Chapter 33. Yuletide Journey

The plans for their Yuletide had been laid; instead of travelling across the fields, this time of year, Bungo would hire a coach, that his beloved wife might ride in comfort through the wintry rain and chill – for it had not yet snowed, nor had there been another hard freeze, since the frost faeries’ visit to grace Bilbo’s birthday. They would drive east on the Stock Road, stopping over in Frogmorton, and again at the inn by the Brandywine Bridge, then drive south along the Causeway to Stock and, after that short day’s journey, stop at the Golden Perch (for Bungo thought Isen ought to sample the beer there, made according to an old family recipe, and quite the best in the Eastfarthing, so far as Bungo was convinced). Another two days’ travel westward, with a stop overnight at the newly built Crowing Cockerel, would bring them to Tuckborough and the Great Smials. Thus it would take them a little less than a week to travel from Hobbiton to Tuckborough, a distance as the crow flies of a little more than a dozen miles.

But Bella would ride in comfort, which is what mattered most to Bungo.

Isen had a new suit of clothing for the occasion, for he’d put on weight, what with Bella’s delicious cooking along with all the good his stay at Bag End had done for his nerves. Though he was fond of walking with Bilbo each day, to take the fresh air, gone was the restless, near-constant motion that had reflected his inner disquietude. Bungo had arranged for the suit, walking with Isen to the tailor in Bywater, to have his measurements taken, all “for a surprise for my dear Bella”, and when he modelled the finished result, his sister clapped her hands in delight.

‘You look quite the gentlehobbit!’ she said. ‘Even Hildibrand at his finest couldn’t hold a candle to you!’

‘I should hope not!’ Isen said in mock alarm. ‘For he’d set my new suit of clothing afire, and then where would I be?’

‘In your birthday suit,’ Bungo said dryly, while Bilbo looked on, wide-eyed, not quite daring to laugh.

‘Bungo!’ Belladonna reproved.

Bungo and Isen exchanged glances, something like a smile passed between them, a conspiracy of males, and then Bungo said in his mildest tone, ‘Forgive me, my dear. I shouldn’t have…’

‘No, you shouldn’t!’ Bella said, aiming for the last word. Because she was looking at her husband, Isen risked a wink in Bilbo’s direction, and suddenly the tween felt as if he’d been admitted to the world of grown hobbits, or at least afforded a glance therein.

‘Bilbo,’ Belladonna said, to change the subject, ‘I want you to look through your bag, and make certain you packed enough pocket handkerchiefs for a fortnight!’

‘They have launderers at the Smials, as you know,’ Isen said, but his sister was not to be reassured.

‘One can never have too many pocket handkerchiefs,’ she said quite seriously. She was raising Bilbo to pay attention to such matters, asking him each morning at breakfast if he had a clean pocket-handkerchief on his person, and more often than not, by dint of consistent effort on his mother’s part, he did.

***

Next morning found them climbing into the coach, while the Greenhand family waved from the doorstep. ‘We’ll take good care!’ Mrs. Greenhand called. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing!’

Belladonna knew that when they arrived home, everything that could be polished would sparkle or shine, everything that could be washed would be clean, and the rugs would be thoroughly beaten, and all the dust of the Old Year would be swept out the door. Bag End would start the New Year fresh and new, and that was just the way things ought to be. (And as Bungo would pay the Greenhand family well for their effort, everyone would benefit, all round.)

The hired driver had made sure the footwarmers were filled with fresh coals, for it was one of those damp, cold winter days that chill the bones. Bungo helped his beloved up into the coach and tenderly tucked blankets around her, while Isen placed a footwarmer where it would do Belladonna the most good. Bilbo settled beside his mother and snuggled close with a shiver, and she opened the outermost blanket that she might share it with her son.

Isen, having seen his nephew’s shiver, shook another blanket from its folds and made sure Bilbo was warmly covered. ‘There you are, lad,’ he said kindly. ‘Quite as cold as the Ice Bay, or so it feels, even though there’s no ice to speak of…!’

