Introduction:

Someone asked me once if there was more to the story of Estella taking on the identity of a boy and being hidden amongst the Tooks during the Troubles. There was, and is.

This is most likely set in the “new” version of the Shire I've begun writing, in case anyone wanted to know. Thain Paladin and his family live near Whitwell, not too far from Tuckborough, where he farms “the lands around Whitwell.” It has its roots in The Rebel and A Small and Passing Thing. The Rebel could fit with either version, while A Small and Passing Thing contains an irritable, fault-finding Paladin. However, Estella's adventures from that story scarcely involve Paladin at all, and so I find myself mixing metaphors, so to speak. The two versions find a touchpoint here, in this story.

Prologue

(From The Rebel, Chapter 7.)

‘Quiet!’ Fatty hissed again in frustration. Honestly, sometimes he wondered why he even bothered. But Estella was his sister, and he loved her, when she wasn’t being so irksome.

He put his hand over her mouth for good measure, and she bit him. He managed not to cry out, but gave her a good shake, and somehow the seriousness of the situation reached her at last.

He crouched lower in the underbrush, forcing Estella down beneath him, until the heavy footsteps passed. When he was sure they were well gone, he eased himself off of his sister and carefully took his hand away.

Gasping, she rounded on him. ‘You nearly crushed me, you great oaf!’ she whispered.

‘You nearly gave us away to that ruffian!’ he whispered back. ‘Do you know what he’d do, finding us out after curfew?’ She didn’t, of course. He didn’t either, as a matter of fact, but he’d heard rumours...

Since he’d returned from Crickhollow, things had gone from bad to worse. As if it weren’t bad enough to have those... things come after him; he’d sweated out many a bad hour under the combined questioning of Saradoc, Master of Buckland and Thain Paladin, who wanted, quite reasonably, to know where their sons were. His repeated denials sounded hollow to himself, and when they finally released him to the care of his exasperated father, he was glad to shut himself in his room, and didn’t even mind being on water rations as punishment for this evident prank.

The onset of the Troubles was so gradual that the hobbits didn’t even realise what was happening to their Shire until it was too late, and the ruffians too many to cast out again, except in Tookland, with the ever-suspicious and vigilant Tooks discouraging trespassing on principle. Even hobbits who weren’t Tooks were questioned when they dared to set foot in Tookland. Men were flatly denied access, and as things got worse in the Shire, the determination of the Tooks grew rather than diminished.

Fatty’s father took the view that if they all just sat tight, the storm would blow over and things would be as they always had been. The closing of the inns and Mayor Will’s arrest just after the New Year changed all that. Ever-lengthening lists of new rules and regulations were being imposed on the bewildered hobbits, and pretty lasses were being bothered, even accosted as the ruffians grew bolder.

Fatty, who’d seen evil creeping into the garden at Crickhollow, recognised its grip growing ever stronger on the Shire. He was the one who told his parents that it wasn’t safe for Estella any more, not even if she kept tight indoors.

‘Ruffians are going about gathering,’ he said, ‘and they can knock on any door, and knock down any door where they’re refused admission.’ He looked from his mother to his father. ‘If one of them takes a fancy to Estella...’

His father nodded. When the first tales of “gathering” came to his ears, he’d had the servants do a little of their own gathering. Family heirlooms, the silver, the jewels, and other treasures that could be spirited away under cover of darkness were taken out and buried or hidden in caves up in the hills of Scary. It was on one of these expeditions that Fatty discovered the ruffians were using caves in the area themselves, to store gathered food and supplies. He filed away that knowledge for future reference.

The grand smial had a forlorn look now, with so much of its finery stripped away. The last batch of ruffians had been turned from the door with an explanation, but the next group might not be so easy to satisfy.

‘We have to get her to safety,’ Odovacar said, ‘if there is any place of safety left, these days.’

‘There are no ruffians in Tookland,’ Rosamunda said proudly.

‘Yes, but no one gets in or out of Tookland these days, what with the ruffians keeping watch on the one hand, and the Tooks on the other,’ her husband said glumly.

‘Am I a slice of cake, that you can sit there and discuss my disposition so calmly?’ Estella flared.

‘Hush, daughter, we are concerned for your well-being,’ her father said sternly.

In shock at her father being stern—to her! – a thing that had never happened before to that spoiled only daughter of a rich hobbit, Estella hushed. For the moment.

So it was that Fatty found himself escorting his sister through the dark of the night, through the forest of the Woody End, on his way to Hally the woodcarver’s house. Hally had married a Took, Fatty's cousin Rosemary as a matter of fact. To be truthful, she wasn't exactly a Took anymore, having been disowned by Ferdinand her father for having the temerity to marry a hobbit of her own choosing. Took or not, she was the one to help Fatty. Her brother Ferdibrand was rumoured to be “the Fox”, a Took who was able to get in and out of Tookland on a regular basis, gathering news for the Thain.

After several more close calls, they found the little house in the clearing. ‘Stay here,’ Fatty breathed, secreting Estella behind a fallen log. He crept to the door of the house, light on his feet despite his bulk (though thinner than he used to be, what with the difficulty getting food these days), scratched lightly on the door.

‘Who is it?’ came the call from within.

‘A Bolger,’ he answered. On earlier visits he’d said he was a Took, which was true—his mother was a Took, after all—but the way things were nowadays if any skulking ruffians heard, they’d haul him off to the Lockholes without delay.

The door opened slightly, and Hally Bolger peered out, then the door widened enough for him to draw Fatty—and Estella—within.

‘I thought I told you to stay put!’ Fatty hissed. ‘What if there were ruffians visiting?’ For all he knew, the ruffians bothered the inhabitants of the Woody End just as often as they bothered the hobbits of Bridgefields, which was often, these days.

‘That’s a real worry,’ Hally said. ‘Ruffians often come to share a cup of tea and a bit of news.’ He looked Fatty up and down. ‘So the rich Bolger comes to call in the middle of the night, and brings his sister for a change,’ he said frankly.

He added sourly, ‘What brings you to visit your poor relations, and it not even teatime?’

Fatty looked to Estella, and the woodcarver nodded. ‘I see,’ he said, and Fatty had the feeling that he really did see.

‘What are you doing out after curfew, cousin?’ Rosemary said, coming out of the bedroom with a shawl thrown over her nightdress.

‘It’s too dangerous for my sister to walk about in daylight,’ Fatty said.

Rosemary looked at Estella and sighed. ‘Indeed,’ she said dryly. ‘You are much too pretty for your own good, my dear. A ruffian would eat you for dessert, and not bother with the main course at all.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Estella said haughtily, but her eyes were wide and Fatty could see that she was frightened.

‘In any event,’ Hally said, ‘if a ruffian passes by and sees the lamp burning, he’ll want to know why.’

Rosemary obediently turned the lamp down again, setting it in the window as was custom, a watch lamp to drive away the night and beckon to lost travellers looking for refuge. ‘I’m tired,’ she said, ‘as I’m sure these children are.’

Fatty stiffened at being called a “child”—he was nearly forty, after all!

Rosemary noticed and said gently, ‘I meant no disrespect, it’s only that you’re about my baby brother’s age is all.’

Fatty nodded. It still amazed him that his cousin Ferdibrand could be “the Fox”. Not for the first time, Fatty wondered if he could be brave and bold and do daring deeds, strike a blow against the ruffians.  He wondered yet again what kind of ruffians his cousins and that gardener-fellow faced, if indeed they still lived at all.

‘Let us all seek our beds,’ Hally agreed.

They made up a bed for Estella in their daughters’ room, and tried to give Fatty, as a “rich Bolger” their own bed, protesting that they could sleep easily enough rolled in blankets before the hearth. Fatty would not hear of displacing them, however, and soon persuaded them to allow him to roll up in a blanket before the kitchen fire. Feeling the hard floor against his back, he wondered why he’d done such a stupid thing, but his fatigue from the nerve-wracking journey soon caught up with him. He slept deeply and awakened refreshed, to tuck into the finest breakfast he’d enjoyed since the day his cousins had disappeared into the Old Forest. He gave Rosemary his mother's greeting, and her request that Estella be safely conveyed into Tookland.

After breakfast, Rosemary surveyed Estella once more, and sighed. ‘Entirely too pretty, my dear,’ she said.

‘What am I supposed to say to that?’ Estella snapped. She hated the helpless feeling of being considered “baggage”, to be lugged around by other people without regard to her abilities or feelings.

Rosemary fingered Estella's hair, and Estella jerked away. ‘Still,’ Rosemary said slowly, ‘I think we can manage something.’ She looked to Hally. ‘Why don’t you take our cousin out in the woods and show him how to fell a tree.’

‘I’m sure you’d find it very interesting,’ Hally said promptly. ‘Come along, Fredegar.’

Fatty started to protest, but Rosemary put a hand on his arm.

‘We’re going to be quite busy, Estella and I,’ she said, ‘and cannot abide having you hobbits underfoot.’

He nodded, and after hugging his sister, followed Hally into the woods.

When they returned later, Estella was nowhere to be seen, and a strange boy was sitting at the table, sipping tea. His clothes were a little too big for him; the sleeves were rolled up, the trousers were a little baggy and hastily hemmed. He wore a hat over his short-cropped curls, and he evidently didn’t know much about washing his face.

‘I’d like you to meet my eldest son, Twig,’ Rosemary said. She gave the lad a nudge. ‘Mind your manners, lad, this here’s a gentlehobbit. Don’t act like you’ve never seen one before.’

The lad rose from the bench, giving an awkward bow. ‘At your service,’ he said in a husky voice.

‘And at your family’s service,’ Fatty returned.

The lad dissolved into laughter—Estella’s laughter, and Rosemary smiled.

‘You’ll do,’ she said.

‘You cut your hair?’ Fatty said to Estella in outrage.

She smiled complacently. ‘I always wanted to,’ she said. ‘I’m tired of tripping over gowns and having my hair come tumbling down at the awkwardest times.’ Maddeningly, her smile brightened. ‘I think this is going to be quite diverting!’

‘You may leave her with us,’ Rosemary said. ‘Go back to Budge Hall, and tell your parents all will be well.’

‘Leave her?’ Fatty protested.

‘My brother will not come around as long as you are here,’ Rosemary said practically. ‘He won’t fear Estella, she’s no more than a lad half-grown, but you, he’ll distrust.’

‘But—‘ Fatty said.

‘One day soon, he’ll slip out of the Tookland and stop by for a bite and a bit of news,’ Rosemary said. ‘When he leaves, he’ll take... Twig... back with him. I have every confidence.’

‘Can you let me know when she’s safe?’ Fatty asked slowly.

Regretfully, Rosemary shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, lad,’ she said. ‘That would be too dangerous. If something goes wrong, I’ll try to get word to your parents. Otherwise, just consider that no news is good news.’

That night, Fatty left just after middle night. He managed to evade ruffians, though he had to hide once in the hollow of a tree, and another time in a ditch half-filled with water. When he arrived home, he reported success to his parents.

Not long after that, he gathered some hobbits he trusted, and they began to raid the ruffians’ caves in the hills of Scary, bringing back foodstuffs to the hungry hobbits of Bridgefields. He was betrayed by a hobbit in the employ of the ruffians, one who’d been discharged by his father for negligent work, and escaped by the skin of his teeth, staging a bitter shouting match with Odovacar before storming out of the house, for the benefit of his parents in the eyes of the watching neighbours, some of whom might be informants working for the favour of the ruffians.

Word went about that Fatty Bolger had been disowned by his father for his scurrilous, law-breaking activities, and Lotho Baggins chose to believe the lie, for the time being. He could afford to wait before taking over Budge Hall, and in the meantime, the Bolgers would take good care of it. Once his Big Men were able to seize Fatty and his band of rebels, there would be time to see if Odovacar would save himself by denouncing his son, or if he would try to save his son and forfeit his fortune. Either way, Odovacar would lose his heir, and Lotho would gain the Bolger fortune...

Chapter 1. So it begins

The younger children were playing happily on the hearthrug while their mother bustled from cooking fire to table and back again. Estella sat upon the floor with them, glorying in the freedom conferred by boyish attire. No need to worry about getting her skirts dusty, or even tearing the delicate fabric her mother and grandmother preferred.

She pushed her small carven rabbit across the floor, squeaking mischief, to the little ones' delight. The naughty rabbit ate himself full from the farmer's garden, and had to go to bed with an aching tummy, a dose of camomile tea, and could only listen to his well-behaved sisters feasting on currant buns.

Freddy sat at table nursing a mug of tea, a thoughtful look on his face as he watched his nearly grown-up sister play the part of a much younger lad. She certainly seemed at ease. Memory stirred, then, of Frodo's visits to Budge Hall, sometimes with Merry at his side, and Estella dogging their footsteps... at least, until her grandmother decreed that she'd grown too old for such pursuits, and convinced their mother that Estella must exchange her shorter skirts for long, lace-trimmed dresses, and learn to sit and move gracefully, to converse with reserved elegance, to hold her hands just so and any number of other little constraints. He'd pitied her at first, her bright, blithe spirit confined like a pony chafing under a bearing rein, but he'd grown used to it, as she had. Or so he'd thought.

The older children spilled into the little smial, full of laughter and news. '...and then Scar said...'

Freddy shivered as he realized their casual references involved a pair of lurking ruffians, set to watch and worry at the hobbits living in the area. '...and we told them...'

'And they'll stay away, you think?' Rosemary said, her spoon arrested mid-stir, though she kept a light and playful tone as if she and the children were playing at a game.

A dangerous game, Freddy thought to himself.

'Oh yes!' the little lass laughed. 'They won't come near so long as they think Buckthorn is fevered!'

'We must be sure he plays his part,' Rosemary said, half to herself, but then she smiled and laid down her spoon. She crossed to the rocking chair and took up the shawl draped there, and then to the hearth to wrap a squirming little Buckthorn well. 'Now, now,' she said, 'should a ruffian look in the window, you'll be warmly covered. And...' she added, holding the little lad by the shoulders and stilling him with a serious look. 'Should Scar or Three-Fingers knock upon the door, what will you do?'

Buckthorn broke into a paroxysm of coughs, very convincing, and Rosemary nodded satisfaction. 'That'll drive them away quicker than midges in the Marish,' she said, and rose with a pat for the little lad's shoulder. 'Fine work, my lad. You'll find a little something extra in your pay packet, I'm sure...'

Freddy looked up at this, surprised, but Rosemary was smiling. In truth, it was something one of the gentry might say to a working hobbit, something that Hally had recounted at table more than once, imitating a pompous tone and shaking his head at the airs some of the gentry assumed, when a simple “thanks” would be enough. Freddy, being of the gentry, would likely miss the jest.

'Now you lads go out and fetch more wood for the fire!' Rosemary said. 'You too, Twig!'

Estella rose from the hearth, brushing at her clothes, only to be corrected. 'A boy wouldn't brush off the dust,' Rosemary said, staying Estella's hand. Pretending insult, she added, 'As if there's any dust on that hearth...!'

'I beg your pardon...' Estella began in her usual well-bred tones, but at Rosemary's stern look she blushed, and stammering a little, began again in lower tones. 'B-beg pardon, Mistress.'

'Better,' Rosemary said with a nod, then raised her voice. 'Now, Robin, the wood...!'

'Come along, Twig,' the oldest lad said, moving to the door. His mother had corrected him earlier, when he'd bowed to Estella out of habit as he took his leave. Hally had sent older son and daughter out, ostensibly to hunt for tender greens near the smial. Their real mission had been to run into some of the ruffians who infested the neighbourhood and drop the hint that their cousin Twig had come to visit, and seemed to have brought fever with him. Estella's not here, Rosemary had said as she stopped her eldest son mid-bow, laughing though her eyes were deadly serious. Remember? She was never here—she was but a dream in the night. Twig is here, come just as darkness was falling, and wouldn't he laugh to be thought a girl!

And so Freddy sat at table, nursing his tea, and said not a word as his sister went out with Robin to do boys' work. Poor boys' labour at that; Freddy hadn't lifted a hand in “honest labour” that he could remember, at least not while visiting his Bolger relatives, and certainly not at home where there were servants to do the work. He'd found visits to Bilbo in his earlier years, and to Frodo later, curiously refreshing. He'd felt a different hobbit altogether, having to turn his hand at carrying wood and water, laying the table, cooking a meal—and strangely restless, upon returning home and having to be idle whilst others worked.

But after Robin and Twig were well gone and the door closed after them, Freddy cleared his throat.

'Yes, cousin?' Rosemary said brightly.

'Why the play?' Freddy said. 'Ferdi's not even here yet, and Estella's only a “boy” while they travel through the occupied country. Once they reach the Tooks, she'll be herself again.' He shook his head, adding under his breath, 'I cannot believe you cut off all her hair for the journey... how she'll look, in a gown again, with her head shorn!'

'Too easy for hair tucked up under a cap to come tumbling down,' Rosemary said. 'And they'll be travelling near a week as it is.'

'A week!' Freddy said, startled.

Rosemary fixed him with a stern look. 'How long did it take you to make your way here from Bridgefields?' she said.

'I... well...' Freddy stammered, and then said, '...but there were ruffians about, and we must travel by dark!' He took a sip of his tea and added, 'It is but two days' walk to Tuckborough from here!' It had taken Frodo, Pippin and Sam two days to walk from Bag End to the Woody End, at the start of their journey. He wondered where they might be now, and Merry with them.

'Two days' walk, in good weather, with no ruffians about,' Rosemary said. 'And walking a straight line, not a round about way.'

'I...' Freddy said, but Rosemary wasn't done.

'Estella must be Twig, not merely play the part,' she said intently, sinking down on the opposite bench to stare into Freddy's eyes. 'Do you understand? They will likely encounter ruffians on their way, and the closer to the Tookland the thicker the rotters swarm.'

'I thought the Fox was adept at avoiding ruffians,' Freddy said, challenge in his tone.

