Chapter 13.

Rosemary stood back and watched the Men sit down at their places. Some began to spoon up their stew, others grabbed for bread or rolls -- some of these tore off pieces, to stuff in their mouths as if they were half-famished, others just crammed an entire breadroll or scone -- though Rosemary had made them large, intended for the hands of Men -- into their mouths at one go.

She was so bewildered by the tumult that she scarcely noticed Robin dart into the melee, pulling at Scar’s sleeve.

‘Hoi! What is it, young hobbit?’ the Man said genially. He was evidently in high good humour, either from the rich haul of stuff in the waggon, or from the feast spread before him, or both.

‘You didn’t thank the host!’ Robin said, his little face earnest, but his words were lost in the general confusion.

‘What was that?’ Scar said, and in the next moment he roared the other Men to order. They slowed their greedy snatching, and stopped gabbling at each other, and turned to look at their leader, but didn’t stop eating altogether. That might have been an encouragement to Rosemary, that her food was delectable enough that they couldn’t leave it alone, were she not petrified as to what her son was about to say.

Too late to stop him!

‘You didn’t thank the host!’ Robin repeated, in the relative silence, and Rosemary wanted to sink into the floor. She clasped her hands tightly together, that the Men might not see her shaking, and tried to laugh, but she was paralysed by fear.

Scar looked to her with a broad grin, that faded, as if he read her feelings in her face -- as if he saw how very frightened she was, at her anticipation of his reaction, and his Men’s, to the lad’s critical words.

‘That’s right,’ he said slowly, and then to Rosemary’s increasing fear, he stood slowly to his feet, motioning his Men to do the same. Silence fell, as frowning they complied.

‘I… I… beg your pardon,’ Rosemary said, her voice shaking, her words dropping into the silence, as impotent and ineffectual as drops of rain in a great Sea.

Scar looked down at little Robin. ‘So,’ he said quietly. Deadly quiet, Rosemary thought, with fear for her little son, more than for herself. ‘Just who is our host? You?’

‘No!’ Robin said stoutly. ‘Well, I helped! But Mama did all the hardest work, and all the cooking and baking, and she told us to work cheerfully, that the food would taste all the better for our special visitors, for the love that went into it!’

One or two of the Men started to chuckle at this, but a swift, fierce glance from Scar stifled their merriment.

‘O’ course,’ he said, looking from Robin to the terrified little mother who stood before the hearth, ladle clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white. He pursed his lips, and then seemed to make a decision, looking around the table at each of his helpers in turn, and then turning to face Rosemary.

To her astonishment, he bowed slightly at the waist. ‘We thank you for your hospitality, Missus,’ he said, and at a gesture the rest of the Men mumbled something to the same effect.

Rosemary did not know whence came the courage that rose in her, but perhaps it was speak or swoon. In any event, she answered him, her voice still trembling. ‘You are all most welcome,’ she said, and somehow managed to smile. ‘But I thought I told you to call me Rose!’

At this, Scar threw back his head and laughed heartily, and his Men followed suit.

Rose wondered that the little ones didn’t waken at the sound, but perhaps because it was a joyous sound, it held no surprise or startlement. In any event, no sound came from the children’s rooms when the laughter was over.

‘And now,’ Rosemary said, her voice steadying, ‘were any of you wanting second helpings? There’s plenty more where that came from!’

A chorus of assent answered, and Rosemary’s smile became more genuine as Robin fetched her the Men’s bowls for refilling.

At last the spoons were laid down, the last of the baked goods were taken from the platters, and Rosemary asked Scar to freshen the teapot from the steaming kettle, and Mossy and Three-fingers to fetch the platters of sweet biscuits and tarts from the side table, and they seemed happy to comply.

‘Food’s as good as I remember my old mam making,’ Mossy said stoutly, and Scar laughed and said as it was better than he remembered, from his old home, which made the other Men laugh as well.

