Chapter 12.

Rosemary sent Robin off to his bed -- she didn’t have to caution him against waking Buckthorn; he knew how to crawl under the coverlet without disturbing the slumbers of his littler brother. She walked with her arm about Parsley’s shoulders to the girls’ room, where little Lavender was already sweetly sleeping. She gave her eldest daughter a loving squeeze and a smile. Parsley settled herself carefully on the bed, and Lavvy turned over in her sleep to cuddle close, thumb firmly in mouth. Rosemary spread the coverlet over the two sisters, ran her hand gently over Parsley’s curls, and turned away, suppressing a sigh of relief, which her sensitive daughter might misconstrue. She was so weary! ...and looking forward to sleeping for as long as the little ones did, this day, instead of getting up as she often did, well before they awakened, to fit in some lacework or other task requiring her full attention.

Just as she had laid herself down upon her bed, a rough voice called from the yard, ‘Halloo the house!’

(It was a smial, but she wasn’t going to be the one to correct any of Lotho’s Men on such a point…)

Before she could struggle up again, she heard the patter of Robin’s feet on the floorboards. As she rolled awkwardly off the bed and came upright, feeling the muscles of her abdomen tighten painfully (More false pangs, she thought, for they were common in the weeks before the real work would begin), she heard Robin grunting with effort as he tugged open the door, and then he shouted, as he’d heard his father shout the previous day, in a loud and hearty little voice, ‘Visitors! Mama, put the kettle on!’

‘Kettle!’ One of several coarse, deep voices cried, and several others laughed, but another sounded over the laughter as if calling the rest to order.

‘Aye, kettle! We’re invited, as Scar and I told you...’

Another shout of laughter came in answer to this sentiment, but by this time Rosemary had emerged from the bedroom and was hurrying to the door, where Robin stood, his head back as he craned upward, to look into the faces of the tall figures that blocked the light of the open doorway.

Rosemary pulled her shawl more snugly around her shoulders and pushed back her hair from her face -- she’d unpinned it, that she might rest more comfortably on her pillow. ‘O yes!’ she said, with all the eagerness she could muster. ‘I’m that glad to see you, I can’t tell you…’ Scanning the overlarge faces, she found the leader. ‘O Scar,’ she said, caressing the Man’s name with her voice, as if greeting an old friend (though inwardly she shuddered that one should claim such a title). ‘If you wouldn’t mind… we’re a little at sixes and sevenses at the moment...’

‘What d’ye need, Rosie?’ the Man said with such familiarity that she had to stifle a gasp and force herself to smile even more brightly, as if his easy friendliness was a compliment -- which it was, she told herself firmly.

‘If one of you could build up the fire,’ she said. ‘The teakettle is full and waiting to go on the fire, but I’m afraid we’ve let it burn down, just a little...’

‘Mossy, build up the fire and put the kettle on,’ Scar ordered, and a Man with shaggy dark hair started to protest, and received a sharp cuff to the ear for his trouble. ‘Go, now! A cuppa will be good when we’ve finished our work...’

‘Your work?’ Rosemary said, blinking up at him.

The Man gave a shrug. ‘There was a report of you and your husband, buying more at Stock Market than any family ought to need,’ he said. ‘We’ve come to gather any extra, that it might be given to those who could better use it.’

‘I see,’ Rosemary said, stepping aside so that Mossy could enter. Her heart sank. All their savings, and all for naught. She straightened again, pinning on a determined smile. ‘Well then,’ she said, ‘I’m sure you’ll be hungry after your endeavours… You all must work so hard, watching out for the needy. Such a kind heart as Mister Lotho has, to care for the poor so...’

She feared for a moment that she had overplayed her hand, for Scar scowled at the resulting shout of laughter from his cronies, but then he turned to cuff the Man on one side, and swung round to pull the hair of the Man on his other side, all the while growling to them to be civil…!

‘Don’t mind them, Missus,’ he said, turning back to Rosemary with a little bow. ‘They don’t mean any harm.’

Rosemary was not about to argue with the Man. ‘O’ course they don’t!’ she said. ‘They’ve got their work to do, and no doubt they’ve been working hard all the morning, and here it is half-way to teatime! You must all be perishing of the hunger! Did you even have time for nooning?’

The Men, most of them, seemed a little taken aback by her candour and concern -- their sneers and scowls replaced by uncertainty.

‘As a matter of fact, we had a bit of dried meat and dried fruit to go on, and some hardtack,’ Scar said, and Rosemary put her hands on her hips.

