Chapter 21. Too Many Cooks

When Mardi came whistling from his morning’s work at the livery, Beryl greeted him at the doorway to the healer’s little smial, welcome in her eyes and a finger to her lips.

 ‘Elevenses are just on the table,’ she said in a low voice, beckoning him in.

 ‘Why are we whispering?’ Mardi whispered, wiping his feet upon the mat and following her to the kitchen, where three places were set at the well-scrubbed table.

 ‘Sweetie’s asleep,’ Beryl said. ‘Got back from Whittacres an hour ago, looking like something the cat dragged in.’

Mardi had watched with young Pippin from the dawning until second breakfast time, when the lad had sat up with a wince, nostrils flaring, saying, ‘Griddlecakes?’ It appeared his appetite had returned, and so Mardi had summoned his Mistress from the guest bed where she was taking a short rest. They’d shared second breakfast with the family, the healer and her assistant had conducted one more brief examination, and Woodruff decreed that Pippin should rest this day, with Ferdi and Merry to think up quiet amusements to keep him in the bed. Woodruff had released Mardi, to go to his morning chores at the livery, but she had said she’d stay on at Whittacres “for a while longer”, just to be sure the lad was on the mend.

 ‘I doubt the Mistress has slept more than a few hours altogether, the last few days,’ Mardi said with a frown, ‘and those not all together. She’ll be taking ill herself, if she’s not careful.’

‘But what can she do?’ Beryl argued, pouring out tea for the two of them while Mardi buttered the bread. ‘T’little lad fell on his head, the hired hobbit said, who came to fetch her. Why, she'd barely taken off her bonnet, just come back from seeing to Old Widow Goodbody's palpitations, as called her from the tea shop—' she frowned at Mardi, but he only grinned back at her, '—but she couldn’t very well not go! And you were off your own self, setting young Tad’s broken arm—she was just about to follow you, to look over your handiwork, when Lemson came from Whittacres. Good thing you’ve already learned so much of healing from your father, and just need the rough edges smoothed off.’

 'And so she never did come to check my work... and there I was feeling so fine and all about her trust in me, and that she likely would question me over supper since she hadn't come to look over my handiwork. Only to find, when I came to supper, that she'd gone.'

 'At least she left orders that you were to eat your supper,' Beryl said. 'You really ought to have a good supper, you ought, before doing all that heavy work at the livery!'

Mardi smiled at this expression of feminine concern.

 'And then you did all your chores, and walked out to Whittacres, and stayed the night in case you were wanted,' Beryl said huffily, as if Mardi were being put upon.

 'Such is the life of a healer,' Mardi said mildly.

 'I never knew,' Beryl said, 'not until I came to keep hole for Sweetie, that is.' She poured out another cup of tea, setting the pot down with a rattle of the lid that showed her perturbation. 'For folk who can't abide healers and their potions, the Tooks certainly don't stick at calling for you and your Mistress all hours of the day!'

 'It's a healer's lot, and I'd choose no other,' Mardi said.

Beryl peered at him intently. 'You mean that,' she said. 'You wouldn't be a farmer, or a hunter, or work for the Thain...'

 'I wouldn't even be Thain, not if they offered it to me on a silver platter,' Mardi said.

 'Well if that don't beat all...' Beryl said, half to herself, and then apparently decided to change the subject. ‘Whitwell certainly seems to need two healers at the moment, and Sweetie cannot very well split herself in two,’ she said, hesitating between the gooseberry jam and the strawberry preserves. She finally opted for a little of each.

 ‘Not for want of trying. She needs a second assistant, at the very least,’ Mardi said, stirring his tea absently though he’d forgot to add the sugar. He noticed with his first sip and remedied the oversight.

 ‘Which reminds me,’ Beryl said, nodding to a dark, stoppered bottle on the sideboard. ‘You’re to take that remedy to the Grubbses’ and bring yourself right back after you make sure Lilac understands the proper dose.’ Lilac, wife of Andy and Autumn Grubbs’ eldest son, was at her wits’ end with her Little Andy’s teething woes.

Mardi reached for the bottle, uncorked it and took a sniff. ‘Rub it on the gums, I’ve no doubt,’ he said, ‘and it’ll numb the pain and send the little fellow off to sleep... smells as if it’s made of strong spirits!’ His father never used strong spirits in the potions he made up for little ones. But then, Woodruff had taught him a number of things not practiced by the healers of Tuckborough.

 ‘Aye, there’s aught of that,’ Beryl said, ‘and some herbs mixed in, steeped and strained. I helped her to make this batch, and I’m to show you how it’s made, this afternoon, so that you can make up more. But Sweetie says she’s to use it sparingly,’ Mardi nodded at this caution, ‘and only if Little Andy will not be comforted in any other way. No good in having a babe that’s as drunk as a Brandybuck!’

 ‘No, indeed!’ Mardi agreed, helping himself to another slice of bread. He dispatched the rest of his elevenses quickly and efficiently and stood up from the table, but when he started to help clear the dishes, Beryl shooed him away.

