Chapter 10. Sorting Out the Threads

Pip-lad nudged Merry-lad. No one was paying them any heed; the Thain was nearing the high point of a story about Frodo’s contribution in the Westmarch being added to the Shire. ‘Now or never,’ he hissed. ‘The Sun will be seeking her bed soon.’

 ‘You can count on me,’ Merry-lad said in return. He stood slowly to his feet, loathe to miss the end of the story though he’d heard it dozens of times. Under cover of a burst of cheers for Frodo and the other hobbits involved in the endeavor, he shook himself, picked up two empty pitchers and walked briskly in the direction of the cooks’ tent. The duty to arrange a surprise for Frodo and Day outweighed the pleasure of the story, after all.

Reaching the tent he put the pitchers down and ducked out the far side, walking back towards Bag End as if to fetch a forgotten item. He went in the front door and out the kitchen door, running through the smial in such haste he did not hear anything unusual.

***

 ‘Did you hear something?’ Ferdi said, sitting up abruptly. Elanor was in the throes of a powerful contraction and did not answer.

 ‘Hullo!’ Ferdi called. ‘Someone! Anyone!’

Elanor surprised him by giggling.

 ‘Contraction’s over?’ he asked unnecessarily.

 ‘You sound more affrighted than I am,’ she accused.

 ‘Undoubtedly,’ Ferdi said.

***

Merry-lad scooped up the hand scythe and buckets he’d left ready and filled with water outside the kitchen door and jogged to the end of the lane, around the side of the smial, through the old orchard to the meadow beyond. Flowers by the thousands were rioting in the afternoon sun.

He culled flowers by the handful, adding them to the buckets to keep them fresh, until both buckets were overflowing with bright blooms. Bearing his burden back to Bag End, he entered the kitchen and began pulling mugs, glasses and jam jars from the shelves, arranging a multitude of lovely small bouquets, each of which was added to a tray. When the tray was full he carried it to Fro and Day’s sitting room and began to place a blooming “vase” in every nook and cranny, going back to the kitchen to resume the task each time he emptied the tray.

When the sitting room resembled a garden he turned his attention to the bedroom. He’d made several journeys to the blooming meadow, and overall he was pleased with the result. However, he ran out of “vases” before he was half done in the bedroom. He spread the flowers out a bit more and retreated to the door to assess the effect. Pretty enough, but not profuse as he’d wished. He’d used all the canning jars in the pantries. Where could he find more containers?

He recalled a box of jars for canning he’d put in the linen press because there was no more room for them in a pantry; yes! He had just enough flowers left to fill another boxful of jars.

He glanced out the kitchen window at the sunset. The Sun had put on her prettiest gown to help Fro and Day celebrate their special day. The sky was a bright gold shading to pink; purple touched the gilded clouds. A soft breeze blew cheery song and laughter from the Party field. If he hurried he’d still be in time for a good part of the feast; why, they’d still have half a dozen courses yet to serve!

***

 ‘Are you coming, Merry?’ Pippin said in his cousin’s ear, a chuckle in his voice.

 ‘I’m right behind you, Pip,’ Merry gave his usual answer, though he didn’t waken.

 ‘You’ve missed half the feast, you know,’ Pippin went on. ‘Estella? Are you not hungry?’

 ‘Mmmm,’ Estella said, snuggling closer into Merry’s side.

 ‘Leave them be; they look exhausted!’ Pimpernel said. ‘We’ll have the cooks set aside their suppers. Perry and Miri are eating with my flock, so they’re well-looked-after. Let them sleep.’

 ‘Very well,’ Pippin said, straightening again. ‘I never realised being a guest at a wedding was such work!’

 ‘Hah!’ Pimpernel said. ‘It’ll be more work than you know! Sounds as if the speeches are starting again, and you haven’t told yet about the time you and Merry took Frodo-lad to...’

***

Goldi laughed when appropriate, ate what was set before her, told a joke or two of her own, but more than once found Hodge Sandyman studying her face with a serious look.

 ‘What is it?’ she said at last, turning to him with a mischievous glance. What she really wanted, of course, was to crawl back to Bag End, slide under her coverlet and hide her head under her pillow.

 ‘You haven’t looked at Farry Took the whole day,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’

 ‘Wrong?’ Goldi said. ‘There’s nothing wrong!’

  ‘Indeed there is,’ Hodge said. ‘The two of you walk with one step, finish each other’s sentences, speak volumes in a glance. Why, if he breathes in, you breathe out! And today of all days you’re not talking to each other?’ He levelled a serious look at her. ‘Goldi, your family has been very kind to me since my father and brother left; practically taken me in as one of their own. Tell me now, what’s the matter?’

 ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Goldi said huffily.

Hodge’s lips tightened and he shook his head. ‘Have it your own way,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think you’re being fair to the hobbit.’

 ‘Fair? What do you mean?’ Goldi said.

 ‘You haven’t looked at him at all, yet he’s looked at nothing else but you. He asked you to dance and you turned him away! I cannot believe...’

 ‘I was fatigued,’ Goldi said. ‘I’d nearly danced my toes off, that last fling, and I needed to sit down.’

 ‘Will you dance with him after supper?’ Hodge said.

 ‘I don’t know why you’re taking such an interest in my dancing partners all of a sudden,’ Goldi said, but behind them her brother Bilbo clapped Hodge on the shoulder and laughed.

 ‘Welcome to the family, Hodge,’ he shouted. ‘We can always use another brother to watch over these wayward sisters of ours.’

Two tables over, Farry sat still in shock. Welcome to the family? Had Goldi accepted Hodge's suit, though both were yet tweens? Was their handfasting the next festive occasion to be celebrated by the Gamgees?