Chapter 8. A Little Later in the Day 

Frodo Gardner stood up slowly, staring at the flattened garden shed. Had he lingered a moment more, he’d be under all that mess... He realised someone had been calling his name only when a hand touched his arm.

 ‘Frodo! Are you hurt?’

He shook off bewilderment and met Sancho Proudfoot’s eye. ‘I’m well, Mr Proudfoot,’ he said. ‘At least I think I am. What happened?’

 ‘I don’t know,’ Sancho said. ‘I’ve never seen nor heard of the like. Perhaps Bilbo’s dragon came to visit and fell over Bywater.’

 ‘Is your family well?’ Frodo said, turning from his contemplation of the garden shed to the ruin of Sancho’s smial.

 ‘Half the hole fell in,’ Sancho said ruefully, ‘but no one was injured. The kitchen was spared, thankfully, save the fact everything shook off the shelves and all the breakables broke. We were eating our elevenses at the time.’ He clapped the younger hobbit on the shoulder. ‘Run home now, Master Gardner, and see to your own!’

 ‘Yes sir, thank you sir,’ Frodo said, and grabbing up his bag of tools he ran from the garden on the outskirts of Bywater.

Bywater proper was a mix of ruin and normalcy. Oddly enough, many of the older dwellings were still intact, but quite a few of the homes built after the Troubles had succumbed to the shaking of the earth. The entire row where the Burrowses lived had been flattened, and hobbits were frantically digging with their bare hands, calling the names of loved ones.

Frodo threw down his bag of tools and grabbed up a shovel. It was difficult to tell where the Burrows’ hole had been until he recognised the bright primroses in the smashed pot, a pot he’d presented to his mother-in-love only the previous day.

 ‘Daisy!’ he shouted as he helplessly began to dig. How could anyone be alive under all that? He heard shouts down the way and smelled smoke. A group of hobbits formed a bucket brigade to try to douse the growing fire at the end of the row. ‘Daisy!’ Frodo shouted again. ‘Viola-Mum! Tansy! May!’ He was unaware of the tears running down his face as he shovelled away debris, continuing to call the names of Burrowses and Gardners.

Another shovel joined the fray, settling into the easy rhythm Frodo had enjoyed while working with his father-in-love when the two turned over the soil for a new garden. ‘Anything?’ Rus Burrows said as he worked. ‘Did you hear them?’

Frodo shook his head but his shovel never faltered. He’d move all of Middle-earth to get to his family. Rus was equally determined. There was a cry two doors down as a limp hobbit was unearthed. A husband cradled his wife, weeping and calling her name. Another hobbit stooped, saying sharply, ‘Don’t move her! She’s alive!’ and raised his voice to shout for a healer. Frodo and Rus continued at their task, determination fuelled by the hope that there might still be life after all under the rubble.

 ‘Frodo!’ The gardener dug faster; he’d heard his Daisy call his name. He had to get her out of there! ‘Frodo!’ And then Rus was throwing down his shovel, laughing through his tears, hugging his Viola as if he’d never let her go. Frodo turned, and there was Daisy, grass-stained, dishevelled, never so beautiful as at this moment, little Holfast in her arms and May and Rowan clinging to her skirts. Frodo dropped his shovel and embraced his family, beyond words in his relief. ‘We were picnicking,’ Daisy murmured in his ear. ‘It seemed a shame to take elevenses indoors on such a glorious day...’

 ‘Come lad,’ Rus said, swallowing his tears of joy. He’d reluctantly released his wife and daughters and picked up his shovel again. ‘There’s others not as fortunate.’

Frodo’s arms tightened on his wife and children and then he released them. ‘Take them up to Bag End,’ he said. ‘They ought to be safer there.’

 ‘Safer?’ Daisy said in wonder.

Frodo gestured to the fallen row, and the intact-seeming homes beyond. ‘The older homes, the ones dug into bedrock, stood the shake better,’ he said. ‘Bag End ought to be standing yet.’ He kissed her. ‘Go, love; I’ve digging to do.’

 ‘That’s right, Daisy-love, take the little ones up the Hill,’ Viola Burrows said briskly. ‘Your sisters and I will be working down here; there are plenty of injured!’ She gazed in despair at the ruin of their home. ‘All that baking!’ she said, ‘Buried in dust! If Bag End fared better, have them send food down the Hill. They’d have plenty made up already for the wedding breakfast.’ She sighed. ‘I know we did.’

