Chapter Nine

For the next few weeks Kira felt as if her heart were frozen in stone, though in body she was more active than she had ever been.  Trying to rescue the book was courting disaster: someone would find out, and then her behaviour would be considered dangerous, the book would be returned to Undertowers, and everything would be over.  No, something had gone terribly wrong, and any attempts Kira could make to fix it would make it even worse.  So all she could do now was the one thing she was worst at doing: wait.  At night, if she could not fall asleep yet, she distracted herself from thinking about the book by imagining herself a cat, lying in wait until the right moment to strike, but she knew in reality she was helpless to do anything.  Besides, that line of thought had to be wrong, for it made Mother her chief enemy, and that certainly was false.  And all this for a book?

Perhaps.

At any rate, waiting tried her hardly, even more so because Kira did not know when (or if, though she tried not to think of that) the waiting would be over.  So she threw herself into everything she did, and more.  There was washing to be done, weeding, baking, eating, cleaning; and when Mother did not have any chores left for her there was always playing with her friends.  She shortened her playing breaks down until they were little more than catching breath, so that she was too tired to look at the green fields and flowers around her, much less think.  Outwardly her friends were delighted, especially Tom; but if she had known it Daffodil was not a little concerned.  And at night she became so exhausted that there was no chance to lie in bed awake, but rather she fell asleep almost instantly and woke up with the sun in her window so that she could get up for another day’s work and play.  It went on and on, and during one of the few moments when Thought crept in she realized that even if she were never able to read again it would not matter, because if she kept this up she would never have the time to miss the Red Book and its story.  When on the sixteenth of July her mother took her to market once more, she caught sight of it sitting in the storeroom, and it occurred to her that Mother’s anger was waning if she was allowed to go to market again.  But then the door to the room closed and she was refilling the herbs for sale and engrossing herself in conversation, and she did not dare to hope.

That day as they rode home from market with the Burrowses, Mother reached out and brushed Kira’s cheek with the back of her hand.  “You look pale, love,” she said.

“That’s strange;” said Kira, “I’ve been outside a lot lately.”

“You are well, aren’t you, Kira?”

“I would tell you if I wasn’t, Mum.  My foot’s been bothering me a little, but other than that it’s nothing.  You did say ‘no secrets.’”

“I did,” said Kira’s mother, and she settled into silence as the cart bumped over the dirt road.  “But you’ve been very active, Kira,” she added after a few minutes.

Kira said nothing in response to this, so Mother continued.  “And I suppose that that’s a good sign, only you’re not resting as much as you used to and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I get enough rest at nights, Mum.”

“Kira, you know you need more rest than that.”

“Do I?”  There was a hint of bitterness in her tone, but it was washed over with all the weariness that had built on her since the Lithedays.

“Of course you do.  You’re not like other children.”

“Well, what would I do while I was resting?”

“I don’t know—you used to be perfectly content with nothing, though I wondered how you could be.”

“It’s boring, Mum.  And whenever I do nothing I end up thinking.”

“And what is wrong with thinking a little now and then?”

“Oh, nothing by itself, I suppose.  Only I met Fírin because I was thinking, and I met Merina because I was thinking, and I reckon I even met Kerry because I was thinking.  And if those aren’t right or safe, how can thinking be?”

Mother was silent for a few moments.  “You can still talk, though, with me or with Daffodil or your other friends.”

“But you’re always working and they’re always playing.  I’m the only one that has to rest.”

“Well, Dr. Grimwig will be visiting in a week or so, and we shall see what he thinks of all of this.”

Would he let me get the book back?  The thought flitted through her mind before she silenced it.

*  *  *

The next week blended so much into the cycle of work, play, and sleep that Kira did not know whether it flew by or was interminably long.  She was startled when Mother told her that today was the doctor’s visit either way, and even more startled when Mother told her that she had let her sleep in, and that Kira had done so despite the sudden brightness streaming in through the window.  It was now eleven o’clock, and today the doctor was coming at noon.