‘And if you come again next week, there’ll be teacakes,’ Rosemary said. She twisted her apron between her hands and added, a little anxiously, ‘I do hope there’s enough flour for them.’ And then she gasped, astonished at her own rudeness in expressing such a sentiment in front of honoured guests, and lifted her hand, palm out. ‘Not that I should complain, about you coming to gather foodstuffs -- when we have more than we might need -- for those who are poorer. We should be ashamed of ourselves, to know someone else was going hungry for want of food, when we have anything in our pantry!’

For some reason, Scar filled the teapot in silence, and Mossy and Three-fingers quietly put the platters of “afters” down on the table, and sat themselves down again, but none of the Men took anything, though they glanced at each other somewhat surreptitiously, as if unsure of  themselves.

‘Is anything wrong?’ Rosemary said, starting forward anxiously. She’d really put her foot in it now! O how she wished Hally were here -- he’d have said the right thing to rectify her stupidity, or perhaps he’d even have prevented her saying it in the first place. ‘O please, is there something else you need? I’m sorry, we’ve only honey for sweetening the tea, but the milk is fresh from this morning’s milking, so do, please, help yourselves...’

And then, as if things weren’t bad enough already, to her absolute horror a great pain seized her and she bent, grasping desperately at her abdomen, with an agonised gasp.

‘Mama!’ Robin said, running to her and throwing his arms around her. ‘Mama!’

‘Missus -- Rose,’ Scar said, getting to his feet. ‘Is it well with you?’

But Rose, in the throes of a strong contraction, could not speak.

The Man crossed from table to hearth, bending to take her by the elbows, supporting her as she stood helpless, and it was only his hold that kept her from sagging to the ground when the contraction was over.

‘It’s the babe,’ Robin gasped, his eyes wide with alarm. ‘Is it? Is it the babe coming, Mama?’

Rosemary was panting for air, and could not seem to form the words to answer. She felt dizzy, as if she could not find enough air to breathe, and worse, another pain seized her -- they were coming much too close together! None of her babes had taken her this way before. In the births she’d assisted, such a sudden onslaught had often portended ill for the mother, if not the babe.

And then, suddenly, Scar was lifting her in his arms, grunting a little with the effort, and carrying her to the middle bedroom. He kicked at the door with his foot and carried Rosemary to the bed, laying her down with unexpected tenderness. ‘Steady, Rosie,’ he said. ‘All will be well.’

He turned to snap at the other Men, who’d left the table to crowd around the bedroom doorway. ‘Mossy!’ he said. ‘You and Spike, go to the Wood, find her husband -- he was cutting in the one section where we spoke to him this morning -- Mossy, you seek him there -- but he might have moved to the other section...’

Spikenard nodded and broke in, ‘I’ll seek him there!’ And the two were gone in a flash.

‘Midwife,’ Scar said to himself. ‘We must have the midwife...’ And to Robin, standing stiff and scared in the midst of the remaining Men, he said, ‘Now, who would that be, and where do we find her?’

‘The Brambleys,’ Robin said.

‘Violet,’ Rosemary managed to gasp. ‘Violet and Chestnut...’

Scar gently brushed a wayward wisp of hair out of her face. ‘Easy, Rosie,’ he said. ‘We’ll find ‘em. Neighbours, I take it?’ At her nod, he started to send three more of his Men out to seek which particular neighbours might be the Brambleys, but Robin spoke up again. ‘I’ll go!’ he said. ‘I know where they live!’

‘Three-fingers, you go with him, to see that he meets with no mishaps,’ Scar said, ‘And hurry that midwife’s coming! I don’t like the looks of this...’

‘Mama?’ Robin said anxiously, but the Man fixed him with a fierce look and said, ‘Go!’

Next he was telling one of the remaining Men to refill the teakettle from the little spring a little way from the smial, and set it to boiling. ‘Hot water, that’s the thing,’ he said, and then he was rubbing Rosemary’s back as another pain doubled her where she lay, and she could not repress a piteous moan. All she could hope for was that her little ones wouldn’t waken, to a prostrated mother and strange Men in the smial…

When the pain eased, Scar patted her back. ‘That’s the lass,’ he said, all encouragement.