Rosemary shook her head, but her gaze never left Freddy's. 'A hobbit travelling alone,' she said. 'A hobbit who knows the country as well as the fur on the back of his foot. Aye,' she said, a little of the Tookish lilt that she'd learnt to suppress showing through for a moment in her irritation. 'A hobbit who can scurry up a tree fast as a squirrel when he hears ruffians blundering towards him, or into a hollow log without so much as a rustle of leaves.' She shook her head again, and now she looked away, as if avoiding Freddy's gaze as much as she had commanded it a moment ago. 'Not encumbered by a lass unused to walking on anything but smooth floors, or anywhere wilder than a garden path.'

Freddy found himself holding his breath. He wondered if he could ever do the same as Ferdi was said to be doing, and on a regular basis. Playing “I hide and you seek me” with ruffians!

He let his breath out in a sigh. 'Of course,' he said. 'And it's for Estella's own good. For her protection...'

'Oh no,' Rosemary corrected him as she rose from her seat to tend to the bubbling stew. 'True, it will protect her, to be Twig so convincingly that no ruffian will suspect otherwise. But it's my own brother's safety I'm thinking of...'

Chapter 2. Into the Darkness

Freddy left just after middle night. The little Bolgers had long been a-bed by then, but Rosemary and Hally sat up with their guest until Hally deemed it time for him to be going. They sat in near-darkness, with only a small fire on the hearth to warm them and give light. The lamp was turned down and placed in the window, a watch-lamp to guide the lost to shelter, as was custom in the deeps of the Woody End, and other places in the Shire.

Of course, most Shirefolk these days could not keep the practice, not with the shortage of lamp oil, the way things were with the ruffians in charge of everything. Hally and Rosemary did not seem concerned, however with conserving their oil. Estella was glad for this. It might have been much harder for Freddy and herself to find the woodcarver's humble cot the previous night, groping through the wood in utter darkness, the stars hidden by clouds, without that light shining from the window.

The hobbits sat quietly, for the most part. If a passing ruffian were to hear talk or song or laughter coming from the little smial, he'd want to know why.

They'd exhausted most of the family news as they'd sat at table before the little ones were put to bed, anyhow. There wasn't much left to tell, and the near-darkness made them sleepy. At least, it made Estella sleepy.

She was half in a doze when Hally rose to his feet, startling her awake.

'Middle night,' he said. 'Or just past. The moon has set, and it won't get any darker than it is now.'

'I'd best make my way, then,' Freddy answered.

'You won't lose your way?' Rosemary whispered. 'The sky's clear above the treetops, of a mercy, and if you know your stars...'

'I know them,' Freddy answered. 'Frodo showed me...' His voice grew a little husky, and he cleared his throat and said no more.

Estella swallowed down a hard lump in her throat. Frodo, gone now, gone into the Old Forest with Merry and the others. All of them, vanished, as if the forest had swallowed them up. The general feeling from what she'd heard was that they'd never come back, though Freddy always set his lips in a thin line when the subject was brought up, and his look would grow distant, for a moment or two, and then he'd begin to speak briskly of something else.

She saw Freddy looking at her with that sober expression he'd worn all too often lately, but instead of feeling annoyance she felt now grief, and a fear that went all the way to her bones. He'd been planning something; she knew the signs – for the past fortnight he'd been making plans and preparations, though he wouldn't admit to anything, and she'd been seriously put out when he'd suggested sending her off to Tookland “for safety” as he'd said. She'd thought perhaps he was simply trying to keep his private business private, just as in the old days when he and Frodo or Merry had planned mischief together, and he'd sent her, trusting little sister that she'd been before growing wise to his ways, to the parlour with a question for Mother, and of course their mother had always found some task for Estella, to keep her out of the lads' way.

But lads' mischief it wasn't, not any more, but serious business, perhaps deadly serious.

She flew to him as he rose from his seat, throwing her arms around his bulk and burying her face in his shirt with a wordless sob.

She felt his arms encircle her; he patted her back, murmuring soothing-sounding nonsense. 'There-there, Stell, there-there...' At least he didn't think her so young and stupid that he mouthed the old platitude that everything would be all right. Of course it wouldn't. Why else was he sending her away to find safety?

She managed to put words to her fear, lifting her head to gaze earnestly into his face. 'O Freddy,' she sobbed. 'Will I ever see you again?'

He hesitated, and that hesitation spoke more than a plethora of promises.

She gasped, and then steadied herself, leaning her head against his shirt to wipe away the tears; and then she looked up with a trembling smile. 'Go carefully,' she whispered, and winked her eyes hard to forestall more tears.

His arms tightened a moment and then he kissed her tenderly on her forehead before pulling away to offer final thanks to Hally and Rosemary, and then he had slipped out the door, silent for all his bulk. He was gone.

Estella caught her breath, forcing a fist against her mouth and biting her knuckles hard. He was going into danger, she knew that for certain now, and he didn't know if he'd return. Perhaps he was going after Frodo... but she couldn't call after him, she couldn't alert lurking ruffians to his going, her parting gift must be to let him go in silence.

'Come, lass,' Rosemary said, slipping an arm about her shoulders, and then with a rare blush corrected herself. 'Lad. It's time to sleep.' She'd been more affected by the brother and sister's parting than she wanted to admit. Every time Ferdi visited, every time he slipped out the door into the dark wood, and no telling if the ruffians were nearby, only the darkness for cover, darkness that could hide murderous ruffians as well as her brother...

'Time to sleep,' Hally echoed. He shoved the heavy bar into place. Bucklanders might be peculiar folk, but the hobbits of the Woody End had begun to imitate them in the way of barring and locking doors. Hally had no lock, and no way to make or buy one, not the sort that worked with a key; but being a woodcarver he'd fashioned a workable bar since the coming of the ruffians, and he employed it at night, and only wished the ruffians could be locked out of the Shire quite as effectively and completely.

He turned away as Rosemary guided the lass – lad, he corrected himself – to the waiting roll of blankets before the hearth, and went to his and Rosemary's bed to punch up the pillows and turn down the covers for his wife, to welcome her when she should finish what ever it was she was whispering to the la... lad. He was asleep before she joined him.

If anyone heard Estella crying herself to sleep (and they might not've, for she buried her face well in her pillow to stifle any sound), well, no one remarked upon it when the morning light came creeping through the window and it was time to start the tasks of the day.

Chapter 3. Visitors

The ruffians came when Estella and Robin were gathering sticks that had fallen in last night's wind. A week now, she'd been at the forest Bolgers', waiting for the Fox to come and fetch her, and no knowing how much longer it might be. A week of ceaseless practice, until she began to feel she really was Robin's boy cousin. She'd made no careless errors this morning, anyhow, from rising through breakfast time and chores.

'Hoi, little Rob!' came a rough voice, and in spite of herself Estella startled, but Robin grabbed at her sleeve and stood firm, looking up without apparent fear, a smile on his grimy face, for he'd recently wiped away the sweat generated when they'd run a few foot races after pulling weeds from the little kitchen garden, and before starting their wood gathering task.

Estella's face was dirty, too, for she'd pulled weeds and run races with Robin and sweated -- actually sweated! ...something that would have appalled her grandmother no end, and the scolding that would have followed! Her grandmother's voice rang in her ears, even as Robin greeted the three ruffians who'd entered the clearing, in his most cheerful and enthusiastic tones.

Ponies sweat, gentlehobbits perspire, and ladies glow...

A trickle of sweat threatened now to run into her eyes, and she lifted her arm to wipe her sleeve across her forehead, further smearing the dirt on her face.

'...and this is my cousin Twig,' Robin was saying, and he gave Estella a theatrical nudge with his elbow.

Estella gave a creditable bow, cleared her throat, and said in as husky a voice as she could manage, 'At yer service, sirs, and yer families' into the bargain.'

'Knows his manners, does he?' one of the ruffians said with a guffaw.

'Mum taught him,' Robin said, lifting his chin in a superior manner. 'His folk, they live back in the back of the Woody End, and they don't know much.'

'Do too!' Estella protested with a sniff. She drew her sleeve across her nose for good measure, and glared at the little lad, though of course she wasn't really put out at all. As a matter of fact, she was rather impressed with the way he stood up to the ruffians, looking them straight in the eye as if they didn't tower more than twice the lad's height.

'Better pick on someone your own size,' the ruffian advised Robin. 'If looks were fit to kill...'

Robin looked shocked at this, and Estella blinked a little at the wording, but she had her reputation to keep up, and so she cleared her throat again, turned her head, and spat. A week's practice had done her some good -- she could spit as well as Robin, and nearly so well as Hally.

'Twig! Mum says don't spit in the yard!'

Estella merely humphed, standing a little straighter, though what she really wished was to find a good hiding place and use it.

The three ruffians laughed. 'I can see you've got your hands full, Rob!' another of the ruffians said.

'Hullo!' Rosemary's voice came from the doorway of the smial, and all turned to see her. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, a smile upon her face, and not even an anxious smile, but seeming genuine, to Estella's eyes. 'Scar, Three-fingers, Mossy... what brings you to my door this fine day?' She nodded to each in turn, then gestured toward the depths of the woods. 'Hally's not here, if you were hoping for some carving or other...?'

It wouldn't be too hard to remember their names. Scar had a great red mark on one cheek, Three-fingers was missing two digits on his left hand, and Mossy? Well, there was no moss growing on him. It was probably some sort of mannish name, after the manner of the Big Folk who lived in the Breeland, such as she'd heard from a travelling tinker when he'd stopped at the Manse to repair a pot or two.

'Well now,' said the ruffian Rosemary had addressed as "Scar". 'Mossy here remembered...' he cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, and Estella stared in wonder before hurriedly resuming her truculent expression, '...that this would be your baking day, and...'

Rosemary took a deep breath, and her face assumed a look of distress.

Estella had heard her talking with Hally the previous evening, their voices low that the sleeping children might not awaken, but Estella had been awake, and had heard. Eating us out of smial and home. She'd wondered if she were putting a strain on the forest Bolgers' pantry, and resolved to restrain herself. At breakfast that morning, she'd said she wasn't very hungry... even though she was...

'I -- I'm that sorry,' Rosemary stammered. 'But you see...' She stopped and blushed.

The ruffians' pleasant expressions were not quite so pleasant, Estella saw, anticipating refusal. They were used to having their way, after all, and who was Rosemary to refuse them?

'I -- I don't have anything made,' Rosemary confessed, her face falling, cheeks flushed with evident embarrassment. She looked up, holding up a staying hand. 'But you -- you wait right there, and I'll stir up some griddle cakes for you...'

The Men began to smile at this, only to frown as she added, '...we've still some acorn flour to fall back on, though when that's gone I don't know what we'll do...' She twisted her hands in her apron, now with an anxious look. 'Acorn flour cakes are a bit bitter,' she said, her eyes large with concern. 'I wish we had some sweetening or jam or honey for sweetening, but we've run short on everything and food is so dear these days, even if we could find someone to trade with, 'twould take all the wood Hally's cut, and more...'

It was true, breakfast had been somewhat scanty that morning. Estella wondered if her visit, and Freddy's, had strained their cousins' hospitality. They ought to have brought a sack of food with them, in accord with the trying times in the Shire at present...

Scar held up a staying hand of his own. 'You're that short?' he said in an officious tone.

Rosemary dropped her eyes to her apron, which she continued to twist in her hands. 'I -- I'm sorry,' she said in low tones. 'I've always shared freely of my baking, and you've every right to expect it, but truth be told, there won't be any more baking, as things stand...'

Estella clenched her fists at her sides in fury to see Rosemary grovel so, and when she glanced at Robin she saw that he, too, had lost his smile and was biting his lip and blinking hard.

'Well!' Mossy said in disgust. 'What'd we make the hike all the way out here for, then? Surely they've something we can...'

Scar hushed him roughly, and then turned with elaborate politeness to Rosemary. 'I'm that sorry to have bothered you, Missus,' he said, and Estella caught her breath in astonishment, and then bit her lip hard that she might not show it in front of these ruffians. Who knew what they might do?

Rosemary made a courtesy. 'It's no bother,' she said as if breathless. 'Why, with Hally so often away, cutting wood, I would be the first to say it's a pleasure to have company, someone to talk to, besides the little ones, all the day long...'

Scar chuckled. 'You can say that again,' he said. 'You've never turned us away hungry before, Rosie, and you've always been right welcoming and kind... sort of like a little bit of home.'

Rosemary made another courtesy. 'I hate to think of you all, so far from your homes,' she said, 'and lonely for your mothers, I've no doubt.'

Mossy started to snicker at this, but Three-fingers elbowed him hard and gave Rosemary a sketchy bow. 'Very kind, Missus, I'm sure.'

'We'll just be taking our leave,' Scar said.

Rosemary started up from the doorway. 'I -- I can offer you a refreshing drink of cold water from the spring,' she said, her face hopeful at the sudden thought that she would not have to send the Men away completely unsatisfied.

'No -- no,' Scar said, shaking his head, 'very kind of you, Rosie, but we'll manage, I'm sure.' And cuffing Mossy along the side of his head, he said, 'Come along, you louts. We've other fish to be frying.'

Estella exchanged glances with Robin, and held her breath, but the other two Men followed Scar's lead, muttering good-byes and turning to walk out of the clearing the way they had come.

When they were well gone, Robin moved from his frozen stance at last, running to his mother and throwing his arms around her waist. 'Mum! Mum, is it well with you?'

Rosemary had slumped against the doorway, shaking, after the ruffians were gone, but now she straightened to embrace her young son. 'I am well, Robin-lad, well indeed,' she said, and she gestured to Estella to join them, drawing an arm around the boy-clad girl's shoulders and hugging them both. 'You did well, the both of you! They know that Twig, our cousin, is visiting, probably because "his" family is poorer than ours, and they didn't have time or the inclination to ask any more questions... and likely they won't think of it later, now that they've seen him hauling wood with you, Robin. Well done, Twig!'

She took a deep, shuddering breath and then thrust them away again. 'Now, children,' she said briskly, 'I do believe there's wood to be gathering!'

Chapter 4. An Un-Expected Party

Hally came home not long after the midday meal (which was, as Rosemary had told the ruffians, made chiefly of acorn-flour griddle cakes), whistling as usual, bearing several rabbits he'd snared. Robin and Parsley ran to greet him, chattering about the ruffians' visit. He met Rosemary's eye with a lifted brow; she gave a quick nod and dismissive gesture, and he nodded in return, turning his attention back to the children.

Estella had seen the whole exchange, reading it accurately as "catch you up on the news when the children are asleep," and she resolved not to sleep, but rather pretend she was sleeping, for she had the feeling that there was more here than met the eye.

'...and Twig spat, ever so well as you'd taught him,' Robin was saying. 'I'd be hard pressed to spit as well, but do you know what I did instead?'

'What did you do?' Hally said, with apparently deep interest.

'I scolded him! I told him Mum don't let us spit in the yard,' Robin said proudly.

'As is true,' Rosemary said firmly. 'You're only to spit in the yard when I'm not there, and your dad is teaching the fine points of spitting to visiting relations!'

'But Twig would have known spitting already, having come from so deep in the woods where they don't have any manners.'

'O we have manners,' Estella interjected in her well-practiced husky, low-pitched voice, and she brandished a clenched fist. 'We knows how to keep a civil tongue in the heads of younger cousins, we does!'

'You tell him, Twig,' Hally said with a wink. 'And now that I think on it, I think it's time you learnt to skin and gut rabbits, for our dinner won't cook itself, and my Rosie won't cook the rabbits until we've made them ready!'

Estella barely held back a gulp, but forced her chin high. 'Don't see why you have to skin them first,' she said in her best churlish tone. 'We never do!'

'Well, we're a bit more civilised here, closer to the Stock Road, than you are deep in the woods,' Hally said. 'You'll have to make allowances.'

Estella grudged that she'd try, though it was a lot of bother, and then she bravely went to her lessons. She watched as Hally beheaded, skinned and cleaned the first rabbit, and then he turned the knife over to her. She took the knife and took up the second rabbit with a disdainful sniff, to cover the roiling in her innards, but soon was so interested in what she was doing--why, the skin came off almost as a glove might, of a piece--that she forgot to be sick.

Robin clamoured to try next, and soon he was holding up his rabbit's carcase as if it were a prize, his face beaming.

'Very good, lads!' Hally said. 'Now let's get this last rabbit taken care of, and soon supper will be on.' He handed the task over to Estella, and she managed without a quiver, nearly so quickly and efficiently as he'd been when he'd demonstrated the technique.

They washed the carcases and brought them to Rosemary, and she and little Parsley soon had them bubbling away in a pot, seasoned with herbs and some new onions from the kitchen garden.

'Mmm, herbs and stewed rabbit!' Robin shouted, only to be hushed by his mother.

'We don't want any lurking ruffians to hear,' she said as Hally turned towards her, and sobering he nodded, before deliberately grinning once more and picking up young Buckthorn, to throw him in the air and catch him again, a game the faunt seemed to relish. Estella scowled as she understood. The forest Bolgers were on the edge of hungering, and ruffians coming to share their meal, or steal it altogether, would be a terrible end to the day.

That night after the children were put to bed, Estella feigned weariness, though she was only half-pretending. 'All that gathering wood,' she said, 'and milking the two goats, and running races with Robin, and weeding, and skinning, and chopping--' for Hally had taught her how to chop wood the day after Freddy left, and she'd been chopping each day. Her sore muscles were hardening nicely, and she went to bed tired each night, a good sort of tired, and slept well.

This night she turned herself on her pallet before the kitchen fire until she found a comfortable position, and soon she had fallen into deep and even breathing.

The doors to the bedrooms were left open, and there was no hallway, but the bedrooms opened directly onto the main room, a sort of combination of sitting room and kitchen with a large hearth for warmth and cooking. Three bedrooms there were, Hally and Rosemary's (the babe slept there as well), a room for the two older boys, and one for the two girls. Estella didn't quite fit either, really, and there was no guest room, but she'd told them she didn't mind sleeping in front of the kitchen fire. It had been good enough for Freddy, after all! ...not to mention, as a backwoods cousin she was used to sleeping upon the floor... or ought to be used to such.