Hastily she dressed herself and satisfied her growling stomach, hoping that she would look well for the visit.

She did not.  The first thing Dr. Grimwig noted as he entered the smial was that Kira looked very pale, very tired, and almost ill.  She and her mother hastily informed him that she had not caught anything, but Mother whispered something in his ear as Kira sat down at the kitchen table for her examination.

He started with the customary foot check, making notes on his pad as usual.  It did not hurt as much, except for the ball of her foot which throbbed quite horribly, but the doctor thought this was due to numbness rather than recovery.  It was not satisfactory.

“That’s very strange,” he said.  “You were doing quite well when I removed your stitches.”

“Maybe you just found me at an ill moment,” said Kira.  “I was well enough to go to the Fair, after all.”

The doctor just shook his head.  “And have your activities since then changed?”

“I’ve been doing a lot more, if that’s what you mean.  I think I’m finally becoming an active hobbit, Doctor—or if not active, at least normal.”

“But do you feel it’s too much for you?”

“Actually I don’t think it’s enough.”

“We shall see about that.  I’ll have a listen to your heart, now.”  He got out the strange miniature column and held it to her chest and listened.  “Rosemary?” he said.

Mother left her luncheon preparations and came over to the doctor.

“A word with you, please.”

Mother nodded.  “Kira, could you watch the food?”

“Yes, Mum,” said Kira as her mother left the room with the doctor.  His face was grey.

Mother’s expression was also quite solemn when they came back a short while later.  “Well, Kira,” she said, “Dr. Grimwig has just explained to me that while you are not ill at the moment, you could be close to getting ill—seriously ill—and that he has arrived none too soon to learn this.”

“I’ve suggested to your mother that you stay abed for the next week or so,” added the doctor.  “You’ve been exerting yourself far too much, no matter what you may think of it.”

At this ‘suggestion,’ which she knew Mother would take, Kira sagged over in her chair.

“I don’t understand why it’s so difficult, Kira,” said Mother.  “After all, you’ve had to stay put during the winter for most of your life.  You do need rest, love, even if you don’t think so.”

And suddenly the folly of Kira’s plan crashed about her.  She could crowd out all thoughts of reading during the summer and fall, but come winter she would be rendered inactive and idle, left helpless for the Tale of the Ring to prey on her mind.  And if she did not think she could bear one week of nothing to do, how could she possibly manage three months or longer?  Her head sank into her hands, and she realized that she was weary, weary beyond reason.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see Mother’s eyes looking into hers.

“If I have to stay in bed,” said Kira, “may I at least read?”

A shadow passed over Mother’s eyes.  “Kira, it’s not good for your mind.”

“I know,” said Kira, “because it makes me think.  But I can’t do anything unsafe while I’m in bed, can I?”

“No, I suppose not.  I could always put your book back when you’re well again.”

She shook her head.  “Don’t you see, Mum?  It’s the book that keeps me well!”

Mother turned back to Dr. Grimwig.

“What’s this about books?” he said.

“Kira thinks that she wouldn’t have gotten in these straits if she had had her book with her.”

“She hasn’t?”

“No.”  Mother looked at her hand resting in her lap.  “She was spending time with a Brandybuck—one of the Master’s children, mind you—at the Free Fair.  And later, with one of the Dwarves that had come to the Fair.  I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, any bad ideas to come to her head.  In the old days it used to be queer; now it’s downright dangerous.  And I guessed that it all came from her reading.”

“It probably did,” said the doctor.  Kira was not entirely sure how much she liked him discussing her behaviour as if it were a rare malady.  “But if Kira is right that reading is beneficial to her health—as I would conclude from May’s visit as well as this one—I think that any danger stemming from her reading is far smaller than the danger she is in if she keeps this level of activity up.  Reading, as I have said before, keeps the body in a state of rest without boring the mind.  If rest is necessary for Kira’s continued health, as we know it is, then she should be allowed to rest in a way that does not aggravate her.  And besides, Mrs. Proudfoot, Brandybucks are few and bare between in the Westfarthing, and Dwarves even more so.  I believe they are the least of your worries.”