As he got up from the bed, she seized his hand in a sudden panic. ‘Please!’ she gasped. ‘Please don’t leave me!’ Though she had no desire for this rough Man to deliver her child, she was terrified by the strong pains that were seizing her, too close together, overwhelming her, waves in a Sea of agony that threatened to drown her in its depths.

Scar patted her hand and sat back down. ‘I won’t leave you, Rosie,’ he promised. He raised his voice, once again mindful of the little ones sleeping in the rooms on either side, and called to the remaining Man. ‘Bracken, I want you to bring me a cloth from the kitchen -- I saw some folded cloths on a shelf there, for the washing up and drying.’ And when Bracken brought the cloth, Scar further instructed him to pour water from the ewer into the bowl and bring the bowl to him on the bed. He dipped the cloth and gently wiped Rosemary’s sweating face. ‘There now, Rosie. I’ll stay right here, by you, until that midwife comes… or Hally, anyhow.’

She gasped her thanks, hating her helplessness and the tears that squeezed from her eyes though she was trying her best to be brave.

‘You should think I’d be able to get it right, after four babes born already,’ she whispered, before the next pain came.

‘O’ course you’ll get it right,’ he soothed, and added other such nonsense, just to keep her (and himself, truth be told) calm.

***

Just to make things faster, Three-fingers lifted Robin to his shoulders and ran at his best pace, following the little lad’s direction. Though he arrived winded, he managed to shout out, ‘Halloo the house!’

A hobbit came out warily, shutting the door behind himself, his expression bleak, for he knew he was no match for the Man. ‘What more do you want?’ he said. ‘You’ve already taken...’ And then his eyes widened. ‘Robin! Young Robin!’

He must have lost his senses, then, for he seized a stone and threw it at the Man, hitting him in the chest. ‘You put him down!’ he said. ‘You may take our goods, in the name of Lotho Baggins, but you’ve no right to take our babes!’

But Robin was shouting, and the Man was gasping, and Ches picked up another stone and pulled his arm back to throw it before repetition of his name arrested him.

‘No, Mr Brambley! Please!’

‘You put him down!’ Ches repeated bravely. ‘Or I’ll give you more o’ the same!’

‘Babes it is!’ the Man said. ‘It’s your wife I’m wanting...’

‘My wife!’ Ches said, scandalised. ‘You mayn’t have her! Over my dead body!’

‘I can arrange that,’ Three-fingers said grimly, but then the door opened behind the hobbit and his wife came out, pushing him to one side.

‘No, Ches,’ she said. ‘I’ll go with him, if he’ll only spare you, and the children...’

‘You’ll want to bring your bag with you,’ Three-fingers said, and Ches closed his eyes in grief. They were taking his wife away, who knew where, and it appeared as if she wouldn’t be coming back again, if she were to pack a bag. He hadn’t heard of hobbits being allowed to pack a bag before being hauled off to the Lockholes, but then, he hadn’t heard of wives and maids being dragged away, either.

He stepped forward. ‘Take me instead,’ he said. ‘Leave her be.’

‘Now that wouldn’t do at all,’ the ruffian said. ‘A midwife is what’s wanted.’

‘Oh!’ Violet gasped. ‘That bag!’ And she spun about and went into the smial, emerging quickly with her supplies.

‘Come along, Missus!’ the Man ordered, seizing Violet by the hand. And the next thing, he was dragging her away with him at a rapid pace, Robin still on his shoulders, shouting encouragement. Ches watched with an open mouth -- he wanted to follow, but he couldn’t leave his children alone, young as they were, at the mercy of the other ruffians who’d been there earlier in the day, gathering all the Brambleys’ “extras” -- and quite a few things that weren’t.

He could only hope they’d allow Violet to come home again.

***

When they arrived at the Bolgers’, Violet was astonished to see a couple of Men in the yard, playing a clapping game with the little ones and singing in their rough voices a song that Parsley had evidently taught them, for she stopped them to correct them, mid-verse, and then stopped again, to hop up and greet the midwife. ‘I’m so glad you’re come!’ she said. ‘Mama’s awful sick!’

