The Summer of Our Discontent

Summer wound its way through the Shire like an old lazy brown creek. In many ways it was a rather normal summer for the land, though not nearly so normal for its inhabitants. As every crop matured it was "gathered".

In Michel Delving the residents seemed to slink through the town square, no one wanted to draw attention to themselves; they tried to appear as though they were not there at all. Furtive glances fell upon the Lockholes. Longing, concerned thoughts reached out to those hidden within. None of the hobbits in the town really knew what was going on inside the old building and hole. Oh, they had at first. At first there had been hobbits working there, but now it was only the Men who went in and out of the Lockholes. Hobbits only went in.

Will Whitfoot stood looking out the tiny window in his cell door, not that there was much to see. The cells were arranged so the doors with their small windows were not opposite one another. The former Mayor of the Shire saw only a mouldy brick wall, like those of his own cell, across the narrow dirt floor of the aisle-way. He turned away from the opening but quickly turned back as he heard voices in the passage.

"Move ‘long, vermin!" A loud slap was heard. "Move ‘long or I’ll do more’n smack ya up-side yer head!"

Will drew back as the voices neared his door, unpleasant things could befall a hobbit caught watching at his window.

"Where’s this’n gettin’ puted?"

"Number One."

"In wi’ his lordship, eh?" An evil chortle followed the reedy, nasal voice.

"Aye, wi’ his lordship. Get yer key in ta lock would ya, it smells worse’n a stable back here."

Will went as far back from the door as he could. He had been smacked about a bit once before for "crowdin’ ta door". He sat down on his blanket and huddled up against the wall.

"Gots company, yer lordship!" the reedy voice hollered as the silhouetted figure of a hobbit was shoved headlong into the cell to land on his face in the dirt. "Hopes ya two ain’t enemies!" The heavy oak door thudded shut. Neither hobbit moved as the laughter of the Men faded down the narrow tunnel.

Will crawled over to the hobbit on the floor and gently touched his shoulder. "Are you alright? Have they hurt you badly?"

"No," was the faint response.

"Are you from around here? From Michel Delving?"

"No."

"It is just that your voice is quite familiar to me."

"Proudfoot. Olo Proudfoot. I do recognize your voice, Mayor Whitfoot."

"Olo! They have gone and thrown a healer in this dismal place? Why, whatever did you do, Olo?"

The Hobbiton healer slowly sat himself upright. He swayed a bit and The former Mayor scuttled around in the damp dirt to sit behind him.

Will pulled at Olo’s shoulders. "There now. Just you lean back against me till you’ve got your head about you again. You can answer when you feel able." Olo nodded and sighed as he leaned back, but then he rather awkwardly pulled away.

"Mayor?" he said as he twisted to look behind himself.

Will gave him a wry smile in the dim light. "I suppose it needs no healer to tell I’m not half the hobbit I used to be. What food they give us has two primary qualities; it isn’t very nourishing nor is it plentiful."

"I can see that."

"Mind, I can’t by any stretch of reason claim I’ve been starved, however, three bowls of porridge a day is not exactly what we hobbits are accustomed to, even if they are fair sized bowls."

"No, Will, it is not." Olo sighed as he turned and leaned back against his friend again. "You asked why I was brought here. I was supposedly ‘hoarding food and giving it to undeserving residents of the Shire’." He snorted in disgust. "I was giving extra food to the oldest, the youngest and the weakest. But alas, they were old, young and weak hobbits, so those who are watching out for our welfare came to my home and escorted me on this trip."

Olo was interrupted by several coughs heard from beyond the cell door. He ran his hand along the damp floor, his eyes roved over the crumbly bricks and somewhat rotted wood of the beams above them. "The food isn’t all there is here that isn’t healthy."

It is dark in the holes that get dug into the earth. It is dark in valleys below the hill tops and under the trees. And sometimes the dark is good.

A hobbit shouldering a large sack silently draws near a tree with an oddly twisted branch, then whistles part of the nightingale’s song. Out of the nearby shadows comes the other part of the song. With no word between them the sack moves from one hobbit to the other before they slip into the darkness in opposite directions. The nightingales of the Shire seemingly always move from east to west. East to west . . . from the ancient quarries to the "gold" mines of the Brockenbores.

