12. A Trip to the Northfarthing

Despite Pippin's anxiety about homesickness, the months passed quickly and uneventfully. Spring turned to early summer, and the month of Afterlithe (July in the Gregorian reckoning) proved to be the fairest one of that season. It was warm, but rarely too hot, and mostly bright and sunny.

The perfect time of year for a trip.

It was in the beginning of Afterlithe that Frodo first began to think about taking an excursion; but immediately, a question emerged: where to go? He and Bilbo had tramped through almost the entire Shire already, and Frodo was wishing to go someplace new.

Almost as quickly, the answer came: the Northfarthing. For some reason unknown to him, Frodo had never fully explored the northern part of the Shire, even with Bilbo. They had taken a few small trips, but never anything to fully satisfy Frodo's unhobbitlike curiosity.

So Frodo decided to take a trip to the Northfarthing. But it was not until the second week of Afterlithe that he truly began planning. He'd noticed that Sam had not gone on any of his recent hikes, though the faithful gardener had said nothing.

Frodo was in his study when these thoughts went through his mind, and putting down his quill pen, he got up and went to the window of his room, which had the best view of the garden. Looking out, he saw Sam working hard in the bed of "daffodowndillies", as the gardener called them, unaware that he was being watched.

Frodo got up onto the windowseat, and opened the round window. "Sam!" he called, grinning as the gardener jumped with surprise. Sam turned around, searching for the owner of the voice, and as his eyes at last fell on Frodo in the window, he smiled back.

"Hullo, Mr. Frodo!" he returned, dusting the soil from his hands. "Summat you need?"

"Of course not, you silly hobbit," Frodo laughed. "You always see to that. I was just wishing to talk to you about something, but I shan't disturb your work."

Sam stood, brushing the dirt off his breeches. "I was just about to take a wee rest," he said, "and even so, Mr. Frodo, you wouldn't be disturbin' my work; if you want to talk, the work can always wait."

Frodo smiled. "Thank you, Sam," he said sincerely. "Now come inside!"

When Sam had done so, still trying to dust the brown dirt off his breeches, Frodo poured him a cup of tea and they sat down at the kitchen table together.

"Well, Sam," Frodo said after a few minutes of silence as they drank their tea. "What do you say about taking a trip with me to the Northfarthing?"

Sam choked slightly on his tea and covered a cough with his hand. "I-I'd surely love to, Mr. Frodo!" he said eagerly. He blushed a little, feeling foolish for the ridiculous notion that had started in his head that he had not been able to go on Mr. Frodo's latest excursions because his master did not enjoy his company any longer.

"Splendid!" Frodo exclaimed, his eyes and face lighting up. "I'll be glad to have you along, Sam; it's been quite a while since we went out adventuring together, and I've missed it."

'Ninnyhammer, thinking Mr. Frodo didn't want you taking trips with him anymore,' Sam rebuked himself inwardly. "Perhaps we can visit me brother, Halfred, while we're there?" he asked out loud. "He lives west o' the Bindbale wood."

"Of course, Sam," Frodo agreed eagerly. "I'd like nothing better than to go hiking through the Bindbale."

They lapsed into companionable silence again, finishing their tea. At last, Sam stood up. "Well, Mr. Frodo," he said, "I ought to be goin' back to my work now, if you don't mind, sir."

"Very well, Sam," Frodo said, rising as well and patting Sam's shoulder good-naturedly. "What say we start out at dawn tomorrow--or will you need another day to be ready?"

"Well, Mr. Frodo, p'raps another day would be best."

"You're probably right," Frodo nodded. "Your Gaffer won't mind your taking a trip, will he, do you think?"

Sam grinned. "I'm sure he won't, Mr. Frodo," he said earnestly; "'specially if I won't be gone too long. How long were you plannin' on this trip takin', if you don't mind me asking?"

"I would say probably no longer than a week," Frodo answered after thinking it over for a moment; "if the weather permits. I'll be sure to convince the Gaffer that the garden will be just fine on its own for a week, and he needn't tire himself with tending to it--aside from watering, as he seems to enjoy that, and unless he feels he simply must," he added with a smile.

