Written for Marigold's Challenges #17

Edited by Marigold

Not Quite Any Other Day

The day had started much like any other day, but Esmeralda Took felt a growing sense of disquiet. “Another one of those pesky feelings I get,” she thought to herself. “I do have to see if I can someday figure out why I get them.” She had a quick, involuntary, shiver run through her. “Oooo, rabbit ran over my grave.” This was said aloud while her thoughts began wondering from whence the old expression had come. She irritably yanked her thoughts away from the contemplation of old sayings. “Mind of mine, do stay on the matter at hand! You really do have the most vexing habit of wandering off after new thoughts. Now,” she sighed, “whatever am I to do?”

The truth of it, she knew well, was there wasn’t anything she could do. Or would do, even if she could. This very afternoon it would be a matter “done and done”. She sighed deeply again as she meandered through her mother’s flower garden on the north side of the farm house. She plucked shriveled blossoms from the stems of plants she passed not even aware of how much she resembled them. A mere three years from her coming of age Esmeralda was still very much a “Tomboy”, quite unconcerned for her drooping curls and rumpled skirts.

Esme plopped herself down upon a bench, staring off into the distance while crushing a wilted bloom between nervously rolling fingers.

“ ‘You aren’t losing your brother, silly lass, but gaining a sister!’ Humph. As if I need another sister. “Goodness, child! They’ll just be yonder in the wee house on the southwest corner of the farm nigh the Waymeet-Sackville Road.’ Now there’s a comfort for me. He’ll only be a mile and a half away, with his own house and his own wife and his own life and . . .” Tears welled and spilled. “And he’ll have no further need for a little sister.”

Esmeralda cried, sniffing for a bit before pulling out her handkerchief to scrub at her wet cheeks and chin. “Fool!” she scolded herself. “A fine thing to sit here weeping like a faunt.” She noisily blew her nose then took a deep breath, setting her shoulders squarely. “It isn’t as though you don’t like Lanti. I mean, I really do like her. She’s great fun and doesn’t seem to mind in the least that I still climb trees and such. But . . .” Esmeralda sighed heavily before blowing her nose once again. “But I’m so going to miss Paladin.”

Paladin Took for three years was not only the only boy of Adalgrim and Citrine Took’s family, but the baby as well. He was loved and coddled as only a child in that position in a family can be. Then Citrine was found to be with child once again. Family and friends began to worry the couple with horror stories of pampered little ones turning on a newcomer, causing Citrine to become quite anxious. Whether the mother’s worry was the reason would never be known, but Adalgrim and Citrine’s last child was born early and seemed a frail little thing. Despite the tales of woe that had been told, little Paladin adored her, insisting she was his present from Mummy and Daddy for being a good boy. Citrine would find pretty stones and small wild flowers that her young son would place in the baby’s cradle. But mostly she would find leaves of varying kinds. Leaves of the greenest of greens which Paddi said looked so pretty with his baby’s chestnut colored hair. When the child’s naming day arrived, she was given the name Esmeralda. “She was born in Thrimidge and her brother seems to feel that green is the color that suits her best, so she will be our emerald,” a beaming Adalgrim had announced to the gathered family.

Soon Essie was following her brother everywhere. She never called him Paddi or Dinni as did most of his friends and family. To her he was “Paddin” until she could get Paladin to come off her quick little tongue. Her older brother decided if Essie liked it, well, so did he and began to ask folks to call him by his full name. The two would wander and ramble together after helping each other with their morning chores. She was bold and brave, talking faster than a cantering pony. He was watchful and careful, choosing his words with much thought before speaking.

When the lass was seven, after a visit to Great Smials where she heard the tales of Cousin Bilbo’s adventure for the very first time, she firmly announced to everyone that she was not to be called “Essie” any longer. “I’m going to be a wizard-hobbitess and wizard-hobbitesses aren’t called things like “Essie”, they are called magical sounding names like “Esmeralda”, so if you call me “Essie” I won’t answer or come.” And she didn’t. Her beloved brother called her Esme, which he said sounded most magical and mysterious to him. It was the only short form of her name she would acknowledge, and even then only a certain few were allowed to use it.

Now he would be gone from her daily life.