The doors were left open, as mentioned, so that Rosemary could hear if any of the children cried out in the middle of the night. Thus Estella, if she listened hard, was able to hear the parents' low-voiced conversation, at least the better part of it.

She nodded as Rosemary recounted the ruffians' visit, and held her breath to hear Hally's questions, and then his comment when his wife was done. 'You did well, Rosie,' he said. 'Well, indeed, and I thank you for your courage. I'd not have done half so well.'

'No need for you to swallow your pride,' Rosemary said. ' 'Twould be that hard, I think, to admit to the ruffians that you couldn't feed your family... though feed us you did, a fine meal indeed, what with no flour or meal to be had in the market.'

'No market,' Hally said, and Estella imagined him shaking his head. 'Not with the ruffians having gathered all the foodstuffs they could, and who'd be fool enough to display what they'd hidden away from those thieving Men? No, but we'll have to live off the land, unless...'

'So long as the rabbits keep putting their heads in your snares,' Rosemary said.

'And there are mushrooms,' Hally said, 'and wild roots, and soon the wild strawberries will be ripe, and I ought to be able to find a bee tree again this year, and then there are squirrels, and if we're lucky, perhaps a deer...'

'You'll have to be very careful if you're thinking of that,' Rosemary said. 'Lotho's claimed all the deer, and it's worth a hobbit's life to shoot one...'

'I'm rather hoping they'd turn the blind eye,' Hally said, 'especially after all of our flour you've fed them, in cakes and bread.'

'Ha.'

'...in any event, if they stick their noses in, we'll just feed them on venison and then they won't have anything to report to their precious Boss, now, will they?'

'A goodly thought,' Rosemary answered, and yawned, and soon the talk petered out, and all was quiet, until Hally began to snore. It didn't take Estella long to fall asleep, for the day's exercise had tired her in truth, and even snoring could not keep her wakeful for long, once she had relaxed her will to stay awake.

Breakfast next morning was acorn cakes again, with leftover rabbit gravy spooned over, and the young hobbits ate it all up and would have asked for more, had there been any point in it.

They had just finished the washing up, and Hally had not yet shouldered his ax, when there was a loud, gruff hail from the yard.

Rosemary's head jerked up and she paused in her sweeping, her eyes wide with alarm. 'They never come two days running!' she gasped.

Hally took a deep, steadying breath. 'Perhaps they're wanting me to carve them whistles, or whatnot,' he said, but Estella could see he was worried. He took another deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and went to the door, pulling it open, shouting a cheerful greeting.

'Scar! What brings you here? I mean, what can we do for you? Welcome!' He stepped through the door, pulling it nearly closed behind him (as if that would keep his loved ones safe from the ruffians' ire, Estella thought to herself), but a moment later he was calling for Rosemary to "come quick!"

Rosemary hurried to the door, broom still in her hand, the older children crowding close to her skirts, Estella in their midst, and as the door swung open all of them gasped in unison at the sight that met their eyes.

Ruffians! Half a dozen or so, bearing burdens, and a waggon behind them with more.

'Where do you want these?' Scar said, indicating the Men behind him, heavy flour sacks on their shoulders.

'I--' Hally said, but could not manage any more.

Rosemary jumped into action. 'Here,' she said, stepping back through the door and pushing the children aside. 'The pantry, just off this way...!' Though her head was spinning at this unexpected visit, and accompaniment, she rose to the occasion. (And if it were a ruffians' trick, to see if she'd been truthful the previous day, well, they'd see for themselves that the pantry was empty save a few hanging sprigs of dried spices and half a sack of acorns. There was more food, an emergency supply, hidden behind the wood in the shed, but even that was dwindling.)

Open-mouthed, the hobbits watched the Men duck into the doorway, each bearing a heavy sack. 'Flour,' Scar said, and half a dozen sacks of flour were deposited in a neat pile in the pantry. This was fine-sifted wheat flour, and the next round brought barley flour, and then sacks of meal and grain. There were dried apples and sultanas, casks of lard, butter, and pickled vegetables, a side of bacon, several large hams, a generous supply of salteratus, yeast, salt, pepper, and other spices, tea, and even several large sacks of sugar!

Rosemary began to blink away tears as a large wheel of cheese was brought in, but it was the crates of chickens that really made her tears begin to flow. She held her apron to her streaming eyes and sobbed.

Scar, not understanding, said, 'Not to worry, Missus! We brought the grain to feed them; it's already in your pantry. 'Twon't take your Hally long to build them a pen, after all.'

'Oh,' Rosemary sobbed, getting hold of herself. 'But no, Scar, it's that... I don't know what to say to such kindness...!'

'Just say "thank you" and be done with it,' Mossy growled, for he was one of the burden bearers, and rather disgruntled with the whole affair. He was used to loading up a waggon from hobbits' stores, not the other way around! But Scar had assured them that it was not the Bolgers they were benefiting, but themselves. Rosemary was a dab hand at baking and cooking, and the ruffians had grown used to coming around and cadging a meal whenever they could get away from their regular duties of bullying and bothering the hobbits of Stock and its surroundings.

When they were only halfway done, Rosemary stirred up the fire, opened one of the sacks of flour, and began the makings of sweet cakes, fried quickly in hot fat and sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. Smelling the good smell of baking, the ruffians grew cheerier, and several even began to sing as they worked. (Rosemary quickly sent the children out to gather sticks, that they might not hear some of the words in the songs.)

When the unloading was finished, the pantry was bulging with good things and the chickens squawked in their crates, stacked out of the direct sun and awaiting Hally's coop. Everyone sat down together to feast upon Rosemary's cakes, and a merry time was had by all.

Estella could almost believe that Men were not so bad as she'd thought, until Rosemary had put the little ones down for a nap, and the Men began to tell the stories of how they'd gathered all this food, and more, in the first place. A bite of sweet cake turned to dust in her mouth, and she wished she could spit it out, but that the Men would notice.

Hally noticed first, and it was a good thing, for he scowled at her, then popped a large bite of cake into his mouth, then grinned--more grimace than grin, but Estella got the message. The cake stuck in her throat when she tried to swallow, and she choked. A solicitous Scar thumped her on the back.

'Sorry!' she gasped, hating him nevertheless. 'Went down wrong.'

'I should say,' Scar acknowledged, and then he rose. 'But the day's a wasting, and the Sun's at her zenith! We must away, we've other fish to be frying...'

With a chorus of gruff thanks, the ruffians piled into the waggon and were on their way.

Chapter 5. A Busy Day

After quickly putting together a shelter for the chickens, Hally went to the woods that day, "as usual" -- for, as Rosemary explained to Estella after the littlest children had been put to bed for their afternoon nap, it was not a good thing to depart from "usual" with ruffians always about. However, once Parsley, Buckthorn, little Lavvy and the babe were safely asleep, she gestured to Robin and Estella to follow her to the storeroom, and to sit themselves down in the small space that was left after the ruffians had stowed away the ill-gotten gains, er, bounty.

Wondering, Estella obeyed. Rosemary turned about again, leaving the door ajar, and left them. Estella looked a question at Robin, but the lad only shrugged, and then leaned back against a stack of grain sacks and closed his eyes. Very economical, Robin was. If he was not to be sent to bed to nap with the others, he'd take his rest while he could, for his mother obviously had some employment or other in mind, just so soon as she returned.

...and return she did, with a stack of folded empty sacks draped over one arm, and carrying her sewing basket in the other hand. She put a finger to her lips and whispered, 'I've made forms in the beds; if any lurking ruffian should peek in at the windows, they'll think all of us asleep, as usual.'

Estella nodded. "As usual" had reared its head once again, and yes, if she stayed with Rosemary and the children and did not accompany Hally into the woods, the custom in the little house was for everyone to lie down after the noontide meal, for a good hour or two of rest. The pantry was windowless, and pulling the door half-shut ensured that they could not be seen from any of the windows; yet Rosemary would hear at once if one of the little ones awakened or cried out in their sleep.

Now she held up a sack, and Estella realised a demonstration was at hand. She nudged Robin with her elbow and he sat up straight and opened his eyes wide. Rosemary cut the sacking into pieces, took up a piece and folded it in half, matching the sides. She threaded a needle and proceeded to sew up the two sides, then hemmed around the mouth and held up the finished article to view. Estella gasped as she realised that the larger piece of sacking, that had in its time held perhaps an hundredweight, had yielded a small sack to begin, and a fair number by the time it had yielded up all its fabric. Robin nodded to show his understanding, reached into the sewing basket and retrieved a needle and threaded it. He nudged Estella with an elbow of his own and nodded at the sewing basket. Estella followed his example, cheeks burning that the much younger hobbit should have grasped his mother's intent so much more quickly than she had.

Rosemary cut the sacking into more pieces, handing a piece each to Robin and Estella. While they sewed, she made quick work with her shears, cutting more pieces, until quite a tidy pile sat before them, and then she threaded her own needle and began to sew. If Estella had been surprised at a lad being asked to sew, it didn't last long. She was hard pressed to keep up with Robin's quick, neat stitches; and he sewed them tiny and closely spaced into the bargain, well suited to the seam of a flour-bag, as a matter of fact. Estella had not enjoyed the sewing her grandmama had insisted on, silly things like samplers and handkerchiefs and fancy stitching, but this -- for some reason this more practical sewing gave her the feeling of contributing to the welfare of Hally and Rosemary's family, and so she bent to her work with a will. It was not too long before she was setting straight, even stitches as fine as Robin's, and not often pricking her fingers or breaking the thread.

By the time the little ones awakened, they'd accumulated a fair number of small sacks. At little Lavender's wakening cry, Rosemary rose, put her needle and thread away, and took up the newly-sewed bags, rolling them together and secreting them in a small space between the grain sacks and the wall. Estella hurried to finish her final seam, and soon she and Robin had put away their needles, secreted their sacks with the others, packed the thread back in the sewing basket, and put the basket back on its shelf near the hearth, out of reach of little fingers.

The rest of the day went "as usual", filled with chores and games and baking. It was not Rosemary's usual baking day, but she'd had so little to work with, the past two weeks, and now such bounty, it seemed a good day for catching up the larder, so to speak, and so they baked, and how they baked! There was bread, with a fine, yeasty smell -- both wholemeal and fine-sifted loaves -- and apple and cherry hand-pies made with dried fruit from the ruffians' bounty, and scones, fairy cakes, gingerbread, shortbread and other biscuits, until the table was spread full of cooling loaves and whatnot, and good smells filled the little smial.

Eventides was a jolly meal, with much feasting, and surprisingly, no ruffians appeared though the smell of baking perfumed the air outside as well as in. Hally returned to say he'd seen one or two of the fellows in the woods, but for whatever reason they hadn't returned to sample Rosie's baking, and all the better for him!

The little ones ate to their hearts' content, as did Estella, now that she knew that there was plenty in the storeroom and no one would go hungry on her account. At last the small ones were put to bed, and Rosemary returned to her baking, enough for an army of ruffians, or the entire neighbourhood, or both -- or so it seemed to Estella. Yet Hally made no comment, simply blew out the lamps, all but the watchlamps in each bedroom and in a window of the main room, before walking softly to the storeroom. He lit no lamp but set to work, from the subdued sound of it, in near darkness. Rosemary, too, worked by the dim light of hearth fire and watchlamp, and though she yawned once or twice her hands were deft as she rolled out more dough and cut shapes, and soon more good smells arose to enrich the already fragrant air.

Estella got up from her pallet before the hearth and crept to the storeroom, where it sounded as if more than one mouse were scritching amongst the grain sacks. Her eyes had adjusted well to the dim light, for she'd kept her back to the fire, and so she could see Hally in the near darkness. He was busy filling one of the smaller sacks they'd sewn that day, taking from a larger sack -- barley, she thought.

He looked up as her shadow fell over his work. 'Bed!' he whispered, even as he tied the sack shut and reached for another.

'Can I help?' Estella said in as low a tone.

Hally considered a moment, then she heard him breathe, 'Make a form of yourself with a bolster or two--that a ruffian peering in at the window would see "you" sleeping before the hearth as you have done since your arrival, and you may help me...'

She did.

They must have filled sacks until midnight, or so Estella thought, but at last the smaller sacks she and Robin and Rosemary had sewn were all full of good things, barley, wheat, flour, sugar, salt, dried fruit, a variety of foodstuffs, and stacked carefully to one side. Hally stood up and straightened his back, stretching, and Estella did, too. He stepped close to whisper in her ear.

'I'm sure Scar expected us to give the better part away to the neighbours, or he'd not've brought so much at one go, but if a ruffian should ask...'

Estella nodded, her head spinning with new thoughts, as Hally finished, 'The big sacks are too heavy for Rosemary to manage, and so I've divided some of the things for her.'

'Very handy,' she managed to murmur, and with the ghost of a chuckle he slapped her gently on the back.

'Very!' he said in return, and then, 'You'll see how handy on the morrow, I think.'

Rosemary had left off her work some time earlier, but stacks of baking on the table testified to her efforts, and the wonderful smells persisted though the smial was dark and quiet.

Estella returned the bolster and extra pillow to their proper place and rolled herself in her blankets, dropping quickly to sleep, to dream of Bilbo's farewell feast and all the variety of baking that she'd enjoyed there, on that long-ago day.

Yet there was a disquieting note, comforting as the dream festivities might be, for in the dream she followed her brother Freddy about the party, and he was following Merry, who was following Frodo, whilst ruffians lurked in the shadows with leering eyes.

Chapter 6. Gathering and Sharing

“As usual” was more difficult than usual, when the morning light crept in through the windows. ‘Up, lads!’ called Hally with his usual cheerful tones. It took all of Estella’s considerable will to throw off her blankets and rise from her pallet by the fire. She had slept right through breakfast preparations, Hally stirring up the fire, putting the kettle on, and even his taking it off again.

‘Come along, sleepyheads!’ Rosemary carolled, belying the circles under her eyes that bespoke long effort into the wee hours. Enticing scents still hung in the air, but the table held only dishes and food enough for the family’s breakfast, and not the piles of fresh-baked goods that had been there when Estella sought her pillow.

The children, having splashed their hands and faces, took their places at table with wide and wondering eyes. There was ham! …and freshly fried hens’ eggs! …as well as a variety of breads (barley, sweet, and wholemeal) for the feasting. Rosemary kept urging them to ‘Eat up! It’s been a long, lean time, and there’s much work to be done… and who knows how long the food will remain here, before they come to gather it away?’ She laughed, as if it were a jest, but her eyes did not match her smile, to Estella’s thinking.

Estella felt a chill at this, but she ate heartily all the same, for this was the most food she’d seen since arriving at the forest Bolgers’ home, and Rosemary was certainly an inspired cook.

Just as they finished, there was a rapping at the door, and Hally jumped up from his place and hurried to the door. ‘Ah, Scar,’ they heard him say, and then Rosemary was on her feet, grabbing up several heavy-laden bags that rested near the door, and joining her husband.

‘My thanks, Scar,’ she said in a breathless way. ‘Why, it’s the first full meal we’ve had since…’

The ruffian’s gruff tones were to be heard, though he was hidden by the partly opened door. ‘Just wanted to check and see…’

‘Oh, yes,’ Rosemary broke in. ‘Quite! And for your kindness, if you would please accept just this small token, for you and for your men…?’ She thrust the bags through the door, evidently into the ruffian’s grasp, for she continued with, ‘Take care! Don’t drop them!’

‘Why, Missus,’ Scar was heard to say. ‘Smells delicious, I must say…’

‘Just a bit of baking,’ Rosemary said. ‘I had to try out all the new things, after all, give them a try and see how well they worked, for I’d hardly want to feed such to honoured guests if they didn’t work, if you take my meaning?’

Somehow, it seemed that Scar did.

‘That ought to hold you over until my regular baking day,’ Rosemary said. ‘At least, I hope that it will. Today is washing day, and tomorrow ironing, and after that the mending,’ she ticked each day off on a finger, but on the next, which would have been "market" she said only, "er" and then continued, ‘and the next day cleaning, and little enough time for baking until the morrow after, and I’d hate to have you come to the door, and me empty-handed as it were, so I did a little extra last night,’ -- a little, Estella thought with a twist to her mouth, that thankfully the ruffian did not see – ‘and I do hope it’ll suit.’

Market day under the ruffians had gone by the wayside, at least so far as the forest Bolgers were concerned. There was not much on offer at what passed for a market in Stock, and Rosemary faced only scowling faces and hostile looks when she did force herself to go, and so "market day" had become just another day in the week, a day for the usual household tasks, caring for smial and yard, animals and garden.

‘I’m sure that it will,’ Scar said, his voice even gruffer than it had been. As a matter of fact, he cleared his throat, as if Rosemary’s efforts had touched him somehow.

Hally seemed to find his tongue. ‘Well, then,’ the hobbit said. ‘I’m glad to hear that. It’s time for me to ply my axe, for the work’s never done, I find.’

Scar guffawed. ‘Never,’ he said. ‘Would you like us to keep an eye on your Missus and little’uns whilst you’re in the woods?’

‘You may if you like,’ Hally said in an offhanded tone, as if he cared little either way, ‘though it’s not really needful this day. I’ll be staying close by, to haul water for the washing as it needs hauling. I’ve dragged enough wood here that I’ll have plenty of chopping-up to do over the next day or two, no need to go far into the woods for more…’

Estella found she was holding her breath as Scar replied, ‘Well, that’s fine. We’ve a few other fish to fry, as it were, what with spending so much time in this neck o’ the woods the past few days. I’ll wish ye and yours a good day, and we’ll see you when baking day comes around, if not before.’

‘If not before,’ Hally said pleasantly, and Rosemary added her farewells. They stood in the doorway a while longer, as if watching the ruffian stalk away, and each raised a hand in farewell, as if the ruffian might have turned his head in his passing, for a final look or remark.

At last, Hally eased the door closed, and Rosemary slumped against him with a sigh.

