29. Goodbye, Hamson

After a moment, the door was opened by one Frodo Baggins, who gaped in astonishment at the two unexpected visitors before suddenly recalling his manners.

“Good evening, Master Gamgee,” the lad said politely, then his curious blue eyes drifted to Largo.

Hamfast did not want to utter the wretched merchant’s name again, but he would not be guilty of rudeness to his master’s heir. “This here is Largo Bracegirdle,” the Gaffer said.

Largo and Frodo bowed to each other, and no one seemed to notice that Hamfast had forgotten to introduce Frodo.

“I’m sorry ta trouble ye, Mr. Frodo,” Hamfast continued, “but I must ask... a favour.”

Frodo looked as surprised as though the Gaffer had said the sky had just fallen, and Hamfast didn’t blame him. No doubt the lad had never heard Hamfast ask a favour of anyone, as indeed he never did if he could help it.

“Why, of course,” Frodo replied finally, despite his confusion. “My uncle is napping, but I will help if I can.”

“You’ll do just fine, thankee,” the Gaffer said, relieved that Bilbo needn’t hear the ensuing conversation. “It shan’t take but a minute. I need something read aloud, is all.”

Largo produced the contract obligingly and handed it to Frodo with a patronizing air. “There you are, boy,” he said with a smile.

The dark-haired tweenager cleared his throat hesitantly and unrolled the parchment.

“I, Hamfast Gamgee, the Undersigned,” Frodo read in a clear voice, “do solemnly swear to pay to Mr. Largo Bracegirdle the Sum of Four Silver Coins, Shire currency, in exchange for the Service of giving to one Hamson Gamgee a Safe and Rapid Passage from Hobbiton to Tighfield. I freely Agree to pay this Sum no later than the Second of Winterfilth, year 1392, and to hold myself Subject to Legal Action if I fail to uphold this Contract. Signed the 29th of Halimath, 1392, and Witnessed by Mr. Largo Bracegirdle, Waymoot.”

Hamfast ground his teeth but said nothing. What more could be said? The contract only confirmed what he had already known.

Largo was standing there, looking nauseatingly apologetic, and the Gaffer turned contemptuously away from him to address Frodo.

“Thankee kindly, Mr. Frodo,” Hamfast said to the perplexed boy. The Gaffer had no intention of inflicting his personal problems on his master’s heir a moment longer than necessary, and therefore did not offer to explain.

“You’re very welcome, Master Gamgee,” Frodo replied uncertainly. He made to hand the document back, but was interrupted by the arrival of Bilbo himself, much to Hamfast’s dismay. He hated the thought of his master knowing what a fool he had for an employee.

“Frodo-lad, is there someone at the door?” the old hobbit called just before he walked into the foyer. “Ah! Master Hamfast!” If Bilbo was surprised by the appearance of his gardener and a stranger on his front stoop, he was too well-bred to show it.

“This is Mr. Largo Bracegirdle, Uncle,” Frodo said quickly, and handed the contract to Bilbo before Hamfast could stop him.

Bilbo raised his eyebrows and quickly skimmed the parchment. “Ah, I believe I understand the situation,” he said at last, brows drawing together. “Four silvers is a rather exorbitant sum, Mr. Bracegirdle.”

“Nonetheless, it’s all in order, sir,” said Largo brusquely. “A perfectly standard contract, and legally binding, of course.”

Hamfast shifted uncomfortably. He was beginning to wish most fervently that he had not been so impulsive as to bring his private financial affairs to the attention of his masters.

“Quite so,” Bilbo said stiffly, and drew the Gaffer to one side, out of Largo’s hearing. “I can guess what happened, Hamfast,” he said quietly to the Gaffer, “but I’m afraid this fellow’s right. You’d better pay, or he can bring legal action against you. Will you permit me to give you an advance on your salary?”