 ‘Off wit’ ye, now!’ she said. ‘It’s a good two miles to the Grubbses’ farm, and there’s a list as long as my arm of things you’re to do when you get back, if there’s no urgent knock at the door in the meantime.’

 ‘Indeed, my lady,’ Mardi said with a bow, to be rewarded by a giggle from Beryl. With a grin he took up the bottle, made sure of the stopper, and let himself out, calling greetings left and right to the hobbits who were about their late-morning business, as he set himself an easy jogging pace out of the town.

He waved to the hobbits in the fields as he passed by Whittacres Farm, and at the cheery responses, he gathered the little lad was on the mend.

Reaching his destination, two farms past Whittacres, he jogged up the lane, calling a greeting. Autumn Grubb came out of the smial, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Well come!’ she called. ‘Elevenses will be on the table soon! You’re in good time! We’re eating a little later than we usually do, with Paddy and the lasses having so many extra chores today!’

 ‘My thanks, but I cannot stop long,’ Mardi said, reaching the door. He was breathing hard from running.

 ‘I can only imagine,’ Autumn laughed, as she took the bottle from him and linked her arm through his to draw him in. ‘Did you run all the way here, then? Your Mistress is a demanding one!’

 ‘More, I’d say, that the demands on my Mistress are many,’ Mardi said. ‘Three babes delivered in four days, and still the odd knock on the noggin and broken arm to tend.’

 ‘Well, at least she won’t be called here anytime soon to deliver this babe of mine,’ Fern Grubb, another daughter-in-love, said, taking Mardi’s other arm and guiding him to the table.

 ‘No, this-un’ll likely arrive in the middle of the first storm of autumn,’ Mardi said, ‘and my Mistress will faithfully slog through the mud to greet him.’

 ‘Her,’ Fern said firmly, and Mardi laughed.

The teakettle was steaming, a tray of fresh-baked buns was cooling in the window, a large pot of eggs-in-the-shell was coming to a boil, and a small saucepan of porridge was simmering at the front of the stove.

 ‘Really, I cannot stay, I’m expected back directly...’ Mardi was protesting when he reached the table. He didn’t mention that he’d already eaten elevenses. It’s not the sort of thing that bears mentioning amongst Shire-folk. A meal offered is never scorned, and having already eaten is no excuse. Food is hospitality, more or less, to hobbits. ‘Hullo, Hetty.’

This earned him a smile from the Grubbs’ lame daughter, who was limping to and fro, laying places at the table.

 ‘You must stay; Hetty’s laid an extra place already,’ Autumn said, putting the bottle on a shelf in order to take up the teakettle, to warm the waiting teapot. ‘Paddy called from the byre that he saw you turn in at the lane...’

 ‘I’m that sorry,’ Mardi said. ‘My Mistress...’

 ‘A cup of tea, then, to strengthen you for the return journey,’ Autumn said firmly. ‘You’ll be back in Whitwell all the sooner for stopping long enough to catch your breath.’

Leaf, with an eye for the healer’s assistant, bent gracefully to take another pan of smoking buns from the oven. ‘Don’t they smell wonderful?’ she said, passing by close enough that she did not quite have to wave them under Mardi’s nose. She fixed the pan in the window—Mardi noted that someone, Andy, probably, as he was clever with his hands, had nailed wood blocks to the frame, so that pans of baking could be stacked in the open window to cool.

A wail was heard from one of the inner rooms, soon joined by another, and in a moment a wan and dishevelled hobbit appeared, jiggling a screaming babe whilst a weeping tot clung to her skirts. ‘Off he goes again,’ she said, and then caught sight of the healer’s assistant. ‘Oh,’ she said, flushing scarlet, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know...’

 ‘Now then, Lilac-dear,’ Autumn said, moving forward to take the babe from her desperately tired daughter-in-love, ‘he’s here on this-un’s account, he is, and it don’t matter if he screams whilst you’re holding him, or someone else is...’

Lilac automatically picked up the tearful tot, placing the child on one hip and wiping at the wet little face with a handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve. ‘There-there, Letty, don’t cry anymore. Elevenses are almost ready, come, see?’ She leaned over the stove to give her daughter a view of the porridge.

 ‘Not quite thick enough, yet,’ Hetty said in passing. ‘She’ll want porridge, not gruel!’

 ‘ ‘tir!’ the little one lisped, and her mother obligingly tucked away the handkerchief to take up a long-handled spoon. With her mother’s guiding hand on the spoon, little Violet gleefully sloshed the porridge around the pot, while Mardi washed his hands and examined the babe in Autumn’s arms. The baby screamed when the healer’s assistant took him, but then he’d been screaming anyhow in his grandmother’s loving arms, so it hardly seemed to matter. In the meantime, Autumn hurried to pour out the hot water that had nicely warmed the teapot, spooned the tea in, and added the boiling water, setting the pot on the table to steep.

