Doubts

Paladin son of Adalgrim, The Took and Thirty-First Thain of the Shire sat in his office in the Great Smials looking out the large window. His heart’s cry was to return to being a farmer. How he wished his only worry was for his own family, his own land, his own crops and his own live stock. But the ancestral tree had played against that, now he sat alone in this office with the whole of Tookland his concern. Paladin huffed as, with the hint of a wry grin, he reminded himself that ‘twould be the whole of the Shire if the Ruffians hadn’t put Tookland under siege. He had worked long and hard when farming, working alongside his hired hands, but never had he felt so drained as he felt at this moment. September was nearing its end . . . so was Tookland’s food supply.

There had been more burnings. None as all encompassing as the first, but every blow grew harder to take. There had been raids. Cattle and sheep slaughtered then left to rot in the fields, chicken houses emptied of their occupants. At least there were fish for the catching in ponds and streams that were well within the borders. Five Tooklanders had died from eating fish or drinking water from a stream and two ponds parts of which lay outside Tookland’s shrinking boarders. The waters had been poisoned by the Ruffians.

Dusty old tomes had been pulled from the shelves of Great Smials’ library. Nearly forgotten fragments of tales and wisps of old sayings were being pieced together at hearth-sides. Hobbits had once been wanderers. They had planted no fields, tended no herds, they had lived off what they found or hunted. The old stories sometimes spoke of these other things hobbits had used for sustenance. Berries that had long gone uneaten when ones of sweeter flavor had been grown were being sought out. Tubers and roots of plants long since passed over in favor of potatoes and carrots, parsnips and turnips, were now appearing on the tables of hobbits in the smallest of houses and holes to the tables of Great Smials. But even here, there was trouble lurking. Some things needed special handling or were easily confused with plants that were poisonous. A few children had died after eating the berries of the Deadly Nightshade vines. Several families, living in the eastern parts of Tookland where the Green Hills were forested, had been sickened, some to death, eating acorns and baked goods made from acorn flour. Eglantine and several other herbalists travelled to the east to teach those Tooklanders how to properly cure the nuts so they could be eaten safely. And then . . .

Paladin’s thought’s were interrupted by a gentle tapping on his leg. Pimpernel’s daughter, Primrose, stood at his side.

"Grand Da, may I sit on your lap?"

"Of course you may, my wee Rose," Paladin replied as he lifted the nine-year-old into place. She snuggled up tight then sighed contentedly. The two sat in silence for a while as they looked out the window at the slanting afternoon sunlight on the grassy meadows.

"Why aren’t Mummy and Daddy eating with us, Grand Da?"

The question startled Paladin. It had been hoped the children, especially the younger ones, wouldn’t pay mind to their parents either not being present at certain meals or being present yet not eating. The adults of Great Smials had decided to not partake of first breakfast, elevenses and afternoon tea, making sure there would be the usual amount of food for the children at all meals. It was an idea Lanti had as a way to stretch the food stores. Many of the Tweens had quickly surmised what was happening and volunteered to do the same as their elders.

"They say they have meetings or they say they aren’t hungry, but Grand Da, how can they not be hungry? I’m always hungry and Mummy and Daddy never said things like that before. And why are there so many meetings, Grand Da?"

Despite the corner Paladin had been backed into, he smiled as Rose’s long speech reminded him of Pippin when he was a little lad. His smile faded as he thought of his son. They hadn’t returned. Afterlithe had come and gone and their dear lads had not returned. Neither he nor Eglantine had spoken a word about the matter but they read it in each others eyes . . . they knew they would never see their dearest son, nor the others, again in this world. He shook away his gloom and noticed Rose looking to him for an answer.

"We are all getting ready for some changes to be made to the Smials, dear one, that is what the meetings are for." He shifted a bit in the chair. He wasn’t as accustomed to thinking up quick stories to get out of a jam as Pippin and Merry were. "And, eh . . . well all that thinking, planning, discussing and such, well . . . it makes grown hobbits not be as hungry. Eh, it upsets their tummies."

"Oh," Primrose said softly as she nodded her head. "That’s not fun, having upset tummies. No wonder they don’t feel hungry, Grand Da. I don’t feel hungry when my tummy is upset. I was scared. Aladabras told me that the Mummies and Daddies weren’t eating at all just to not eat because there isn’t e . . . e . . . there isn’t lots of food. But if you’re sure they have upset tummies, Grand Da . . . why do we call being angry being upset and call icky tummies upset, Grand Da? Are our tummies angry?"