 ‘Yes, Mum,’ Daisy said.

Viola addressed her youngest daughter. ‘Tansy! Help your sister get the little ones safely up Hill!’

 ‘Yes’m,’ Tansy said obediently, picking up little Rowan. ‘Come along!’ she said gaily to little May. ‘We’ve had our picnic with Grandma Vi and now we’re taking you home to Grandma Rose.’

***

Gimli eyed the landscape flying by, his face grim. The damage increased with every mile that flowed beneath the speeding hoofs of the elf-horse. His fingers itched to take up a shovel and join the hobbits they passed, digging in the rubble of a collapsed village. Legolas urged the horse to an even faster pace. Scraps of murmured elven-speech blew back to the dwarf, and he muttered a few prayers of his own.

***

 ‘We’ve got to get him to a healer,’ Tom said, pressing hard on the compress with its worrisome spreading stain. The Thain was ominously white and breathing rapidly as if he could not get enough air.

 ‘That’s what I said in the first place,’ Reginard answered from Tolly’s side. The escort had not spoken since crawling into the room, though he still breathed.

 ‘Tad,’ Tom said. ‘Slide down that rope and get help. See if you can find a healer and a crew of hobbits not afraid to climb up here. Here,’ he said, nodding to the gloves lying at his knee. ‘Use my gloves.’

 ‘Right,’ the young stable hobbit said. In the next moment he had stepped off into space and was sliding down the rope, blessing the leather gloves that sped him on his way.

Meliloc Brandybuck was on his feet, talking to hobbits holding saddled ponies. He’d struggled to his feet as the first ponies were led past him to be released into the great field to one side of the stables, calling to the stable hobbits to saddle them instead. He’d send riders in all directions once he had an idea of the extent of the trouble they were in. It didn’t take long to put together a distressing picture. The entrances to the Great Smials were blocked. The Great Door was jammed in place, the stone steps leading up to it cracked and treacherous. The corridors leading from lesser entrances were blocked by fallen rubble. Hobbits were getting in and out through the windows on the lower level, but with the corridors blocked they could not get very deep into the Smials.

He looked up at the windows to the Thain’s study. He’d seen no sight of anyone since Young Tom had disappeared inside, but now the shorter figure of the stable lad emerged and slid quickly down the rope.

***

Merry’s shirtsleeves were rolled up as he joined the hobbits labouring in Bucklebury. He’d sent riders to all parts of Buckland and the Marish. Hobbits were likely to think this an isolated event and begin setting their homes in order again without venturing past their own gates, unless they were close enough to see damage to the neighbouring dwellings. ‘Hobbits first, supplies second, then the clearing up!’ was the word that went with the messengers. If your own family is safe, count your blessings... then go to the aid of your neighbours, and then the neighbours’ neighbours.

A rider returned with the welcome news that the Bridge had survived the disaster with only minor damage. Another returned with word that Stock was harder-hit than Bucklebury; two hours later yet another returned to report that the damage grew ever-worse as he’d travelled to the West. ‘The Yale’s still standing, but damaged,’ he said soberly, ‘and there’s a piece of the Road that’s broken in half-like, one side raised up as high as a waggon wheel.’

The news was disquieting. The damage was worse to the West. Not for the first time, Merry found himself wondering how Pippin had fared, and Sam. Thankfully there had been no deaths in Bucklebury as of yet, and only bruises, lacerations, and broken bones to deal with. No one had been crushed under a fallen-in roof or collapsing wall though there had been a few close calls. How bad were things in Tuckborough and Hobbiton?

***

Healer Mardibold wakened slowly, wondering where he was and why he was lying down. ‘Don’t move, sir,’ Evergreen Took said softly at his side. ‘I don’t know if you’ve broken anything.’

 ‘Don’t worry,’ Mardi told the young apprentice healer. ‘I’ll know.’ He cautiously moved his arms, then his legs. ‘Everything seems to be in working order. Help me up.’