‘Gone,’ he said. ‘A good morning’s work.’

‘A good middle night’s work, you mean,’ Rosemary said, straightening. She put her hands to her back and stretched.

‘That, too,’ Hally said. ‘They might sniff around a bit this morning, but I’ll wager they’ll be gone by noontide, and not back again until baking day, as usual.’

Suddenly “as usual” had a beautiful sound to Estella’s ears. She got up from her place, where she’d been frozen through the entire conversation, along with the little Bolgers, and began to clear the dishes away. What a difference a hearty breakfast made!

She threw herself into the morning chores with Robin, both of them using small hatchets to make kindling, tending the fire that Hally started under the great kettle used to heat water for bathing and washing, stirring laundry in the tub under Rosemary’s direction; and at the last Robin and Estella together carried each basket of washed and wrung-out laundry to the lines Hally had strung between nearby trees, ready for pegging out.

All the while, they could hear Hally’s cheerful whistling as he worked, whether hauling water or chopping wood, and Rosemary’s humming often harmonized with the tunes he chose. Altogether it was a happy, productive domestic scene. In between tasks, there was time for races, and spitting contests, while taking turns watching over the littlest Bolgers when their mother was occupied.

At last it was time to sit down to the noontide meal, another hearty meal of fresh-baked bread and bubbling hot stew, and no rush this time on Rosemary’s part, for the parents exchanged a look as they sat down, and Hally gave his wife a reassuring nod and whispered, ‘Been gone an hour or so already, or so I deem…’ (Which Estella took to mean that watching ruffians had taken themselves off an hour before, though she hadn’t seen them watching, and she certainly hadn’t seen them go. It seemed that Hally had developed a certain faculty for discerning ruffians’ hovering presence, perhaps because they visited on a regular basis, or something to do with their “as usual” practices and routines in bothering the local hobbits.)

In any event, after the noontide meal was over, but before they all lay themselves down for the nap that inevitably followed, Hally brought the cart he’d partly filled with neatly cut firewood before the door and dumped out the contents. Everyone, from largest to smallest Bolger (Estella included), who could carry the small sacks they’d filled in the night, one or more at a time, did. They brought the sacks from storeroom to cart, working as quickly as might be, and then they arranged the pieces of wood over all, with Hally making artistic adjustments until the cart looked as if it contained only firewood and nothing more.

‘Come, lads,’ he said then to Estella and Robin, as he moved between the poles of the cart and took them up. ‘You’ll push, and I’ll pull.’

‘But what about Nan?’ Estella said, before she thought.

Hally laughed. ‘It’s much too heavy for the goat!’ he said, ‘…all this firewood that I plan to trade to my brother, for a bit of his help in felling the next few trees, as usual.' (And it seemed that Hally winked, or perhaps he wiped at a speck in his eye.) 'Why risk poor Nan, when we’ve two fine, strong lads to push, and a woodcarver to pull it along, I ask you!’

Estella knew, from the whispered conversation at noontide, that Hally's brother Gundy would be able to distribute the foodstuffs to the more desperate of the neighbours, and no one the wiser, on Rosemary’s next baking day, when the ruffians would be clustered around Rosie’s door, greedily eating up the fruits of her labours.

And no one the wiser. The neighbours, while not knowing where Gundy obtained the supplies, would never think of Hally and Rosemary, who to all appearances were in league with the ruffians. That was all to the good. They’d maintain their hostile attitudes towards Hally and Rosemary, and the ruffians would continue to consider the Bolgers as friendly collaborators, making them free in their conversations and not wary of who might hear them, or what they might divulge, as they gobbled Rosie’s good cooking.

And one day soon, Ferdibrand would come to the Bolgers’ door in the dark of the night, to collect whatever news the Bolgers had gathered, to bring the same to the Thain. Only this next time, he’d collect somewhat more.

Estella hoped that he’d come soon. She was well-practiced, and ready. At least, she thought she must be. While she was growing used to "as usual" among the forest Bolgers, she looked forward to finding out what "usual" might be in the Tookland.

Would it feel odd, or natural, to resume her skirts and girlish ways once more?

And what would Merry Brandybuck think of her, to see her in her current guise?

Chapter 7. Midnight Arrival

Estella woke suddenly. It was middle night, and she ought to be soundly asleep, especially with as much exercise as she’d had, and as much food as she’d taken in that day, soothing her to somnolence as she hadn’t known since arriving at the forest Bolgers’ a little more than a week earlier. Why was she awake?

Without moving her body in its blankets, she allowed her slitted eyes to roam the shadowy room. No ruffian’s face pressed against the one window that looked on to the main room, weirdly lit by the turned-down lamp Rosemary had placed there, as had happened early on in her stay. Only her iron will had kept her from jumping up and shrieking – she had pinched herself, hard, under her covers, squeezed her eyes shut, pretended sleep, and fiercely willed the ruffian away. When she’d cracked one eyelid, a little while later, the window framed only darkness.

…as was the case now. All was darkness beyond the flickering lamp in the window. Wind moaned in the treetops outside, and she shivered, though she was plenty warm in her multiple coverings, some of fur and some of woven wool, before the banked fire. But it was not the wind that had wakened her, she was sure of that.

The scratching sound came again, and she recognised it as something she’d heard in her dream, and she just managed to keep from sitting upright. It might be a ruffian’s trick, though she rather doubted such a thing, this time of the night. Ruffians appeared to her to be inclined to laziness, and what reason would they have to skulk about, this late? The earlier vision, the frightful face peering in at the window, had not been quite so late at night as this. She was certain that it must be very late, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, very early. However, Hally and Rosemary had warned solemnly against ruffians’ tricks, along with their insistence on “as always” and their frequent practice with the children, that the little ones would know what words were safe to use in conversing – whether the ruffians were in front of them, or not. They always assumed Mens’ unseen presence, seeming almost never to relax, even for an instant. The game they played was too deadly for that, and their little ones’ lives depended upon the parents’ skill, preparation, and performance.

On second thought, what if a ruffian had seen them dragging the cart to Gundy’s smial, had hidden himself until after Hally and the “lads” had returned home, had seen Gundy’s family unpack the cart, with its secreted foodstuffs? What if the ruffians had grown suspicious of Hally and Rosemary, and were trying to catch the Bolgers in some other clandestine action on their part?

She had half a mind to creep from her covers to rouse Hally or Rosemary, but then she saw their bedroom door move, just a bit (no creaking, for the hinges were of well softened leather), and a figure stole so cautiously from bedroom door to smial door that she scarcely noted the movement. It was hobbit-creeping at its quietest, and at the sight, or half-sight, rather, Estella held her breath, peering from beneath her covers for all she was worth.

Hally (for the shadow was Hally, in truth) eased the crossbar from its place and opened the door a crack, just wide enough to peep through, and then a little wider, just enough to admit another shadowy figure, and then the door was quickly closed again, the crossbar was slipped silently back into place. Not a word was exchanged between the two who crouched now before the door, not any that Estella heard, at least. The two moved as one shadow from the door to the parents’ bedroom, and disappeared inside. Dizzy, Estella let go her long-held breath in as quiet a sigh as she could manage.

She lay pondering for a long while, all sleep forgotten. Suddenly she caught her breath in understanding. Ferdibrand Took was come!

She realised that she’d been listening, scarcely breathing in her effort to hear, only when Hally’s whistling snore sounded from the bedroom. She was of two minds, as to whether or not he was faking. It must be difficult to feign sleep – for how did you know exactly how you slept, what sort of noises you might make, what sort of movements – turning over, or lying a certain way – if the only time you had to study yourself was when you were asleep! The forest Bolgers were just devious enough, however, to Estella’s mind, that she wouldn’t put it past them for Rosemary to have studied Hally while he was sleeping, in order to coach him in “as usual” behaviour, and vice versa.

Still, they might have fallen back to sleep, that is, Hally and the mysterious visitor (and likely Rosemary as well), and even if they hadn’t, Estella had heard nothing at all in the way of voices from the bedroom. She yawned widely. Oh, but she was sleepy herself!

She listened a while longer, not noticing when at last she slipped into sleep.

***

Next morning all was “as usual” with Hally making up the fire and putting on the teakettle, the children setting the table, Rosemary frying bacon and stirring up batter for griddle cakes, and Robin and Estella making numerous trips to fetch water and wood. The morning was misty and cool, but Estella hardly noticed, or at least she told herself not to notice. Shivering and wrapping up in a shawl was a girlish thing to do, and feeling the cold (or at the very least, noticing it) and insisting that others (such as husbands, sons, or nephews) wrap themselves in something warm, a cloak or jacket or some such, was a motherish thing. Thus when Rosemary noticed that Robin and Estella were going in and out in their shirtsleeves, of all things, she insisted that each don a cloak sewn together of warm rabbit skins, "at the very least!" As a matter of course, Estella grumbled just as much as Robin did, at this motherly nonsense.

‘I’m not cold!’

‘Well you ought to be! I can feel the draught every time you open the door…!’

At last the family sat down at table, and if Estella had not been watching very closely indeed, while arranging firewood in a neat pile by the hearth, she’d not even have noticed Rosemary, in her bustles about the room, taking her sewing basket into the parents’ bedroom, neatly covered with a cloth. It was only the good smells that emanated from the basket as Rosemary passed close to Estella, that alerted her as to its contents. And when Rosemary emerged from the bedroom without the basket, Estella’s insides clenched tight. Last night had not been a dream!

She wondered when the Bolgers would let her know of Ferdibrand’s arrival, or even if, for Rosemary had told Freddy plainly that if Ferdi distrusted Estella, on his arrival, then he would come and go without Estella ever knowing he’d been there. And then what would they do? Estella did not want to add to the forest Bolgers’ danger by staying any longer than necessary.

Still, though everything within her itched to find an excuse to enter the bedroom, to confirm her suspicions, she disciplined herself to play this new game of the Bolgers’, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the night, that no midnight visitor was hidden away behind a half-closed door, eating Rosemary’s delicious cookery in secret, unacknowledged by the family. Perhaps the children hadn’t even noticed his arrival while they were sleeping, and didn’t even know of his lurking presence now!

Yesterday’s washing lay folded in baskets, ready for today’s ironing, and after breakfast was over and the washing up was proceeding (with Rosemary’s eldest daughter “helping” as much as a tot might be able), Hally set the flatirons to heat by the hearth and then called the older lads to their outdoor chores, milking the goats and pegging them out to forage, feeding the chickens and gathering eggs, picking up sticks in the yard that had blown down in last night’s wind, and more.

Rosemary laid a heavy cloth over the freshly scrubbed table, sprinkled the first piece of linen (a shirt of Hally’s, it was), and commenced her ironing whilst the littlest ones played about on the floor. The first few times Estella came in from outside, bringing a bucket of milk that she placed in the cold room, and the next time fetching grain, and carrying a basket of eggs the next, she thought that Rosemary was telling stories to keep the little ones amused as she ironed and as she went back and forth to lay one iron to heat while fetching another from the hearth, freshly warmed.

At first Estella hardly listened, busy with her own thoughts and speculations, to the continuing, almost monotonous murmuring, until (as she knelt before the hearth to refresh the fire) some familiar words caught her attention. ‘…and then Mossy said, “Those Tooks! They’ll have their comeuppance, see if they don’t, the little rats…!” and Three-fingers answered, “But not for some time, yet. Did we tell you, Rosie, of the traps they set, just past where the old Crowing Cockerel used to stand?” And Scar shook his head, and muttered, “Best beer this side of the Tookland. Why’d we have to burn it, anyhow?” And…’

Suddenly she realised that Rosemary was recounting, word for word, the conversations of the ruffians on that day they’d brought a waggonload of supplies to the Bolgers’ smial, and had stayed after filling the pantry, to enjoy Rosie’s freshly baked cakes. How did she manage it? The hobbit must have perfect recall! Why, she even imitated the voices of the ruffians, such that Estella could clearly recognise each one.

She understood now, or thought she did, how the scheme worked, and marvelled at its cleverness. There was nothing in writing, to damn them in the ruffians’ eyes, no written message to betray them if dropped or discovered. Rosemary, and presumably her brother, enjoyed perfect recall. Rosemary, into the bargain, could discern truth from untruth, and thus all that she told her brother, and all that he carried on to the Thain, information that might be used in the defence of the Tookland, was based in truth – at least what the ruffians saw as truth. Still, Rosemary would be able to discount any evasions they might make to try and mislead or deceive the Bolgers. If the ruffians believed something that was a lie, and told such information to the Bolgers, well, that might be a problem. But somehow, from listening to her parents and Freddy talking about Lotho, Estella didn’t think the ruffians or their Boss were clever enough for such a ploy.

She burned to know if Ferdibrand had found her trustworthy, if he would take her with him when he went away again, or if he’d leave her here. There was another possibility, Rosemary had told her. He might not be able to take her with him this time, might leave her because he’d have to make preparations to bring her safely through the occupied territory to the free Tookland. She wasn’t sure if she preferred the nerve-wracking play-acting needed here, day and night, without respite, or the dangerous journey to come, with freedom at its finish.

Still, it was out of her hands. There was nothing that she could do to affect the outcome. Her duty was to continue “as usual”, just as everyone else did, and hope, and wait for Ferdibrand to make up his mind.

Chapter 8. Left Behind

The rest of the afternoon went “as usual” so far as Estella could tell. There seemed to be no difference from the ironing day of the previous week, except of course for the hidden visitor in the parents’ bedroom. Estella marvelled more than once at how Rosemary managed to keep Ferdi’s presence a secret, even from the children. In point of fact, she did not see elevenses or the noontide meal or tea delivered, though she was certain Rosemary would not let her brother go hungry.

Though she would have liked some time to think, to ponder quietly, “as usual” would not allow for such. No, she must do whatever chores Rosemary assigned, she must chaff Robin and be chaffed in her turn, she must play and run races and tickle the little ones and haul wood and water and take her turn at holding the baby or soothing a weeping Parsley when the little lass scraped her knee. She must greet Hally with a cheerful shout, along with the other children, when he came home for midday dinner. She must lie herself down for a nap after the meal, and help to set the table for tea, and feed and shut up the chickens, and milk one of the goats while Robin milked the other…

In short, it was a busy, “usual” day, except for a visit by Scar and Three-fingers, shortly after Hally took himself off, whistling, with his axe on his shoulder. They brought another waggonload of supplies, this time sacks of onions, potatoes, dried beans and rice, barrels of carrots in sand, and dried beef and smoked fish.

Halloo the house! came Scar’s rough call, which Estella had learned was his usual greeting when he visited on a day other than Rosemary’s baking day. Of course, it was more properly a smial and not a house, but none of the hobbits was about to correct him.

Rosemary started up, flatiron in hand, with a quickly stifled exclamation. She assumed a smile and carolled, ‘Visitors!’ She moved to put the flatiron safely on its stand, picked up little Lavender from the floor, settling her on her hip, and took little Buckthorn’s hand, for she did not dare leave the little ones unguarded with a fire burning on the hearth. ‘Come, let us greet them!’

Estella, Robin, and Parsley arose from the simple game they’d been playing, involving pebbles and a game board scratched on the hearthstones with the blackened end of a stick. It wasn’t baking day, not yet, and yet the ruffians were here again! Of course, Rosemary and Hally played the “as usual” game at all times, recognising that the ruffians could come at any time. But knowing and seeing were two very different things, indeed.

‘Rosie,’ Scar said, with a casual bow and tip of his hat. ‘We brought you a lot of supplies, we did, the other day, but we found we had a bit of “extra” after this day’s work, and… seeing as how you never hesitate to share what’s in the pot, well, we thought we’d bring something for the pot, if you take my meaning…’

‘O Scar!’ Rosemary said, clapping her hands in evident delight. ‘You didn’t have to! You shouldn’t have!’ Perhaps Estella was the only one to catch the well-concealed dismay and the truth in the words.

‘Well,’ the ruffian said, shuffling his feet. ‘Well, we… we’ve eaten enough o’ your good cookery…’

‘And plenty more where that came from!’ Rosemary said brightly, and Estella marvelled at her bravery.

‘We’ll just put these away for you,’ Scar said, hefting a heavy-laden sack onto his shoulder. ‘Taters, we brought, and onions and carrots, and more, for some more of that good soup you make…’

‘And fresh-baked bread to go along with it, that’ll be just the thing,’ Three-fingers said, lifting another bag.

Belatedly recalled to herself, Rosemary swung the front door wide. ‘Come in, come in!’ she said, and lifted a corner of her apron to her eye, to wipe away a tear, and if her hand shook a little, the Men merely thought it was more emotion than anything else.

Scar didn’t say anything about the pantry being slightly less full than he’d left it. He was no fool; though Rosemary had gifted the ruffians with several bags of fresh-baked goods, he knew she would not have used up quite so many supplies as were missing from the lot. He simply nodded to himself. They’d already given a part of it away to their relatives, he figured, maybe even that poor family, far back in the back of the Woody End, who had sent Twig to Hally and Rosemary to relieve themselves of another mouth to feed.

Scar and Three-fingers manhandled the barrels of carrots, salted beef, and fish, rolling them in through the door and across the floor to the pantry, and carried in the sacks of other supplies. When they were done, the pantry was full to near-bursting. Rosemary thanked them over and again as they worked, and pressed sweet biscuits and mugs of tea on both when they were finished.

Estella did not look at the bedroom door, which remained ajar, though she was sorely tempted. She elected to go outside instead, stand by the heads of the ponies hitched to the waggon, and feed them wisps of grass that she pulled in the yard, patting their noses in apology when they stretched out their necks for more. She did not want to take any chances of one of the ruffians following a stray glance, and deciding to investigate the bedroom.

She noticed that Rosemary stayed busy shepherding the ruffians back and forth, and holding tight to the little ones that they might not get underfoot. Robin and Parsley, not knowing their uncle was hiding in the bedroom, could not betray him by action or word, and so they helped by holding the doors open, Robin on the door into the smial, and Parsley holding the pantry door. Scar gravely thanked the little lass each time he came through, a fact Estella found strangely touching.