 ‘O aye,’ Mardi said, seeing the red and swollen gums. ‘That’ll soon put itself right, just as soon as those pearls break through.’ He rubbed gently at the spot, and the babe bit down just as hard as he could, gnawing the probing finger, though of course with no teeth as yet no damage was done. ‘I can feel them, but they’re still a few days away, I’m thinking.’

 ‘A few days,’ Lilac said in dismay, turning away from the stove. ‘He’s been up and crying all hours...’

 ‘Screaming, more like,’ Hetty said under her breath as she passed with a bowl of applesauce.

 ‘...and my Andson was that put out when he left this morning, not in a temper, mind, but that he’d had no sleep and the long drive to Waymeet Market...’

 ‘Waymeet?’ Mardi said, and gave a low whistle. ‘That’s a long way to go!’

 ‘They say cabbages are selling better there,’ Hetty said over her shoulder. ‘Too many round hereabouts raised cabbages this year, but not so many did up North in Waymeet.’

 ‘In any event, Andy and Andson and Garland left early and won’t be back until late,’ Autumn said.

 ‘Probably glad to get away from all the uproar,’ Lilac said.

 ‘Wan’ down!’ Violet demanded, kicking against her mother’s skirts, and Lilac released her with a sigh.

Leaf had piled the buns into a cloth-lined basket for the table and now she went to fetch the pot of porridge from the stove. Frowning, she gave it another stir. ‘Not quite thick enough yet,’ she murmured, and set the pot down again.

The babe had stopped screaming to gnaw on Mardi’s finger; now his face crumpled and he resumed his wailing.

 ‘O now,’ Lilac said, and she sounded as if she were about to weep herself.

 ‘Now,’ Mardi agreed, letting her take her little son, but he picked up the stoppered bottle. ‘Here’s what you do...’ He stuck his finger in the opening and tipped the bottle until his finger was wetted. He put his finger in the babe’s mouth, conveniently open, and rubbed along the lower gums. Little Andy’s wails stopped in mid-scream and he opened his eyes wide at the unexpected taste. ‘There now,’ Mardi said. ‘Doesn’t take much.’

Fern watched in fascination; after all, her own babe would be entering the world in a matter of months, and teeth would likely come along some time after.

Paddy, Andy and Autumn's youngest, entered, hands and face shining clean, placed a bucket of freshly-drawn water by the stove, kissed his mother, and took his place at table.

 'Hullo, Paddy, how's the leg?' Mardi said. He remembered his first sight of the gash that Woodruff had stitched the day he arrived in Whitwell, when he’d gone with her the next day to check on the healing of the wound. The neat and tiny stitches had promised a minimal scar, and from what he saw, when they went back to the farm to take the stitches out again, that promise had been fulfilled.

 'Good as new!' Paddy said, 'And I won't make that same mistake again! Andson's had me practice with the scythe until I could swing it in my sleep!'

 'Don't go and try that!' Mardi said in mock alarm, and the teen laughed.

The babe gave an experimental hiccough, and Mardi wet his finger again and put it in the little mouth. Little Andy sucked greedily at the finger. ‘I think he’s hungry,’ Mardi said.

 ‘He is, at that,’ Lilac said. ‘But every time he’s tried to nurse, lately, he stops himself and starts to scream again.’

 ‘And our own meal is ready,’ Autumn said, pouring out a cup of tea, ‘as is your tea, Mardi, so if you’ll just sit yourself down...’

Hetty had already taken her seat, between her sister Leaf and brother Paddy. Fern excused herself with a pretty blush and a vague murmur of "having to see to something." Everything was ready, the eggs waiting at attention in their egg cups, buns piled high still giving off their promising fragrance, rosy applesauce in a bowl with a pitcher of cream standing by.

 ‘Well, you give him another try,’ Mardi said, handing the babe to his mother once more. ‘We’ve put out the fire in his gums, poor lad, for the nonce. You use the stuff just like I showed you, not more than two finger-fuls, every two hours if he needs it that often. You’ll find he’ll probably go off to sleep as soon as his tummy’s full, poor little lad, if he’s had as little sleep as I think he’s had.’

 ‘Yes, love,’ Autumn said. ‘You give him his elevenses, poor lad, and if he doesn’t drop off I’ll take him and rock him so that you can eat yours, and then Letty will help with the washing up, won’t you my love—’

 ‘ ‘plash!’ said the tot in excitement.

 ‘—whilst your mother lies herself down as well,’ Autumn continued. ‘Come now, love, and sit in your little chair...’ She held out her hands to the little one as Lilac turned away with the baby.

Violet moved to obey, her eyes going over the table, but not finding what she sought, she suddenly turned and darted back to the stove, exclaiming, ‘Porrit!’ as she stood on her tiptoes to grab at the saucepan with its vigorously boiling contents.

Mardi was closest, and quickest to react. As the pan tipped off the stove towards the sweet little face, he jumped to snatch it away. Everything seemed to move with nightmare slowness as the contents of the pan sloshed over his hands and arms; he gave a terrible cry, could not keep his hold, and the pan fell to the floor, even as Autumn dove to pull little Violet out of danger. The toddler shrieked, splattered with boiling droplets as porridge splashed in all directions.