Chapter 16.

Though Hally and Rosemary would not have gone to the market in any event, they had a pretty good idea of what went on that day. Rosemary’s emotions, of course, were running high, a natural consequence for a new mum, and she found herself fighting tears as Hally brought her a cup of tea. She sat in the rocking chair that evening to nurse the babe, whilst Robin and Parsley cleared the table and the little ones, already night-clad, played on the hearthrug preparatory to Hally’s bedtime story, once the washing up was finished.

‘What is it, dear one?’ he said tenderly, laying the cup down on the little table he’d carved to match the rocking chair, and the cradle beside it, where at the moment Parsley’s doll reposed. Once Hally allowed Rosemary to take up her tasks once more, she’d lay little Bracken down there as she plied her hot flatirons, or tended the cooking fire, or did the mending, close by, but out of harm’s way.

‘O it’s silly of me,’ Rosemary said, wiping at her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘But I’m imagining all the talk going on round all the teapots this evening… I’m sure our reputation is ruined!’

‘It ought to be in tatters, at the very least,’ Hally said. ‘I’m certain Violet saw to that.’

‘I know very well how she talks,’ Rosemary said ruefully. ‘She’s a fine midwife, and a good neighbour...’

Hally sighed. Good neighbour no longer, as they both knew. At least, so it would be if their plans worked as they should.

‘...and her tongue is hinged on both ends,’ Rosemary concluded with a sigh of her own. ‘I can only imagine what she said about our ruffians!’

‘Our ruffians,’ Hally said. ‘Got a sort of a ring to it, don’t you think? Makes them sound homelier, somehow. P’rhaps we ought to adopt them; make them members of the family. What would Gundy say to that, d’you think?’ He achieved his aim, for Rosemary laughed through her tears. ‘Now then, drink your tea before it goes cold!’

‘Yes, Papa,’ Rosemary said, as if she were little Parsley, and Hally patted her shoulder and turned back to the task of washing up. Soon he was praising Robin and Parsley for their efforts, clearing the table and scrubbing it and laying the cloth, and then the three of them were singing as Parsley washed, Robin dried, and Hally put all the things away.

And then it was time for the bedtime story. It was the forest Bolgers’ custom to talk over the events of the day, however unremarkable they might have been, delighting in the smallest of details, and then each took a turn to be thankful for something, to end the day as they’d begun.

‘And I’m grateful for my little brothers -- the both of them!’ Robin said, and jumped up from where he was sitting to lay a kiss on Bracken’s head.

‘And I’m grateful the Big Men put everything back again,’ Parsley said, and laughed her little tinkling laugh. ‘But wasn’t it a comical game?’

Rosemary smiled quizzically, and Hally’s eyebrows rose, and seeing their confusion, the little lass added, ‘To take everything out of the smial, and put it in a waggon, and then to bring it all back again!’

‘A comical game indeed,’ Hally said in agreement, and Parsley smiled in satisfaction.

May it continue as merely a game for them, Rosemary thought fervently to herself. May they remain as innocent and untouched as they are this eve… And she had to wipe at her eyes again.

‘What is it, Mama?’ Robin wanted to know. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘O...’ Rosemary said, and swallowed hard. ‘You children are growing so quickly,’ she said. ‘Why, you’ll be out in the Wood chopping with your old dad, not so many years from now, and Buckthorn and Bracken with you!’ It was perfect truth, that she often thought such thoughts, and they were enough to make her pensive before she found her smile once more. It would do to explain her teary eyes, much better than the truth.

***

Cleaning day dawned… well, it didn’t dawn, not exactly. It crept in, more, the sky sullen and heavy, the wind howling like a wolf and prowling around the smial and through the bare trees, the temperature having plunged in the night. Hally left Rosemary and the babe snuggled warm in the bed; he hurried to slip out from under the bedcovers without allowing any of the surprisingly icy air to reach the sleepers. He shivered as he emerged into the main room and hurried to stir up the banked fire and feed it well. ‘Brisk, this morning!’ he said to himself. ‘Winter’s not done with us yet! I’m glad Our Ruffians left us enough wood for a goodly fire!’