At last the waggon was unloaded, the ruffians finished the last of their tea and biscuits, and they bade Rosemary and the children farewell. ‘And our best to Hally!’ Three-fingers shouted.

‘I’ll be sure to tell him,’ Rosemary said. ‘And thanks, thanks, and more thanks for your kindness and care!’

Gathered from some poor hobbit family, Estella grumbled to herself, but she kept a smile fixed on her face and waved as wildly as Robin. The two “lads” had a waving contest, as it were, waving both hands, and Robin lifting one foot to wave it as well. The ruffians chuckled as they drove away, and that was a good thing, or so Rosemary told the children when the Men were well away.

***

Hally laughed aloud at his children’s cheers and shouts, as he emerged from the Wood at teatime. As a matter of course, the children were waiting and watching at his “usual” times for returning. Estella wondered if he looked at her rather searchingly on his second return this day, though the look was but momentary, gone so quickly as he laid down his axe to catch up Buckthorn and throw the tot up into the air, shrieking with delight.

He sobered slightly when Robin and Parsley excitedly told him of the ruffians’ visit, caught Rosemary’s glance, and chuckled. ‘Well, now,’ he said. ‘That’s fine! D’you think it was Three-fingers’ birthday, that he should shower us with such presents?’

‘And p’rhaps it was Scar’s, the last time?’ Robin said.

‘Or Mossy’s,’ Parsley added, not to be left out.

They drank their tea accompanied by delicious biscuits, they did the washing up, the aforementioned “after tea but before eventides” chores were completed, and the family sat down to the eventide meal. While the ruffians’ visit was a favourite topic at that meal, Estella knew there would be no discussion of their other visitor, but she rather hoped the parents would say something to prepare the children for her departure, some plausible explanation. From what Estella had been able to observe, Rosemary had imparted all the news and gossip of the past few weeks over the course of the day, in the guise of keeping the little ones occupied.

Ferdi had gathered all the news fit to gather this time, she thought, and likely would be departing this very night. Would he take her with him? Would the parents explain her departure? No explanation was forthcoming, neither at the meal, nor as they sat around the hearth after washing-up, while Hally told the bedtime story. Estella felt a shock of disappointment as the children were tucked up in their beds, and still no explanation.

‘And to bed with you, young Twig,’ Rosemary said with a meaningful look. ‘Growing lads need their sleep!’

‘But—‘ Estella started to say, and then her shoulders slumped with a sigh, and she picked up her bedding and spread it before the hearth. She would play the game by the rules the Bolgers had set forth, she would show Ferdi that she was trustworthy, even if he had determined to leave her behind.

She would, even if it meant she must play the role of Twig to perfection for the remainder of her life, to the end of her days.

Which, considering the danger inherent in the task Hally and Rosemary had chosen, might come sooner rather than later. She could only hope for the best, and play the game to the best of her ability, and always be braced for the worst...

And perhaps, next time Ferdibrand came, or the time after, or some time after, he'd find her worthy.

In the meantime, she'd do what she could to lighten Rosemary's load. It was the least she could do.

Chapter 9.  Surprises

Hally banked the fire, hitched the covers higher on Estella, all the way to her chin, and gave her a pat on the shoulder. ‘Sleep well, Twig,’ he said, as he always did, last thing before seeking his own pillow. ‘And may you dream pleasant dreams of your family, for I’m sure they’re missing you as much as you miss them.’

She blinked a little at the last part – usually he only said the “pleasant dreams of your family” part. She wondered what he might mean.

‘Does Twig miss his family so very much, Mama?’ Parsley’s sleepy voice was heard from the girls’ room.

‘Very much,’ Rosemary said. ‘That is why we must be extra kind to him, as you know.’

‘Extra kind,’ Parsley lisped, with a yawn somewhere in the middle of the words. She raised her sweet little voice to call, ‘G’night, Twig!’

‘G’night, Dumpling!’ Estella called back. She didn’t have to try to make her voice husky – Hally’s words about missing her family, and their missing her, had affected her throat and caused her eyes to sting.

She settled herself in her blankets, groaned a little as she sought the most comfortable position (it was a sleepy sound to make, she thought), allowed her breathing to gradually grow deeper and more even. All the while she listened hard to the sounds around her. Rosemary brought Parsley a drink of water, as requested, and another one to Buckthorn (evidently Lavvy and Robin had fallen asleep quickly). There were a few murmurs between Hally and Rose, but the words Estella could discern just sounded like “usual” words, sleepy bedtime blessings. There was no sound indicating a secret visitor, and she wondered if Ferdi had somehow already departed without being seen… perhaps when she’d gone out to relieve herself in the privy, in the growing darkness before the bedtime story?

To her surprise – well, she would have been surprised, had she been wakeful – she fell asleep.

Hally’s grip upon her shoulder woke her, that, and a sharp whisper from near the door to the parents’ bedroom.

‘But what are you doing, brother?!’

She opened her eyes to darkness. The main room of the smial was dimly lit by the turned-down lamp in the window. Even the banked fire showed no glowing coals.

Brother? She came suddenly wide awake. No one, at least no adult, would address someone else in the little smial, at this time of night, as “brother”! Unless…

She sat up abruptly, and Hally straightened and moved out of the way just in time to avoid her head connecting painfully with his chin. ‘What…?’ she breathed.

‘We have to talk,’ Hally whispered. ‘Before you make your way, brother, we have to…’

‘Why did you waken the lad?’ Rose’s voice came, soft but alarmed, and Estella saw the rather large shadow by the bedroom door break apart into two pieces. Two hobbits, one nearly a head taller than the other, but both obviously adults.

Rose and Ferdi had been sharing a farewell embrace, she thought, and Hally was supposed to be staring out the window, to see if the way was clear of ruffians – as he had when Freddy departed. Except he hadn’t, this time. He’d awakened Estella instead.

‘Come, Twig, make a form of yourself in the blankets, and join us in the pantry.’

The pantry was full to bursting, she remembered, and wondered. But of course they did not want to risk wakening the children with their whispers…

When she reached the pantry, she found Hally, Rosemary, and another shadowy hobbit, each perched upon a barrel, or stack of bulging sacks. Hally indicated a seat, and Estella entered (leaving the door ajar, as usual, which allowed the faint light of the watch-lamp to enter, at least a little) and climbed the nearest sacks to settle herself.

‘Hally, I—‘ Rosemary began, but her husband hushed her, holding up his hand. They sat quietly for a number of breaths, listening to the nightly noises.

‘There,’ Hally said. ‘I think it’s safe to talk. We hadn’t the chance to talk earlier, as things were, but there’s things that must be said, ‘ere you leave us, brother.’

‘Hally, what in the world…?’ Rosemary said. ‘Why did you waken he—?’ (she’d been about to say “her”, a rare slip on her part, but changed just in time), ‘—Twig?’

Hally hesitated.

The visitor sat in stony silence.

‘You must take Twig with you when you go,’ Hally said.

Ferdi spoke then, annoyance plain even in his whispered tone. ‘I thought we’d already been over this ground,’ he said. ‘You know my counsel in the matter…’

‘Send her back,’ Rosemary said bleakly, ‘though I'd rather keep her here, if it is not an option to take her to the Tookland.’

Hally shook his head. ‘No, that’s much too dangerous. The game is hard enough to play, without adding something else that we must constantly keep in mind, that we not let slip, to our visitors, that all is not as they think it to be.’ He took a deep breath and added, ‘And if they somehow discovered that she is really Estella Bolger, and not the lad “Twig”…’

‘Then send her back,’ Ferdi said. ‘As I told you, when we talked things over after my arrival, I’ll even escort her as far as Budge Ford, though it is far out of my way. At least I might gather some information for the Took while I’m there, so it won’t be a complete waste of effort.’

Estella might have bridled at being called “a waste” had she not been feeling so anxious. Still, it would be good to see her family again, mother, father, Freddy…

‘A waste of effort is right,’ Rosemary agreed with her brother, ‘though I’m rather thinking more of Freddy’s time, bringing her here, and ours…’ She put a warm hand on Estella’s cold one. ‘Not that I have considered a moment of your time here to be wasted. You’ve been more help than you’ll ever know.’ Estella found a little comfort in this.

Really, the idea of going home was growing more delightful in her imagination…

But Hally made a sharp gesture. ‘It’s out of the question,’ he said, directing his words mostly to Ferdi.

It was Rosemary who answered him. ‘But why?’ she said. ‘What is the matter, Hally? You’ve not been yourself all the evening.’

Hally made a rueful noise. ‘So much for “as usual”,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d been doing remarkably well, considering the circumstances.’

‘What circumstances?’ Ferdi and Rosemary asked in the same breath.

Hally took Rosemary’s free hand in his and drew it to his lips. Retaining his hold on her hand, he said earnestly. ‘Dearest to my heart, I would spare you this if I only could.’

‘Spare me what?’ Rosemary whispered, her grip on Estella’s hand tightening, while Ferdi leaned forward, as if to hear better.

‘Freddy came to me today,’ Hally said. He waited out Estella’s gasp, and Rosemary’s soft exclamation.

‘He’s here? Well then, that solves all our problems. He could bring his sister home…’ Ferdi said, and some of the tension went out of his stance.

‘No,’ Hally said. ‘But he came to find me in the Wood; he remembered where I like to make my cuttings, and waited for me there these past two days.’ He smiled grimly. ‘He did not dare approach the house, seeing the ruffians come and go. He has learnt much of travelling quietly, avoiding ruffians, waiting and watching without being seen in turn…’

‘But I can go to where he is,’ Estella said eagerly. ‘I could go out with you to the cutting, as Rob and I sometimes do, and…’

Hally was shaking his head. ‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I imagine he’s already gone, back to the hills of Scary…’

‘Hills of Scary?’ Estella said, puzzled.

‘Much has happened in the time you’ve been with us, Twig,’ Hally said, emphasizing the last word. Ferdi leaned forward, as if to hear better, though he said nothing, only waited in silence to hear what more Hally might say.

‘Go on,’ Rosemary finally said, when the silence had stretched for some breaths.

‘Lotho has sent his Men to your parents’ home more than once…’

Estella’s eyes widened. It was bad enough to see them here, in the Woody End, but far worse, somehow, to imagine them bullying her parents and their servants.

‘Lotho has turned all his power to force your father to his will,’ Hally went on, grimly.

Ferdi shook his head. ‘And he has a fair amount of power these days, curse him,’ he muttered.

‘He would have had Freddy in the Lockholes on trumped-up charges if he could have,’ Hally said, and nodded at Estella’s gasp. ‘Save that it turned out he wouldn’t have to. Your brother has gathered together a group of hobbits from Budgeford, and it seems they’ve been raiding the ruffians’ storeholes, gathering from the ruffians what Lotho’s Men had gathered from hobbits…’

Estella said, ‘O Freddy!’ And to Hally, ‘Why would he do such a thing? Why wouldn’t he stay at home, and protect our parents?’

‘He’d’ve been thrown into the Lockholes on false charges for certain, had he done just that thing,’ Hally said. ‘It was leaving home that saved him.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Estella said, and Rosemary was looking as confused as she felt.

‘As it was, he was betrayed by a hobbit in the pay of the ruffians,’ Hally said. ‘Someone we didn’t know had turned against us…’ and Estella divined that he was speaking of a larger “we”, comprised of all the hobbits who were working individually or together to confound Lotho’s schemes. ‘He staged a shouting match with your father, and ran out of the Manse in a fury – he hoped it would convince Lotho and Lobelia that your father was innocent of any “wrongdoing” – against Lotho, that is – and spare him and your mother from a visit to the Lockholes themselves.’

‘He wouldn’t dare!’ Estella said in outrage.

‘He would,’ Ferdi said, very quietly, and when she looked to him, his gaze bored into her, filled with sorrow, and anger, and knowledge of others dragged to the Lockholes on charges, real or otherwise. ‘Go on, Hally.’

‘Had he stayed quietly at home, Lotho’s louts would have had him,’ Hally went on. As Estella started to speak, he held up his hand. ‘The Manse is empty; your parents are gone,’ he said. ‘You’d find no one at home, were you to go there now.’

‘Gone,’ Estella gasped. ‘Gone – to the Lockholes?’

‘Gone into hiding,’ Hally said. ‘And Freddy, with his band, live in hiding as well. I fear if the ruffians were to catch him, he would fare ill.’

Ferdi nodded, closing his hands into fists and opening them again, several times, as if he must dispel some nervous energy born of uncomfortable knowledge. ‘So she cannot go home,’ he said. ‘And if she stays here, she is a danger to you.’

‘More than you know,’ Hally said, and to Rose he added, ‘More than she knows, herself. It is very bad, Rose-my-love, very bad indeed. Freddy bore ill news with him when he came.’

‘What can be worse than you’ve already said?’ Rose answered.

‘Ah, Rose, it pains me to tell you this… I’d rather you went into the bedroom, shut yourself up with the babe, cuddle close and find comfort…’

‘Now Hally,’ Rose whisper-scolded. ‘You know me better than that!’

Hally nodded, but he looked very sad. ‘I do know you,’ he said. ‘Very well, my love. Take a deep breath.’

To her credit, Rosemary complied, and Estella did as well, though she wasn’t sure why.

Hally looked from one face to another, finally settling on Ferdi’s. ‘Lotho has decided,’ he said at last. ‘He apparently will not be moved, not even by his mother, or by any practical considerations…’

‘When has that hobbit ever been practical, I’d like to know?’ Ferdi said to no one in particular. ‘Ah, he’s pragmatic when it comes to business, as in acquiring what he wishes at the lowest possible price, and taking what he cannot buy, should someone try and resist him…’ He shook his head at himself; he was supposed to be gathering information, not airing his own opinions. ‘But forgive me, Hally. You were saying...’

‘You have the right of it, brother,’ Hally said soberly.

‘But what has he decided?’ Rosemary said, cutting to the heart of the matter. She could tell when her husband was talking around a subject, avoiding having to say something that pained him, or might cause her pain.

‘He has heard the talk, that Estella Bolger is the fairest young maid in the Shire,’ he said, every word weighted with reluctance. ‘He’s seen her beauty for himself, in the past. And lately his fascination with the lass has only grown. He sent his louts knocking on the door of the Manse, and forcing their way in, refusing to be denied, in order to take away any likeness of her that could be found hanging on its walls…’

Estella gasped in horror as the implications became clearer in her mind.

‘O Hally,’ Rosemary breathed.

‘And he has decided that he, as Chief of all in the Shire…’ Hally hesitated and, obviously steeling himself, went on, ‘…that he deserves only the best, and that Estella must be his to possess. He sought to buy her hand at first, a matter of good business, by currying favour with her father…’

Estella remembered several social visits from the Sackville-Bagginses, and how uncomfortable Lotho’s fixed gaze – perilously close to the rudeness of a stare – had made her feel. She remembered Lotho offering to do her father favours in business, of recommending stone from the Bolger’s quarries for various building schemes in the past few years. And it was all because…? She felt a wave of illness, but stifled it firmly.

‘And then he thought to threaten Freddy, that his parents might offer her up, to buy their only son’s freedom…’

‘They’d never!’ Estella burst out, though she managed to keep her voice to a near-whisper. Rosemary squeezed her hand, and she subsided into silence once more, though she had to breathe shallowly to restrain her nausea.

‘So you see, my dearest,’ Hally said, turning to Rosemary, his distress plain on his face, ‘you see, Lotho’s Men have been given orders to hunt her down, to turn over every rock where she might be hiding, in order to find her and return her to “safety” – to the bosom of a family that will love her and care for her, seeing as her own brother and parents have abandoned her. O’ course, as the “loving family” happens to be the Sackville-Bagginses, that leaves her completely vulnerable…’

‘To… to…’ Rosemary gasped, and Hally nodded slowly.

‘To a forced marriage with Lotho,’ he said. ‘A hobbit more than a score of years older – not quite old enough to be her father, but…’

‘Near enough,’ Ferdi said grimly.

Rosemary was still gasping, and then she pulled her hands free of Hally’s and Estella’s, covered her face, and began to weep wildly, though she did her best to stifle her sobs.

Before a shame-faced Hally could move to comfort her, Ferdi was hugging his sister tight, murmuring broken comfort. While Estella watched, frozen, Hally slowly put his arms around them both, brother and sister, and bowed his head on their shoulders.

It seemed to last an eternity, but at last Rosemary’s weeping stilled, and Hally lifted his head. ‘I know, my beloved,’ he whispered. ‘I know.’

‘She cannot go home,’ Ferdi said, his voice rough. ‘And she cannot stay here.’ He squared his shoulders and lifted his head. ‘She must go to a place where she will be safely beyond Lotho’s reach, out of his grasp…’

‘Forced marriage,’ Rosemary sobbed, and was still.

‘No, my love, my best beloved, heart of my own heart, breath of my lungs,’ Hally said. ‘No forced marriages, not then,’ and he put his arms around his wife once more and looked from Ferdi to Estella. ‘And certainly not now.’

Chapter 10. Departure

Preparations went quickly, for Hally and Rosemary worked efficiently together gathering supplies for Estella. As they worked, Ferdi sat with Estella in the pantry, describing their journey and the difficulties he anticipated.

‘Honestly, I’d like to leave you here until my next visit,’ he said. ‘My pony threw a shoe before I crossed out of the Tookland, and so I left her there.' The old shepherd, who watched over the border at the point where Ferdi and a few other Tooks slipped in and out of the Tookland, was to lead her to the nearest smith and have the problem remedied, '...by the time I return. It would be faster, safer and easier to bring you through the Wood on ponyback…’

‘So why not?’ Estella said.

Ferdi looked intently at her. ‘You may be willing to take the risk, but I am not,’ he said. ‘I should rather risk myself, than my sister and her family.’