‘Ice Bay?’ Bilbo wanted to know, and Isen laughed.

‘That’s a tale for another day,’ he said, ‘when we’re sitting by a warm fire, and not out in inclement weather, attempting to stay warm…!’

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Bungo said, seating himself without benefit of blankets, though he availed himself of one of the foot-warmers. He didn’t want to scorn the driver’s efforts, after all, and possibly hurt the fellow’s feelings.

The driver folded the step and looked in at the door. ‘Will there be anything else, sirs and missus?’

‘We’re very comfortable, thank you,’ Bungo said. ‘Drive on, there’s a good fellow!’

The driver saluted, shut the door, and fastened it.

The coach was the fanciest one could engage, with windows of real glass, that one might ride through the winter landscape in bright, light comfort, even if the sky was overcast, enjoying the scenery if they wished, or rolling down the shades if they wished to dim the interior for a nap.

With the door closed, the coach soon felt warmer, and Bilbo emerged from his blankets to stare out the windows in growing delight as they rolled along. He never tired of watching the landscape, ever the same and yet subtly changing as they travelled. The stretch of East-West Road from Bywater to Frogmorton, along the Water, was fairly flat with a gently rolling landscape to either side, through settled, well-ordered country of neat farms and small villages, some so small that they appeared on no map, simply a small cluster of buildings straddling the road. Bilbo liked to look into the windows of the buildings they passed, almost like illustrations from a book, little slices of life: a maidservant dusting a shelf of interesting-looking mathoms, a hobbit mum rolling out pastry in a kitchen, three children bent over a picture book, a milliner stitching fancy feathers to a hat, a grocer scooping peppermints into a paper twist.

Bilbo’s mouth watered at the latter, but Isen was prepared. When his nephew said, ‘Mmmm, peppermints!’ under his breath, Isen pulled a paper of the treats from his pocket and offered them around.

‘Don’t spoil your second breakfast!’ Belladonna warned, but her brother only laughed.

‘One won’t spoil!’ he said, and continued to hold out the treats until at last Belladonna relented and took one for herself.

‘Mmmm,’ she said, in spite of herself.

Second breakfast was in a hamper – sausage rolls still warm from the oven, hard-cooked eggs, sweet and crunchy salad of mixed apples, sultanas and nuts in a creamy, tangy dressing.

Elevenses was in another hamper, a cold meal, and then they would stop for a late noontide meal, a hot meal of roasted meat and vegetables and fresh-baked bread, at a place where Bungo liked to take Belladonna on occasion, for a special treat. The food was especially good, and even though Bella would fuss about going “half-way to Frogmorton!” they always enjoyed themselves immensely before driving back home to Bag End once more.

Luncheon was, of course, wonderful – a very pleasant feast, rich, abundant, varied, and prolonged. Bilbo, at the ripe old age of twenty, was allowed to eat in the Common Room with the adults for the first time, instead of having his luncheon on a tray in a private room set aside for families with children. His parents even allowed him half a glass of the fine wine that was served with the meal!

…as a result, he fell asleep, once they were back in the coach, for much of the remaining journey, blinking sleepily when the coach clattered into the yard of the inn at Frogmorton.

‘There’s a good day’s journey!’ Bungo said. ‘Only four more to go!’

Isen laughed. ‘That one was so fine, I’m half-inclined to go back to Bag End and do it over again!’

‘O let’s do!’ Bilbo said, sitting up with a yawn. ‘That was quite the finest dinner I’ve ever had!’

‘The Road goes ever on and on,’ Isen said kindly. ‘You’ll see, lad – there’ll be more fine meals in your future. Just wait and see.’

‘Are you sure?’ Bilbo said, and the adults exchanged fond smiles.

‘Very,’ came the answer, and it didn’t matter which of the adults said the word, for all were in agreement.

***

A/N: Some little turn of phrase from “A Long-Expected Party” in Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.