It had taken a mere week to put the system into operation for "Re-Gathering" goods. Since there were hobbits at work in the quarries it wasn’t that difficult to remove the needed items. The Shire Hobbits dressed and spoke a bit differently than their custom, and blended perfectly with the Bree and Staddle Hobbits. The Re-Gatherers could move thirty or more sacks and barrel of goods from the quarries to the mines each night and often did so. They carried no torches, no lanterns. Few of the hobbits of Brokenborings knew that the old "gold" mines were now alive with activity, they, and the hobbits of the towns in the northern part of the East Farthing, only knew that there was food and goods to be had once more.

"Fatty! Where are we putting the flour?" Ronoldo called out as he carried in a bag of the heavy powder. No one seemed to have noticed that Freddie was less of a "fatty" than before. The work of setting up the Re-Gatherers, and running a couple legs of the relay himself most nights had started to whittle away his ample stature.

"Third on the right-right, Ron," Freddie replied and Ronnie headed down the first tunnel to the right, where he would then take the next right before putting his sack of flour into the third room off that tunnel.

"As I was saying, Rolo" Freddie turned back to the hobbit he had been conversing with, "I think we need to consider expanding our operation. There are hobbits in need throughout the Shire. I feel horrible helping only us East Farthingers who live north of the East-West Road."

"Well, I can be understandin’ that right well ‘nough, Freddie, but we might oughtn’t be spreadin’ ourselves too thinly." Rolo Boffin looked uncomfortable.

"That’s a good point, Rolo, but I think the Ruffians will start to notice soon that we’re looking too well cared for in our part of the Shire. I fear they will begin to suspect something is going on."

"Freddie!" Robin Mosstoes yelled. "Where are ya wantin’ the wee kegs o’ honey?"

Fredegar sighed. "Easier if I show you," he loudly replied, then turned back to Rolo. "We’ll discuss this some more later," he told him then trotted off to show Robin and his crew where the honey was stored.

The Took elders sat around The Took’s dining table once again. This time they were a rather subdued group. Eglantine, her face pale, dark smudges beneath her eyes, sat stiff and proper directly across from where her husband stood. He had made it clear that this time she was to be at the table. That this time she would be where he could readily and easily see her. Paladin had not said as much but Lanti knew he needed her loving support.

"Gentlehobbits and hobbitess, there is no question, I am sure, in the mind of anyone at this table as to the reason for this meeting." Paladin paused as several mumbled assenting responses were heard. Paladin began to slowly walk around the table. "I will not, in any way, shape or form, accept full responsibility for what has happened." He walked in silence for several paces before stopping. "Did I anticipate this? No, I did not. Did I even think of such a horrendous event when I suggested to all of you the plan to move a goodly portion of our foodstuffs and goods to Great Smials? No, again, I did not. Had I even considered the possibility of raids against our lands by the Ruffians of Lotho Sackville-Baggins? No, not even that."

Paladin walked back to where he had started, looking at no one, his face stiffly set as though fighting great pain. He rested his fisted hands upon the table then leaned his weight against them. With his head bowed, he said nothing for several minutes. The elders stirred uneasily.

Paladin looked up and into the eyes of each hobbit in the room, settling last upon his wife’s eyes. Yes, love still shone there. He had not yet lost what was holding him together.

"No, my friends and kin, I have no insight into what will be. But . . . I did fear treachery of some sort. I was not so naive as to think Lotho could afford to have these Men under his command see him so easily set aside by me. When he cut us off from the rest of the Shire, I did not think he would leave the matter there." Paladin began to pace about the room once again. "But I definitely felt in my heart that we needed to safe guard our food and goods. And where would be best to do this? What place is most accessible to all Tooklanders?"

Paladin had once again returned to his place at the table. One smooth, swift movement brought Paladin around to face those at the table and his fist slamming down upon its surface.

"I will not tolerate these rumors that I was putting my own family above the rest of Tookland! I will not tolerate the whispered accusations that the residents of Great Smials would eat their fill whilst others went hungry!" The Thain of the Shire glared at the elders of the Tooks. "Yes . . . I have been told of what had been happening throughout our land. I have been told of how the talk in the taverns and inns turned many Tooks against the head of our family. Against me."

With those words the fire in Paladin was suddenly doused and he wilted into his chair. For a few silent moments he sat, elbows on the table, his face in his hands. Several around the table looked guilty, some looked at Paladin as though wishing they could offer him comfort. Lanti held back her tears, they would do no good in front of this august group.

Paladin’s head came up slowly, bringing his gaze once again to the hobbits seated around him. "Forgive me. We don’t need pointless outbursts at this juncture, we need to be as optimistic as possible, we need constructive ideas." He drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "What do we have?"