“No, thankee, sir,” Hamfast said stiffly. “That shan’t be necessary.” He dug two more silvers out of the jar in his pocket and handed them to Largo, trying not to show how humiliated he felt, and also trying not to notice that the jar was nearly empty now. But it was enough to last his family until next pay day, and he wouldn’t compromise his dignity any further by accepting an advance.

“Right!” said Largo briskly, his good cheer completely restored. “A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Gamgee. A real pleasure. My driver and wagon will come for your boy at dawn tomorrow, all right?”

Hamfast nodded silently, his face set in a grim mask, but Bilbo had more to say.

“There may be nothing to be done about this nasty bit of business, Mr. Bracegirdle,” the old hobbit said sharply, “but I think you’ll find it rather harder to trade in Hobbiton after this, if I have anything to say about it.”

“And who might you be, good sir?” Largo replied evenly, clearly unconcerned.

“I beg your pardon,” Hamfast said, smiling in grim satisfaction at his earlier omission. “I forgot ta make introductions. Mr. Bracegirdle, allow me ta present my employer, Mr. Bilbo Baggins, and his heir, Mr. Frodo Baggins.”

Largo was rather flustered then, and made his farewells hurriedly. Bilbo might be reckoned a bit of a nut in Hobbiton, but the name of Baggins still commanded a great deal of respect throughout the Shire.

“Thankee, Master Bilbo,” said Hamfast miserably. “I’m right sorry to’ve involved ye. And young Mr. Frodo.” The Gaffer was a proud hobbit, and this whole business was dreadfully mortifying.

“Frodo,” the old hobbit said to his nephew, who had been standing awkwardly just inside the door. “Why don’t you go and set the table for supper, all right?”

“Yes, Uncle,” the lad said, and turned to go. Then he paused and looked at the Gaffer. “Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was a Bracegirdle before she wed, you know, Mr. Gamgee,” he put in expressionlessly.

“That don’t surprise me in the slightest, young master,” Hamfast replied, unable to stop the corner of his mouth from quirking up.

Frodo grinned fleetingly and ducked out of sight into the kitchen.

Bilbo halted the Gaffer’s escape with a hand on his arm. “My offer still stands, Hamfast,” the old hobbit said steadily. “About teaching Sam his letters. Please do me the courtesy of thinking it over once more.”

Hamfast glanced at his master’s concerned face and looked away quickly. Pride wasn’t an easy thing to swallow, but the knowledge of how it had weakened him in his dealings with Largo made it perhaps taste a little less bitter going down.

“When can ye start, sir?”

October 3, 1392

Before the first weak rays of dawn sunlight warmed the Hill, the entire household of Number 3, Bagshot Row, was awake and swarming about like a disturbed nest of ants.

“Mum says ta hurry up or you shan’t have any breakfast!” May said, putting her head in the doorway of the lads’ room and ducking out just as quickly. Hamson grinned and calmly finished buttoning his shirt.

Bell Gamgee liked to send such messages, to keep her children ‘on their toes’ as she liked to put it, but whether Bell thought her children could believe she would withhold food from them, no one could really say.

Sure enough, when Hamson came into the front room, he was hustled to his seat by an impatient Marigold, and he was quite certain he had never seen such a breakfast in his life. Bell piled his plate with sausage and bacon, fried eggs and ham, berries and cream, potato pancakes with honey, and a generous dollop of whipped butter.

“The lad needs a proper meal ta begin such a journey,” Bell said to the Gaffer a trifle defensively.

Hamfast raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say a word, Bell-lass!” he protested as the Gamgee children set to with gusto.

Hamson ate as greedily as any of them, for it was not often they saw such a lavish spread. He wondered with a pang if his Aunt Emerald of Tighfield ever did such marvellous things, and quickly suppressed the thought.

All too soon, the meal was finished and the Gamgees were standing in a quiet group by the road. Dawn was just creeping through the chill autumn air when a familiar wagon rolled up through the mist and halted at Bagshot Row. Largo Bracegirdle was sitting on the front bench with a young hobbit of about 30, who held the pony’s reigns. The rear of the wagon was taken up mostly by cargo, but there were two benches behind the front one and another passenger, a middle-aged lady with a kind face, already occupied one of them.

