Chapter 6 - Rumors

Esmeralda immediately checked Frodo’s room in the morning, hoping the child might have snuck in at some point during the night. She found the bed made and cold, the floor clean and everything in order. Frodo had not returned. She stood motionless in the doorway of his room, trying not to feel too disappointed.

This would be the fourth time Frodo had been gone through the night. The first had been immediately after his parents’ death and the second had been the year following. The third had not been much more than a month after that, when Rufus and Frodo had got into an argument and Frodo had slipped out of the Hall that same night. Rufus was Primula’s brother-in-law, and he and his wife Asphodel were Frodo’s guardians at the time.

That fight had been the final straw for Rufus and Del. Though they loved Frodo dearly, they simply could not handle the lad. Their own son Milo had just come of age and they were not prepared to start the parent role all over again, not with a child so emotionally torn as Frodo was. Rory had agreed that a change might be the best for all involved and Saradoc had agreed to take in the lad. Esme and Sara had been careful not to be hasty with the child since he came into their care, but their patience didn’t seem to be working for them either, as Frodo still slipped off when no one was looking, and sometimes, even when they were.

Typically, Frodo would disappear for a few hours, occasionally all day. He was really no different than any other lad or lass in that respect, except on those occasions, he would fail to tell anyone where he was going or might be found. No matter how closely watched he was, and there were indeed a large number of people whose job it was to keep an eye on him, he always seemed to know when his guards had lapsed in their duty and he would take the split second given him to sneak off. Still, he always came back by supper, and Esme and Sara had decided to overlook these minor incidences, so long as Frodo didn’t run away again as he had with Rufus and Del.

And now he had been missing all night. If his previous disappearances were anything to go by, he would be gone anywhere from three to four days, returning hungry and thirsty at dusk on the last day. Though they would look, no one would be able to find him in the meantime; he was simply too good at disappearing. “One day down,” she muttered but it did not make her feel any better. She was desperately worried for Frodo and only hoped that the guards had been posted along the River in time.

Once Merry was awake, dressed and fed, she would go to the River and get reports from the guards. Merimac had agreed to watch over the Gate in his brother’s stead, so Sara could spend the day with Rufus, Dodi and Dino, going about and discreetly looking for signs of Frodo. So Esme decided she would call on Berylla, and they would take their sons to the River for a picnic. They could all use the fresh air and she would be able to conduct her investigation without drawing up too many eyebrows.  

Not that Esmeralda would be able to keep this a secret. A tale of this magnitude would spread quickly once the right gossipers got wind of it. Indeed, the right gossipers had already been wagging their chins long into the night and early morning hours, so that by the time she had gone to bed last night, all the residents of Brandy Hall and Buck Hill knew what had happened, and by the time she had Merry awake and ready the next morning, nearly every inn and diner in Bucklebury was buzzing with the news. Ropers were telling woodworkers, ostlers were telling tradesmen, and bakers were telling everyone who came in to their bakeries to buy a morning loaf of bread. So it was that the news spread as far as Mauville Ranch not long after the sun was fully risen.

The morning saw the Brockhouse children once again walking the endless rows of grape vines. Their father’s vineyard was not nearly as big as some of the others, but it was a respectable size and hobbits had long come to anticipate his wine as among the best. All the children were to learn the basics of the business, but Edon especially had to learn every aspect of winemaking, as he was to inherit everything when the time came. If all went according to his father’s plans, the vineyard would at that time be twice its current size.

Edon was not as confident about his father’s plans for his future, and he was constantly worried that he would disappoint his father in some way. Indeed, it was his greatest fear, but he kept his concerns to himself and learned all he could. He was getting better. He wasn’t misjudging the seasons quite as much as before and he had spent as many countless hours with the gardeners and farmhands as he could, trying to learn their secrets. For they spent their days with their hands in the earth and were connected to it in a way no one else was.

They were nearing the end of the rows at the edge of the vineyard when one of the gardeners came walking up. He greeted them with a tip of his hat. “Morning, young Masters, little Misses.”

“Morning,” they returned.

“How’s the day been treating you so far, Ash?” Edon asked.

“Very well,” Ash said. “Have ‘ee heard the news from up at Brandy Hall yet?”

“What news?” Edon asked.

