Chapter 17. Settling In

Tea was a jolly affair, almost hobbity, with Bella and Isen reminiscing about growing up in the Great Smials, the pranks played, the adventures lived (Bilbo stared at his mother in frank astonishment—adventures!), the traditions and customs, the special times and everyday occurrences. Bungo, of course, was fascinated.

‘And to think I took you away from all that,’ he said. ‘It’s no wonder you cried your eyes out as we drove away...’

‘I had a speck in my eye,’ Belladonna said with dignity. ‘You know how it affects me—one speck and I’m blinded for the duration.’

‘Both her eyes flood with tears,’ Isengar confirmed. ‘One little speck of dust and the poor lass is as helpless as if you’ve been tickling her without mercy.’

‘I’ve noticed that,’ Bungo said with a fond smile for his wife. ‘Why, if I even crook my fingers at her as if I’m about to tickle, her eyes overflow...’

‘Stop!’ Belladonna said, overcome with laughter, and as was her lot, soon the tears were overflowing on her cheeks. ‘Stop! You’ll have me weak-eyed and puffed and everyone will think something awful’s happened.’

Something awful has happened, Bilbo thought, but looking from his laughing parents to his uncle’s twinkling eye, and being drawn in by the infectious laughter surrounding him, somehow his resentment drained away.

Perhaps this would not be quite so awful as he’d feared. It was too soon in the baking to see if the cake would turn out, however. He’d reserve his judgment.

Bungo and Belladonna escorted Isen to his room, still talking and laughing, and Bungo returned to the kitchen to report in an undertone that Bella was sitting with her brother yet a while, for Isen was understandably a little restless in this strange new place.

Bilbo pulled one side of his mouth in a grimace, but quickly smoothed it away when his father’s glance turned to him. Bag End, large as it was, didn’t have the miles of corridors to be found in the Great Smials. Uncle Isen wouldn’t have much scope for his wanderings. Likely Bungo and Bella feared the hobbit would wander right out of the smial and down the lane, scandalising the neighbours.

He and his father did the washing up together—usually Bungo sat in the rocking chair and smoked his pipe while Bilbo and Belladonna did the honours—and then Bilbo went off to his bed, and for the first time in his young life his mother didn’t tuck him in and leave him with the blessing of a kiss.

He wakened suddenly in the night, feeling unaccountably restless. He could hear his father’s snores filling the night air, but something else, some movement, had disturbed him.

Creeping from his bed on soft hobbit feet, he moved into the hallway, wondering... and then he heard it, the soft whisper of movement, from the direction of the guest bedroom, and he remembered. Was Uncle Isen trying to make his escape? He tiptoed to the guest room and peeked round the door frame.

Belladonna was fast asleep in the chair beside the bed, and Uncle Isen was up, out of the bed, and tucking a blanket tenderly around his sister’s shoulders. He looked up, somehow divining Bilbo’s stare, and nodded with a crooked smile before turning back to his task, tucking the blanket securely so that it should not fall away and allow Bella to be chilled. And then the old hobbit looked up again with a finger to his lips, and then he eased himself down on the bed once more, turned over so that his back was to the door, drew the coverlet over himself, and sighed.

Bilbo nodded, though of course Uncle Isen wouldn’t see it, and turned away to seek his own bed. And silence, and peace, reigned for the rest of the sleep-drenched hours.