58.  Happy Birthday, Samwise

February 15, 1399

“Thankee, Sam,” Marigold said delightedly, admiring the wooden combs he had carved for her hair, the last of his birthday presents.

Bell and May began to clear away the luncheon dishes, for Hamfast had to get back to work soon.  It was an early spring, and there was plenty to be done in the garden.  Lobelia would not like it if she noticed Hamfast had taken such a long break, but today was a special occasion.

“I’d best be off,” the Gaffer sighed.  “Happy birthday, Sam-lad,” he added gruffly.

“Can’t I come with you, Dad?” Sam asked impulsively.  He hadn’t been allowed to work at Bag End since Lobelia had moved in, and he had long ago given up asking, but the early spring breeze through the open window carried the enticing scent of fresh earth, and Sam couldn’t help himself.

“Now, Samwise, ye know we’ve talked about this,” Bell reproached him.

“You said yourself there’s plenty ta do, and I know I could help,” Sam said earnestly.

Hamfast sighed.  “Aye, you’d be of help, right enough, but the answer’s still no, and that’s a fact.”

“You do a wonderful job on our garden, Sam,” May attempted to console him after the Gaffer had gone.

“Thanks, May,” Sam said, and tried to cheer up for her sake.

It was now over two months since Frodo had gone away, and six months for Bilbo.  Nothing seemed right anymore.  Sam missed them both dreadfully, both for himself and for his family.  Frodo’s going had indeed saved the Gaffer’s job, but the Sackville-Bagginses continued to be difficult masters, and the happiness of Sam’s whole family seemed to be under a cloud.  Hamfast never said a word about Lobelia’s treatment of him, but he was always tense and grim when he returned home in the evening. 

Bell, too, tried to hide her dislike of their new employers.  She did the washing and other chores that the S-B’s needed done, for they needed the extra money, but she never sent any of the children up the Hill to fetch the laundry.  She had the Gaffer bring it, or she went herself.

In addition to being kept away from Bag End, to which they had no desire to go now in any case, the Gamgee children were forced to take into account Lotho’s comings and goings.  Lotho had been of age for two years now, but he showed no indication of outgrowing his propensity for ‘youthful indiscretions’, as Lobelia had once termed them.  And without Frodo there to oppose him, he grew even bolder.  Daisy had been coming home alone one evening and had met Lotho, who had said things no gentlehobbit would say.  After that, none of the Gamgee lasses went about alone if it could be helped.

But Sam couldn’t very well wish for Frodo’s return merely to deflect Lotho’s attention from the Gamgee family.  They were all aware of the price Frodo had paid for protecting them; in December, when Hamfast discovered that Frodo had been struck by Lotho, it didn’t take them long to figure out it must have happened immediately after Frodo defended Daisy from Lotho’s boorishness. 

Sam still remembered the morning of that conversation.  The Gaffer had gone up to Bag End the night before to get some tools, nearly a week after Frodo stopped coming around.

“What d’you mean, Dad?” Halfred asked, startled.

“I mean that the reason Mr. Frodo hasn’t been coming by to teach our Sam is he didn’t want us seein’ the great bruise on his jaw,” the Gaffer said tersely.

There were cries of surprise and dismay from all of them, as they stood gathered in the crowded kitchen.  Little Marigold gripped her mother’s hand tightly, and Bell looked furious. 

But Daisy promptly burst into tears, and wouldn’t be consoled.  “Don’t you see?  Mr. Frodo stopped comin’ the day after he helped carry me packages home, when Mr. Lotho saw us and was so rude!  Lotho only hit him ‘cause of me!”

“It ain’t your fault,” Halfred told her.

“But Frodo told him off for sayin’ such things in front of me.  Told him off right sharp, too.”

“I think he would’ve done that whether you were there or no,” quiet May spoke up.

“May’s right,” Samwise said.  “Mr. Frodo wouldn’t let that Lotho say nothin’ bad about any of us, if ye follow me.”

“No, he surely wouldn’t,” Bell sighed, putting an arm around Sam’s shoulders.

