard he was moving back to Buckland, Opal?” Dahlia asked, pushing a grey-streaked curl behind her ear.
Opal’s wrinkled old face creased in a wistful smile. “Tory brought the news back one trip, didn’t he?”
“Indeed he did. And all of Buckland was abuzz with it. And disappearing into the Old Forest and all…it’s a shame he’s come back in this sort of a state.”
“Really? What state?” Opal was all eager attention. I stirred my tea apathetically, trying to banish the images Dahlia’s words conjured up. I remembered well the concern and gossip over Mr. Frodo Baggins: his move to Buckland, strange men roaming the Shire asking about him and then he and Mr. Merry and Mr. Peregrin disappearing into the Old Forest. The whole Shire had talked of nothing else, but we in Buckland had had a special interest.
On the night they vanished the Horn-call of Buckland was sounded for the first time in a hundred years. Fatty Bolger collapsed and was ill for two weeks, and Esmeralda, Merry’s mother, would allow no one to see him. She and Saradoc packed him off home indecently quick, and refused to discuss it. All they would say is that the young gentlemen were ‘missing, last seen headed into the Old Forest.’
“After all, young Merry has done well enough,” Dahlia went on. “Settled right down and being such a help to Saradoc.”
Merry had always been very popular. At the time, most believed that Saradoc and Esmeralda had been quite unbalanced for refusing to hold a memorial service or even acknowledge that Merry was surely dead. Esmeralda made such a scene when Tilly asked when Merry would be listed in the funeral rolls that it was only discussed in whispers afterwards.
“I thought Frodo had settled down, as well?” Opal asked idly, tucking her shawl closer around her shoulders. She chilled easily, the cumulative effects of ninety-four winters.
Dahlia sniffed. “If you call hiding in his hole settled, then yes. He’s given up being Mayor, did you know? And makes no sign of assuming the responsibilities of a Baggins at Bag End.” My husband, Tory, used to love to bring us news. He would tease us with a word or a hint, and we would fret, and then he’d tell us, putting everything together quick as a wink. It was amazing sometimes. Who would bring us news now?
“How do you know that?” I asked abruptly. Dahlia looked surprised.
“I said earlier that Frodo is visiting Merry, dear, and I heard it from Esmeralda. I think she is a little worried about him.”
“Oh.”
Opal patted my hand gently. “What are you doing this morning, Tansy?”
I folded my napkin carefully and stood up. I was in excellent health, with a strong constitution and so the room did not sway or tilt, despite my excesses the previous night. “I’m going for a walk,” I said with forced cheerfulness. “It’s a beautiful day.”
They both beamed at me and nodded approval. I stopped in my bedroom for a moment, and then made my way outdoors.
To hear them talk now if was if they had always supported Tory’s decision to become one of the Eastfarthing shiriffs. He was always one for action, was my Tory, and if he didn’t get it, he’d go find it. In a restless bachelor, that was expected, but once we married, the routine began to wear on him. I asked Dahlia and Torric at least twenty or thirty times, “It’s not as if being a shirriff isn’t respectable!” All they could say back was that it was not appropriate for one of his station. It nearly made me smile to remember it. And in the way of things, when he finally went and did it anyway, the younger Brandybucks were completely in awe of him.
My sweet Torinas reckoned his descent from Lilac, the sister of Gorbadoc Brandybuck. She married into the Chubbs. When she was widowed young, Gorbadoc was only too happy to have his sister and her grandchild (my husband’s father), back in Brandy Hall. Perhaps it’s because he was a Chubb originally, and only became a Brandybuck by adoption that Torric is so conscious of his place in the family. Dahlia, his wife, is of a minor Goodbody branch, but you would never guess that by her behavior.
For Tory, the job was mostly a lot of walking and talking. He was never gone long, perhaps two weeks of each month total. And whenever he returned from his gadabouts (what I used to call them) it was as if we were newly married. He would come through the door of our rooms, and just look at me. Just a look, and I would nearly melt from the heat in it. He favored the Brandybuck side, being tall and slim, with dark brown eyes and very light chestnut hair. My little Tobas was so like his father, they could have been twins. Sometimes I would look at Toby and search in vain for some evidence that I had had a hand in his creation.