She spied a robin hopping about the garden. “Not that all this was sudden, mind you,” she addressed herself to the bright-eyed bird. “After all, Paladin set himself for Eglantine when he was the age I am now and by last year they announced to everyone their intentions to wed as soon as they both came of age.” Esme smiled at the robin. “It really is rather cute, them being so nearly the exact same age. Paladin being born the third of Astron and she the twenty-ninth. Lanti told me it was Paladin’s idea to wed on the thirtieth so all their special days are in Astron.” The smile slowly faded from her lips, the robin flew away. “Wed . . .” whispered her sigh.

“The perfect picture of loving cheer for a wedding day.”

Esmeralda nearly fell from the bench from startling, she glared at her brother. “Oh, you’re the good one, trying to kill me off if not by leaving me then by scaring the wits from me.”

Paladin laughed as he sat down and hugged his sister. “ ‘Twould take a goodly deal more than me to frighten all your wits from you, Esmeralda Took. You’ve far too many of them to chase off with one small scare.”

She laughed despite herself while firmly returning his hug. After a bit, he placed a small kiss on her chestnut hair and drew back from her.

“I see you are all dressed and ready to stand with me and Lanti.”

“I look a mess, don’t I?”

“I’ve seen you look worse. Are you that angry with me?”

“Oh, Paladin.” She gently touched his cheek. “Not angry with you.” Esmeralda pulled free from their hug and faced forward once more. “You are leaving me behind and you know I hate being left behind.” She blushed. “Not, you understand, that I would even think of moving in with you and Eglantine. I mean . . . I know that . . . some . . .” she took a deep breath. “Some hobbits wed and move right in with their parents and all but since you and Lanti aren’t then it would be most odd for you to have your sister go with you, unless I were a spinster sister and I’m much too young to be considered a spinster. You are leaving home, leaving home on one of life’s greatest adventures and I cannot go with you.” Esme was now flushed as well as blushing.

Paladin took her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Firstly, my dearest sister of all my sisters, if you do not come and visit us at least three times each week Lanti and I will be heartbroken. Ah, ah!” He held up his hand to stop her expected response. “Eglantine’s request. I swear to you. You know how our families are, me with no brothers and she with no sisters and all her brothers already off with their own families. She adores you.”

Esme raised her left eyebrow at this comment.

“All right.” Paladin held out both hands in surrender as he chuckled. “Adores is the wrong word. She has taken you to heart for the annoying little pest that you are.” He deftly dodged her attempted smack to his head. “She fears you will steal her best frocks, mess up all the cupboards and leave her hair ribbons in knots the like of which a Brandybuck ferryhobbit can’t untie. But in spite of her many fears and concerns, she insists that you come to visit as often as you wish.” Paladin grew serious as he gently tapped the tip of her nose. “I will be out helping Father oversee the workers, pitching in to work with them as needed, learning the business of owning and running the farm that will one day be mine. Lanti’s a village lass and I fear she will be dreadfully lonely. I think she is wondering about the same thing.” His look softened and he smiled. “She really does like you.”

“As often as I wish?”

“Yes.”

“Teach her Mummy’s recipes?”

“How to burn Mum’s recipes?”

Esmeralda landed her swat to Paladin’s head.

“Feeling better now, little sister?”

“I am. Let’s go get you married off so I can get you out of my hair.” She laughed as she stood.

“I do think you will want to tidy up first, though.” Paladin offered his arm and they walked down the path to the house.

It was the golden time of a late spring day, afternoon sun shining blissfully down, the air warm and fresh with the scents of flowers. The wedding was over and the feasting well along. Esmeralda had danced many dances, ate a few plates of food, had two pieces of wedding cake and chatted pleasantly with the other hobbitesses. But now she had wandered away from the crowd. She felt so weary. The farm lane ran straight west till it stopped at the gate into the west pasture. Esme leaned against the gate wondering what lay beyond. Beyond the White Downs, beyond the Far Downs, beyond The Bounds. She knew the names of the distant land, that it was called the Tower Hills, that the White Towers were there and the Grey Havens from whence it was said the Elves sailed into the west. But knowing the names was not knowing the places. To her mind came a vision of elegant ships being boarded by tall and stately folk, their raiment shimmering in the golden glow of a setting sun; then it was gone and the west pasture of her parent’s farm stretched before her eyes once more.