***

In actual fact, it was three days later that they started out at sunrise. It had taken a bit more convincing than Frodo had anticipated to prove to the Gaffer that the garden of Bag End would be alright while they were gone, and then Frodo had spent another day with Sam, looking over maps and planning their route. Frodo also decided to send a letter to Merry and Pippin, telling them of his trip with Sam, so that they would not worry if they came for a surprise visit (as they often did) and found no one at home.

When at last everything was ready, and the two travelers set out, it turned out to be a disappointingly dull journey to the south edge of the Bindbale Wood. They had decided to visit Halfred Gamgee and his family first, and Frodo reckoned, looking at the map they'd brought, that they had another half-day's journey ahead of them to reach the small town on the western side of the Bindbale known as Fairglade, where Sam's brother lived.

As they made camp in a small clearing, surrounded on two sides by the forest, on one side by a thick, long, mossy log that served as a seat while they ate their supper, and on the remaining side, it gave them an open view of the Shire. The green, grassy hills rolled endlessly before them, dotted with smials and a few houses, smoke rising from the chimneys; towards the east, there was farmland, and the two travelers could see the pastures dotted with sheep and horses. Just below them, down the small hill the wood began on, there was a large, open meadow, filled with white and yellow wildflowers that swayed in the cool breeze.

"I wish I had a paintbrush," Frodo remarked thoughtfully, as they watched the sun set over the west, "or a pencil, so that I could capture all this beauty and splendor, and hang it on a wall to look at on rainy days."

Sam looked sideways at his master. He could only see Frodo's profile, silhouetted against the golden glow of the sunset to the west; but he saw something almost wistful in the expressive blue eyes.

"Well, Mr. Frodo," he said with a sigh, looking out over the beautiful and beloved Shire, "I don't reckon you could truly get all this on a piece o' paper, if you follow me - meanin' no disrespect, sir," he added quickly, as Frodo turned to look at him quizzically. "But I think this is all too much for one paper to hold, all this." He gestured towards the rolling green lands before them, unable to find words to properly describe it.

Frodo stared at him a long moment, silently, and Sam began to fear he'd "over-stepped his bounds." But then, Frodo put a companionable arm around Sam's shoulders and drew him closer. "Sam Gamgee," he said, looking out again at the sunset, "I do believe you're turning into a genuine poet."

Although his words and tone were serious, Sam could sense his master smiling, and looked up. Frodo's expression was one of mingled amusement and affection as he looked at Sam and smiled. Sam shyly smiled back.

The next instant, the solemn moment vanished, as Frodo raised his head and stood up. "Time for bed, I think," he announced, holding out a hand to help Sam to his feet. "We should get plenty of rest if we want to start at first light again."

Sam nodded, stifling a yawn. "I'm about to fall asleep right here on my legs," he said as he stood for a moment longer watching the fading light of the sunset. "I wonder if a body could sleep standing up?"

Frodo laughed and patted Sam's shoulder as he walked over to his own sleeping roll. "Probably not unless you're a pony," he said, taking a drink from his water bottle. Sam chuckled sleepily and lay down in his sleeping roll.

"Have you ever ridden a pony, Mr. Frodo?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course. I had my own pony at Brandy Hall, and I probably rode her every day," Frodo replied, flopping down on his own sleeping roll. "Why do you ask?"

Sam closed his eyes and shrugged. "I dunno," he said, "but I don't know as I've ever seen you ride a pony before."

Frodo had closed his eyes, as well, and settled down into the blanket, and he nearly did not hear Sam's next comment: "And it seems as you'd be needin' a pony if you're to go adventurin' in far off lands."

Opening his eyes, Frodo propped himself up on his elbows and looked curiously at Sam. "Where did you come up with that notion?" he asked, wondering wryly if all of Hobbiton was discussing his secret wish for adventure.

"Oh, I dunno," Sam said again without opening his eyes, "but I just got this feelin' that you'll go off on an adventure like old Mr. Bilbo's.or maybe even better." He was too sleepy to worry about over-stepping his bounds, and his thoughts were beginning to get muddled as he drifted off to sleep. "And Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin..." He suddenly fell asleep before finishing his sentence, leaving Frodo to try and decipher his mysterious words.

Curiosity unsatisfied, Frodo frowned and lay back down disappointedly. But he was too exhausted to even attempt to work out Sam's unfinished sentence, and with a dissatisfied sigh, he fell asleep.