I remembered the trip when Tory had returned with news of Mr. Frodo. I had been keeping a watch out, and I saw him talking to Mr. Saradoc and Torric. He always made sure to pass on whatever interesting news he had to the Master of the Hall. And from the way Torric always nodded and commented to Saradoc, you’d have thought this whole shiriff business had been his idea. I nipped back to our rooms quick as a wink, and packed Toby up to visit Granny. Opal was still sprightly at 94 and always happy to keep him for a bit. Although she shared rooms with Torric and Dahlia, it was generally Opal in charge when I took Toby over. I had the feeling twice-married Opal knew exactly why I always brought Toby to her on the days Tory returned.
I shook off the memories and opened the back door of the Hall, and the bright sunlight speared into my skull. I stopped under a tree, grimacing a little. August was always such a warm month. I could hear voices coming from some of the open windows.
“….thirteen you said, or was it fourteen?” I recognized the clear voice of the heir of Brandy Hall. He was up early.
“Neither, wooly-head. Sixteen barrels of the gold ale and I don’t know how many of the brown.”
“Perhaps we should check the quality.” Chuckles and jests followed me down the little path.
My darling Tory knew I watched for him and sometimes would play at trying to sneak in unobserved. He never tried very hard, though. He enjoyed our reunions as much as I. That particular day I had decided to tease him good and proper for he’d been gone nearly three days longer than I expected. When he opened the door, I was settled on the floor with the big washtub full of sudsy water, wearing an old, threadbare skirt and shirt with no apron. It was a warm summer day, so I’d left the top few buttons undone while I scrubbed the clothes in the tub energetically.
He was smiling broadly. “Hullo, Tansy, I’m back,” he’d said as he always did.
I had barely glanced up at him. “Torinas, darling, welcome home.”
He had hesitated then. Had he genuinely surprised me this time? He had sat down on one of the chairs and watched me. I had accidentally splashed some water down my front, so I was a bit damp. And when white linen gets wet…. After a bit, he cleared his throat and addressed me again. “Got some interesting news on this trip, Tansy.”
I lifted one of Toby’s shirts from the tub and pretended to frown at it. “Mmmm-hmmm?”
“Frodo Baggins, that used to live here as a boy, has decided to move back. He’s selling his house in Hobbiton and Merry is helping him look for a hole or house here in Buckland. Merry’s been quite close about the whole affair.”
“Really? How interesting.” I had hardly a thought to spare for Frodo or Merry. I stood up and climbed into the tub and lifted my skirt, stomping hard.
Tory gaped at me. “What are you doing?”
“These clothes are so dirty, I thought I’d try the vineyards way of cleaning them.”
The smile spread back over his face, and he jumped up and snatched me into his arms. And then the washtub got tipped over. .
When that business with Lotho Sackville-Baggins calling himself the “Chief Shirriff” started, Tory and Mr. Saradoc paid no mind at first. Away in Westfarthing, Lotho could call himself the King of the Eagles if he liked and it would make no difference to Buckland. And, we’d learned to tolerate odd behavior from Hobbiton folk. Tory continued walking and talking, though, and pretty soon he heard about old Will Whitfoot getting locked up. He hotfooted it back to Brandy Hall four days early that trip, and spent a long time closeted with his father and Mr. Saradoc.
The next day, Bucklanders started bringing in supplies to be cached in the cellars of Brandy Hall. It wasn’t long after when the first Man showed up at our gates, demanding to talk to the “head man of the little folk”. Mr. Saradoc met him cordially enough, listened to the rules and showed him around all the storerooms. When the carts came, we Bucklanders even helped load them with our ‘shared’ portion of supplies. Of course, I had it straight from Tory that Mr. Saradoc had only revealed about a tenth of what was actually present in Brandy Hall at the time. The carts had barely cleared the gates before Mr. Saradoc had sent Tory off to Tuckborough with messages for the Thain.
Those were difficult days. Half the people of Buckland and the Marish were camped out in or around Brandy Hall, and no one knew whom to trust. I was sick with fear that Tory would be thrown into the Lockholes. Little Toby was just starting to talk and whenever he asked for his daddy, my stomach would clench.
Tory kept telling me not to worry and it seemed all right for a time. And the few times the Shirriffs were ordered to arrest a Bucklander, they had a terrible time finding the person. It always seemed that the person had left just that morning for a long visit to relatives in some other Farthing. Then the one called Sharkey came, and Mr. Saradoc gave up even the appearance of co-operation and locked Brandy Hall up tight. I had been so relieved to have no more pretense of ‘shirriffing’.
I came to the little decorative gate and pushed it open. It creaked. “I should bring some oil and fix that,” I thought as I always did. No one else came here often enough to see to it. I left the gate standing open, and hesitated a long moment, staring out over the fenced space. I’d gathered some daisies and wood-roses on the way and I bunched them up in my hands.