“Me cousin’s a servant there and he was called into the dining hall last night after supper,” Ash explained, a sparkle in his eyes. He wasn’t often the first to arrive with new gossip. “The Master’s posting folk ‘long the River to keep watch out. Seems that young Frodo Baggins has disappeared again, and now his cousins are out and about Bucklebury asking word about him, or they will be soon anyhow.”

“What do you mean, disappeared?” Edon asked. “When’d all this happen? We saw him just yesterday.”

“Aye, and that’d be when he disappeared,” Ash said sensibly. “He was last seen at the Gate, several children were there to attest to that.”

“No one’s seen him since then?” Sed asked, barely audible.

Ash shook his head. “Appears that way. He’d been missing near the whole day, long afore anyone took notice to go a looking for him. Could a squirreled hisself away anywhere by now. ‘Ee know as he’s always dashing off and disappearing for days at a time. I’m surprised they took notice so soon. He’s that odd, he is.” With that, Ash continued past them to report to work.

The lasses continued on their way, the news of little concern to them, but Edon and Sed stayed where they were, talking in hushed voices.

“What do you think this means?” Sed asked. “We were the last to see him. We’re the ones that let him slip off. We're the ones that took him there, and Mr. Saradoc wasn't too pleased about that. Do you think there will be trouble for this?”

Edon shrugged. “I don’t know. You heard Ash, Frodo’s gone missing before this; we were here last time even as you may recall. I don’t reckon we’d be blamed for this, not if his own kin can’t even keep track of him none. Ash is right. Frodo’s an odd sort, even by Brandybuck standards.”

Sed didn't look very encouraged by this. “But we're the ones that-”

“Fine,” Edon interjected. “I’ll go up to the Hall after we’re finished with our chores and see what else I can find out.” He pushed his brother back to work and tried not to notice as his hands shook.  

They were arguing again. He could tell, even though they tried to keep their voices low and had gone to the other side of the house.  

He had awoken in the deep of night and simply knew something was wrong. He perked his ears and could hear the muffled sounds of their voices, hasty and sharp. He slipped out of bed and to the door. He cracked the door open and tried to listen.  

His father was speaking now, fast and steady so his mother couldn’t interrupt. Not that it helped; she interrupted anyway and she was livid. 

Frodo snuck down the hall until he could hear them clearly.  

“- in and out of the house all day. I can hardly think, Drogo. How much more of this do I have to take?”  

“You said you wanted this!”  

“After you decided for us both that this was for the best. You never asked me, just went out and arranged everything, and I’m supposed to be happy with it. Well, I’m not! I’m not ready to give up yet.”  

“I’m doing this for all of us, for you. It’s not about giving up, it never was. But we need to face the facts-”  

“Facts! It is just ‘facts’ to you, isn’t it?”  

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”  

“Well, it isn’t just ‘facts’ to me!” Primula exclaimed and there were tears in her voice. “It was a life, and it was in me, a part of me. And it’s gone now, and it hurts so much, it’s like I died too. But you wouldn’t understand that.” Now the tears were replaced with anger again. “You just up and did this thing, never mind how I would take it.”  

“That isn’t how it was,” Drogo returned, desperate to be understood, tears in his own voice, though they were more restrained than his wife’s. “This needs to be done. You don’t see how you are, how it’s affecting Frodo.”  

Frodo gasped at the mention of his name and hid deeper in the shadows. He considered leaving for a moment, but his body held him there.  

“He sees you sitting here every day, not moving, not eating! You refuse to go outside or see your friends, you shun our family. It’s not good for him, or for you.”  

“My father built this house for us,” Primula said, her voice cold, any emotion in it unreadable. “He built it so we could fill it with children.”  

“Well, we aren’t going to do that, are we?” Drogo replied just as coldly, and Frodo winced that he could barely recognize it. “We can’t have any more children. All the healers have said so, and I won’t risk it. I won’t lose you.”  

There was a long pause, and when Primula finally spoke again, her voice was low and tight. “You’re going to lose me anyway. I don’t want this.”  

Another pause. A heartbeat of time that never seemed to end.  

“Fine! Fine!” Drogo finally exclaimed. “Have it your own way, but I’ll be damned if I sit here and be witness to it!”  

“Where are you going?”  

“Never you mind.”  