A goodly fire was soon roaring and sending out its heat -- and, truth be told, a telltale column of smoke into the air above the little smial, for any passing ruffian to see that a warming fire burned within. In future days they’d use this sort of evidence to harry and persecute hobbits for breaking the Rules against using too much wood. However, Hally and Rosemary were well on their way to earning immunity from such rules…

There was a rough knock at the door, and Hally started up. ‘Speaking of wolves in winter...’ he muttered, an old Shire proverb, and then hushed himself. Lotho’s Men might not understand the reference, might take umbrage, and that was the last thing he wanted. ‘Friends at the door, and this early!’ he said, loud enough to be heard through the door by anyone with sharp hearing. He hurried to the door and eased the bar from its place, calling, ‘Coming! Coming!’

He had left Rosemary soundly asleep, and he hoped he wouldn’t waken her with his noise. He’d excuse himself to his visitor, long enough to make sure she stayed in the bed and didn’t hop up to offer hospitality. Violet had put the fear into him, she had, and he had every intention of following the midwife’s strict instructions, if only that he might not need to call her back again to tend Rosemary if the latter overdid.

He pulled the door open, to find two shivering Men upon his doorstep, Men he recognised, one leaning heavily on another in a state of near collapse.

‘Three-fingers! Bracken!’ he said in surprise. ‘But come in! It’s colder than a mother wolf’s teat out here...’

He waved his hands to hurry their stumbling entrance and closed the door hastily, to shut out the icy wind that moaned in the treetops.

‘You haven’t said the half of it,’ the older Man said, half-dragging his companion to the hearth. ‘Lad here nearly froze himself, standing watch… We smelt the smoke from your fire...’

‘Standing watch?’ Hally said without thinking. ‘Watching over what?’ Seeing Three-fingers stiffen at his words, he hastened to amend them, to set the Men at ease, turning honest curiosity into simple-minded maundering. As if it had just struck him, he put on an earnest, thankful, blinking look. ‘But you’re not watching over us, to see that all is well, after the birth of the babe! Such kindness! Surely we don’t deserve such loving care!’

To Hally’s private satisfaction, Three-fingers’ look changed from suspicion to blinking astonishment, and then the corners of his mouth twitched in a grin. ‘O’ course!’ the Man said. ‘Why, with Rosie brought so low, and the promise of tasting her teacakes next week, why, we wouldn’t want anything to bother her...’

Hally nodded, working to keep a happy, foolish look on his face. ‘Such kindness!’ he repeated. ‘Why, I’ll be staying in from the Wood for another week, leaving my own work and doing all of Rosie’s -- midwife’s orders...’ and his smile became more genuine at Three-finger’s snort. The Man had obviously run afoul of Violet’s sharp tongue.

He moved in to help the Man’s fumbling efforts to remove Bracken’s freezing outer garments, that the warmth of the fire might reach him sooner. ‘But you’re half-frozen, Bracken!’ he said, feeling the chill in the younger Man’s shirt, suggesting the chilled flesh beneath, once they got cloak and underlying jacket off. ‘Let me get the kettle on -- we’ll have some hot tea for you to sip in no time at all!’

He pushed the kettle, filled last night, over the hottest part of the fire and hurried to get out the teapot and two Man-sized mugs, along with two of hobbit-size, for Rosie might waken with the sound of voices, and he’d bring her some tea in bed.

‘Hot tea would be a good thing,’ Three-fingers said, and murmured something to Bracken, words of encouragement, as he began to chafe the younger Man’s white, stiff fingers with his hands. ‘Came to relieve the lad, and found him near-frozen… I had to slap him, but good, to waken him enough to drag him here...’

Hally wondered why they were keeping watch, and what they were watching over. Surely it wasn’t kindness on their part… unless it was to forestall any other ruffians from gathering here? Or were they watching for something else, on Lotho’s orders? All he said was,  ‘We’ve an extra blanket or two… Let us wrap him well, get something hot inside him.’ He frowned in honest concern. ‘Poor lad’s so cold, he’s not even shivering.’

