Stories of Arda Home Page
About Us News Resources Login Become a member Help Search
swiss replica watches replica watches uk Replica Rolex DateJust Watches

Bound for Gondor  by Lindelea

It Never Rains, But It Pours

‘Goldi!’

Goldi yawned and turned over, blinking sleepily. ‘’s not time yet,’ she protested. ‘Sun’s still abed...’ And so am I, she grumbled to herself. Little sisters might be warm and snuggly, rolled together in the blankets of the cosy guest bed in the Cottons’ third-best guestroom, but they could also be annoyingly cheerful and giggly all too early in the morning, having kept her awake with their whispering halfway into the night.

‘Sun’s awake, but she’s pulled the coverlet over her head,’ little Ruby chortled, ‘just like you!’ ...as Daisy and Primrose combined forces to pull the covers from Goldi’s grasp, unearthing her tousled golden curls.

‘Aargh,’ Goldi groaned, trying in vain to win the covers back from her determined sisters. ‘Go back to sleep! Or go away! It’s not time to get up yet!’

‘O yes, it is!’ Primrose was saying, just as their mother’s voice broke in.

‘Girls! I’ve called you twicet, already, and here you are, still lie-abed! We’ve a way to go, and it’ll be slower with this rain, I warrant...’

Uncle Tom was heard then, calling from the kitchen. ‘I’ve put the cover on the waggon, to keep you all snug and dry, Rosie! Wouldn’t want the Mayor to melt away, after all!’

‘Yea and verily!’ Sam called back from the bath room, where he was splashing with vigour. ‘Forsooth,’ he added, affecting the language the Thain used to bewilder recalcitrant Tooks into agreeing with him.

‘Forsooth what?’ Uncle Jolly was heard to say, as Goldi reluctantly rose from the bed and began to dress.

‘Forsooth, ah... I forget what it was he said after that,’ Sam said, after a pause for thought, and Goldi could just picture him scratching his dampened head.

‘Methinks thou dost protest too much,’ she said, raising her voice, for she and Farry had laughed over Pippin’s dramatic air (despite the twinkle in his eye) and the befoozlement of the Tookish farmer he was trying to argue out of something or other.

‘It sounds like something from a play!’ Jolly said in delight.

‘Ah, that was it,’ Sam said, satisfaction in his tone. ‘Your daughter may be lie-abed, Rose, but she’s no slacker* when it comes to wits.’

‘I’m not lie-abed,’ Goldi said with dignity, emerging from the bedroom, but the effect was rather spoilt as her mother pounced upon her with gentle chiding and by contrast rough brushing of her curls.

‘Ouch!’ Goldi protested, reaching back to take the brush from Rose’s hand. ‘Let me...!’

How yesterday’s bright sunshine could have changed in the night to dismal rain, Goldi could scarcely fathom. Dismal... pounding, rather, and she shivered at the thought of riding in the waggon, covered or not. A nice coach now, like the gentry used, snug and tight against the gusts of wind that blew spatters of rain against the windows, that would be the thing.

...Or to stop at home, or rather here at Cottons’, warm and dry by the fireside, sipping hot drinks, telling stories and singing, now that would be the proper response to this weather. Just as Rose was saying to Sam at that moment, as a matter of fact...

‘Oh no!’ Goldi yelped, in spite of herself, and it wasn’t wholly the tangle in her curls that made her do so. ‘Uncle Ferdi would be so disappointed! We cannot forego his birthday tea!’

Sam shook his head with a grave look and said, ‘We’ll have to be leaving directly after breakfast, to be there in time. ‘Tis only thirteen miles across the fields, but a sight longer along the New Road, and it’ll be muddy and miserable even with the new gravel laid down last month.’

And it was, muddy and miserable that is, even with the snugged-down waggon cover, for the wind would find its way in through every opening. Still, the hobbits were more comfortable than the ponies, who slogged head-down through the worsening storm.

Rose bravely sat on the seat next to Sam, her arm twined in his elbow, huddling close for warmth though he said fairly often along the way that she’d be warmer and drier in the waggon bed, snuggled with the children and baggage. ‘There’ll be baths at the Great Smials,’ she answered each time. ‘Knowing Diamond, she’ll have them keeping the water hot for us, even now.’

‘I certainly hope so,’ Goldi muttered, shivering as she pulled Tolman into her lap with a, ‘Come here, laddie-mine!’ and wrapped him with herself in warm covers. Truly, holding a sleepy little brother in your lap, wrapped up together in woollen blankets, was almost as good as tucking up with a hot water bottle.

The slow, painful journey seemed to go on forever. The earlier steady rain increased until it sounded a cacophony against the canvas. At more than one point, Sam shoved the reins into Rose’s hands and jumped down, to splash to the ponies’ heads, to take hold of their bridles and urge them forward as the waggon wheels threatened to sink into the growing mud.

None of the children was sleepy as they finally reached Tuckborough, where shutters were locked tight over windows and signboards swung in the rising wind.

‘It’s a good thing we started out early, or we wouldn’t have started at all,’ Goldie heard her father shout to her mother.

If it had been up to her, they’d still be snug at Cottons’--but her conscience gave her a pang. It was Uncle Ferdi’s birthday. Still, she argued with herself, he’d be the first to say they ought not to have come out in such weather, and he’d be happy to have his birthday on another day, or even miss one altogether and remain the same age for another year, if need be.

She and all the rest winced at a sudden bright flash. They’d heard rumour of thunder’s grumbling along the way, but this was the first of the lightning they’d seen through the canvas, though they didn’t know the wary eye their father had kept on the sky, the last hour or two, and how he’d calculated distance to the nearest shelter as they drove by one farm after another, should the black clouds heralding the worst of the storm seem to be overtaking them.

And now the storm was upon them, it seemed, for with the boom of answering thunder a great gust of wind swooped under the waggon cover and, incredibly, the waggon seemed to lift from its wheels for a moment. The children shrieked, clinging together in sudden fear, and Rose threw her arms around Sam as the ponies began to rear and plunge in their traces.

Sam hauled back on the reins and laid on with the whip at the same time, calling the ponies to order with the sharp snap, and seeking to soothe them with a firm hand.

With her husband’s hands full it was up to Rose to set the brake, and set the brake she did, pulling up sharp and holding the handle with white-knuckled fists even after she felt the click that meant the brake was fully engaged. A runaway... in this weather... sure and certain disaster.

Not for the first time, Goldi wished they’d stayed in Bywater this day.

***

*slacker - not necessarily a modern word. According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the meaning "person who shirks work" dates back to 1898, and “slack” derives from Old English for “loose or careless.”





<< Back

Next >>

Leave Review
Home     Search     Chapter List