“Very well,” said Mother.  “I certainly would not wish to gainsay a doctor’s advice.  I will not keep you from reading again, Kira, unless it truly is dangerous to your health.  Next time I am in town I will retrieve your book.”

Kira got up and immediately cast her arms about her mother.  “Thank you so much, Mum,” she said, “and thank you, too, Doctor.”  Turning back to Mother, she added, “And I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want me to reading it—I honestly mean that.”

Dr. Grimwig stayed for luncheon after he had made all the necessary notes on his pad.  Kira Proudfoot was certainly an interesting case, even more so now that it seemed she could not rest properly unless she had a book beside her.  He hoped she could grow out of it: while Kira, with her several illnesses, was in a delicate situation, he knew from experience that it was perilous to let one’s well-being be dependent on one thing only.

*  *  *

Daffodil reported back to the old oak by the canal.  “She’s stuck in bed all this week,” she told her brother and Tom.  “Her mother said we could all see her in a few days if we wanted, but right now she wants it nice and quiet.”

“What’s wrong with her?” said Tom.  “She seemed well enough two days ago.”

Daffodil sighed.  “She looked very tired to me, even if she didn’t want to show it.  I don’t know why she didn’t, but I for one was getting worried.”

“Well, she wasn’t particularly ill.  Tired’s one thing and ill’s another.”

“I don’t know,” said Roly.  “After harvest I know all I want to do is sleep for a week, even though I’m not sick.”

“Yes, but this isn’t harvest!” said Tom.

“Well, from what I gathered, Kira was tired to the point of being sick.  Her mother said it could have been very bad for her a few days from now.  So whatever part she figures in your next plot will have to wait, Tom.  She can’t help being bedbound.”

Tom shrugged.  “Well, it wasn’t that great an idea.”

“You’re giving up on it?” said Roly.  “Are you mad?”

“No,” Tom said.  “I’m just remembering how horribly wrong everything went last time.”

Daffodil and Roly exchanged a glance.  At the very least, thought Daffodil, this was something that needed to be reported to Kira as soon as possible.  Why, Tom giving up on a plan was tantamount to seeing a tree walk!

“Really?” Kira said when she heard this exclamation two days later.  Only yesterday she had learned that according to the Red Book, not only could trees walk, but in Fangorn Forest they did so on a daily basis.  “But why?”

“I don’t know,” said Daffodil.  “He said something about ‘last time.’  Come to think of it, when was the last time Tom had a grand scheme?”

“He did bet at the Fair,” replied Kira.  “But that was more stupidity than scheme.  I suppose you’d have to go as far back as…  Oh…”

“What?”

“That would’ve been the time we went to the Lockholes.”

“Oh, my,” said Daffodil.

“He did seem rather put out after the whole thing happened.  I think he had a talk with my mum afterwards.”

“Maybe if he has another grand scheme he won’t involve you.”

“If he does,” added Kira.  “I think that was a fearful night for all of us, Tom included.”

Daffodil snorted.  “Tom scared.  I never thought I’d see the day.”  And they moved on to lighter talk.

When Daffodil left, Kira read.

*  *  *

The end of the week’s time saw Kira outside again, reunited with her book.  She ignored the rude stares coming from the lads, and tried to avoid Daffodil’s gaze.  She also informed them all that apparently it was very important to her mother that she get breaks from play, even if she herself knew she could put up with them (Kira was in fact in a great deal of doubt over this, but there was no use getting into an argument with Tom at this point).  “I trust,” she added, “that it’s still all right that I read during those breaks.”

There was some general shuffling of feet at this, but no one raised an objection.  “Just don’t read all the time,” said Tom.

That was fair enough, but Kira knew that eventually there would be some sort of talk about the matter.  The Dwarf nonsense had not gone over well with any of her friends, and they all had related it to the book.  It was just read, and read, and hope that they said nothing about the reading today.