I walked along the rows until I came to the stone I sought. I knelt down and traced the lettering with my fingers. Torinas Brandybuck, 1383-1419, fallen in the Battle of Bywater And below in smaller letters: beloved son, husband, and father
My fingers felt as cold as the stone they touched. As chill as Tory had been when they’d brought him back to me, barely clinging to life.
It was November 7th. I’d known he was injured and that it was very serious but when I saw him, I felt my knees weaken and the room spin. I barely recognized him. The bloodstained bandage wrapped around his head couldn’t account for all the changes, could it? His skin was pale, his limbs stiff. His breathing was harsh and slow. Dahlia helped me wash him and lay him in our bed. His lips were a strange dark color, as if he’d been eating blueberries. I asked Dahlia about it, and she wouldn’t meet my eyes. Then I asked her about the healer, and she started crying and turned away. And then I knew. Merry had sent him home to die.
I couldn’t bear to let Toby see him. I sat by Tory and I talked to him all that night. Even when my voice trembled and shook, I talked to him. I held his cool hand, I kissed his lips, and I bathed his brow. I told him I loved him. I talked about how we would laugh about this someday, when I was dandling our grandchildren on my knee. And finally, just before dawn, he took a harsh breath…and just stopped. He did not take another. I combed his hair back with shaking hands, and crawled under the bedcovers to snuggle next to him. Dahlia and Torric came to me then, and managed the rest. I could never remember much of the rest of that day. Tory, dead? It was ridiculous. We should have had another 60 years together. Dead?
It was the Travelers who had started the whole mess. The news that Mr. Merry, Mr. Pippin, Mr. Frodo and Samwise Gamgee had returned to the Shire and been promptly arrested set Brandy Hall afire. Tory and thirty other young men set off immediately to either rescue them or join them. Then came the Battle of Bywater on November third, and my sweet Torinas was struck on the head by a barbed club and never woke up again.
I stood through the memoriam numbly clutching Toby. How could I have ever wished he looked more like me? I was grateful for the small glimpses of Tory I got when Toby smiled or moved his head a certain way.
When Merry knocked on my door afterwards, I stared at him for a long moment before I could bring myself to invite him in. Dahlia would have been mortified at my behavior. He sat down, and talked for a while about how brave Tory had been. I watched my hands clenching in my lap, wondering why that was supposed to comfort me.
I wish he’d been a coward, I thought. I would that he’d left you to your own devices. You didn’t need his help, you and the others.
Then he said, “Tansy, I want you to know that Brandy Hall is your home. I know you have family to go to, but I want you and Toby to stay.” I had just looked at him. My mother had died 5 years ago, and I wasn’t that close to my father.
He shifted under my look and finally added, “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have Toby be the Westfarthing shirriff someday.”
“He will be sensible,” I answered coldly. “No adventuring. Why? So he can die young as well?”
He nodded and dropped his gaze. “Tansy, I’m sorry.” I said nothing and he got up and left the room.
Outwardly, Brandy Hall was soon back to normal. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin ran about mopping up ruffians, and showing them to the borders. Saradoc and Esmeralda were over the moon to have Mr. Merry back from the dead. And I heard that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had given Bag End back to Mr. Frodo. Everything worked out fine for them.
As for me, I had no choice but to cope as well as I could. I had Toby to look after. Each morning, he woke me with his sweet prattling, and each night, I tucked him into my bed. Dahlia never missed a chance to tell me I was spoiling the boy rotten, but I paid her no heed at all. He would grow up soon enough. Already he was pushing me away when I tried to help him dress and eat. “I do it, Mama,” was all I heard from morning to night. But he would still let me cuddle him in my rocker at bedtime. His small form fresh-washed and relaxed, he would sprawl across my lap while I read fairy tales to him.
Toby was our only child. It’s rubbish what some have whispered, that we didn’t get along in that way, and that is why Tory felt the need to go on his gadabouts. I was brought to bed of Toby in September 1416, when Tory and I had been married just a year and 2 months. It’s true I worried a bit when another babe didn’t come after him, but then, we were young. We had more than enough time for all the babes we would want. And for all the heat in our bed, it was still cold for the fortnight each month when Tory was away.
One day I missed Toby while I was kneading some bread. Lost for a bit in the rhythmic motions and the feel of the silky dough under my hands, I suddenly felt it was too quiet. I called out, “Toby?” and was rewarded with an answering mumble from the bedroom. Wiping my hands, I had hurried in and found him sitting in a pile of Tory’s clothes. He had pulled them out of the cedar chest. I had removed them from our wardrobe but could not bring myself to get rid of them. He looked up at me, smiling.