And he might rather risk herself than his sister, Estella thought privately. As she was in complete agreement with Ferdi, she felt no need to say the words aloud, but simply nodded. She was the reason they were all risking their freedom, perhaps their very lives. Whether it would be more of a risk to herself to go now, or to stay, she could not say. But if worse came to worst, she imagined Ferdi could look after himself. Hally and Rosemary, on the other hand, had the children to consider. Estella did not want to cause further risk to the little ones in the interest of an easier journey.

Ferdi went on. ‘Lotho’s louts will be eager for the reward they can gain from their Boss, by finding you. A sharp one among them might begin to wonder about any newcomers in the area, and the name “Bolger” might stir someone’s imagination…’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Estella said low. ‘Look for a Bolger amongst other Bolgers. It makes sense that my parents might have sent me to safety with relatives… seeing how that is the very thing they did.’

‘That is why I do not want to delay, even another day,’ Ferdi said. ‘All this belated talk might have cost us an hour, but we’ll still reach our first hiding before the dawning, so long as you can keep up a good pace.’

‘I can keep up,’ Estella said, clenching her fists with determination. She was not the delicate, pampered maiden who had left her father’s house some weeks ago. She had been chopping wood, hauling water, pushing a cart, milking a goat, and more. Didn’t she have muscles to show it?

‘We’ll be on very short commons,’ Ferdi said. ‘We’ll carry as much food as is practical, and a water bottle each, and we must be sparing, for it will take the better part of a week or more to reach the borderland.’

Though Estella did not know it, at that moment Rosemary was doubling the amount of food in the bag she’d already packed for Ferdi, while preparing a similar bag for Estella, for her brother calculated it would take him twice as long with the encumbrance of bringing Estella with him. These bags were of simple make, flour sacks dyed a dark colour, with shoulder straps sewn on, the tops folded down over the contents and tied in place, something that could be worn under a cloak and leave the hands free.

Quickly Ferdi sketched out the route they would take, the hiding places along the way, how he would find their way by stars (if the skies were clear), the Stock Road, and the course of a stream they’d follow for some way. The last stretch would be the most dangerous, for the ruffians kept a closer watch on the borderland than anywhere within the Woody End, and while the going might be easier in the open Green Hill country, after the Woods ended, there was also less opportunity for concealment. The Tooks had constructed traps both in the wooded portion and on the paths that wound through the Green Hills, which complicated the journey as well.

They would travel in the dark of night for the first part, though Ferdi maintained he could make his way through the Woody End with his eyes closed, he’d made the journey so often. On one difficult section, where the Wood gave way to heather and grassland and they'd pass through a boggy area, they would have to risk travelling in the light, though they’d try for late afternoon shading into evening.

When Estella asked if he might sketch her a map to go by, in case they were somehow separated, Ferdi shook his head. ‘Too dangerous, if you're taken by ruffians with a map on your person. There are landmarks, if you know what to look for,’ he said. ‘You will not, so keep tight hold on my cloak and stay close. Place your feet with care that you might neither stumble nor tread upon a dry stick. We’ll go quick as we can, and quietly as well.’

‘I understand,’ Estella said. ‘I’ll do my best.’

Ferdi looked long into her eyes. ‘I’m counting on it, lass,’ he said. ‘Rose gave a good account of you, which is why I’m giving you this chance.’

‘I thank you,’ Estella said, for it seemed the proper response, but Ferdi shook his head once more.

‘No thanks are due me,’ he said, ‘at least, not until you’re safe over the border, breathing the free air.’ And from something in his tone, she knew he was making no guarantees as to their success.

She took a deep breath and said, ‘Perhaps. But I’ll thank you all the same, at least for making the attempt.’

And then Rosemary was at the pantry door, and she slipped inside, to take Estella in a hug. ‘Everything is ready,’ she said, ‘and Hally saw to it that you had a farewell of sorts, with the littles, with his talk of missing home. It will be easy to tell them in the morning that you slipped away while they were sleeping, to seek your home once more…’

‘Hug them for me!’ Estella cried impulsively, blinking away tears. ‘And may they be safe, may you all be kept safe, until the Shire is free again one day.’

‘Or perhaps we’ll join you in… my homeland, when my brother brings me leave to come home at last,’ Rosemary said, stepping back again and turning to Ferdi. ‘He keeps trying, you know.’

Her brother smiled down at her and took her in his arms for a hug of his own, and Estella saw the two of them, brother and sister, hold each other tightly as if this might be their final farewell. As it well might be, considering how dangerous Ferdi’s business was.

‘I’ll put in a good word for you as well,’ Estella said, holding up her hand in pledge as Rosemary and Ferdi parted once more. ‘I promise.’

‘Bless you, lass,’ Rosemary whispered, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Now, then, Hally’s watching, and he says there’s nothing stirring without, and the clouds have thickened to cover the moon, and the children are deep asleep…’ She put a hand to her mouth to still her nervous chatter, and when she put it down again, she merely smiled, though her lips trembled and her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

The travellers slipped to the door and Ferdi helped Estella into her pack and cloak, settled a hood on her head, and then took up his own burden and covering. Hally looked to them from where he stood beside the window and gave a nod. That was all, but there was a wealth of love, hope and good wishes in his look, and the travellers returned the gesture with nods of their own.

Ferdi lifted the heavy bar to free the door, opened the door a handbreadth, and peered for a long moment into the darkness. He held out a corner of his cloak to Estella; she took it, and as one they slipped from the smial, into the darkness, and before Hally had closed and barred the door once more, they were gone as if they’d never been, beyond sight or imagination, swallowed by the shadows of the forest.

Chapter 11. Journey in the Dark

Estella was never really sure how Ferdi found his way. The forest was a dark blur around her, damp and chill. Though she couldn’t see the mist, she could feel it, clammy on her skin, and as they proceeded her cloak grew heavy with the damp. She was working too hard to feel the chill, however. In truth, she was overheated from the effort of following at the pace Ferdi set, holding grimly to his cloak, stumbling over the rough ground until her toes protested and all her muscles clenched tight.

Sometimes she could hear the sound of moving water, a stream chuckling to one side. Sometimes it grew louder, then softer again as they made their way. At one point, it grew very loud indeed, and then they were making their way down, and into the icy water, which thankfully was not very deep at this point, and up again on the other side, and then angling away from the gurgling sound.

Just when she thought she could not take another step, Ferdi stopped altogether. She gave a soft Oomph at running into him, but stifled it in his cloak – very handy, to run into him, as her mouth ended up pressed against his back, his heavy cloak of wool muffling the sound quite conveniently. His hand reached around behind him, to grasp at her in urgent, though silent, message.

She stood still, trembling from fatigue and effort, and as they did not move, but stood as still as the trees that surrounded them, soon her trembling also reflected the growing chill that she felt. She wanted to breathe a question, she wanted to pull at Ferdi’s cloak in inquiry, but after her time with Hally and Rosemary, she was wiser than the girl who’d set out from Budge Hall with her brother, a lifetime ago.

At last Ferdi squeezed her arm and released her, pulled forward slowly (as if to make sure she had a firm hold on his cloak), and began to move swiftly, tirelessly once more.

They never moved in a straight line, she thought, but dodged this way and that, brushing past trees to one side or the other. She learned by hard experience to tread lightly, to lift her feet a little higher than she might on level ground, walking across the lawns of Budge Hall, feeling her way as she went. She could tell a little about the lie of the land, she discovered, simply by the feel of Ferdi’s cloak in her hand – whether he was toiling uphill or down, or stepping over some obstacle, or moving to one side or the other.

When he stopped again, though it was once more without warning, she’d grown so used to anticipating his next move that this time she did not run into his back, but stopped just short, the two of them breathing softly, almost as one. Again she listened, and this time she heard the crashing of a heavy body, passing nearby. A deer, she wondered?

A rough curse, uttered in a low voice, told her that Men were near, and she froze, scarcely breathing. And suddenly, Ferdi turned and pushed her down, throwing himself over her. She willed herself to lie very still on the damp ground, but peering from under her hood, she could see a small circle of light on the ground, not far away, that moved and then stopped. A voice growled, ‘What’s that? Is someone there?’

‘What are you about, Ferny?’

‘I heard something, in the brush there…’

‘Rabbit, most likely, or fox. I heard nought. Not large enough to be a deer, I allow, or I’d’ve heard it as well.’

‘What if it’s one of them blasted Tooks?’

A muted shout of laughter. ‘What? Tooks? Here? Don’t be daft! Now, if we’re at the woodcutters’ by the dawning, Annie’ll have breakfast ready and waiting for us…’

From the name “Annie”, Estella gathered that they weren’t talking about Hally and Rosemary, but some other woodcutter. Her stomach chose that moment to growl, at the mention of breakfast, and she shut her eyes tight in dread that those Men might have heard.

Thankfully they didn’t, however, for the crashing sounds came again, heavy tromping of boots, and when she opened her eyes, fearing discovery, she saw the circle of light on the ground moving away, until they were left once more in the darkness.

Ferdi squeezed her shoulder, and she felt him shift his weight, pushing himself upright, rolling off her, and then his hand slid down her arm from her shoulder until he found her hand, and helped her to her feet. Without a word, he moved her hand to his cloak, squeezing her fingers into place, and gave a little shake for emphasis.

She nodded, though she knew he could not see the gesture, and gave his cloak a small tug, and they were off again.

The night was an endless ordeal of stops and starts, quick movement and quiet, cold waiting for whatever had alarmed her guide into stillness, before he decided it was safe to move again. Estella was stumbling along in a fog of weariness, and not just the night mist, when Ferdi stopped once more, though there was a different quality to this change of pace.

He turned and put one arm around her, guiding her forward, and then he pressed down on her shoulder in a silent command; understanding came slowly, but at last she crouched, then went to her hands and knees, as he guided her into some confined place, she wasn’t sure where – not the cold damp of a cave or burrow under the earth, she thought.

Something dry rustled under her hands and knees, and crawling forward, she bumped her head on something hard, yet crumbling, hard enough that she saw stars for a moment in the darkness. And then Ferdi was tugging at her hands, and she divined somehow that she was to lie down in this confined space, scarcely large enough to curl up in. She heard more rustlings behind her – Ferdi was doing something, she wasn’t sure just what – and then he was there, pressed up against her, curling around her, his breath warm on the back of her neck. He pulled his cloak to cover the both of them and circled her with his arms.

Sleep now. It was the barest whisper, less than a breath, but she nodded.

She couldn’t help thinking of her mother’s and grandmother’s horror, to see her here, in this wild place (wherever it might be, she shuddered to think – the den of some wild creature?), snuggled together with a hobbit only a year or two older than herself. Scandalous!

Stifling the sudden but ridiculous impulse to giggle, she took a few deep breaths, still feeling Ferdi’s warm exhalations against the back of her neck, his lips close to her ear, as intimate an embrace as two married hobbits might share.

…which brought Lotho Sackville-Baggins to mind. She shuddered involuntarily, and felt Ferdi’s arms tighten for a few moments, before he pulled his cloak a little further over her and then was still once more, his breathing grown more even, as if he slept.

Somehow, sleep found Estella as well.

Chapter 12. Progress

Estella woke suddenly, feeling cramped, as if she’d slept an entire night without moving, curled into a ball. She stretched, or tried to, finding her movements restricted, her feet fetching up against a rough surface though her knees were still bent. She ached all over, most especially her legs, and she reached down to rub at a cramp in the calf of one of her legs, and with her other hand she threw off her covering. Memory came in a rush, then – she saw that she lay within a confined space, dim light revealing rough walls of decaying wood that surrounded her on all sides. She was inside the hollow trunk of a still-standing tree! Her covering had been Ferdi’s cloak, she discovered, and under her was a bed of dry leaves.

Ferdi, himself, was a warm spot against her hip. He was sitting up, eating some of Rosemary’s good bread smeared with fresh goats-milk cheese. He nodded in greeting and pointed to her pack – which she suddenly realised had been on her back when she fell asleep, and now served as a pillow of sorts, though she didn’t remember the transition. Ferdi’s doing, she gathered. Her stomach grumbled then, and she sat up – there was just enough room for the two of them to sit a little apart – and dug in her pack for her own portion of food, wrapped in a flour-sack cloth. It didn’t take long to devour one day’s ration, though she picked crumbs off the cloth until it was clean, and used it to wrap another portion, as Ferdi had instructed her before they’d left the Bolgers’. ‘They may not be able to tell how many days you’ve travelled, if you re-wrap the cloths each time you use one.’ It was all in defence of his sister and her family – that any ruffians who caught them and searched their possessions would not be able to tell how many days they had travelled from where they’d found their supply of travel rations.

Dim light filtered through an opening stuffed full of old leaves and bracken fronds, and she realised that outside their refuge, it was full daylight.

…which presented certain problems in itself. She was becoming aware of growing discomfort, but without any idea of how to deal with it. She shifted uncomfortably – she’d have to do something, as they still had five days or so of travel ahead of them, and she certainly could not wait until they reached the safety of the Tookland…

Before she had given much thought to how to frame the question, Ferdi seemed to divine her need. ‘Quiet,’ he whispered, and she looked at him in surprise, for she hadn’t said anything, or even moved, really, since finishing her meal. He nodded towards the entrance. ‘Quiet, out-of-the-way place,’ he clarified. ‘I’ll unblock the entrance and look out, though I haven’t heard anyone or anything – and believe me, I’ve been listening – and you may go and find a bit of cover, scratch a hole with a stick, do what you need to do…’ He was not looking at her, but fixedly at the entrance, and so he did not see the rush of hot blood to Estella’s cheeks – nor did she see his own discomfort, for her part, as she, too, was staring at the entrance, at least until a touch on her arm brought her gaze back to meet his. ‘Be sure and cover up any sign you’ve been there,’ he said, nodding for emphasis, and she nodded in return, to show her understanding.

He leaned towards the entrance then, nearly resting his head on the concealing leaf pile, taut with listening once more, and then nodded. ‘If I say to run, then you run until you can find a place to hide, and don’t look back, no matter what; d’you understand?’

Tense, she managed a nod.

Ferdi pushed his way out, letting a flood of light into their sanctuary, and she followed, though her limbs cramped from the unaccustomed freedom. She looked around quickly to mark the spot and saw some leafy brambles nearby, tall enough to shield her from Ferdi’s eyes. She hurried to take care of her necessary business, not really heeding that Ferdi was doing the same, concealed by another bramble patch on the far side of the hollowed tree. All she knew was that it was a dreary day, and the sky was grey above them, making the leaves around her more intensely green, while the flowers of the wild strawberry plants at her feet glowed bright pink and white in contrast.

Birds sang in the canopy above, and somewhere a squirrel scolded, but there were no alarm cries, on the part of the wild things. Estella felt a certain peace, here in the depths of the Woody End. It was quiet, with no noise of Man or Hobbit, not even a tang of smoke in the air from someone’s fire.

Ferdi was waiting by the entrance when she returned. He gestured for her to enter first, and followed her into the hollow, turning to wipe out any trace of their passing, before he pushed the drift of leaves in place once more, to conceal the hollow. ‘Sleep,’ he said now, gesturing at her pack-pillow. ‘We’ll eat a bit more when we waken, and leave at dusk.’

***

Stiff as she was, the first mile or so of their travel was painful, but soon she fell into a sort of rhythm of walking – and walk they did, in this stretch of the journey, for Ferdi crooked his arm and tucked Estella’s hand into place at his elbow, and they strolled along quite as if they were hobbits on a walking holiday – if hobbits on a walking holiday should walk at night, through uninhabited forest, without even stars above to explain their wakefulness. She wondered if this stretch of forest was where Twig’s family might live, in the “back of the back Woods” as Hally had put it, that is, if Twig’s family existed, a point she’d never been quite sure about, from hearing Hally and Rose talk about Twig’s family.

At one point they stopped where a spring rose from the ground and poured out to make a tiny stream that trickled away into the forest. The water was icy cold and refreshing to drink, and Ferdi had Estella refill her water bottle in the small pool where the spring water welled up. She splashed her face as well, and felt more wakeful for the rest of the night.

It was a pleasant night’s journey, and Estella felt as if she could keep on like this for days, if need be, though she was very hungry, and all the exercise made her hungrier. They were eating less than half of what she’d enjoy at home, or even at Hally and Rosemary’s little smial. She looked forward to arriving at the Great Smials – when last she’d attended a feast there, the tables had nearly groaned with food.

She stopped to consider – well, not literally, for of course she kept walking, keeping to the pace Ferdi set – and wondered how the Tooks were faring in these Troubled times. Of course, they’d kept the ruffians out of the Tookland, and so their crops had not been gathered. On the other hand, they would not have been able to trade with the rest of the Shire, even if the Shire-folk had retained enough food to trade, what with the gathering done by Lotho’s ruffians. She wasn’t sure what grew in the Tookland, besides barley and sheep, though of course each smial-holder would have a kitchen garden for vegetables. Still, what would a feast at the Great Smials look like, these days? And would they even hold a feast for any reason?

A memorial feast, for a death, a little voice said deep inside. She shuddered and pulled her cloak closer about herself with her free hand, remembering the memorial feast for Pippin, not long before Yuletide… Yuletide ought to be a time for joy, for looking forward to Yuletide celebrations, not a fitting time for mourning one lost too early, though the Tooks had left the Thain little choice in the matter, demanding that he honour his son – lost in the attack on Crickhollow, it was said, by mysterious creatures that came out of the Old Forest and bore away the hobbits there. Her own brother Freddy had narrowly escaped death – he had fled the attack, run for help, but help had come too late. The Thain had not wanted to admit his son was gone, but in the end he'd been overruled by the Tooks, shamed, forced to honour Pippin's memory in the proper manner and name a successor.

***

They had walked for most of the night – and even though the days were growing longer, all night was long enough to be walking, or so Estella’s muscles told her – and the trees around them were now discernable in the increasing light, when Ferdi stopped at a large outcropping of rock on the wooded hillside they had been traversing, and seemed to be hunting about for something. At last, he found what he was looking for. Pushing aside some low growth, he bent down, and disappeared. His hand appeared, beckoning, and Estella bent down and followed.

