Chapter 15. Another Apprenticeship

The reading of the Will had concluded, most of the friends and relations had taken their leave, declining Woodruff’s offer of tea and cake, and only Trured and Mira Took remained, having sent their children home ahead of them.

The sitting room had gone from overflowing-into-the-hall to silent and near-empty, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the mantel.

 ‘So,’ Tru said for the third or fourth time since his arrival, ‘are you sure you’ll be all right then, lass?'

Summoned back from her far-away thoughts, Woodruff blinked and essayed a smile. ‘Of course, Uncle,’ she answered, and rising from her chair she moved to him to bestow a gentle hug. He had lost his mother, after all, and Woodruff had lost only her Mistress, her adopted Gran, her whole world, in other words. And now, upon the reading of the Will, the little smial and all it contained belonged to her. Her very own home... it made her head spin to think of it... and yet she’d give it all away, to have Sweetbriar sitting in the comfortable chair by the hearth, talking over the events of the day.

Tru returned the hug and then sat Woodruff down between himself and his wife. ‘I don’t like you staying here alone,’ he said. ‘We’ll send one of the lads twice a day, of course, to feed the chickens and do whatever other tasks need doing, weeding the garden, and...’

 ‘But we could spare one of the lasses, for certain! ...to sleep in the spare room, and keep hole for you while you’re busy about healing. And the evenings won’t be so lonely, then... unless you’d like to close up the smial and move in with us?’ Mira said yet again. It was unnatural to her, for a hobbit to live alone, unless eccentric. Why, even old Bilbo Baggins up Hobbiton-way had taken in an orphan some years back!

 ‘Yes—perhaps—in a few days. I’d like to be by myself to think, just a bit. It’s all been so sudden...’ Woodruff said.

A knock came at the door and she jumped up from her seat as she always had, for a moment the healer’s apprentice once more, answering an inquiry for her Mistress... for her adopted grandmum...

She didn’t know the hobbit at the door, well-dressed, a Took by the look of him, but a stranger in these parts.

 ‘Yes?’ she said politely. ‘May I help you?’

He gave a sweeping bow and said, ‘Mardibold Took, at your service. Is your Mistress at home?’

Woodruff stood hesitating, at a loss for words. Properly she was Mistress now, and healer of Whitwell.

Uncle Tru’s voice sounded behind her, polite but firm, as he put a protective hand on her shoulder. ‘Hullo, Mardi. What brings you so far from Tuckborough?’

 ‘My da’s been talking with Healer Viola, up at the Smials,’ Mardi said. ‘He says he’s taught me all he knows of healing, and Viola could teach me more, but she says the Thain bought her out of her obligation three years before her apprenticeship was finished, and that I’d learn more from her former Mistress. So here I am...’

 ‘You’re looking to apprentice yourself?’ Tru said, a quizzical note in his voice. ‘Aren’t you a little long in the tooth for that?’

 ‘I’m two-and-thirty,’ Mardi said. ‘ ‘Tis true, I’m over thirty, and too old for my father to bind me as an apprentice. But I’m not too old to bind myself, and as I’ve not yet reached my majority, I have a note of permission from my father,’ and he hefted a bag that had gone heretofore unnoticed, ‘and the fee, for the next twelvemonth, and there’ll be more when that’s gone, if my learning is satisfactory to my father and the Mistress.’

Hobbits of the higher classes sometimes “apprenticed” themselves if they wished to explore the work of the hands for one reason or another. It wasn’t “real” apprenticeship, as Woodruff knew it. For one thing, they paid the Master for the privilege of learning, rather than being “bought”. For another, they were not bound for seven years, nor subject to be “re-sold”.

Tru moved to Woodruff’s side, saying formally, ‘Woodruff, if I may present Mardibold son of Hildibold, healer at Tuckborough? Mardibold, this is my niece, Woodruff.’

 ‘At your service,’ Mardi said once again, with a bow. ‘I apologise, I took you for an apprentice, Miss.’

 ‘I was...’ Woodruff began, but Tru spoke again.

 ‘I’m sorry that your journey was wasted.’

 ‘Wasted?’ Mardi said, raising an eyebrow.

 ‘My mother... passed on in her sleep,’ Tru said sadly, and his hand took Woodruff’s in a gentle, comforting squeeze. ‘We had the burial just this morning.’

 ‘O I am so sorry!’ Mardi said. The shock on his face faded to ruefulness. ‘And here I am, intruding on your grief. I ought to...’

 ‘You’ve come a long way,’ Tru said smoothly, ‘all the way from Tuckborough. Surely you don’t mean to turn around and go back again! It’s late, and you ought to eat something... We can put you up until the morrow.’ His eyes narrowed as he regarded the visitor, thinking of all he knew of Mardibold and his family. He made a sudden decision. ‘Unless...’

 ‘Please, don’t put yourself to any trouble on my account,’ Mardi said. He nodded to Woodruff, said, ‘My condolences, miss, and to you, sir,’ and began to turn away.