Three-fingers released Violet’s arm and gave her a little push towards the smial. ‘Hurry,’ he said. ‘She’s in there!’

‘I should imagine,’ Violet said under her breath, but she hurried, stopping short on the threshold.

Another Man was tending the fire on the hearth, where the teakettle was just starting to steam. He looked up to see her and beckoned urgently. ‘Come in, come in!’ he said. ‘She’s on the bed!’ He pointed to the middle bedroom door, and somehow Violet found the strength to stumble in and make her way to the bedroom, where she stopped once more to see a scar-faced Man sitting on the bed, rubbing Rosemary’s back, while she curled in an agonised ball and moaned piteously.

In the next moment Hally was there, bent over gasping, staggering against Violet before pushing his way into the bedroom. ‘Rose!’ he gasped. ‘Rose-love, I’m here! I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, but I’m here now.’

‘Hally!’ Rosemary shrieked, lifting her tear-streaked face to gaze at him with wide eyes, adding in a whimper, ‘I’m so sorry… It hurts… I can’t bear…!’

Violet could see they had a fight on their hands. This was unlike the purposeful Rosemary she’d tended through four previous births, none of them eventful. Something was obviously dreadfully wrong. Worry sharpened her voice, and she spoke more abruptly than her good sense might have allowed in other circumstances, especially considering that she was dealing with ruffians who were said to have put a hobbit down his own well when he’d objected to their gathering ways. He’d nearly drowned before his wife and sons could get him out again!

‘Out with you!’ she said. ‘Get out!’ And to Hally, who stared at her in astonishment, she snapped, ‘Not you! Sit down, hold your wife, try and calm her whilst I wash my hands…’ She raised her voice slightly, to try to reach the frantic mother. ‘I’ll be right with you, Rosie! We’ll make it all come right!’

***

It was a long, hard fight, and Violet was afraid at more than one point that they’d lose both mother and babe, and maybe father into the bargain (!) -- for looking into Hally’s face she saw a depth of love and despair, and desperate hope.

Violet had no idea of what went on outside of that room. She ought to have, she supposed later; Hally ought to have, for that matter, for Robin was full young to have the care of all his younger siblings, and yet that was what he was left to. Or so Violet thought, in retrospect, once the battle was over and the babe safely born.

But then, when Rosemary’s agonized moans stopped, and the babe’s cry was heard, a curious sound was heard in the outer room. A curious sound, indeed…. the sound of Men, softly raising a cheer in celebration.

Violet could scarcely credit it. Perhaps it was a trick of her imagination, exhausted as she was. She wrapped the babe and laid him in Rosemary’s arms. ‘There now, Rosie,’ she said. ‘There you have another fine son… Now, just a little more, and I promise you may rest.’

Hally helped her in what needed doing, and then she left him embracing his wife softly, as if afraid she might break -- and exhausted as Rosemary was, Violet did have some concern and planned to stay on for a day at least, if not two or three. She hoped she might be able to send Hally later, after he’d rested, with word for her undoubtedly worried family.

She stopped on the bedroom threshold in amazement. Four Men sat near the hearth, each cradling a sleeping Bolger child. Another Man -- the scar-faced fellow who had been cosseting Rosie when Violet had arrived, was it only the previous afternoon? -- was just lifting the teakettle from the hob. ‘Tea’s on,’ he said, in answer to her stare. ‘Or, it will be, in a moment or two.’ He poured the tea into the pot and returned the teakettle to its hook. He looked back to Violet. ‘Boy or girl?’ he asked.

‘Boy,’ she said numbly. ‘Fine strong lad, for all the difficulty he gave him mum this night...’

The Men all broke into smiles. ‘Well now, that’s just fine,’ said the teamaker. ‘All right, then, lads, we’ll be on our way...’

‘But… but...’ sputtered Violet. ‘But the tea…!’