***

The next morning, Frodo and Sam got a bit of a late start; it was nearly eight-thirty, or so they guessed, by the time they finally hoisted their packs and continued on through the Bindbale. It was quite a beautiful forest, with many old elm and sycamore trees close together, completely enclosing them.

The creatures of Shire-woods, though still instinctively cautious, were not so flighty and wary as they were in woods near "Big People" habitations. Frodo and Sam passed a small open meadow where a doe and her fawn were grazing placidly; and squirrels darted along the path, sometimes directly in front of them or even weaving around their legs.

Stopping for lunch underneath a spreading elm tree, Frodo suddenly remembered Sam's unfinished sentence of last night.

"Sam," he said as they brought out a few sandwiches from their packs, "what was it you were saying last night? About Merry and Pippin?"

Sam stared at him in confusion for a moment. "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Frodo," he said, "but I don't remember sayin' nowt about Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin."

"You were talking about my having an adventure better than Bilbo's," Frodo reminded him.

Sam suddenly blushed as he remembered. "Oh, well..." he stammered, inwardly rebuking himself for nearly giving away the "conspiracy" the night before. "I was just sayin', Mr. Frodo...that Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin think you'll have an adventure, too.... And, and..." He trailed off with a shrug, and Frodo looked at him quizzically a moment before laughing.

"So you're all in this little conspiracy together, are you?" he said teasingly. "I should have guessed. Pippin was on about my future adventure the night before he left on his last visit, and of course Merry has been planning it for years."

Sam only managed a weak, nervous chuckle at his master's all too accurate jest, and looked down at his food to hide the mounting red color on his face. They both fell silent, but by the time they set off again, they were cheerfully singing one of Bilbo's old walking songs.

They were just about to start on a second round of "Upon the Hearth," when suddenly Sam stopped in his tracks, nearly causing Frodo to run into him. "Look, Mr. Frodo!" he said excitedly, pointing through the trees ahead. "There's chimney-smoke over yonder - maybe it's my brother's home!"

They quickened their pace and struggled through the underbrush--much thicker than it had appeared--to find themselves at the edge of the Bindbale Wood. Before them was a rolling green countryside, smudged with copses of trees. A small dirt road wound around the hills and through the groves, and the two travelers noticed ruefully that the path went into the Bindbale, as well; which would have saved them the scratches and trouble of the underbrush.

The smial nearest to them, quaintly placed on the side of the road and surrounded by a short, white picket fence, looked like a slightly smaller version of Sam's home at #3 Bagshot Row. The front gardens and window boxes of brightly colored flowers bloomed brilliantly, testimonies to the resident's skill.

Just to the right of the smial, the dirt road forked, and three signs had been placed on the top of a wooden post. They read:

BINDBALE WOOD - pointing to the west,

BOUNDS - pointing to the north,

and Balewood Road - pointing down along the road, towards the smial.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed after reading the signs. "This is where me brother lives! #6 Balewood Road - the last hole before the Bindbale starts." His face was aglow with anticipation, and his brown eyes sparkled.

Frodo laughed. "Sam, I don't think I've seen you this excited since I told you about the Elf singing your song near the Three Farthing Stone!" His words were teasing, but his tone showed that he was nearly as excited, and pleased to see Sam so happy.

Sam continued to grin uncontrollably. "Well, me an' Halfred have always been real close," he said, "and I haven't seen him in months."

"Well, come then," Frodo said with a smile, adjusting the straps of his pack, which had begun to dig into his shoulders. "I haven't seen Hal since he married and moved up here, either."

They quickly crossed the road, opened the small white gate, and headed up the stone steps. As it was his brother's home, Sam knocked on the round, red door, his hand almost shaking with eagerness.

Presently, the door was opened, by a young hobbit woman, drying her hands on her apron. Her raven-black hair was tied back in a bun, and her pretty face had small smudges flour on it. Her hazel eyes lit up when she saw the two travelers. "Sam!" she cried, giving him an enthusiastic hug. "Hal and I were wonderin' when you'd come for a visit!"

"Hullo, Jessimine!" Sam returned, nearly as excitedly, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "You been takin' care of Hal for me?"