They were in a dry cave, some sort of den, she guessed, though thankfully no animal was there, only a lingering scent of old musk. ‘I’m never sure I’ll find this place empty when I come,’ Ferdi said in a low voice, ‘but I’m that grateful that it remains empty. Hopefully any fox or badger that sought this place would smell “hobbit” here and decide not to stay.’

This place was roomier than their previous hidey-hole, and Estella welcomed the notion of being able to turn over in her sleep, to stretch out her weary legs if the day’s exercise should bring on cramping in the night – even to sleep a little separate from Ferdibrand, now that would be a luxury indeed!

They ate their supper – or would it be breakfast? Estella wondered, went out cautiously to take care of their personal needs, and then sat companionably in the shadowy den, neither ready to sleep, and watched the day brighten outside.

‘We ought not to be disturbed here,’ Ferdi whispered, ‘for there are no smials nearby, and we are well off the beaten track as the old saying goes – though the wild Green Hills grow even wilder beyond this point, and there are streams too deep for us to cross, that bar our way. We’ll have to make our way back towards the Stock Road, eventually, and that will be the time of greatest danger, half a day or less before we cross the borderland into the free Tookland.’

‘How long?’ Estella whispered back.

Ferdi considered, tilting his head. ‘We’ve made very good time,’ he said, ‘better than I’d hoped, in fact. I think, instead of six days, we might well be able to reach Tuckborough in five…’

Estella thought to herself, Two days to this place, and three more… She asked aloud, ‘How many days to the borderland, then? Will we be a full day in the Tookland, on our way to the Smials?’

Ferdi laughed silently and patted her shoulder, as if she really were a lad instead of a troublesome girl that he must escort for her own safety. ‘Two more days to the borderland; you have the right of it, if that’s what you are figuring…’

She smiled in return, but her smile faded when he sobered and said, ‘Ah, but not so easy as this day was. Ah, the morrow will be – at least the first part, while we remain deep in the wild country, though the second part of tomorrow’s journey will be more like yesterday – more chance of ruffians, and Lotho’s Shirriffs, looking for hobbits who are out and about after curfew.’

‘Curfew?’ Estella said. It was an unfamiliar word.

‘They’ve set times, do you see? …when hobbits mayn’t stir foot outside their doors. They think it helps them to keep order. For, of course, bands like the one your brother leads would hardly do their raiding under the light of the Sun, now would they? Not unless they were foolhardy…’

Or desperate, Estella thought to herself. Rather like ourselves, having to skirt the bog, not tomorrow but the day after.

Still, this day’s (or night’s, rather) travel had been easy enough, she could hope for more of the same. Could she not?

Hope costs naught, she remembered Frodo saying once, when she had tagged after himself, Merry, and Freddy, and hid behind a tree to listen to their conversation. But hope, misplaced, can cost you everything. Unaccountably, she shivered.

‘But you’re taking cold,’ Ferdi said, unfastening his cloak, and despite Estella’s attempt to wave away his gallantry, he pulled it around her shoulders, with a firm, ‘We can’t have you sneezing, just at the wrong time, and a ruffian hearing and discovering us!’

‘I suppose not,’ she said grudgingly.

‘Well then,’ Ferdi said. ‘Full daylight is here, and dusk will come all too soon. We had better seek our pillows, such as they are.’ He suited action to word, plumping up his pack as best he could, and lying down with his head on the pack, his back to Estella.

Estella followed suit, lying herself down and listening for a long time, until his breathing changed and grew even. She sat up, cautiously, making as little noise as possible, but he didn’t move or make a sound. She turned to see him curled together, as if to keep himself warm. With great care and stealth, she took up his cloak and laid it over him, and then she laid herself down once more, her back turned to his, and gave herself up to sleep.

Chapter 13. A Shortcut to Mushrooms*

She awakened, somehow aware of scrutiny – the hair prickling on the back of her neck – and turned over suddenly, to see Ferdibrand sitting up beside her, with a thoughtful look on his face. He indicated his cloak. ‘When did this happen?’ he said, one side of his mouth quirking in a half-smile.

‘You looked cold,’ Estella said with a little of her old haughtiness, sitting upright and stretching to get out the kinks. Wakening was getting easier, she thought. She wasn’t half as sore as she’d felt at the start of their previous march.

He merely smiled and shook his head, then dug another serving of bread from his pack, adding some dried meat and fruit to complete the meal. ‘The goats’ cheese grows in smell as it ages,’ he said in explanation. ‘That’s why Rosie packed it in the outer layer of wrappings. We wouldn’t want the ruffians or their dogs to catch a whiff of us in passing and feel compelled to follow the scent to its source.’

Estella suppressed a shiver at the mention of dogs. She’d heard Frodo tell Freddy about Maggots’ dogs at Bamfurlong Farm, and his vivid description had made an impression on her mind, one that had her looking at every large dog with suspicion for months afterward. To cover her thoughts, she opened her own pack to retrieve the next meal. The bread was beginning to stale, but still edible; the fruit was sweet and toothsome; the meat, on the other hand...

‘Bite off a piece and then take a mouthful of water to help soften it whilst you chew,’ Ferdi said with a smile. ‘Better than trying to choke it down, dry.’ And as his smile said more of his understanding than condescension, she didn’t take offence.

She nodded and complied, looking out upon the day through the leafy screen that covered the mouth of the cave. It was bright outside, mid-day, she thought. Likely they’d eat and lie down again until dusk, and then get up and walk.

…but no, as it turned out. When he was finished with his meal, Ferdi turned to her. ‘This deep in the Wood, we’re not likely to encounter anyone, ruffian or hobbit,’ he said. ‘Well, perhaps hobbits, though in this day even that’s unlikely, as it’s getting harder and harder to get a Pass to leave one’s home or community.’

Estella nodded. The addition of Passes to the ever-lengthening list of Rules had been one reason why Freddy had spirited her from their home to the forest Bolgers’ in the middle of the night.

‘In any event,’ Ferdi said, ‘my usual travel route is shorter and more dangerous – paralleling the Stock Road, for the most part. I don’t often travel this deep into the Wood, not having the luxury of time.’

Estella nodded, wondering when he would get to the point.

‘Good lad,’ Ferdi said, approving her obvious show of attention. A part of her mind wondered at that – he called her “Twig” or “lad” even when there was no chance of someone overhearing. The hobbit was a study in caution – as was his sister. ‘Any road, I deem ‘twould be much more difficult for two to pass the most dangerous stretch, than one – I have any number of disguises and schemes – sometimes it suffices to throw myself down in a ditch, but not always! And two – in a ditch – would be much more noticeable than one, I should think.’

‘As do I,’ Estella affirmed wryly at the mental image this presented.

‘So we shall spend the rest of the day harvesting mushrooms as we go,’ Ferdi said. ‘We came this way, longer though it might be – is, actually – so that we could go through some of the best mushroom-hunting land to be found in the Wood between Stock and Tuckborough.’

‘Mushrooms!’ Estella said in surprise.

Ferdi laughed at her expression. ‘Aye,’ he said, a rare Tookish slip on his part, for he quickly amended his speech. ‘Yes, I mean, and we will go as quick and quiet through the dangerous part as we can, and if we manage to go without ruffians catching us it will be all well and good – for the Thain will certainly welcome what we bring with us…’

‘And if not?’ Estella said.

‘Well then,’ Ferdi said. ‘Here is our story. You are my son,’ Estella wondered how he'd pull that off, being only a year or two older than herself, ‘or nephew – in any event, you are the Youngster in any speech I might have with a ruffian – and you are to be shy and awkward and let me do all the talking…’

‘The Fox with the Silver Tongue,’ Estella said, and Ferdi nodded with a grin.

‘Just as in that old story,’ he said. ‘We have been sent by Shirriff Tallow,’ and at Estella’s quickly suppressed gasp he nodded and added, ‘even so.’

Shirriff Tallow was one of Lotho’s hobbits, a two-feather Shirriff whose fame – or perhaps infamy – had spread beyond Bywater and Hobbiton, his usual haunts. He had thrown his lot in completely with Lotho and Lotho’s Men, enjoying the sense of power and the wealth – gathered from Shire-folk, but what was that to him? – afforded by his position. He hadn’t even been a Shirriff, to start, but had quickly risen in the ranks to a place of prominence with his bullying ways, and ability to curry favour with his superiors.

‘The good Shirriff has sent us to gather mushrooms for the Chief,’ Ferdi went on, ‘and so, of course, we must have a goodly supply of mushrooms in our packs if we should have to tell our story. It’s worked once, at least,’ he said. ‘We simply surrender our packs to the ruffians, who will bypass Tallow (and never find that we did not have orders) and bring the mushrooms to Lotho themselves, as if it were their own idea, and he’ll give them all the credit and reward.’

‘And since Tallow,’ Estella grimaced at having to pronounce the name, ‘never sent us, he won’t know to lodge a protest,’ she said, ‘or seek to punish the poor hobbits that he never actually sent out.’

‘Exactly,’ Ferdi said. ‘It’s a dangerous business, but less of a gamble than trying to sneak by unseen – which we will be doing, or attempting, at least. This is simply braces to add to our belts.’

Estella smiled at the picture. ‘Well, then,’ she said. ‘Shall we get started?’

Ferdi looked intently at her. ‘What do you know about gathering mushrooms?’ he said. ‘Brought up as you were, how do I know you’ll gather good and not ill?’

Estella laughed softly. ‘I’m the tagalong little sister of Fatty Bolger!’ she said. ‘Surely in your youth you heard him complain about it!’

Ferdi laughed his silent laugh.

‘I was there, when Frodo took him mushrooming – not at Bamfurlong, of course, but in the woods near Budge Hall, for when old Bilbo adopted him, he no longer raided Maggots’ fields…’

‘No, I heard he changed after the old hobbit took him in, from one of the worst young rascals of Buckland, to quite a fine and upstanding hobbit of Hobbiton,’ Ferdi said.

‘Yes, but he had quite a talent for mushrooms, even so,’ Estella said. ‘He let me learn alongside Freddy, though Freddy would have sent me home. He said something to the effect that everyone ought to learn the difference between good mushrooms and deadly ones, for their own protection. Even if I were to become a fine lady in a Hall of my own, and not a mushroom hunter by trade, I should want to be able to look through a basket of mushrooms brought to my door by a hopeful seller…’ A sudden tear surprised her in the midst of this practical sentiment, and a lump came to her throat, so that she blinked and faltered.

Ferdi nodded and patted her shoulder. ‘He was a fine hobbit,’ he said, ‘though I didn’t know him as well as you and Freddy did. I knew him as someone kind and thoughtful, and generous into the bargain.’ When he saw that his words were only causing the tears to flow more rapidly, he changed direction. ‘I wish I had the opportunity to know him better – now, that is,’ and at his wry tone Estella looked up in surprise. He nodded at her expression. ‘Ah, yes, I admit I found him to be quite dull, you know – I didn’t have much appreciation for books and reading. Still don’t, as a matter of fact. I can read, practical things, but all those tales of his, and Elvish translations of Bilbo’s – people and places too far and away to be of any use or good.’

Estella’s expression turned to pity, and she shook her head at him, but he only laughed silently again, and said, ‘Well, those mushrooms won’t gather themselves! Let us be about our business…’

As they emerged from the cave, he looked about them carefully, eyed the sky, listened – and Estella found herself holding her breath and listening, herself, though she hadn’t the faintest idea what they might be listening for. At last Ferdi drew a deep breath and said, ‘Just smell that fresh air! Not even the smallest taint of smoke. No wood fires, or coal or peat, this deep in the Wood. No ruffians camping nearby, I should think, for they seldom go without a fire and cooked food – why, I’ve seen them drag a hobbit along with them on their travels, just to do the cooking for them! Still, we’ll keep our voices down, speak more with our hands than our lips, just to keep in practice.’

Estella nodded.

Ferdi drew another deep breath and cocked an eye at the sky. ‘Noonish,’ he said. ‘Clear weather for the next day or two at least – we’ll have a full moon this night for our walking.’

‘Gather mushrooms all the afternoon, walk all the night?’ Estella wanted to know. This would be the longest day of her experience, if so.

‘Most of the night,’ Ferdi said. ‘As I said, once we’re through this stretch of Wood we’ll be coming closer to habitation once more, and it’ll be safer to walk in darkness and silence. The next hidey-hole is a good way off, and will take us that long to reach, as we won’t be covering ground so quickly, at least until we’ve each gathered a full load of mushrooms.’ He smiled at her attempt to conceal her dismay. ‘If not for the mushrooms, it would be a night’s walk, perhaps a little less…’

‘But the shrooms buy us safety, or at least, braces,’ Estella said bravely.

Ferdi’s smile broadened in approval. ‘At the very least,’ he said.

***

A/N: Title is a nod to JRRT, of course, especially as this is not really a shortcut, though mushrooms are involved.

Chapter 14. The Luck of the Tooks

It was a fine afternoon. The Sun, high above, teased them in speckles of light that crept through the heavy canopy of trees that sheltered them from the sky, and danced in a light breeze. Estella pulled her rabbit-skin cloak closer about her and shivered when the wind ruffled her hair.

‘A bit brisk,’ Ferdi said. ‘The wind will be high atop the Green Hills, bowling the clouds along…’

Estella peered upward. ‘Not a cloud in the sky!’ she protested.

‘Dry today,’ Ferdi agreed, ‘and the wind is sweeping away the mist and fog. But this time of year the weather is changeable. There might be sun, there might be rain or mist, and it’s not beyond the realm of possibility for hail or snow to fall, all in one spring day.’

‘Snow!’ Estella said, looking at him suspiciously.

But he only laughed and pointed ahead. ‘That looks like a fair specimen or three!’ And while Estella went to gather the mushrooms there, he walked at a tangent to another small colony and began to gather, examining each cap with care before stowing it gently in his bag. If not for Ferdi’s evident caution, his constant vigilance, watching about them and listening, they might have been on a casual ramble, a walking party, as in the old days when Frodo had kindly invited Estella to join him and Freddy, and sometimes Merry, when the latter was visiting from Buckland during one of Bilbo and Frodo’s stays at Budge Hall.

The first of the wild strawberries gleamed like rubies amongst the green leaves on the forest floor, and though they were tiny, more a matter of a burst of flavour than any sort of sustenance, they added spice to the exercise as the two walked along. At one point they stopped and sat down to rest, reaching into their packs for yet another portion of bread from their dwindling supply, supplemented by some of the specimens they’d been gathering, that were good when eaten raw. The mushrooms were delicious, of course, ‘though they’d be better sautéed with butter and a little good wine,’ Estella said through a mouthful.

‘Ah, but my sister’s bread makes up a great deal for what may be lacking,’ Ferdi said, smacking his lips. ‘Rosie’s bread, going stale, is still better than anyone else’s, fresh out of the oven.’

‘Really?’ Estella said, and shook her head with mock seriousness. ‘I don’t know… our Cook was an artist when it came to food…’

‘And you ought to know, when it comes to art,’ Ferdi said. At her raised eyebrow, he shrugged. ‘Your father showed us a roomful of paintings and sketches, on one of our visits.’ He chuckled at her expression of horror. ‘You were on a visit, some Bolger aunt or another… You didn’t know? He’s very proud of your talent.’

‘I never let him show off my work when I’m at home,’ Estella said in a small voice, looking fixedly down at her lap. ‘Poor as it is…’

Ferdi laughed aloud, albeit very softly, and patted her arm. ‘Poor in your eyes, perhaps,’ he said. ‘I know when I try to sketch or carve, it never comes out exactly as I see it in my head. But your “work” as you call it – you’ve nothing to apologise for, there. The works are pleasing to the eye, well laid-out, very life-like: I thought the squirrel, for example, was about to twitch his tail and scold!’

Estella coloured in chagrin and said hastily, ‘I wasn’t fishing for compliments.’

Ferdi was silent in reply, and the silence stretched out until at last she looked up, reluctantly, only to find him wearing a sympathetic expression. ‘I know that you weren’t,’ he said. ‘You’re about as far from “false and frivolous” as the Misty Mountains are from the Sea, as old Bilbo used to put it.’ A long, long way, he meant, though he had little idea of either Misty Mountains to the East or Western Sea, for the maps he’d pored over and committed to heart did not go beyond the Bounds of the Shire.

Now Ferdi picked the last of the crumbs from the cloth that wound together his food supply, and wrapped and tied the cloth carefully to conserve the rest. ‘Ah, well,’ he said. ‘Sun’s half-way down the sky, and we’re only half-way through the mushroom-gathering part of our journey… Our packs ought to be mostly full before we leave this part of the Wood and parallel the Stock Road once more.’

Estella nodded and followed suit, and soon they were about the business of gathering once more, walking together some of the time, going off in different directions to investigate some likely growths and harvest the best, and coming together again. When walking together, they alternated between soft talk and companionable silence.

Estella’s eyes were intent on her task, but Ferdi divided his time between mushroom hunting and his surroundings, always watching for movement or some sign of others. He had told Estella that he was fairly confident they’d encounter no other hobbits gathering here, what with the growing difficulty to obtain a pass to leave one’s immediate environs. There were no hobbit settlements in this part of the Wood, and little reason for Lotho to send his Men here – no hobbits to bully, or with goods to gather. Estella observed aloud that they might have been walking in the Shire before hobbits came at all, before Marcho and Blanco led their people to a new life in a new land, under a long-dead King’s protection.

‘We could use a good King!’ Ferdi said in an undertone, ‘if only there were such a person, to keep order and see justice done.’

‘Bilbo used to talk about Kings,’ Estella answered softly. ‘The stories he could tell… I remember Merry begging the old hobbit to take him to see the King, for he sounded so grand, and Bilbo always answered, “P’rhaps I will… just so soon as the fellow comes back…” He always made it sound as if the King had just stepped out for a moment, to smoke a pipe or somewhat, and would be back in a moment or two.’

