Chapter 10.

Next day was Cleaning Day for the Bolgers. Hally spent the early part of the morning taking up all the rugs and hanging them outside, and then beating them thoroughly with the enthusiastic help of Robin, Parsley, and Buckthorn. Though it was a chilly morning, Rosemary bundled the little ones warnly, and as they “helped” Hally to carry each rug in again, with the dust beaten out, they were warm from the exercise, their cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.

She used the time well to dust and sweep the little smial thoroughly -- Little Lavvy might crawl all about, into any room, without soiling her gown. With the clean rugs laid down on the floors, the smial was a cosy place indeed, and as there had been a thaw in the temperatures, and pronouncing it “a fine, cloudy day,” Hally announced he would wash the windows after second breakfast, “until they sparkle fit for the king himself, whoever he may be.”

‘There’s no king!’ young Robin laughed in surprise.

‘O’ course there’s not,’ his father agreed. ‘But we may live like kings, or at least have windows as clean and shining as the windows of a palace would be!’

‘Better than a palace,’ Rosemary said. ‘For it’s ours!’

Laughing and cheerful, the little family sat down together. They joined hands around the table, even little Lavender in the tall chair Hally had made for Robin when he was a faunt, and each took a moment to tell something they were thankful for. Even little Lavvy was given a chance to babble and coo, and then the father finished the round. ‘And I’m thankful for your Mama,’ Hally said, ‘and the fine food she sets on the table for us!’

So it was at second breakfast every day for the forest Bolgers, and it set the tone for the day and kept them counting their blessings. The practice might grow harder in the coming months, but they would keep to the custom “as always” and it would, each day, bolster their courage and determination, reminding them of the goal that they might never live to see, and yet was worth every effort.

Rosemary put the little ones down on her bed for their morning nap, and she and Parsley cleared and scrubbed the table and did the washing up. At the same time, Hally washed the windows, inside and out, with young Robin’s help. The child’s chortles of delight were infectious, as he and his father made faces at each other through the glass, Hally washing the outside and Robin washing the inside.

Next Rosemary built up a fire in the oven, and while it was heating, stirred up a batch of sweet ginger biscuits. Parsley delighted to roll these between her palms and then in sparkling sugar -- such a luxury! They’d never bought fancy sugar before, not that she could remember! At last she would place them in neat, soldierly rows on a baking sheet, waiting for the oven to be ready.

By this, the day before Baking Day (and really, by Market Day the day before) the yeast and quick breads would be all gone. Even though it was not her official day for baking, Rosemary would use the little ones’ morning naptime on these days to stir up some sort of quick bread or biscuit for that day, with enough to last into the following early breakfast. She tested the oven -- not quite hot enough -- and rolled a few ginger biscuits herself, praising Parsley’s somewhat uneven efforts. As long as they were all fairly close in size, they’d bake in the same time.

She tested the oven again -- the pinch of flour tossed onto the oven floor browned and turned quickly to sparks, too hot for bread but perfect for biscuits -- raked out the coals, and fixed the filled baking sheets in their racks, working quickly to keep all the heat from escaping. ‘There!’ she said in satisfaction. ‘Now for the ginger biscuit song, and then we’ll have to sample our baking to see if we remembered all the right spices!’

‘O’ course we remembered all the right spices, Mama!’ Parsley protested, as she always did. ‘We never forget!’

‘Ah, but if we didn’t sample them, then how would we know?’ Rosemary asked, tweaking her little daughter under her chin. And Parsley grinned in reply. She loved the sampling next best to the baking, and truth be told, she half-hoped the spices would not be right, just to be able to do it all over again! ...though it would never do to say so out loud, and wish so much good flour (and fancy sugar!) wasted.

They sang the ginger biscuit song, hurrying the first verse just a bit because they’d been talking instead of singing after the oven door was safely shut, and when they were finished, they peeked into the oven, to see all the balls of sweet, spicy dough had magically flattened in the oven heat, spreading out into neat circles on the sheets, their fancy sugar sparkling on the crackled surface.