Today Largo was all concerned diffidence to a stony-faced Hamfast, but the young driver of the wagon was friendly as he stowed Hamson’s small canvas bag in back. Then the wagon was ready to go, and the three already aboard politely turned their heads while Hamson said his goodbyes.

The tweenager hugged his parents first, then little Marigold, who promptly burst into tears. Bell scooped her up quickly and hurried into the smial without looking back. Hamson kissed May and Daisy and gave Halfred a firm hug. He heard rapid footsteps behind him as he bent to hug Sam, and turned around to find Bilbo and Frodo hurrying down the Hill.

“Oh, excellent, we’re not too late,” Bilbo exclaimed. “Just wanted to wish this young fellow good luck.” The wealthy old hobbit shook Hamson’s hand vigorously, much to the lad’s discomfiture.

Frodo grinned awkwardly and handed a small box to Hamson. “It’s candy,” the younger lad explained. “I made it myself, but you may grow desperate enough to enjoy it sometime.”

Hamson laughed and thanked Frodo, touched by his thoughtfulness.

“Good journey, Hamson,” Frodo said quickly, extending his hand.

“Take care of yourself, sir,” Hamson replied, taking the proffered hand warmly.

Then it was really time to go, and Hamson noticed Samwise gazing up at him, his hazel eyes wide with unshed tears. He bent and picked up his youngest brother, hugging Sam so fiercely that the child squeaked.

Hamson set Sam down and ran over to the wagon before he could lose his nerve. He swung himself up behind the middle-aged lady, and at a word from Largo to the driver, the wagon set off.

Hamson turned around only once, trying to memorize the sight of the Hill, and Bagshot Row, and the assembled hobbits who had gathered to bid him farewell. Then he faced forward again, not wanting to watch his family vanish in the early morning mist.

Once Hamson was out of sight, no one said anything for a long minute. Sam bit his lip, determined not to cry in front of Bilbo and Frodo. He was a big lad now, nearly thirteen, and he wouldn’t dream of causing his family embarrassment.

Sam missed the questioning look that Bilbo threw the Gaffer, but he did his best to put aside his misery in Hamson’s absence when he realized his Gaffer was speaking to him.

“Go with Master Bilbo now, Sam-lad,” Hamfast said gruffly. “You’re ta help me in the garden after luncheon, but this morning you’ll take lessons from Master Bilbo.”

It took Sam several seconds to process this, and then his jaw dropped open as he stared at his father. “Truly, Da?” he gasped, hardly daring to believe he’d heard correctly.

“Be a good lad and mind your manners,” Hamfast said sternly. “I’m expectin’ ta hear you’ve made good progress learnin’ your letters and all.”

Sam ran and hugged his father, too happy to speak, and then turned to face Bilbo and Frodo, both of whom were smiling.

“Come, Samwise,” Frodo said, taking the child’s hand. “We’re to have our lessons together nearly every morning!”

This bit of news definitely seemed too good to be true, and Sam’s mouth popped open again as Bilbo and Frodo led him away up the Hill.

The Gaffer turned to Bagshot Row to prepare his gardening tools for the day’s work, and found Bell standing in his path, for she had come back outside in time to hear the conversation.

As Halfred, Daisy, and May filed inside ahead of him, Hamfast cast about for some sort of explanation about the merits of having someone in the family who could read contracts.

“You’re a good fellow, Hamfast Gamgee,” Bell said, interrupting his thoughts. She was clearly trying not to smile, but her hazel eyes sparkled madly. “Stubborn as a tomato stain, ye are, but good.” After a quick glance around to be sure the children were all inside, she grasped the Gaffer’s homemade shirt collar and kissed him soundly on the lips, much to that hobbit’s delight.