Ferdi laughed at this, for “When the King comes back” was a common proverb among Shirefolk, when talking about something that would never happen. ‘I miss his stories,’ he said. ‘Fantastic things! Elves and warriors, dragons and Dwarves…’

‘Wolves and wizards,’ Estella agreed. She added several more carefully selected caps to her pack and said in surprise, ‘I’ve nearly filled my bag.’ It seemed as if they’d spent but a few moments searching and picking, walking slowly and talking as if it were just any spring day, before the Troubles had descended on the Shire.

‘And I,’ Ferdi said. ‘And a good thing, too! We’ll be losing the light soon – how quickly the time passes, and it’ll be harder to distinguish the good from the deadly, so we might as well pack up and walk on.’

They secured their packs so that no toothsome treats would fall out, and slipped the straps over their shoulders. Ferdi began to walk more purposefully, in the general direction of the setting Sun, but a little to the right of a straight course. Estella, walking beside him, said, ‘West, and a little North, I think.’

Well-pleased, he slapped her on the shoulder. ‘Well done, lad!’ (And with this, she understood that they had left Ferdi-and-Estella behind and were once more play-acting “uncle and lad” for the ruffians’ sake.) ‘We’ll make a hunter of you yet.’

‘Back toward the Road,’ she said.

‘And closer to civilisation,’ Ferdi agreed, ‘or what used to be. I’d say the Shire is growing less civilised instead of more, lately…’

They had walked some distance, and were picking their way down a hillside, and perhaps Estella ought to have paid closer heed to her footing, but basking in Ferdi’s recent approval, or the dimming light, or any number of reasons prevented her. In any event, a loose stone turned under her foot. With a startled cry, she threw out her hands to try and catch her balance, felt Ferdi grab at her sleeve, only to have it pull loose from his grip almost immediately, and then she was tumbling down the hill until she fetched up hard against a tree, dazed and hurting.

It seemed only a moment and then Ferdi was there, breathing hard, his hands grasping her shoulders as he gasped, ‘Estella! Are you hurt? Do you hear me?’ His hands were feeling her neck and head, as if probing for injury.

She wanted to weep in vexation and pain, but she remembered Rosemary’s lessons. She swallowed hard, took a careful breath, and grumbled, ‘I’ve ears enough, haven’t I?’

Hearing her speak, and evidently in her right mind, he picked her up from her crumpled ball and eased her back against the tree in a sitting position.

A little dizzy, Estella closed her eyes. She heard Ferdi’s relieved chuckle, though his hands were careful and gentle, feeling her limbs for injuries.

‘You’ve two, at the least,’ he answered, ‘and two eyes into the bargain, and glad I am to see them open and aware.’

‘Two eyes ought to be enough, I trow, though they weren’t, enough I mean, to see that the blasted rock would turn when I stepped on it,’ she said, and couldn’t suppress a yelp when he touched her ankle. Ferdi did not reprimand her for her strong language as Freddy would have; they were fully in character as “uncle” and “nephew” once more.

He frowned and explored with more care. ‘Turned your ankle.’

‘You noticed,’ Estella said sourly.

‘Not broken, I think,’ Ferdi said, manipulating it carefully while Estella gritted her teeth and winked away tears of pain and frustration. ‘Might not even be a sprain, but just a strain. In any event, it would be best not to walk on it for a day.’

‘What will we do?’ Estella demanded in dismay. ‘We can’t just stop here! Unless you know of a convenient hollow tree in these parts…’

But Ferdi was shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve no hidey-holes in this part of the Wood. We’re about halfway between our last rest, and our next.’

‘But if I’m not to walk, then what? Fly?’

Ferdi laughed at her acerbic tone. ‘That would be good, but I suspect you’ve left your wings at home, as have I, and there are no eagles hereabouts to offer us a lift.’ He was scanning their surroundings as they spoke, and now he handed her his sturdy walking stick. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘If any foxes menace you, just tap them on the nose with this.’ He got up from his crouch and began to pick his way to the bottom of the hillside.

Estella watched anxiously until he was out of sight, and then taking a firmer grip on the walking stick, she drew a deep breath. Twig might be fearful, but he’d never show his fear. Twig could split a sturdy log with a well-aimed blow of an axe, while helping Hally chop and stack wood. Twig could split the skull of a fox or stray dog as easily, with the hardened knob on the top of the walking stick – an elegant club, so to speak. Though Ferdi hadn’t used it as a weapon during their journey, having used it more to prod the path ahead of them as they walked through the darkness, or to thrust brambles aside from the path, Estella could now feel the possibilities in the fine balance of the stick in her hands.

Twig might only be a lad, but he’d wait bravely, weapon at the ready, and he wouldn’t quiver at the least sound rustling in the underbrush nearby. He wouldn’t hunch together like a fearful girl, lost in the little wood near Budgeford after following her brother and cousins, and falling behind, and realising she didn’t know her way home again, waiting for rescue and fearing the searchers might never find her in time, before some wild animal came upon her, or darkness fell, or both together.

“Twig”, Rosemary had named her. “Twig”, Rosemary and Hally had taught her to be.

Estella firmly put away all girlish thoughts of weakness and needing protection, as she’d been taught, as she’d been brought up to, from her earliest memories as a well-brought-up lass from one of the Great Families, and became fully Twig.

Chapter 15. Of Comfrey and Comfort

The shapes of the surrounding trees faded into shadow as the light dimmed, and soon Twig could not see her hand before her face, and Ferdi was gone somewhere, and what would she do if he did not return – for there was always the possibility of his capture by ruffians. He’d drilled into her the thought that if they should be accosted by ruffians, he’d create some sort of diversion, and she should run – run as far as she might, and not look back, no matter what she might hear behind her. She was to run, and find a hiding place, and hide until all was quiet, and then it would be up to her to rescue herself – to keep travelling to the West, until she reached the free Tookland.

She understood some of his reasoning; his purpose, after all, was to get her to safety. On the other hand, should he be caught with her in his possession, and the ruffians were able to positively identify her, the consequences for Ferdi would be all the worse. Or so Rosemary had told her, in discussing the scheme early on, before Ferdi had even made his appearance at the woodcarver’s little cottage. She must run and successfully hide, not just in her own defence, but to protect Ferdi.

With that thought, she tried to rise, to find a better hiding place, less exposed to a lantern-bearing traveller. Sharp pain flared in her foot, and she sank down again, fighting the impulse to be sick. She was not quite desperate enough to force herself to move in the face of pain. Perhaps if she heard the voices of Men nearby… and perhaps she’d still be unable to move far enough. She resolved within herself, that if by ill luck ruffians should come upon her now, she’d say nothing about how she’d come to be here. No, she thought, she must make up a convincing tale, of cutting her hair and stealing some boy’s clothes from a clothesline, and running away from home on her own idea, and no one else’s suggestion or aid.

So busy laying her plans was she, that she did not hear Ferdi’s approach until he spoke near at hand. She jumped, and his hand touched her arm in reassurance as he apologised.

‘Sorry, my lad,’ he said. ‘Tis only myself.’

‘Ah, Uncle,’ she answered. ‘I thought it might be a fox, at the least, but as it’s only yourself, I’ll take no alarm.’

She could almost feel the warmth of his smile in the darkness, Fox that he was, to hobbits and ruffians alike, and a smile was in his voice as he said, ‘I have found us a place where we can shelter, and more important, some leaves that will give you relief, hopefully enough that we may move from here to that shelter without too much difficulty…’

His hands went unerringly to the calf of her injured leg, as if he could see in the darkness (and maybe he could, Twig thought to herself, for he’d certainly led them through the darkness with only his ears, toes, and walking stick for a guide). She shivered as his hands slid down her calf to her ankle and foot. He whistled low. ‘Swelled up a bit while I was gone.’ She was certain from his tone that the swelling was more than ‘a bit’ but as it was dark, and she hadn’t wanted to touch the area and cause more pain, she had no idea… On second thought, the skin felt tight. She could almost imagine the swelling, now.

And then something cool against her skin, and she gasped involuntarily again at the suddenness, and he apologised under his breath.

‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I was just startled, that’s all, and really…’ She took a deep breath, and another, and added, ‘I do think it’s beginning to help. Already!’

‘Comfrey,’ he said. ‘Grows here in the Wood, one just needs to know what to look for, and where. Bruise the leaves, apply them, and in an hour you won’t believe the difference…’

‘An hour,’ she murmured, thinking of wandering ruffians.

‘We’ll hear them before they see us,’ Ferdi said quietly. ‘If that’s the case, I can bear you up in my arms, at least away from their direction of travel, enough that they don’t stumble over us.’ As if he could read her mood he added, in a pompous voice, ‘I cannot carry you to the ends of the Earth, of course!’

Laughter bubbled up in her, as he’d intended. Nervous laughter it might be, but he chuckled to hear her giggle, and though his hands never ceased their work on her injured foot and ankle, he said, ‘That’s better.’

He added, ‘In an hour, the Moon will be high enough in the sky to lend his light to our endeavours. It makes it easier for a passing ruffian to see us, perhaps, but I doubt their eyes are as sharp as a hobbit’s, at least in the dark Wood. We’ll be cautious in our going, and they won’t be, most likely.’

‘Full moon tonight?’ Twig said, remembering something he’d said earlier.

‘Yes, and clear sky,’ he said. ‘Just enough light to do us good. If it were an August moon, it might be light enough to read by.’

‘Folk in the back of the Wood don’t read,’ Twig said with a sniff. ‘Too much bother to learn, and what is the use of it, I ask you? Waste of good wood, to grind it up for paper, anyhow, or so my pap always said.’

‘Paper twists make for good fire-starting,’ Ferdi countered. He’d plastered wet leaves of comfrey over her entire foot and ankle, and was now winding a long cloth – one of the food wrapping cloths? – over all.

‘Only a careless fellow would let his fire go out,’ Twig said in a righteous tone, nose high in the air. ‘And who needs something as fancy as paper -- useless stuff that it is – when there’s moss, and shredded bark?’

‘You have me there,’ Ferdi said. ‘Far be it from me to ask you to put on airs…’

Twig hmphed in satisfaction at having bested him in the argument, just as if she were a hobbit from back in the Back of the Woods, arguing with one less wood-wise. Paper, after all, would be hard to come by, but there was plenty of fire-starting material to be found for those who knew where to find it. And of course, any hobbit worth his salt would carry flint and steel to start a fire with.

‘Not that you even need an old fire,’ Twig said, to continue the thought. ‘Oft-times we just eat the meat without cooking, anyhow. It’s fresher that way, somehow.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Ferdi said, and from the fumbling she felt at her ankle, he was tying the end of the cloth in some kind of knot to keep the whole affair in place. ‘There,’ he said, sitting back. ‘How does that feel?’

‘Better,’ she said in surprise. ‘No, honestly, it does feel better! I think the swelling might even be subsiding, for the skin doesn’t feel so tight, and,’ she gave an experimental twitch, and winced, ‘it only hurts when I move it now, but not when I keep it quite still.’

‘Then keep it quite still,’ Ferdi said, ‘or at least as still as may be.’

‘How might that be?’ Twig asked acidly. ‘We cannot stay here.’

‘But we can,’ Ferdi said, ‘and I deem it prudent that we must, at least until the Moon is high enough that I don’t fall over my own feet on our way down this blasted hillside…’

‘I brought us quite a way down this blasted hillside by myself, thank you very much – or perhaps I ought to say no thanks to you!’ Twig said, matching him vulgarism for vulgarism, as a boy of her upbringing ought.

‘That you did, my lad, that you did,’ Ferdi agreed. ‘However, I think we shall go the rest of the way my way, if you don’t mind…’

‘I’ll take it under consideration,’ Twig said, lifting her chin again.

‘I thank you, Nephew,’ Ferdi said formally, and then he moved to sit down beside her, huddling quite close (though not remarking aloud on her shivering), and drawing his cloak over the two of them.

The two settled to a watchful silence, listening to the sounds in the night. They’d have enough warning of approaching Men to get out of the ruffians’ path, the way Men have of blundering along, but Twig certainly hoped they wouldn’t have to do so.

Chapter 16. "It's all downhill..."

Twig wanted to jump at every sound, near or far, but she steadied herself by main force of will, drawing deep, deliberate breaths and listening for Ferdi’s quiet breathing beside her, though she felt more than she heard from the silent figure, clasped as she was to his side, sharing the warmth of his body and his cloak, feeling his inhalations and exhalations and somehow prompted to breathe in harmony with him, though she couldn’t have said why.

Fleetingly she thought once more of her oh-so-proper Grandmama Bolger, who would either squawk like an outraged hen or draw herself up, cold and haughty (Estella had seen both reactions). In either event, she’d be insisting on drawing up the wedding contract, no doubt. Estella sighed at the thought. As a matter of fact, she was pledged to marry – though she didn’t yet know who the lucky hobbit might be. It was an arrangement made in her early childhood, or even before her birth, and she would be told the details when the time was right. It didn't occur to her to be indignant over the situation, though in her later years, she would be. In the great families, such arrangements were not unknown, especially when fortunes or family influence were involved. Such an intimate embrace as she now found herself, well, it would be unthinkable under any other circumstances.

At her sigh, Ferdi moved slightly, turning his head to bring his lips close to her ear. She shivered a little at his warm breath on her neck as he whispered, ‘Is it troubling you so badly, still?’

Estella deliberately held her ground, grandmother or no grandmother, and shook her head. ‘No,’ she lied, refusing to think about the various things that were troubling her, though there were enough of them. And of course, as if because of her effort to shut them away, they all came flooding: her grandmother’s horror, the ache in her ankle (better than the earlier throbbing), the certain knowledge that she was bringing more peril to the courageous hobbit at her side, than the usual dangers he faced, and it was her fault for not minding her step better…

Ferdi’s arm tightened about her, pulling her a little closer. ‘You’re shivering,’ he whispered. ‘Can’t have you taking cold.’

Tears pricked her eyes, she knew not why, as she nestled under his arm. She could do worse than such a hobbit, she knew. Ferdi might even be the one to whom she was pledged, now wouldn’t that be an irony? She was likely to be joined with a Took descended from the Old Took, and Ferdibrand certainly fit the bill. Freddy was pledged to a Brandybuck, and so she knew a Brandybuck was out of the question for herself, according to her family’s tradition, and in any event Merry Brandybuck had disappeared off the face of the earth last autumn, so her half-formed idea of pleading for her own choice of husband was moot. And yet… The Brandybuck byword, There are always more fish in the River began to make more sense to her. Perhaps marriage to a hobbit other than the one she had yearned after, from her childhood, would not be such a trial after all.

She leaned her head on Ferdi’s shoulder, rested there, must have fallen asleep, for she wakened suddenly at his movement, as he sat up straighter, his hand closing on her shoulder in a gentle squeeze.

‘Awake?’ he breathed, his breath tickling her ear.

She nodded against his chin as she took in their surroundings, ghostly in the moonlight – which, for travelling purposes, was preferable to black as pitch.

And then the warmth of his cloak, surrounding her, and of his body, against her side, was gone as he rose to his feet. She took hold of his reaching hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet – her foot, she amended rapidly, as her injured foot gave a twinge.

‘Right, then,’ he whispered, easing an arm around her waist and pulling her arm around himself in the same way. ‘Take the stick in your other hand, use it and myself for support, and between us, we’ll get you down the rest of this hillside, at least. There are better hiding places in the valley, where we may go to ground for a day or two, and a whole host of ruffians would be hard-pressed to discover us.’

‘That would be a mercy,’ she murmured as they began a slow and careful descent. ‘But… what about food?’

He chuckled and ruffled the curls on her head with the knuckles of his free hand. ‘Trust a growing lad to think of such things,’ he said. ‘We’ve shrooms a-plenty, and a lad such as yourself, from the Back of the End of the Woods, should be able to forage for more…’

She forbore to point out the obvious, gritting her teeth together in concentration as they negotiated a rocky stretch of terrain. It would certainly not do to turn her other ankle, leaving her, so to speak, without a foot to stand on.

‘…and I might not be so woodly wise as yourself or your Back o’ the Wood kin,’ Ferdi was continuing, as if his whispering might strengthen her to the difficult task – and perhaps it did. At least, it distracted her from the inevitable discomfort of moving, though she avoided putting any weight on the injured foot. ‘But I know a little about foraging…’

‘Very little,’ she hissed, as her good foot slipped and her injured foot touched the ground briefly. ‘But I suppose it’ll have to do. Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, at any rate.’

She shuddered briefly, remembering that earlier time in the little wood near the Manse, when she’d lost herself following Frodo, Freddy, and Merry…

‘Still cold?’ he said in concern, his arm tightening around her.

‘Naw,’ she shook her head. ‘Getting warmer by the moment.’

‘Exercise will do that, I find. Gets the blood moving,’ Ferdi said.

‘Much better than bothering about a fire,’ she answered in the same vein, planting the walking stick and tightening her hold on both the stick and the hobbit beside her, to ease herself over a fallen tree in their path. ‘One can keep much warmer walking, or trotting about, than lying down to sleep…’

‘ ‘Twas the deep-Wood Bolgers who invented the idea of sleep-walking, I should imagine,’ Ferdi said. ‘Just think on it… you can stay warm, and catch your breakfast all ready for the eating when the Sun kicks off her bedcovers, and all in one…’

‘Aye,’ she said. ‘ ‘Tis a wonder more hobbits ha’ no’ discovered the trick.’

‘They are scarcely practical folk,’ Ferdi said. ‘Why, they keep cows and goats in sheds, and chickens in coops…’

‘Scarcely practical of them,’ she agreed. ‘Why, you gather all your birds together in one place, and they’re easy pickings for a fox! Nay, let them scatter to the trees when the Sun seeks her bed, and have a grand hunt for eggs in the mists of the morning – diverting and warming, all in one!’

‘That’s what I like about you, Twig,’ Ferdi said, and she could hear the grin in his voice, though she could not see his face – her eyes were fixed on the task of finding the best ground ahead for her walking stick and her one good foot. ‘You know how to enjoy life!’