Hally had been timing his efforts to finish when the biscuits did, and he hurried to forestall Rosemary from taking the baking sheets from the oven, choosing instead to do so himself. It was no trouble at all for Rosemary to transfer the biscuits to the cooling racks she had laid ready on the table, with Hally holding each sheet in turn over the racks, so that all she had to do was scoop up the spicy delights and slide them carefully onto the racks to cool. Of course she broke one or two in the effort, and of course they had to divide the pieces between all the workers when the rest of the biscuits were all safely cooling.

‘Mmmm,’ said Hally, through a mouthful of melting sweet spices, ‘perfect! As usual!’

‘We didn’t forget any of the spices, Mama!’ Parsley said, and Rosemary smiled and nodded.

‘You’re a good helper, lovie,’ she answered. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

A hail was heard outside in the yard, a rough voice, deeper than a hobbit’s, and Hally hurried to pull the door open, calling, ‘Visitors! We have visitors, my loves! Look lively! Mama, put the kettle on!’

‘Kettle!’ the rough voice said, adding a coarse laugh. ‘Kettle!’ Rosemary was swinging the teakettle, already filled with fresh water before they’d started their baking, and hanging ready, over the hottest part of the fire. She moved to get down the Man-sized mugs, plates and spoons that Hally had finished carving only a day or two before, and laid out the rest of the tea things.

‘Why, of course!’ Hally said, affecting his heartiest tone in answer. ‘Well come, my friends, well come indeed! You’re just in time -- we’ve just had a baking of biscuits, the best you’ve ever seen, and they’re best fresh and warm from the oven, melting on the tongue...’

‘Be that as it may,’ the rough voice said, approaching the door, and then a Man was bending down, stooping to enter the smial, while Hally held the door wide to accommodate him and the other Man with him.

It was the scar-faced Man from the Market, Rosemary realised, and she hurried to the door to say, ‘Why, I remember you! It is so good to see you again, sir, though we haven’t been properly introduced! I...’

‘Ah yes, at Market,’ the Man said in reply, and sketched an ironic bow, stooped as he was to avoid brushing his head against the ceiling. ‘We noticed you had rather more lengths from the weaver’s stall than one family ought...’

‘Please,’ Rosemary said, coming up to him, forcing herself to think of him as a poor, lonely soul far from his home and mother. It brought sweetness to her smile, and a light to her eyes, and a warmth to her voice that stopped him short in what he’d been about to say. ‘Please, do make yourself at home -- so much as you can! Here -- we’ve just brushed all the rugs clean, so you can sit yourselves down without worry for dust, and do let me bring you each a plate, and in a few moments, a mug of tea -- or if you’d prefer fresh milk, from our goats?’

‘Please, make yourselves at home,’ Hally echoed, and then he bowed to the two Men who now stooped within his home. ‘We are the Bolgers, Hally and Rose, at your service, and your family’s! Please, join us in a mug of tea -- we were about to sample this morning’s baking...’

Young Robin opened his mouth to say they’d already sampled it, but then he thought the better of it and closed his mouth again.

‘Mister…’ said the scar-faced Man, ‘and Missus...’

‘O! Call me Rose!’ Rosemary said impulsively. ‘It’s ever so much homelier! And we’d like you to think of our home as yours, here in the Woody End. Our neighbours aren’t so friendly, for some reason, and the children and I get lonely here, with Hally away in the wood almost every day...’

She held her breath. She and Hally had discussed long into the night, how to make their first contact with Lotho’s Men. Hally had said thoughtfully that an appeal for aid, properly put, could soften a hard heart, and turn a body bent on mischief into a sympathetic character. Rosemary wasn’t so sure, but it was more than anything she could think of, and so she set her husband’s plan in motion and held her breath.