Eventually they did say something about it, and of course it was Tom who broached the subject.  “I can’t tell you’re making any progress in that book,” he said during one of the few moments all four of them were tired.

Kira marked her place with a blade of grass and put the book back in its bag.  “I’m not going to read the whole thing,” she said.  “The story I’m reading stops about a quarter of the way through.  I wonder that they didn’t just keep the four parts separate; it certainly means a lot less to carry.”

Roly tried lifting it.  “You carry that everywhere?” he said after a few seconds’ effort and a tentative success.

“Well, I don’t want anything to happen to it.  It’s not mine, you see.”

“But when will you be done, Kira?”

“That,” said Kira, “depends on how much I read.  But I don’t see myself stopping forever, if that’s what you mean.  It’s helpful for my rest, especially over the winter when I have nothing to do.  And it’s not like this is the only book in the Shire.”

“But what is it you’re reading, Kira?” said Daffodil.  “It’s as if you’re in your own little world at times, and sometimes we’d like to know what’s happening in it.”

Kira swallowed.  If she said something too strange, it would all be over.  “You already know what it is, Daffy,” she said, finally.  “Travellers’ Tales.”

“But aren’t you a little—”

“Tales, Tom.  I’m very nearly sixteen, so I should think I could recognise them as such.  They’re entertaining, and they pass the time, and…”

“And?”

“They seem to be healthy for me.  If you’d like to know more than that, I suppose you can learn to read them yourself.  Could we do something else, now?”

“You’re it!” cried Tom, without any further encouragement, and slapped Kira on the knee.

Kira sighed and pushed the book-in-bag as far as she could from the soon-to-be site of various ferocities, got up, and ran after Roly before he could get any more momentum.

*  *  *

The month of August was one of dual marvels for Kira.  She had lost the book once, and was determined not to lose it again, or at least not before she had a chance to learn of its wonders.  And wonders they were, that seized her heart with an icy cold hand and filled her mind during the night hours, which she was once again able to enjoy.  She remembered the pull she had felt when she first received this book from Sandra Fairbairn, and it took every atom in her being to resist it.  Elves and Dwarves and Ents and Wizards and Men, and in the centre of it all four Hobbits stranded in the sea of Outside, separated from one another and trying to find the courage to go on.  The Shire may have been left far behind, but it was still in their hearts—she could feel that, even if they rarely said anything about it themselves.

Yet there were other wonders, which pulled her in the opposite direction, back towards her beloved home.  She could not remember having so much fun with her friends, as if they had all chosen her favourite games or made up newer and better ones, day after day, week after week.  And she had her sixteenth birthday to celebrate, too, a small affair with gifts only for Mother and her friends, but joyous nonetheless.  She also restarted her chores, though Mother was very careful not to overtax her again.  This left her more time to her friends, to her book, and to herself.  And this, perhaps, was the greatest pull of all—walking through the fields of browning wheat and listening to its whisper, seeing the wisteria and goldenrod flower along the pathways, and gazing upwards at a sky as blue as fine dyed cloth, embroidered here and there with wisps of wool.  At times like these, she could believe that the entire Shire was made for her enjoyment, and that it was putting forth its last efforts of beauty and growth just for her before autumn descended again.  She felt that her heart would burst with joy if everything kept up like this.  Perhaps she knew that it would not, in the deeps of her heart.  Or perhaps it was hindsight, far on into the future, that made her memories of those days so poignant and perfected.

For it did not last, at least not for long.  As September approached and the last of the summer flowers began to fade she felt the old pain in her foot returning again.  It had been there during her week of recovery, but she had not noticed it in her reading.  After being up and about for several more weeks, though, after trying to maintain a decent level of activity and get opportune rest, it came back.  It was becoming harder and harder for her to take breaks, but harder still to end them.  “Just play a little longer,” said her friends, and how could she not comply?  She had managed to go with little to no rest before, and now that they had seen that they were bolder in their requests.  But the book—ah, the book—it called her too; and if she could go for long periods without rest, then she felt she should rest long periods as well.  Yet even those periods were not long enough for Kira, and so in the dwindling light of evening, when she was supposed to be abed, she would bring forth the book again and read until the light failed.