Sam smiled a little at the memory.  Frodo was one of the best hobbits he knew.  He wished it was within his power to be of service to the young master, somehow.

He stepped outside to watch his father trudging back up the Hill.

“Don’t fret, Sam,” Halfred said, closing the door behind him.  “Everything will come out fine, you mark my words.”

Sam looked at him.  He had rarely heard his brother speak so seriously. 

“Say, Hal, who’s that?” Sam asked suddenly.  Past Halfred’s worried face, he had caught sight of someone else coming up the Hill.

Halfred turned around.  “That… that looks like Master Bilbo!”

Sam’s heart leapt.  Of one mind, the brothers fairly flew down the Hill toward Bilbo.

“Master Bilbo!  Oh, Master Bilbo!”  Sam cried, unable to restrain his tongue.

Bilbo recovered quickly from the unexpected welcome.  “Hullo there, Sam-lad!” he said jovially.  “You know, I do believe you’ve grown!”

They all laughed.

“It’s right good ta see you back safe, sir,” Halfred said, grinning.

“Thank you indeed,” said Bilbo.  “And how are you, and all your family, Halfred?”

“Oh, well enough, thankee,” Hal said, “but all the better now you’re back, if ye follow me.”

“Sir, where is Mr. Frodo?” Sam burst out, able to hold back the question no longer.  “Did ye not come through Buckland on your way home?”

“Sam!” Halfred admonished.

But Bilbo’s smile vanished, and he looked suddenly sad.  “I did come from there, yes, and saw Frodo.  He sends his regards, but he has... decided to remain where he is at present.”

“Oh,” said Sam, disappointed.  “When is he comin’ back here?”

“Sam!” Halfred said, exasperated by Sam’s impertinence.

Bilbo didn’t answer the question, but smiled and told them to run along.  “I expect I’m in for a spot of bother up there,” he nodded toward Bag End, “and I’d best get it over with.”

He left Hal and Sam looking at each other in consternation.

“He didn’t say when Mr. Frodo was comin’ back,” Sam pointed out.

“You really oughta mind your manners better, Sam,” Halfred sighed.  “Like as not he’s havin’ too much fun with Mr. Merry ta think of returning just yet.”

“Aye,” Sam said doubtfully, watching Bilbo’s slow progress up the Hill.  He started when he realized Halfred was following the old hobbit.

“Well, come on,” Hal prompted.  “I wouldn’t miss this for all the apples in the West Farthing, would you?”

“How’s this any better manners than askin’ when Mr. Frodo is comin’ home?” Sam asked indignantly, struggling to catch up as Hal ducked around some shrubbery to stay off the road.

“Oh, aye, it’s much worse,” Halfred agreed cheerfully, “but only if we get caught!”

Sam shook his head and followed his brother, hoping Bilbo didn’t catch them following where they weren’t invited, or, worse, the Gaffer.

Luckily, Hamfast seemed to be occupied in back of the smial, and the Gamgee lads were able to stand unnoticed just outside the hedge when Bilbo strode up to the round green door.

The old hobbit seemed to hesitate a moment, and then he raised his walking stick and rapped sharply.

Sam strained to listen as the door finally opened, but as far as he could tell, Bilbo said nothing at all; he merely stood with his arms crossed.

A moment later, a wailing scream pierced the quiet afternoon.

Halfred winced and Sam clapped his hands over his sensitive ears, but the screaming went on and on.

When Lobelia finally quieted, Bilbo spoke.  Sam couldn’t make out what he said, but it looked like only two words.

Lobelia gave a final shriek of outrage, stamped her foot, and flounced back inside.  Bilbo followed her and closed the door.  They waited in silent tension a good fifteen minutes, but heard nothing else.

Halfred and Sam looked at each other.  “What d’you reckon?” Sam whispered.

“Lobelia’s got what’s coming to her, that’s sure,” Halfred said gleefully.

“Aye,” Sam returned.  “But what did Master Bilbo say ta her?”

“Who cares?  Just the sight o’ him did for the old bat.”