“It’s freezing outside. Drogo!”  

A door opened. Snow flurries blew fiercely into the house in a blast of freezing wind. The door closed with a bang and there was nothing but silence. Then a moment later, Primula was sobbing.  

Frodo crept down the hall to the parlor and stood in the entryway, watching his mother cry, as she had been doing so often of late. But these tears were not slow or silent, this cry was not passive or submissive as the others have been. The tears that came now were fast and hot, and the sobs shook her body with such force that she could hardly stand. These tears came from a soul not in despair, but in the depths of hopelessness.  

Unable to stand and watch his mother in such pain, Frodo entered the parlor and walked up behind his mother, tugging on her skirts. She turned, startled, and when she saw him standing there, she immediately began to restrain herself, to little avail. The tears would not stop and her grief would not be denied, and in realizing this, she sobbed all the more.  

Frodo didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do, but he found himself opening his arms to her. His mother fell to her knees and was hugging him an instant later, holding him tighter than ever before. She hid her face in his curls and let the tears come.  

“Oh Fro, I’m so lost. I’m so sorry.”  

“Will Papa come back?”  

“I don’t know,” she quavered and sobbed until she fell asleep, right there in the middle of the parlor floor.  

Frodo did not sleep at all that night, and he sat up with his eyes glued to the door, waiting. But his father did not return.  

Frodo woke from his dream, tears streaming down his face from a memory long forgotten. It took him a moment to realize where he was. The trees were looming over him, his tiny glade narrowed slightly, and above in the sky, peeking through the smothering branches, night still reined.

Frodo curled onto his side and sobbed. “Mama,” he pleaded, knowing she would not come.  

Fuchsia found Gil sitting in her family’s parlor when she woke. She quickly ducked back into her room before he could see her and changed out of her nightdress and into a frock. She freshened up at the ewer and ran a brush through her hair a few times, smoothing out the worst of the tangles, then slipped out of her room again. She smiled pleasantly as she came around the settee and sat next to Gil.

“This is a surprise,” she said.

Gil smirked. “I suppose it must be, as was your pillow-hair. Do you always look like that in the morning?” Then he pointed at the mirror on the wall.

Fuchsia smacked him lightly on the arm and laughed. “I do, actually. I look like that well until it’s nearly time for first breakfast. Does that bother you?”

Gil shook his head. “I find it endearing.”

“You would. Why are you here so early?” Fuchsia asked.

Gil looked behind them and tipped his ear to her parents’ bedchamber door. They were awake, he knew that much as the mistress had let him in. It was safe to assume that Fuchsia’s sister was awake in their room as well, if not yet out of bed. Gil lowered his voice but remained at a respectable distance. Fuchsia’s father had an uncanny ability of knowing when Gil was getting too close to his daughter.

“Frodo’s still not back,” he whispered.

“He’s taken off again?” Fuchsia asked in an equally hushed voice. She hummed at this, then knotted her brow. “Did you ever apologize to him?”

Gil shook his head regrettably. “No. I saw him at the Gate, but Edon was there.”

“So?”

“So, you know how Edon can get. I couldn’t apologize with him there. He would only turn it into another competition and would have made Frodo feel worse in the process,” Gil said with a sigh. He sank into the cushions of the settee, looking as deflated as he felt.

“Well, perhaps it was for the best then,” Fuchsia said. “We don’t need you to be sent off to Pincup again, though it seems you’re in a pickle either way. That is, if you’re even the reason Frodo took off.”

“Of course I am,” Gil said, under no delusions that he might be innocent in this. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me. He was afraid of me. I should have pulled him aside, done something.”

Fuchsia dared her father’s vigilance and reached out to comb her fingers through Gil’s hair. “Don’t fret, dear,” she said. “Frodo will be back in a day or two. That’s what he does. You can talk to him then and clear everything up, no harm done.”

“If only Edon hadn’t been there,” Gil mused, but Fuchsia shook her head vigorously at this.

“Don’t. Don’t do that. You did the right thing, waiting for morning, but Frodo was already gone when you arrived,” she pointed out. “That was the only time you would have been able to approach him and you know it. Besides, Frodo wouldn’t have been at the Gate if Edon hadn’t been so kind as to take him,” she ended, sarcasm thick in her voice. She didn’t hold much of an opinion of Edon. None of the tweens did anymore, outside of Fendi and Morti, but those two had always been troublemakers. “Where do you think he’s hiding?”