 ‘A moment, Mardi,’ Tru said.

 ‘Yes?’ Mardi said, turning back politely.

 ‘You were looking for training,’ Tru said. ‘I know your father well; he helped me out of a difficulty once, and I’d like to return the favour now, by helping his son.’

 ‘Sir?’ Mardi said, plainly curious.

 ‘You are looking for first-rate healer’s training, are you not? And the next best thing to being trained by Sweetbriar, would be to be trained by one who had her training, if I’m not mistaken?’

 ‘Aye,’ Mardi said. ‘That’s why I went to Viola at first, but she turned me away. She was sorry, but her time is not her own.’

 ‘Well, we might be able to find you your training after all,’ Tru said. Woodruff, divining his meaning, looked at him in silent astonishment, but he simply patted her hand and continued. ‘My niece, here, is now the healer of Whitwell. She brought quite a bit of healing knowledge with her, and my mother taught her much more.’

 ‘You were trained by Sweetbriar?’ Mardi said. ‘Fully trained?’

I had but a month left of my bounden service, Woodruff thought sadly, but her “uncle” was the one who answered.

 ‘Fully trained,’ he said. ‘My mother spoke very highly of Woodruff. Indeed, she was so ill, these last few months, she trusted her assistant to take over all care of the hobbits of Whitwell and surroundings.’

He looked to Woodruff. ‘Were you in the need of an assistant, Niece? There’s rather more work to be done here than one healer can manage. You were quite run off your feet, as I recall, between the care for your Gran and the needs of the hobbits hereabout.’

 ‘I...’ Woodruff said.

Tru held out his hand for the bag, and Mardi handed it over. The older hobbit hefted it consideringly. ‘More than the usual fee,’ he hazarded.

 ‘My father told me Sweetbriar was known as one of the best in the Shire,’ Mardi said. ‘He said the Thain had pressed her on more than one occasion to remove to the Great Smials, but she always refused him. Most pleasantly, of course. But firm.’

Tru laughed. ‘Aye,’ he said, wiping at one eye. ‘She was that.’ He looked to Woodruff and back to the would-be apprentice. ‘You couldn’t lodge here, of course. ‘Twouldn’t be proper.’

 ‘Of course,’ Mardi said. ‘I’d made inquiries at the livery...’

 ‘The livery!’ Tru said, startled. ‘Why not the inn?’

 ‘My father may have a comfortable living, as one of the healers of Tuckborough and a descendent of the Old Took,’ Mardi said, ‘but he’s not a fool with his gold. He told me if I really wanted this, I’d lodge in the livery, clean stalls and pitch hay for my bed and board, and learn of healing every moment I had to spare...’

 ‘I cannot quarrel with that,’ Tru said. He called back into the smial for his wife, and when Mira emerged, he introduced Mardibold and asked her to take the visitor back to their home for tea. ‘I’ll be along in a bit,’ he added. ‘Woodruff and I have a piece of business to discuss.’

***

Mardi had charmed most of the family (the eldest of Tru’s sons was rather silent, not even warming to the visitor’s exciting account of the most recent Tookland Pony Race in Tuckborough) by the time Tru returned for tea.

 ‘Sweetie not coming?’ Mira said, pouring out his tea and filling his plate.

 ‘Woodruff,’ Tru said, giving his wife a look, ‘was called away to stitch a bad gash. Andy Grubb’s youngest thought he’d show everyone he knew how to swing a scythe... when he didn’t!’

Mira clucked about “Foolish teens” and then said to her middle daughter, ‘Beryl, dear, you be sure to pack up a basket to take with you, then, when you take your things to the smial. I’m sure she’ll not feel like making a proper supper when she returns, poor lass. It’s been a long day.’

Tru took a thoughtful sip of his tea. It had been a long day indeed, starting with the previous morning, when an urgent knock had come at the door as he was sitting down to breakfast with his family, preparatory to another journey to the South Farthing on the Thain’s business. Needless to say, he’d sent a message to the Thain, another to The Bracegirdle, and the business had been put off. Yesterday had been a day of reflection, of preparation, of mutual comfort, and last night Sweetbriar’s loved ones had surrounded what remained of her, telling stories and singing songs through the dark hours and saying their last farewells with the approach of the dawn.

 ‘So,’ Mira said, pouring more tea into Mardi’s cup. ‘Mistress Woodruff has agreed to take you on as her apprentice, my husband says. Tru told me you were a great helper to your father; how can he spare you?’

 ‘He says he cannot,’ Mardi admitted, ‘yet at the same time he urged me to go, saying I would bring much comfort back to Tuckborough when I returned. Healer Viola has a wondrous touch, which is said she learned from Sweetbriar, and yet most of her time is taken up with Mistress Lalia.’

Who likely needs it not as much as she would have folk think, Tru thought darkly to himself. Lalia had her son, the Thain, wound round her little finger, and whenever he showed worrisome signs of independence she’d have palpitations and prostration to distract him until he was once more firmly under her thumb. ‘And you would not be called upon to render your services to the Mistress?’ was all he said, but Mardi looked at him sharply, for all his relative youth.