And so the twinges began, and Kira felt her earlier joy pressing in on her.  For she could do both, play and rest, and since she could, she had to.  The pain was only slight at first, but it grew.  It was not like when she was stuck in bed, for then she could read (and get further in the book!) and at least not think about it; but it was not like when she had no book, for then she could play until the foot grew numb.  She found herself wishing she were either sick or well, and not this crippled tension in between.  Then she could do one or the other, and not be pulled in two directions at once.

Finally in mid-September Kira got some respite.  The fall harvest was at its peak, and with all the pollen and dust of the dry weather Kira caught slightly ill.  It was only a runny nose and sneezes, but her mother insisted that she stay in bed for a day.

Kira was reading in bed, then, when she had a visitor.  It took several knocks before she realized that someone was there, and several more before she could find a good stopping point.  After she said, “Come in,” the door opened to reveal Daffodil.

“Kira!” she said.  “What are you doing in bed?  Are you sick?”

“It’s just hay fever,” said Kira, “but Mother insists.”

“That’s good.  I was afraid you had decided to abandon us for good and read all day.”  She caught sight of the Red Book lying beside Kira’s pillow.  “When are you going to be done with that silly thing?”

Kira blinked; it was taking her some time to adjust back to reality.  “Silly?”

Daffodil smiled.  “Oh, don’t you be giving me any of that ‘this-is-the-most-valuable-thing-in-the-Shire’ nonsense.  That thing’s a waste of time and you know it.”  She jabbed Kira on the rib.

“Well, if I’m reading just the first volume, I’ll be done very soon.  I don’t know if I want to keep reading this yet: I should like to see what all those elvish legends are about.”

“Elvish legends?”  Daffodil laughed long.  “What on earth has gotten into your head?”

“A lot, I’m afraid,” said Kira, though she was smiling, too.  “Stories of wars fought Outside and of two hobbits struggling to get into the darkest land in all of Middle-earth.”

“Travellers’ Tales,” Daffodil said with a snort.  “And I suppose you believe in them, too?”

“Of course not!”

Daffodil looked a little dubious until Kira smacked her on the shoulder.  “Have it your way,” she said.  “But still, there is something different to you, Kira.  Tom was right; something has gotten into you.  You don’t just want to play with us anymore; you want to read, too, and you expect that we’ll be perfectly content while you swan off with that book of yours.  And even when you’re just resting, you’ve started doing such foolish things—gazing up at the clouds or just sitting there, doing nothing but thinking.  I really do think you’ve entered your own world at times.”

Kira decided to sit up in bed; this talk could take some time.  “I’d have tried and told you about it all before, Daffy, but the lads were there, and I’m sure they wouldn’t understand.  But you know I have to rest for my health, at least for Mum’s sake.”

Daffodil thought about this and nodded.  “You did look quite peaked after the Fair.  I was afraid something would happen to you.”

“Well, that’s just it.”

Daffodil laughed again, shaking her head.  “No, Kira, you enjoy reading far too much for it to be just medicine.  I haven’t the foggiest idea why you consider it so appealing.”

“I’ll try to explain—do you think you’ll understand if I do?”

“I don’t see why not.  I am your best friend, aren’t I?”

Kira took a deep breath.  “Well, you see…  There’s this Ring.  A magic ring.  Only, it’s evil and it has to be destroyed, but the longer you have it the more you want it for yourself.”

“A magic ring?  What, did the Elves make it?”

“No, not that one.  Though they did make the Three.”

“The what?”

“Look, it hardly matters.  This one belongs to the Enemy, but he lost it long ago, and so Frodo Baggins—he’s the hero of the tale—has to take it to the Fiery Mountain and destroy it.  But the Enemy’s trying to get it, and he’s making war on all these kingdoms of Men, and there’s this Strider fellow who’s trying to be King, and they’re all trying to fight the Enemy and help Frodo at the very same time, and—I’m not making much sense, am I?”

