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Kindling Fire  by Lindelea


Chapter 3. An Interrupted Journey

Ferdibrand, hanging out the window of the coach, waved at his uncle all the long drive down the lane to the great East-West Road. Only his mother’s expert grab saved him from falling as the coach slowed and turned onto the Road. Once out of Bridgefields, of course, the coach stopped so that the lad could ride on the box with his father, and no fear of repercussions from Jessamine hearing of such a thing. (It was bad enough that Ferdinand drove the coach himself, rather than hiring a driver!) Rosemary only wished that she could sit up on the box, too, but that would be going too far, and climbing up in cumbersome skirts would be difficult indeed. Not for the first time she rued being born a lass, but her mother soothed her, saying there were compensations she’d learn about, someday when she was older. So many good things were promised for “when you’re older” that Rosie was in quite a hurry to grow up at last.

They travelled at an easy pace, and though they did not stop at any inns to rest and eat that first day, having packed baskets full of food, they did stop overnight in Stock. Little Ferdi was disappointed that they had not caught sight of the great Brandywine River in all their journeying, for the road to Stock branched off to the south quite before the Bridge, and ran perhaps a mile from the River’s banks.

Ferdi stared with fascination as they passed the common room on their way to their private quarters. Many hobbits mingled at the tables, eating and drinking, laughing and telling tales, and in one corner a game of darts and in another a hobbit played a squeeze-box while several others sang. How he longed to join in! ...but Stelliana, mindful of position and propriety, ordered their meal served in their room. Bathed and fed and tucked into bed, with Rosemary already breathing the measured rhythm of sleep, Ferdi was drowsily aware of his parents’ voices, the door opening, his father’s murmur before the door shut—and Ferdinand was off to the common room, for a pipe and a pint and a game of draughts. How Ferdi wished he was old enough to go along!

They were up early next morning, this time setting out on the Stock-Tuckborough road. They’d stay the night at the Crowing Cockerel, half-way to the Great Smials, and then make their way through the ever-increasing Green Hills on the last leg of the journey, arriving enough before tea-time to make themselves presentable and take tea with Mistress Lalia and her son the Thain. The Bill of Sale would be finalised, and next morning they’d mount the two ponies tied to the back of the coach, two-and-two, Ferdi riding with his da and Rosie with her mum, on a winding track through the Green Hills to Tookbank, and down the road to Whitwell, and finally to Whittacres Farm.

How exciting! Ferdi had been to Whittacres Farm as a faunt, but he remembered little of that visit. His father spent several weeks every summer there, training “Uncle” Paladin’s newest crop of ponies for the autumn pony sale, and once again the whole family were invited!

The Woody End was rather boring, just trees passing by in slow march as the ponies jogged along. Ferdi tried to pretend that the coach was standing still and the trees were walking, just to make things interesting, but it wasn’t long before he was yawning and the trees were passing in a green blur.

He jerked awake at his father’s roaring “Ho-o-o-o-o-o!” His father had thrust one arm before Ferdi to catch him from falling forward while hauling back on the lines with the other, and the moment he was sure his son was safe he grabbed up the reins in both hands to deal with the plunging ponies.

 ‘What is it?’ Stelliana shouted out of the coach window, and Ferdi asked the same question, for all he could see was the ponies, obviously upset, though calming under his father’s steady hands and voice.

At last they stood, trembling, and Ferdinand wound the reins round the whip socket and taking Ferdi under one arm, he jumped down from the coach and strode forward. Ferdi craned for a view. His father patted the near-leader’s neck as he passed that pony, took hold of the reins, stopped and stooped just under the ponies’ noses.

There was a young lad there, not much older than Rosemary, lying in a quivering heap in the road. He was curled in a ball, hands up over his head.

 ‘Are ye daft?’ Ferdinand roared. ‘Running in front of a coach-and-four that way!’ But his tone softened as the lad didn’t respond, simply lay there.

Ferdinand put his young son down, patted the near-leader again and said, ‘Hold them for me, Ferdi-lad?’

The nearside-leader put its nose down to be scratched, already forgetting its fright. Beautifully trained, these ponies were, intelligent and gentle. In some ways it was a shame to be selling them, but already Ferdi was making friends with the new ponies from Bree. And someday, he’d have a pony all his very own, never to be sold. But that was beside the point, at the moment, as he watched his father kneel in the dust beside the curled-up lad.

 ‘What is it, Dinny? Is he hurt?’ Stelliana said at Ferdi’s elbow. Absently she stroked the glossy neck of the pony beside her.

 ‘Might be that one of the ponies knocked him down, but at least we didn’t run him over,’ Ferdinand said. He ran his hands over the lad, murmuring soothing words, and when reasonably confident there was no injury done, he helped him sit up. The strange lad was wide-eyed and breathing raggedly. He looked from face to face, opened his mouth as if he’d speak, and then pointed desperately into the woods on one side.

 ‘What is it, lad?’ Ferdinand said, following the pointing finger. But the lad did not seem able to speak.

 ‘Perhaps he’s mute,’ Stelliana said gently. ‘In any event, there’s something amiss, Dinny, off in that direction. You had better follow him.’

 ‘Can you lead me there, lad?’ Ferdinand said. ‘Stellie, I hate to leave you here...’

 ‘We’ll be fine,’ Stelliana said briskly. ‘With such a brave hobbit to watch over us, eh, Ferdi? We have nothing to fear. We’ll tie up the ponies and have a picnic while we’re waiting.’ She looked down at her young daughter. ‘Rosie, get out the basket with the red lining, love. The innkeeper’s wife packed us a nice little second breakfast in that one...’

 ‘Can you stand, lad?’ Ferdinand said, and at the youngster’s nod he helped him to his feet. ‘Let me just unhitch these fine fellows and tether them,’ he said.

The lad jumped to assist in the work, and soon the ponies were secured and Ferdinand and the silent lad were jogging into the woods. Ferdi wished he could go too, to see what the matter was, but he had an important commission.

Rosemary wished that she could go, as well, but there was no use in saying so. She busied herself in helping her mother, all the while wondering at the interruption in their journey. And what would Mistress Lalia say, if they came late to tea? She knew how her grandmother would have reacted, and she’d heard whispered gossip while her mother was looking at yard goods and Rosie was browsing the candy jars at the other side of the provisioner’s shop, to the effect that Mistress Lalia was “an hundred times worse than our Mistress, and then some”.

Would Mistress Lalia turn them away? Would she refuse the ponies? Would they miss their holiday at Whittacres Farm?

She’d made fast friends with Pimpernel and Pearl Took, both in their previous visit to the farm when her brother was little more than a baby, and when Paladin had brought his family to visit Bridgefields.

But now, everything seemed to hang like the leaves in the trees, awaiting a breath of a breeze. The woods had swallowed her father as if he’d never been. Rosemary shivered.

 ‘You’re not taking a chill, are you, daughter?’ Stelliana said at once, tucking her own shawl around Rosemary’s shoulders.

 ‘I’m well, Mum, really I am,’ Rosemary said earnestly. ‘All’s well.’ But she wondered if she spoke the truth. Surely her father ought to have returned by now!





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