“Esmeralda Took?”

She should have jumped at the intrusion into her thoughts yet somehow the voice had blended in with them instead. “Yes,” she replied without turning to see who it was.

“It can be wearisome to have to be cheerful when being cheerful hurts. I . . . I was worried for you.”

She turned, having to look up a bit into the hobbit’s deep blue eyes. Esmeralda had to think for a moment to place who he was. “Saradoc? Saradoc Brandybuck?”

He grinned shyly while nodding. “Yes. Well done! I’ve grown since we last saw each other, and well, you were with the older tweens and I was with the younger. You are older than I am.”

She grinned back but it faded quickly. She returned her gaze to the rolling greens of the pasture. “Yes, I’m four years older. You have grown a good deal.” They stood in silence for a few moments. “Why did you say that? I’m happy for Paladin and Eglantine. I wasn’t having to work at being cheerful.”

Saradoc thought for a bit before responding. He had come up beside Esmeralda to lean against the gate and she stole a quick glance at his profile. “It is a change in your relationship with someone most dear to you. Change, even pleasant, is difficult. A hobbit can be happy for something and sad for it all at the same time.” Esmeralda heard him take in a slow deep breath to then let it slowly out again. “I’ve had favorite uncles and cousins move from the Hall for various reasons. Or had shifts in friendships lead to less time spent with a dearly held friend. Although the reasons were often for the good, the changes still hurt.”

Esmeralda began to climb the fence. ‘I can walk the top rail,” she announced as she proceeded to do so. He had guessed her mood too well and it was the first thing that had come to her mind to change the subject. To her surprise the Brandybuck said nothing and when she turned atop a fence post, she could see he was smiling. She jumped down on the other side of the fence from Saradoc and ran toward the line of trees that meandered through the pasture. He ducked through the rails and followed, uninvited. A pleasant stream ran merrily between tree lined banks. It was much too wide to jump. Swift and somewhat deep it ran at this point, the ford the herds and herdshobbits used being a ways away to the north. A line of mossy boulders ambled through the water in an uneven row. Esmeralda was half way across, standing atop a rock that barely cleared the water, when Saradoc came through the trees.

“I’m willing to make a bet with you, Saradoc Brandybuck, that you haven’t the nerve to cross this stream.” A safe bet Esme felt as Brandybucks, for all their oddness in settling Buckland in the first place and boating on the Brandywine in the second place, were known for being cautious and more than a bit stodgy.

“What are your terms?”

“If I win . . .” she paused. Esme hadn’t really thought it through but an idea quickly came to her. “If I win you are to wait on my every need for the rest of the wedding feast. You shall be my servant.” She tossed her head and gloated a bit. That would be quite a blow to the heir of Brandy Hall.

“And if I should win?”

“Your choice.”

“May I keep it to myself for now?”

She nodded before turning to run along the slippery boulders to the opposite bank. She crossed her arms over her bosom, her green eyes flashed with triumph.

Saradoc looked squarely back at her as he stepped into the cold water.

“You’re cheating!” Esmeralda stomped her foot and glared at him.

Saradoc’s reply came in gasps as the water climbed up his legs. “You never . . . said I had to . . . AH!” he gasped, freezing in mid stride as the icy cold water reached his groin. He stood in place, eyes tightly shut, teeth bared in a grimace of pain. He waited till the blessed numbness came then continued on. “Never said . . . had . . . to use . . . rocks.” His eyes never left hers as onward he slowly came, feeling the bottom carefully before completing each step, dreading a sudden drop off. The water was to his hips; to his waist before in a sudden drop it was to his armpits. Esme’s jaw slowly dropped as the hobbit before her gasped and stopped once more. For two steps the water stayed at his armpits then slowly it started to drop. His lips were blue, his teeth chattering and he was shivering from toe to crown when he climbed up the bank to stand beside her.

He took her in his arms and kissed her firmly despite his chattering teeth. The cold water from his hair dripped down her neck. Her bodice and blouse were quickly soaked through from his sopping wet waistcoat and shirt. But as she started to shiver she wondered how scandalous it would be, in three years time when she had turned thirty-three, for the future Master of Buckland to wed before he came of age.