“No, you’re not.”

“It’s a complicated story.”

“I daresay it is.  And what of the Travellers?”

“Oh, well—you’ve already heard about Frodo, and Sam’s with him, of course.  And Merry helped kill this great big scary creature, a Black Rider, and Pippin—well, I haven’t read about him lately but he came back to the Shire alive so I’m sure he’s all right.”

“Are you quite sure you don’t believe in these?”

“Of course I am!  If you’re writing a story about something that happened long ago you have to make it fit with the way things are now!  Otherwise there’s no point to it!”

“I don’t think I understand you, Kira.”

For a few moments Kira was silent in sad thought.  “I didn’t think you would,” she said.  “I’m sorry.”

“Look, it really doesn’t matter.  I just wish I could have the old Kira back.”

“What ‘old Kira’?  Am I really that different?”

Daffodil looked long at Kira before answering.  “No, I guess not.  But you’ve been acting so selfish lately, wrapped up in that thing and all.  You have no idea how hard it’s been to keep you entertained!”

“Keep me entertained?”

Daffodil coloured at the ears.  “You know Tom doesn’t like it when you read.  And when Tom doesn’t like something, neither does Roly.  Anyhow, I suppose he decided around the beginning of August that he—that all of us—would show you how much fun everything else is.  And it’s not been working.”

“So Tom decided you should come and have a talk with me?  Daffodil, I can’t believe this!”

“No, I came here on my own.  I may have had fun with all the playing, but I don’t have a problem with you reading—or I didn’t, at least.”

Kira just shook her head.  “So the only reason we were playing all my favourite games was so I would stop reading?  And now you want me to stop, too?  You don’t even know what you’d be putting me through!  How dare you!”

Silence.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be a cripple, to have to deal with pain every day, with no rest.  You’ve never been woken up in the middle of the night by a bad foot, and had to wait an hour before you can go to sleep because it hurts so much.  Most of the time I can pretend it isn’t there, but I can’t forget it.  Except when I’m reading, I can, because it takes my mind somewhere else, somewhere wonderful.  I can travel, Daffy, to far off places—to Rivendell, or Lórien, or even the Black Lands, where everyone is caught up in something far more important than one girl’s pain.  I can lose myself in that, Daffy, and everything else just melts away.  And then when I come back to the boring old Shire, where a foot and a heart actually mean something, I can truly understand it, and be grateful.  But you can’t understand it, Daffodil, and I suppose I shouldn’t expect it to you.  Because as kind and excellent a hobbit you are, my dear, you aren’t lame.  And you can’t read.”

For a minute nothing could be heard but Kira’s breathing, which came heavy after such an outburst.

“It hurts that much?” said Daffodil in a small voice.

“Only on the off days, really.  And I said I could ignore it most of the time.”

“Oh, Kira, I’m so sorry.  I never knew it hurt that much, or I wouldn’t have said anything at all.  To have to deal with that, day after day…”  A few tears slipped from her eyes.

“Please don’t cry for me, Daffy; I’m quite used to it, really.”

“But you never told us!”

“Well, you can’t do anything about it, except feel sorry for me.  But you do understand why I have to read, don’t you?”

Daffodil dried her eyes.  “I think so.  Still, I wouldn’t read as much if I were you.  Roly’s starting to get upset in his own right, and Tom’s going to switch his tack as soon as he’s run this one dry.  He thinks you need to learn a lesson, and—well, you know how he plans things…”

“Thanks.  I’ll try.  Have a good day without me, Daffy.”

“Well, with those two lads I can’t promise anything, but I’ll let you know how it goes.  Goodbye.”

When Daffodil left the room, Kira sneezed twice into her pillow, then picked up the book and continued where she had left off.  “Now at last they turned their faces to the Mountain and set out, thinking no more of concealment, bending their weariness and failing wills only to the one task of going on…”