Jessimine laughed. "You know I have, Sam," she said. "I promised, didn't I? And besides, if I wasn't here to look out for him, who knows what the silly thing would do!" Both chuckled conspiratorially, and then Jessimine seemed to notice Frodo for the first time.

"Frodo!" she said happily, giving him a hug nearly as enthusiastic as Sam's. "What a pleasure to see you!" Jessimine had always been a good friend to both Frodo and Bilbo, although she was closer to the former; and the two had a playful, teasing relationship, much like Bell Gamgee, Sam's mother, had had with Bilbo. She was even closer to Sam, and nearly the only lass he felt completely at ease around.

"You don't think I'd let Sam go without me?" Frodo teased. "He's not allowed to have all the fun."

Jessimine laughed merrily, and opened the door wider. "Well, come in, you two!" she said. "You weren't plannin' to stand on the doorstep all day, were you?"

The two travelers stepped inside, their mouths watering at the enticing smell of fresh bread that filled the smial. "Now, you two just wait in the sittin' room while I pour some tea and call the children in--I was just puttin' lunch on the table. Baby Tansy just fell asleep, so you'll probably have to wait 'til supper-time to meet her."

Frodo and Sam obediently--and gratefully--sat down on the comfortable sofa in the sitting room, reveling in the soft, velvety cushions. Both unconsciously let out a simultaneous sigh, deciding that they could live right there on that wonderful, downy sofa for the rest of...

"Uncle Sam!"

A pair of high-pitched voices suddenly interrupted the peaceful scene with their excited squeal, bringing Frodo and Sam rudely back to reality. They sat up to see two small hobbit-children standing in the doorway.

The younger one was a lass, about three years old; with thick, russet-brown curls that came to the middle of her back, decorated with a pretty green ribbon. Her large eyes were a sparkling hazel color, accented by her soft green dress. She looked quite the small duplicate of her mother, with the clean white apron tied over the front of her dress, and a smudge of flour on the tip of her nose, evidence that she had been helping Jessimine in the kitchen.

Beside her was an older lad, just having passed his fifth summer. He had the same colored, but unruly mop of curls his sister had, and the same large round eyes. But his were a deep brown, and shining with excitement. His olive-green waistcoat, the same color as the girl's dress, and the matching chestnut breeches, were slightly wrinkled, telling of earlier boisterous play.

"Fennel! Hazel!" Sam exclaimed happily, holding out his arms. The two children squealed with delight and ran into his affectionate embrace. After a moment, he pulled away, surveying the two closely.

"Fennel-lass," he said with a smile, wiping off the flour on her nose, "you've been helpin' your mum in the kitchen, I see."

The girl giggled and kissed him on the cheek. "I was helpin' her make bread," she said excitedly. "I even got to knead the dough all by meself!"

"Did you now? What a big lass you're getting to be! How old are you now? Four?"

Fennel smiled widely. "I'm goin' to be four in three months, Uncle Sam," she said proudly.

Sam widened his eyes in feigned surprise, laughed, and kissed her on the forehead, before turning to the boy. "Well now, Hazel," he said, pretending to be stern, "what mischief have you been getting into today?"

Hazel grinned. "Oh, none today," he said mischievously, "but I did frighten Fennel with a frog yesterday." Sam laughed as Fennel made a face.

Frodo couldn't help but smile at the affectionate greeting between the children and Sam. His friend had always had a way with little ones--as most hobbits do--but he had never seen him quite so enthusiastic with them. 'He'll make a wonderful father someday,' he thought happily. He turned a laugh into a cough as Sam was called "Uncle" again--somehow, it seemed strange to hear.

Suddenly he became aware that the children had gone silent, and found them staring with wide-eyed curiosity at him. "Oh, Fennel, Hazel," said Sam with a grin, as though remembering Frodo for the first time since greeting his niece and nephew, "this is Mr. Frodo--I've told you about him."

"Hullo," said Frodo with a smile, wondering just what Sam had told the children about him.

Hazel was the first to greet this stranger. He climbed onto Frodo's lap and peered closely into his face. "You're Mr. Frodo?" he asked, as though surprised. "I dunno, Uncle Sam," he continued, turning to look at the other adult, "he don't look like an Elf to me!"