‘Dried meat and fruit!’ she said indignantly. ‘Why, I wouldn’t feed that to a dog that I liked!’ Turning towards the Man kneeling on the hearthstones, she said, ‘Mossy, dear lad!’

More than one of the Men snorted at this, but she ignored them, working as she was to smile her hardest at the dirty figure kneeling on her clean floor, who’d turned a startled, even suspicious face to her.

He was someone’s son, she reminded herself, and so she spoke to him as fondly as she might to her own Robin, whose hand was firmly twined together with hers, holding tight, as the lad looked up at the tall figures crowding outside the smial door. ‘Would you please swing the stew kettle -- it’s off to one side, keeping warm -- closer to the fire you’re making? We’ve a lovely venison-and-vegetable stew in the kettle, and of course there’s plenty to share! Why, I couldn’t let invited guests go hungry in my home!’

Certainly, she had baking a-plenty to feed to the Men, but something prompted her to add heartier fare to her offerings…

‘All right, you lot, go about your business,’ Scar said, looking around at the faces, some of them open-mouthed at Rosemary’s bold hospitality. Looking back to Rosemary, he added, ‘Missus, if you don’t mind, we’ll be poking about...’

‘Please call me Rose,’ Rosemary said with a nod and a smile. ‘Missus sounds so stiff and unfriendly, somehow...’ She had the feeling that the Man was already making concessions, by asking her leave -- she thought perhaps they didn’t ask hobbits’ leave to do anything they wished to do, under their usual means of conducting their affairs. Hopefully today’s business would cultivate the seeds of friendship she and Hally had been at pains to sow the previous day.

The Men spread out, Scar and another Man coming into the smial, the others moving to inspect the covered woodpile, the shed where Hally kept the cart, his tools, and extra supplies, the goats’ shelter, and privy. Rosemary didn’t know where Hally had secreted all their purchases, but a goodly portion of them were in the shed, and more were stuffed under the beds in all three bedrooms. And of course, the foodstuffs filled the pantry…

As the Men moved from the doorway -- their bodies had quite blocked the view of the yard -- Rosemary saw with a sinking heart that they’d brought a waggon with them, very convenient for their gathering. Piles of goods in the waggon attested to their earlier efforts, and she’d no doubt her own short-lived riches would soon join the rest.

She wished Hally were here, that she might whisper I told you so! but he was in the Wood, plying his trade, as always, and though he was within summoning distance if she should send little Robin running out to find him, he was not here on the spot. Not for the first time, Rosemary cursed “as usual” and wished for Hally’s comforting presence. No, but his place was in the Wood, except for the days when he usually stayed at home, and her place was here, and would be for the foreseeable future, dealing with Lotho’s Men, sifting Truth from lies, gathering information for the cause of a free Shire.

The thought stiffened her spine and renewed her determination, and so she was able to smile serenely, in the face of anticipated loss, as she turned from the door. ‘Just give me a moment,’ she said to the Men in the smial. ‘I need to pin up my hair, to have it out of the way, and then I’ll be of whatever help I can...’

Scar growled something in return. Mossy got up from the hearth, dusting his hands. The fire was burning brightly, warming the teakettle and the stewpot, and it wouldn’t be too long before the water boiled, for Rosemary had no intentions of watching the pot. No, but she only said to the Men, in an apologetic tone, ‘If you wouldn’t mind working quietly -- the little ones are asleep...’ She went into the bedroom, dropped her shawl on the bed, and began to do up her hair.

She looked up, suppressing a gasp, as Mossy loomed in the bedroom doorway, half-bent to guard his head from knocks. ‘Beg pardon, Missus,’ he said, and to Rosemary’s surprise, his cheeks coloured with embarrassment at such intimacy -- entering a bedroom where a mum stood, without her shawl and her hair down, and very big with child into the bargain. ‘I just needed to look about in here...’

‘Please,’ Rosemary said, sinking down on the bed and pulling her shawl around her shoulders. ‘I’ll just wait...’

And she did, while the Man sheepishly examined the clothing hanging from the pegs, and opened the press to see the extra blankets there, and the tiny baby things, ready for the new little one. He seemed to be in a hurry to complete his task, and bowed to her as he left the room, without having looked under the bed!

Rosemary suppressed her sigh of relief and quickly dealt with her hair. It was likely messy, but it would be out of her way, and none of the ruffians… Men… would find hair in their food, not if she could avoid it!