Gil shrugged. “I don’t know. No one ever does, do they?”  

At the High Hay, the bounders and gardeners reported to duty in the early hours of predawn. The bounders went through the Gate first, to light the torches and ensure the forest was silent and secure. Then they let the gardeners in.

The gardeners would be finishing the northern leg of the Hedge by the end of the day, already being half done at the end of the previous day. As such, they would be loading their trimmings at the Bridge Gate and returning home from there. Still, the Master wanted a bounder to keep the Hay Gate open and guarded, at least until his son arrived to oversee things.

“Hullo Mr. Merimac,” the bounder on duty greeted when the Master’s son finally arrived at ten past eight. He stood and bowed, then closed the Gate behind them, locking it before following the young master to where the others worked a mile up the Hedge.

Mac greeted the workers and received updates on their progress. He was satisfied with the way things were going, though it seemed they would need to employ yet more gardeners if they wanted to complete the southern section by the end of the week. Once the progress reports were given, he sought out Hob.

“Who was guarding the Gate yesterday?” he asked.

“That’d be Flynn here,” Hob answered, pointing his thumb just behind him at a bounder who looked to be about Mac’s own age.

“Flynn, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course, sir. What you be needin’?” Flynn asked.

“Tell me, do you know the names of the children who attempted to breach the Gate yesterday?” Mac asked. It was a customary inquiry, one he’d not had time for the previous night as they had ended their work so late.

The bounder shook his head. “Only one or two really made any attempt,” Flynn stated. “One of them’d be a lass from up Newbury way, Candelaria her friends called her. She got no more’n ten feet from the crowd afore turning back. ‘Nother was that Mr. Madagilus Banks from the Hall. He nearly got to the Gate he did. I had to get out and chase ‘im back to the line, if you can believe that.”

“You left the Gate untended?” Mac asked, more sharply than he meant to and the bounder flinched.

Flynn twisted his hands nervously. “I had to, sir, he was nearly at the Gate. I didn’t leave it but for a minute, if that.”

“When was this? What time?”

Flynn shrugged. “Can’t say for certain. I’d guess the sun’d be ‘round ‘bout noon.”

“No one could have got through while you were seeing to him?” Mac asked.

Flynn shook his head fiercely. “Oh, no sir. There were no other children near ‘nough to do as that. I checked, I did. He was the only one, and he got himself back to the crowd soon as I popped out o’ the tunnel.”

“Thank you, Flynn. You did a fine job,” Merimac said and went to inspect the Hedge and the gardeners’ work.  

“Frodo! Wake up, lad!” Drogo reached out and eagerly shook his son’s shoulder. “Wake up and look what I’m making your mother for my birthday.”  

Frodo only burrowed further into the covers, grumbling in protest.  

Drogo sighed. “You could sleep till the sky fell down.” Another nudge. “Wake up, and look! She’ll love it, won’t she?”

Frodo sighed and opened his eyes, only to be greeted not by his father’s smiling eyes but by the canopy of leaves and branches above. He sat up, unaware that he had fallen asleep again, and looked around, his stomach grumbling as he yawned and stretched.

The forest had brightened to something akin to dusk, though Frodo guessed it must be near mid-morning. All around him, the trees stood silent and still once more. Even so, Frodo couldn’t help but notice that his small glade no longer existed and that his back was pressed up against a gnarled bole. He stood up hastily and stepped away from the moss-covered tree and looked around for any sign of food.

In daylight, his situation did not seem as dire, but he kept his thoughts limited to his search for food. He did not allow his mind to wander and he ignored the panic that lingered at the edge of his thoughts and threatened to overcome him at any moment should he let it.

He walked in short, soundless steps, hoping to pass unnoticed by the trees and the other creatures that must live here. He did not search long before he realized he was going in circles, and when he attempted to go in a different direction, he inevitably wound up exactly where he had been.

Frodo stamped his foot in frustration, tears prickling his eyes. He sat upon the ground and rested his chin in his upturned hands, ignoring his empty stomach and his thirst, and wondered again why he had ever thought this was a good idea.
 
 
 
 

To be continued…