Evergreen protested, but did as she was told. Mardi, after all, was senior healer in all the Great Smials. To her relief, he seemed none the worse for having tumbled about the dispensary, pelted by jars and other items, ending on the floor surrounded by smashed glass and other debris. Together they looked ruefully about the room, which had held the greater part of the healing herbs, tinctures and decoctions for the hobbits of the Great Smials, and Tuckborough beyond. Mardi shook his head. ‘See what you can salvage,’ he said. He took up an emergency bag that had hung by the door before it shook loose and picked his way out of the room.

The infirmary was located on the outermost face of the Smials, on the lowest level. The invalids and elderly Tooks had been moved to inner rooms deep in the Great Smials during the time of the Troubles, but once the ruffians had been thrown out of the Shire most of the residents had returned to the sun-soaked rooms. It was a mixed blessing now. The windows had shattered in the quake and not a few hobbits had been showered with glass as the earth shook. The assistants had busied themselves dealing with the resulting gashes until shouts from outside had pulled their attention outwards. The healer on watch and half the assistants had gone out into the yard, then, to begin to deal with the serious injuries there. Not all of the hobbits thrown through windows on the higher levels had survived, but those who had were desperately in need of attention.

Mardi wondered how Ferdibrand had fared, deep in the Great Smials. There was no way to find out at the moment. The inner Smials were sealed off from the outside world, corridors fallen in. Rescuers had begun to dig in the corridor just outside the infirmary, but when two were buried as the sides of the makeshift tunnel collapsed, the others dug these out and reluctantly stopped their work until the engineers could be summoned from the diggings at Tookbank.

***

Though the earth shake had been like nothing Everard had ever imagined, the damage in Tookbank was surprisingly light. The Thain’s chief engineer blessed the hardness of Tookbank rock. The worst injuries came from flying dishes or toppling wardrobes, and since few hobbits were in a bedroom this time of day such injuries were few. A farmer was trapped beneath a large beam in his barn, but one end of the beam was caught up on something and so the farmer had not been crushed. Extricating him was a tricky matter. They didn’t want the beam to settle, and they didn’t want to bring the rest of the roof down on rescuers and farmer together... Everard, however, could see his way clear and was directing the diggers in their careful work.

He was actually whistling cheerfully when Lem called behind him, ‘Rider! Coming fast!’

 ‘Too soon for Dinny to be returning,’ Seth said from Everard’s side.

 ‘Unless he met a rider from the Smials and turned back with news,’ Everard said.

 ‘It’s not Dinny,’ Seth said. He had the keenest eyes of all the engineers.

 ‘Is Dinny with him?’ Everard asked, peering into the distance.

 ‘No,’ Seth said. ‘Looks as if he must’ve met this rider and continued on to the Smials.’

 ‘Likely not from the Smials, then,’ Everard said, dismissing the rider with a shrug. ‘Probably came from one of the farms in between.’ He turned back to the task at hand. Within a few moments they were able to pull the farmer from under the beam. Even better, the farmer was able to stand and shake hands with the engineers.

The rider rode into the middle of the yard, pulling his dancing foam-flecked pony to a stop. ‘Ev’ard!’ he shouted, seeing the group of engineers. ‘Bad trouble! You’ve got to come!’

Everard’s blood went cold. ‘The New Smials,’ he snapped, striding forward. ‘Did they fall in, Hully?’

 ‘They’re damaged, but it’s the Great Smials,’ Huldigard Took panted.

 ‘The Thain!’ Everard said in shock.

 ‘They'll get him out,’ Hully said, ‘They'll probably lower him from the study window, last I heard before I was sent off. He wasn't buried... but there’s plenty more a-trapped inside. We hope they’re still living, but we’re afraid to dig.’

 ‘Dinny...?’ Everard said.

 ‘He ought to be at the Smials by now,’ Hully said. ‘He was more than halfway there when I met him and sped him along with the news.’

 ‘Have you heard news of other parts?’ Everard said.

 ‘Bywater’s hard hit, but not as bad as Tuckborough,’ Hully said. He was getting his breath. ‘Ev’ard, you’ve got to get to the Smials. The Thain’s entire family is missing!’

 ‘Along with quite a few others, I warrant,’ Everard muttered.

 ‘Take my Firefoot,’ the farmer said. ‘He took fifth place overall in the pony races last year.’

The farmer’s oldest son said, ‘I’ll saddle him!’ and ran to accomplish the task.

 ‘You ride ahead,’ Seth said. ‘We’ll follow.’