Paladin sighed in gratitude for the change of topic. With very little effort he thought of an answer that satisfied his granddaughter. She then gave him a sweet wet kiss on the cheek before skipping out of the office. Paladin’s heart was nowhere near as light as he once again took to staring out the window. What more had some of the young ones figured out and how many more were being frightened by the stories they were hearing?

Esmeralda and Saradoc leaned their backs against the heavy oak front doors of Brandy Hall. Neither moved for a few moments then Esme turned to embrace her husband and weep into his shoulder.

"Now, now, my Beloved Took. Steady yourself. They’re gone now." He gently rubbed her back and kissed the side of her head.

"But . . . but for how . . . how long, Saradoc?" she asked while sniffling and taking gasping little breaths. "They have . . . they have been here . . . in . . . invaded our home . . . three . . . three times this week. Three times, this week alone . . . my dear."

He kissed her head again. It was a true statement. Three times in the past week, twice the week before, Ruffians along with what seemed a hoard of Hobbit Sherriffs had barged in the front doors of the Hall. Without so much as a "by your leave" they had searched the huge smial. By some wonder, some miracle, they had not found the small entrance to the two old wings of the Hall where they were keeping those Bucklanders who had been secretly brought into Brandy Hall for care and safety. Esme lifted her head and looked into Saradoc’s eyes.

"They know. They must know what we have done and they won’t stop coming until they find the others."

"I’m afraid you are right, Esme," Saradoc said as he gently pressed her head back to his shoulder. "Yesterday there were notices posted rescinding the various travel passes that had been issued. I had heard rumors that there were hobbits in the northern part of the East Farthing reclaiming gathered goods. It was true." This time he lifted her head so their eyes met. "Lotho’s Men raided the operation and captured most of the hobbits involved." He paused and swallowed at the lump forming in his throat. "It was Fredegar Bolger that had started it all, it was Freddy leading them. The Ruffians hauled them all away to the Lockholes."

Husband and wife stood tightly together. Saradoc was filled with gloom. He knew in his heart the end of Buckland and the Shire was near at hand. He knew in his heart that his son, nephew, cousin and their friend were never to return. They would have, should have, been back by now. His gloom deepened. ‘Twas for the best, his heart told him. Best the lads did not have to come home to . . . no homes. How long would it be, he wondered, until he and his Beloved Took joined Fredegar and the others in the Lockholes?

Esmeralda had no such fears for her son’s life, she knew Merry and the others lived. She knew they were drawing nearer to home. The fear that froze her heart was what they would find when they arrived. Would they even get past the gates and guards at the Brandywine Bridge?

Two figures sat on a simple wooden bench at the back of a tarred shack in Hobbiton. They sat together with the ease of old friends, comfortable in simply sitting together on a Halimath afternoon, soaking in the warmth of the sun as she shone down out of a clear sky.

"It be gettin’ worse."

"Aye. ‘Tis."

" ‘Spose it can be gettin’ worse yet."

"Aye. Wakes me up with the willies ‘n sweats, dreamin’ ways it can be gettin’ worse."

"Aye, makes for two o’ us then."

Daddy Twofoot reached over to pat the Gaffer’s hand as they sat in silence once again.

Rosie Cotton walked slowly along the hedgerow, out of sight of the lane. She smiled grimly at the thought that she used to have her thinks while walking in the lane. Her family was still doing all they could to help friends and family who lived in Bywater and Hobbiton, but it was getting harder and harder to do. Young Tom had nearly been caught the last time he took what things he could up to the Twofoots and the Gaffer. Her father . . . well, as much as he could, he kept trying to stir the hobbits up for a fight. He still felt they could win back their homeland if they banded together, though his talk had quieted down for a bit after the Bolger lad and those others were herded through town. Up to Hobbiton and back through Bywater again to the Great Road. She figured the Ruffians suspected her father and others here ‘bouts of trying to work against them, so Lotho’s Men made a fine show of their prisoners.

Lotho. Lotho Sackville-Baggins. An unpleasant person to have brought to her mind. Rosie huffed. Not worthy of the name "Baggins", he wasn’t. Odd though. Rumor had it naught had been seen of him, nor his harridan mother, for several months now. That they hadn’t even been to see "the parade". How very odd.

Rosie stopped at a fence and leaned against the top rail. "Sam will be back," she whispered aloud. "Sam and Mr. Frodo and those fool cousins of his. Be back to set thin’s straight as a plumb-line, they will." She sniffed as warm tears wet her cheeks. "I just hope they’ll be comin’ home right quick."