Sam had never heard Halfred speak so rudely of anyone, and he turned to his brother in surprise.  Hal’s eyes were twinkling merrily.

A sputtering giggle escaped Sam.  Halfred shoved him playfully and chortled.  Sam shoved back and collapsed on the mossy ground, laughing helplessly.

“Hush!  Sh—sh—sh!”  Halfred gasped out, and collapsed beside Sam, biting his own wrist.

Sam followed Hal’s example and tried to muffle his giggles with both hands.  They lay on the ground, wheezing hysterically like a pair of beached sticklebacks, until a gruff voice spoke from above.

“If you’re quite finished, then,” the Gaffer said.

Both lads sat up guiltily, but Hamfast didn’t look nearly as angry as he ought to have been.  “Come inside,” was all he said.  “Master Bilbo has some work for ye.”  He strode away again, but not before Sam caught a definite smirk in the Gaffer’s customary dour expression.

Halfred and Samwise found Bilbo sitting calmly in the kitchen, having a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits, which he very politely offered round.  They each took one, and sat nervously eating while Bilbo sipped his tea placidly.  They could hear a great ruckus at intervals, thumps and clatters from different parts of the smial, punctuated by the occasional shriek of fury.

“As you can hear, the Sackville-Bagginses are moving out,” Bilbo said at long last.  “Lobelia and Otho are packing up as we speak, and I would be much obliged if you’d assist in loading the cart when it gets here.  You’ll be quite well compensated.”

They both demurred that payment was unnecessary, but Bilbo waved them off.  They left the old hobbit in the kitchen, looking gravely out of the window.

Everyone was busy that afternoon.  A dumbstruck Lotho was sent to rent a cart and pony.  The Gaffer brought in empty boxes and crates from the cell, into which Lobelia and Otho swept their possessions.  Sam and Halfred picked up the filled boxes and loaded them into the cart Lotho brought.  The latter disappeared soon after the cart was parked in front of the door, despite Lobelia’s demands for assistance.  Sam was glad of it, for the hate-filled look Lotho gave him when they met in the front hall gave him chills. 

By suppertime the whirlwind of activity was over.  Otho sat grimly in the cart, holding the rented pony’s reins and staring straight ahead.  Lotho, who had returned once the work was done, sat behind his father, scowling.

“Got everything?”  Bilbo asked mildly as Lobelia came outside.

“Yes,” she sniffed, not quite meeting Bilbo’s eyes.

“Excellent.  Then you can be off, just as soon as you pay these good fellows what we agreed would be a fair wage.”

“You agreed,” Lobelia snapped.

Bilbo didn’t reply, and Lobelia finally relented, her mouth twisting with distaste.  She opened her handbag and counted out some coins, which she handed to Halfred. 

Sam’s jaw dropped.  It was enough to feed their family for a fortnight.  His jaw dropped even further when she counted out the same amount again and handed it to Sam himself.  He had never held so much money in his life.

Finally, Lobelia counted out more coins, at least twice as much as she had given Sam and Halfred, and gave it to the Gaffer.

Otho handed her into the pony cart and she settled herself with a disdainful sniff.

“Hold on now,” Bilbo said suddenly, just as Otho was about to lift the reins.  “I believe you still have something of mine.”

“Oh, you—you!” Lobelia shrieked.  “Here, take it then!” and she withdrew a small, shiny object from her pocket and flung it at Bilbo, who, surprisingly, caught it deftly.  “Well, what are you waiting for?” she screamed at Otho.  Evidently her husband didn’t move fast enough for her liking, for Lobelia seized the reins from his hands and slapped the pony so hard he set off down the Hill in a mad dash, Lobelia’s screams of fury gradually fading in the distance.

“That went rather well,” Bilbo commented.

Samwise watched him slip the gold ring into his waistcoat pocket and give it a quick pat.  The old hobbit did not wear a look of triumph, or even satisfaction.  He only looked resigned, and a little sad. 

Sam sighed.  Things were not yet as they should be, but life had taken a step in the right direction, at least.  All in all, a satisfactory birthday.