‘Figured Rosie could use a spot of tea after all her hard work,’ the teamaker said. ‘And you and Hally might be wanting something as well...’ He returned to the table and took up a handful of sweet biscuits. ‘Put the children to bed,’ he said to his Men, ‘where you picked them up from, when they wakened yesterday… Their mum’s going to be fine.’ He looked back to Violet, and unbelievably, a look of concern was on his face. ‘She is, isn’t she?’

‘O’ course!’ Violet said stoutly, though in truth she wasn’t certain.

‘Well, then,’ the Man said, and then amazingly, he went to the door of one of the children’s rooms, as if to make sure the little ones were properly tucked up, and then to the door of the other children’s bedroom, nodding in satisfaction as the child-minding ruffians emerged, for all practical purposes on tiptoe.

‘Come along now, you louts,’ the leader said quietly, and led the way to the yard. Just as the midwife was sighing in relief, to have them gone, he returned to the doorway, to say to Violet, ‘Do you want someone to escort you homeward?’

Nearly speechless with astonishment, she nodded, and then recalled to her wits, shook her head. ‘No, but thank you very much,’ she said faintly. She could hardly believe she was thanking a ruffian!

‘Very well then,’ he said, sketching an ironic salute. ‘You tell Rosie, we won’t be back next week for her Baking Day,’ he added.

‘You won’t...’ Violet said, blinking.

‘Naw,’ the Man said. ‘We wouldn’t want her to get up too soon, after all the work it took her to bring that babe safely through...’ His eyes shadowed for a moment, as if with some sorrowful memory, but then the cynical look was back. ‘Tell Hally we’ll be back in two weeks. Rosie promised us teacakes, after all...’

‘Teacakes...’ Violet said in wonder. Rosemary had moaned at one point in her labour, nearly delirious, that the ruffians had taken all -- all the foodstuffs in the pantry, all that was in the shed, even the two goats, and had promised to return for the wood in the woodpile, “for there are others in more need, and the woodcutter can always cut more…”

Violet had nearly wept, to think what the poor lass had suffered, watching her goods carried off to the ruffians’ waggon, and then forced to cook for them and feed them.

‘Teacakes!’ the Man said cheerily. ‘She can bake a treat! Best I’ve tasted since… I can’t remember!’ He laughed and fingered his hat in a mock salute, and turned away.

Incensed, Violet hurried to the door of the smial, determined to give him a piece of her mind, regardless of the consequences, the black-hearted scoundrel.

The Men’s waggon was just pulling away, the Men’s voices raised in scandalous song, and they had the temerity to wave to her in passing.

She drew in a deep breath, ready to scold, and let it out again as she noticed the goats were no longer tethered to the back of the waggon, as they’d been when she’d arrived, but their chains were attached to trees in the yard.

Shaking her head at herself -- for who was she, to scold half a dozen Big Men, all twice as tall as herself, and with an exhausted, helpless mum and new babe and a weary, drained father in the smial behind her, along with their slumbering children. No, but she did not want to draw the Men back to the smial, no matter how she ached to give them the rough side of her tongue.

Perhaps they’d left something in the pantry after all, since they were expecting… teacakes, she thought bitterly, in a fortnight. She’d thought the pantry had been stripped nearly bare, from her earlier impression.

She walked softly across the main room to the pantry door. Pulling it open, she stopped in surprise. The pantry was stuffed full, and yet, not long after she’d arrived, she’d gone in search of some vinegar, and found most of the shelves in the main room empty, and only a bag of flour and half a bag of meal in the pantry. A ruffian had inquired as to her need, and when she’d said “vinegar” he’d gone out to the yard to fetch a jug, most probably from the gathered items in the waggon.

But now…

She turned away from the pantry and looked around at the shelves in Rosemary’s cooking area. They were filled, where she could have sworn they’d been nearly stripped bare.

She had a wild notion to go out to the shed, to see if it, too was empty, or mysteriously restored, but then her good sense reasserted itself. The children would be wakening soon, and they’d be hungry. Hally and Rosemary were doubtless asleep, after the long battle.

Violet might lie herself down, when the children went down for their morning nap, but then again, her blood was still surging and she felt as if she might never sleep again.