No cries came from the other bedrooms, so the searching Men apparently were taking care not to disturb the sleeping children. Perhaps the goods hidden under their beds would also remain undiscovered. Rosemary hoped so. It would be enough of a blow to lose the contents of the shed and pantry.

She emerged from the bedroom and moved to get the Man-sized plates, bowls, spoons and mugs, that Hally had carved in preparation for this day, down from the shelf, laying half a dozen places, three to a side of the table. Of course, the Men could not sit at table, but they might pull the benches back and seat themselves on the floor. She readied the teapot, then filled platters with piles of baked goods -- slices of bread, scones and buns, and set these down the centre of the table, within handy reach. She set two more platters on the side table and filled these with sweet biscuits and small tarts, ready for “afters”. She could hear the stew beginning to bubble, and her nose twitched as its rich smell began to fill the smial once more.

As she worked, she tried to pay no heed to the searching, gathering Men, though she saw through the window, more than one trip from shed to waggon, with loaded arms.

It’s not as if you’ll miss it so terribly much, she told herself. We only bought it all at Market a few days ago… Not enough time, really, to grow used to the idea of riches, or to be attached to all the things… They’re just things, anyhow. So long as my little ones are safe, that’s what matters…

Mossy and the other Man (not Scar, who was lounging about watching the others and giving instructions -- albeit in a low voice, that he not waken the slumbering tots) were lugging bags from the pantry out to the waggon, and the trapdoor to the cold pit was yawning open. (It would make no secure hiding place, a small voice in the back of her mind said, and just as well, for anyone who tried to hide there would likely catch their death from the cold.) Rosemary dearly hoped that they’d leave at least enough for her little family to eat over the coming week, though with all their money gone, she didn’t know what they’d do when they needed more. She forced herself to hum a gay little tune as she completed her preparations to feed the ruff… the Men.

‘Mama!’ Robin hissed, pulling at her skirt. She looked down, cautioning him to keep his voice down, that he not waken the little ones. ‘Look!’ he whispered, pointing out the window. She pushed his hand down, holding it between her own palms, and kissed his fingers, turning the pointing into an affectionate gesture before any of the Men in the smial might take notice. Her heart lurched as she saw a Man lead the two goats to the waggon and tie them on behind.

‘All will be well, child,’ she said, and tried her best to believe it, that he might hear truth in her voice. She took a deep breath and added, ‘All will be well, when your father comes home.’

He nodded, for he could hear more truth in that statement, and he himself had great faith in Hally’s ability to do anything.

‘Are we quite finished?’ Rosemary said, as Scar came up to her. ‘The stew is nice and hot, and I’ll fill your bowls just so soon as you’ve washed your hands -- there’s a bucket of fresh water outside the door, and a clean cloth for drying your hands, hanging from the peg...’

She was gratified when the Man turned to order his helpers to wash their hands before eating, and be quick about it, or he’d have all the stew himself, it smelt that good. Little courtesies, she heard Hally whisper in her memory. Every little courtesy we can win from them, is another bit of safety for our little ones…

‘Robin, if you’d be my helper?’ Rosemary said, moving to the hearth and taking the ladle from its hook. The lad hurried to bring her the oversized bowls, and took each one to the table as she filled it from the stewpot. She froze, halfway to filling the fourth bowl, as another muscle cramp took her by surprise, stronger this time.

‘Mama?’ Robin said, back from placing the third bowl on the table and ready to take the fourth.

‘The babe’s awake and kicking hard,’ Rosemary said, forcing a smile. ‘Perhaps the stew smells so good, he wishes he could have some, too!’

Robin laughed at that, to her relief, and she scooped another ladle-full into the bowl and then put it carefully into her small son’s hands.

The teakettle was steaming now, but she daren’t lift it. ‘Scar!’ she called sweetly, and the Man came towards her with an inquiring look. ‘If you could -- the kettle? The teapot’s on the table, all ready. Hally usually… but he’s in the Wood, as you know...’

‘I know,’ said the Man, and she heard the truth in his voice, and knew that the Men had made sure of her husband before they’d come here to gather. Did Hally know what was going on here, in his home? Had he sent them along with his blessing, and a reminder that it was Rosemary’s Baking Day? Had he resisted them, and been tied up or let down into a well or pit, as she’d heard happening to other hobbits who resisted Lotho’s gatherers?

She felt a chill, but what could she do, but play the game as it had been laid out?