 ‘My family may live in Tuckborough,’ he answered, ‘and we may be from the line of the Old Took, but we are no longer a part of the succession, and we do not choose to live in the Great Smials, to be a part of...’ he hesitated. ‘To be caught up in family matters,’ he finished lamely.

 ‘I had heard your grandsire bought a measure of peace, withdrawing his family from the succession,’ Tru said mildly. It was said that Mistress Lalia was sharp with any who might conceivably follow her son as Thain, should he continue unmarried and heirless. Ferumbras had been a sickly lad from the start, leading to speculation from his youth that someone from a lower branch of the family would follow Fortinbras II as Thain. Of course Lalia had been furious when the rumour came to her ears...

 ‘As did Hildigrim,’ Mardi said, ‘and Hildifons, wherever he ended.’ Talk turned to hobbits who’d gone off on journeys, especially Bilbo Baggins, who was often seen in Whitwell with his heir, when he wasn’t off to Buckland or somewhere else.

 ‘He travels near as much as you do, Tru,’ Mira said. ‘Perhaps the Thain ought to hire him...’

 ‘He has plenty of his own gold, or so they say,’ Tru said, helping himself to the last of the cucumber sandwiches after offering the plate to their guest. ‘Tunnels stuffed full of treasure, I hear.’

 ‘And young Frodo his sole heir,’ Mira said. ‘Serves those S.-B.’s right, I say.’

***

Woodruff had three days’ grace, time for reflection and remembering, before Mardibold began his duties. She tested him thoroughly in knowledge and patience, setting him to every sort of menial chore, the tedious and tiresome, from washing up all the dusty bottles on the shelves, to culling the old herbs and gathering new. It was pleasant to have another healer to talk to (you could not talk of healing to most Tooks, as a rule), and she found Mardi a quick learner with a lively wit. They prepared tinctures and decoctions, draughts and poultices, made calls together where Mardi stood back and watched or fetched and carried. He tolerated the jokes at the livery remarkably well, for even though he was one of those “fancy Tuckborough Tooks” he merely smiled when someone whistled him up, intimating that he was little more than a trained pup, following at the heels of his Mistress.

One day Ted came humming into the yard. He was a hobbit grown, now, and following in his father’s footsteps of travelling on the Thain’s business. As a matter of fact, he’d journeyed all the way to Bree! It was the farthest anyone from Whitwell had ever gone from home, and he was greeted with awe and respect upon his return, for his courage and loyalty. Shire-folk seldom went outside the Bounds these days, what with rumour of dark things and ruffians along the Road. In any event, everything one might want could be found in the Shire, couldn’t it? Except that Mistress Lalia had developed a taste for coffee, and it was difficult to obtain just lately. The travelling merchants came less often than they had in earlier days.

He quieted as he walked in the open door, hearing Woodruff’s murmur, and grinned. He’d brought her back a special surprise that he’d bought off the Southern trader in Bree, a wondrous kerchief of brightly coloured material, smooth and feather-light; it could crumple into nothing in your fist.

Pausing on the threshold of the kitchen, he blinked. Woodruff and that Mardi-fellow were bending over the table, heads close together, her hand on his, guiding the sharp knife. ‘There now,’ she said. ‘You want to make the cut just so, no more and no less. Then pull the skin back and work your way down, layer by layer... Do you feel...?’

 ‘I do,’ Mardi murmured.

 ‘You shot a chicken?’ Ted blurted.

Woodruff looked up with a smile. ‘Ted!’ she said. ‘You’re back!’

 ‘I am,’ Ted said. ‘You shot a chicken? Why not just have off its head?’

 ‘Well we started out so,’ Woodruff said, colouring prettily. ‘But as we were preparing the bird for stuffing, I was questioning Mardi on removing an arrow. His father taught him to break the shaft, imagine, and push the pyle through to the other side! That might work in some cases, but it’s ruinously damaging in others... So we tied our dinner up in a tree and shot an arrow into it, and now we’re removing the arrow, as delicately as can be.’

 ‘I see,’ Ted said, rather queasily.

Woodruff laughed. ‘O Mardi will wash it well, I promise!’ she said. ‘And then we’ll stuff it, and he’ll sew it up, practising the tiny stitches I taught him, and not those coarse stitches his father uses...’

 ‘They’re quick,’ Mardi protested. ‘Sometimes there’s no time for niceties...’

 ‘If you practice enough, you can do as well and not leave a great and nasty reminder of the wound in later years,’ Woodruff said firmly. ‘Will you be joining us for dinner, Ted?’

Their free and easy air bothered him, and he answered more stiffly than he meant to, ‘I haven’t greeted Mum yet, but I’ll hope to return in good time.’

Woodruff looked sharply at him, but distracted by the work at hand, she looked down and said, ‘Gently, now. Free the pyle gently. You want to inflict as little damage as may be; the arrow’s already done enough.’

When she looked up again, Ted was gone.