‘It would be a nice thing, if you spend much time in the area, if you could look in on them, and see that all is well,’ Hally said. ‘It would be a favour to me, and set my mind at ease...’ He brightened. ‘And my wife bakes a rare treat! Today is not her usual baking day -- as a matter of fact, it’s the morrow, two days after the Stock Market, that’s her usual day, but she just happened to stir up ginger biscuits this morning to renew our strength after beating all the dust from the carpets...’

‘Well, now, there is a fine smell in the air,’ the other Man said hopefully, looking to the scar-faced Man. ‘Don’t you think we could take a moment or two…?’

His companion laughed and sat himself suddenly on the rug before the hearth. ‘A fine smell, indeed,’ he said. ‘I suppose our business can wait… You Shire-folk don’t care to have business along with your tea, as I recall...’

‘Too true -- it can spoil the pleasure of the food,’ Hally said, seating himself Man-fashion on the floor. Robin sat beside his father, staring from one visitor to the other with wide eyes. Rosemary hurried to fill the two Man-sized plates with warm, spicy sweet biscuits and bring them to the guests, who thanked her nicely in their rough voices.

The Man with three fingers on his left hand immediately lifted one of the biscuits from his plate and bit into it. A smile spread over his face. ‘Mmmph!’ he said. ‘Scar, this is prime! You’ve got to taste…!’

‘Yes, yes,’ Scar said tolerantly, but he did sample one of his biscuits and his eyes widened. ‘Tolerable,’ however, was all he said. ‘Not bad.’

‘Not bad!’ Robin said, indignant. ‘My Mum’s the best baker in the Woody End!’

‘Robin!’ Rosemary chided.

‘I’m sure that she might be,’ Scar said, with a seated bow toward Robin. ‘No offence meant, young hobbit.’

‘None taken,’ Hally answered for his son, with a quick squeeze to Robin’s arm before he rose to take the steaming kettle from the hob and fill the waiting teapot. ‘And plenty more where that came from,’ he said over his shoulder.. ‘Why -- you’re welcome to stop in, any Baking Day, for Rose always makes enough to feed an army!’

Well, she hadn’t, in the past, as they’d never had a pantry quite as full as it was now. But she certainly would in future.

In the end, the ruffians drank their tea and enjoyed their biscuits, eating until they were unable to accept the further helpings Rose tried to press upon them. She ended by having the bright idea of tying up a fair-sized quantity of biscuits in a couple of clean cloths cut from old flour-sacks, and insisting that the Men bear the treasure away with them.

Scar and the three-fingered Man ducked their way out of the smial, each bearing a supply of biscuits. To Rosemary’s astonishment (but not Hally’s), Scar tipped his hat to her, and the other Man followed suit. ‘Much obliged, Missus.’

‘Come back on the morrow!’ Hally reminded. ‘Baking day! I’ll be in the Wood, and I’m sure my Rose will be happy to share of her baking...’

And then the Men were walking away, calling rough thanks and fare-wells. They had apparently quite forgotten what they came for in the first place. In a whispered conversation that night, after the little ones were all sweetly asleep, Hally and Rosemary discussed the matter. Most likely, the Men had come to “gather” the “extra” fabric they’d seen the Bolgers buying from the weaver’s stand the previous day.

‘Well, you invited them to return on the morrow,’ Rosemary whispered. ‘Perhaps they’ll rectify their error then.’

‘And if you stuff them as full as I expect you’ll be stuffing them, of bread and scones and biscuits plain and sweet, perhaps they’ll as conveniently forget again.’

‘Is that the way it’s to be, from this day forward?’ Rosemary said.

Hally kissed her tenderly. ‘I certainly hope so,’ he said, ‘if only to keep you and the little ones safe. How do you keep a wolf pack from devouring you, in the midst of a Fell Winter? Throw food in their faces...’

‘That’s not funny,’ Rosemary chided.

Hally looked at her very seriously. He kissed her once more, eased her down onto her pillow, and pulled the coverlet to cover her snugly. ‘I wasn’t joking,’ he said, and then he lay himself down and eased his arms around her. They lay for a long time, snuggled together, and at some point, they both fell asleep.