“Daddy’s shirts!” he said excitedly. And then, “Where Daddy?”
My throat closed. My grief reared up like wayward pony, dragging me along with it. That day our bread was seasoned with tears.
The evening of April 29th, I was rocking Toby when I heard a tap at our door. “Come in,” I called. Opal’s bright eyes in her wrinkled face peered down at me.
“So what are you going to wear, then?” she asked with a twinkle.
“Wear to what?” I responded, though I guessed what she referred to.
“Why, to the May Day feast, child! Now, I have a yellow dress that would be very becoming on you.”
“I won’t be going to the feast, Opal,” I replied.
She looked unsurprised at this announcement. “I see. You won’t be taking Toby to see the men kindle the fire and leap it for luck? You won’t help gather the first flowers? You’ll just sit in here and brood, and keep Toby with you? Of course, he wouldn’t want to go.”
I hesitated for a moment. “Now I think on it, perhaps Toby should go, at least for the supper. He can go with you.”
“Girl, go on with you! I’m too old to run about after a 3 yearling. Why, he’ll leave me in the dust or give me an attack of the heart-pain.”
I looked at her skeptically. “That’s not what you say when I bring Toby to you for visits.”
“Well, in my rooms, he’s constrained-like. He can’t go all about and everywhere.”
“Perhaps he could go with Dahlia and Torric then….” My voice trailed off, as Opal looked vastly amused.
“Yes, go ask your mother-in-law to put aside her own enjoyment to watch her grand-baby so you can sit and sulk.”
I frowned at her, but didn’t reply. She twinkled at me again. “Shall I bring the yellow dress around tomorrow, then?”
“Yes,” I muttered with ill grace.
At the feast the next night, I enjoyed myself far more than I had imagined. . There were athletic contests, displays of skill in weaving and other crafts, and dancing after supper. Toby had to learn how to spit, since I had neglected to teach him this important skill. Everyone applauded when Merry led the men of the Hall in leaping over the kindled bonfire to bring luck. When the dancing started, I was surprised to find myself asked several times. The traditional dances were brisk and energetic enough that I did not feel out place. At the close of one dance with Merimas, I looked over and saw Toby running about with a huge chunk of seed cake. Esmeralda was at another table, ladling out bowls of jam and cream for the youngsters. I hesitated, and then excused myself. Seed cake often seemed to upset Toby’s stomach, and that large a portion was sure to do so. I was waylaid by Merry as I walked by him.
“Tansy, I’m glad you came,” he said, jumping up.
“Yes, thank you, Merry,” I said hesitantly. I felt a little awkward, remembering how originally I’d blamed him for Tory’s death. I looked over his arm to where Toby was crowded in with the other children, inhaling cakes and sweets and what not. Opal and Esmeralda stood watching over them, smiling indulgently.
“At least one of my favorite cousins attended,” he went on. I caught Opal’s eye, and pointed to Toby and to my stomach. She shrugged, but then gently picked Toby up, distracting him with a cornhusk doll. Merry followed my gaze and frowned at me in mock reproach. It wasn’t the nature of hobbits to be so over-protective of their children, and I knew I probably seemed foolish.
“So what ‘favorite’ cousin did not attend?” I asked Merry quickly, wishing to distract him from teasing me. “It looks like everyone in the Hall is here to me.”
“Frodo Baggins,” Merry replied. “He is being most un-sociable lately.”
I shrugged. “Wasn’t he always that way?”
“You have the better of me, there.” Merry's looked troubled despite his perpetual grin.
“He threw my brother out of Bag End, once.”
He started. “You mean Sancho? When?”
I had to laugh at the look on his face. “Well, Sancho was trying to dig up Bilbo’s pantry, as I understand it.”
Merry’s face cleared. “Of course, after the famous Party! Oddly enough, I don’t remember that you attended.”
“I was there. I was in my teens, but so homely, I spent the whole time desperately avoiding everyone I knew.”
“Who could have foretold you would flower so beautifully?” he declaimed loudly. The remark fell into one of those little silences, and it seemed everyone in Brandy Hall turned to look at us. I tried to suppress a smile, glad to be there and glad to be joking with him again.
“Merry Brandybuck, you are a scoundrel,” I scolded. He looked pleased with himself, and taking my hand, led me to the dance floor.
~to be continued~