Sam blushed furiously and clapped a hand over the child's mouth, frantically stammering an apology, but Frodo began to laugh. "Is that what he told you?" he said, when he had breath enough. "I assure you, Hazel, I am no Elf. I am a hobbit, just like you!"

Hazel seemed satisfied, and within a few minutes, Fennel had joined in greeting Frodo. It was not long before the children had adopted him as "Uncle Frodo," much to his amusement. Sam eventually got over his embarrassment and joined in their conversations, and it seemed like only a few minutes had passed when Jessimine announced that luncheon was ready.

The small group trooped into the kitchen and seated themselves at the large, round table. Jessimine was busily setting the plates in their respective places at the table, and stubbornly refused any assistance.

"Halfred should be comin' in soon," she said as she finally sat down with the rest of them; "he went into town to get a new barrow--which reminds me. Hazel, did you remind Papa to put an extra blanket on poor old Gil's back before he hitched him up to the wagon?"

"Yes'm," Hazel replied, his mouth full.

"One of our ponies, Gil, has been gettin' sores on his back from the wagon-his old blanket's worn too thin," Jessimine explained to Frodo and Sam. "We got our other pony, Galad, a new blanket last month, but we haven't had a chance to get Gil one yet."

Frodo chuckled. "Gil and Galad. Very clever," he said, taking a sip of the sweet apple cider Jessimine had poured.

Jessimine smiled as she cut off the crusts from Hazel's sandwich. "The children named them," she said, "when we got them two years agone, after our old pony, Pete, died. They'd been listenin' to too many o' Sam's stories."

Frodo shot an amused glance at Sam, who grinned rather sheepishly. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, the door opened, and Halfred Gamgee came striding down the hall.

Frodo's old friend and neighbor had hardly changed at all in the years since he'd seen him, although his good-natured face had a few lines on it. As Sam eagerly stood and hurried to embrace his brother, Frodo was struck suddenly by the differences between the two.

Halfred was taller, and his thick mop of curls were a mahogany-brown, like Bell's had been. He had broader shoulders than Sam, but a thinner build. He was dressed in a worn pair of blue breeches, chaff-colored shirt, and a dark brown waistcoat. There was a grey-blue woolen cap jauntily placed on his head.

The one physical characteristic the two shared were their eyes: the same deep, thoughtful brown, that could be sparkling with laughter one moment, and smoldering with anger or swimming with grief the next.

Despite their physical differences, the two brothers shared the same obliging, kindly hearts, and the months that had passed since they had last seen each other had not weakened their close bond.

After the ecstatic reunion with his brother, Halfred strode over to Frodo, who had stood when he entered, and enthusiastically shook his hand and clapped him on the back. "Been takin' care of Sam-lad, have you, Frodo?" he asked teasingly, wrapping an arm around his brother's shoulders. He was the only Gamgee to have dropped the "Mister", and this had only happened after he'd moved to the Northfarthing, when he did not feel that Frodo was his "master" any longer.

"I'd say it's the other way around," Frodo grinned. "He's certainly gone far beyond 'gardener'!"

Halfred laughed heartily and patted his younger brother's shoulder. "Aye," he agreed, "he always has done more'n he needed." He paused for a moment, then giving Sam a last pat on the shoulder, he pulled away and went over to Jessimine. "Is there any luncheon for a poor, famished hobbit who's been in that busy, crowded town all day?"

Jessimine laughed. "Not unless that 'poor, famished hobbit' goes and washes up, there's not."

Halfred chuckled and kissed her on the cheek. "Mercy, lass," he exclaimed, "you'll starve me!" As Jessimine merely arched an eyebrow, he sighed in defeat. "Very well," he said, looking wistfully at the plates of food on the table. "I'll go wash up." With one last kiss on her cheek, he turned and reluctantly left to obey.

Just before he disappeared into the washroom, his voice rang down the hall. "But don't you go eatin' all the strawberry custard, Hazel-lad!" Hazel choked slightly on the large bite of the sweet, pink custard he had just stuffed into his mouth, and hastily put back the spoon back in the bowl.

Folding his hands innocently in his lap, and fidgeting under the eyes of everyone at the table, he ventured nervously: "Er...I'll go fetch the other batch of custard out then, shall I?"

TBC...