He went into the bedroom to fetch two warm, wool blankets from the chest, privately hoping that the ruffians wouldn’t take them when they left -- for if the bitter weather persisted, his children would need the extra covering. To his relief, Rosemary didn’t stir, and neither did the babe. Returning, he draped one over Bracken’s shoulders, but when he started to hand the other to Three-fingers, the Man shook his head. ‘I’m well,’ he said in his rough voice. ‘Give it to him.’

While Three-fingers removed the younger ruffians boots and stockings, that the warmth might reach the blue-white, icy toes, Hally rubbed vigorously at the stricken ruffian’s back, shoulders, and arms to encourage circulation, until the teakettle began to steam, and then he saw to the makings of tea.

‘He’s warming enough to shiver!’ he said approvingly as he returned with the two Man-sized mugs, full of tea with plenty of honey for sweetening and strength, and the last of yesterday’s milk. He put one upon Rosemary’s table, and held the other out to Three-fingers. ‘See if you can get some of this into him, and I’ll stir up some nice, hot porridge.’

‘Papa?’ Hally looked up to see Robin, blinking in the doorway of the boys’ room.

‘Ah, Robin! Just the fellow that’s wanted. Bundle up warm, now, and milk the goats,’ he said. ‘We’ll be wanting some fresh milk to go with our porridge...’ Speaking of porridge… He rose to ready the pot for the fire.

‘Yes, Papa,’ Robin said, but his little face showed his distress. ‘Is Bracken hurt? Will it be well with him?’

‘O’ course!’ Hally said stoutly, seeing the younger Man’s eyelids flutter, as Three-fingers held him upright with one hand around his shoulders, and lifted the cup to Bracken’s lips, urging him to sip. ‘He’s not hurt, just a little chilled, but he’s warming nicely.’

Robin nodded and went to the door, pulling his rabbit-fur cloak from its hook. Hally didn’t have to tell him to ease the door open the least amount needed to slip out, that he should allow the least possible draught of outside air in to disturb the warming effects of the fire. Even so, the wind moaned and the flames flattened, and Hally excused himself, to go into the girls’ bedroom to make sure Parsley and little Lavvy were warmly covered. He wouldn’t waken them until the porridge was ready and the smial properly warm.

When Robin returned with two buckets of milk, the porridge was beginning to bubble in the pot and the younger hobbits were stirring. ‘You’re just in time to see to your little brother,’ Hally said. ‘Parsley’s just about got Lavvy ready to come to table...’ Though it was usually Parsley’s job to lay the table whilst her brother milked the goats, Hally had managed the task this morning, bustling about and doing his best not to appear to scrutinise their visitors, even though he was doing so, and wondering… What were they watching for? He laid the table for himself and the four older children, and two places for the Men. So that Rosemary would not need to take the trouble to dress herself and make herself presentable to company, he’d bring her breakfast in bed on a tray, and urge her to stay in the bed. Hopefully the Men would understand.

Soon a sleepy Rosemary had her breakfast in the bedroom, and the rest of them gathered around the table, Bracken looking much restored by the warming fire and steaming, sweet tea. ‘Get some of this good, hearty fare inside yourself,’ Hally said. ‘And plenty more where that came from!’

The Men scarcely needed urging, plunging into their Man-sized bowls of porridge as if they were half-starved.

‘Mmm,’ Three-fingers said. ‘Good… kind of stuff to stick to your ribs!’

Robin laughed at this, for his father had said much the same thing at past breakfasts.

‘Go on, eat up there, lad,’ Three-fingers said to Bracken, and the younger Man nodded, his mouth too full to reply. ‘I’m that glad you had your fire going, when we knocked upon your door…’ He held up his damaged hand. ‘I was afeared the lad might have done himself some damage in the cold, that the frost-faeries might’ve decided to take his fingers, as they did mine some time ago, or some of his toes, but we got him warm in time...’

Hally nodded. ‘A bitter morn,’ he said, sipping at his tea. ‘I’m glad for Violet’s stern orders! I’d not want to go out in the Wood to brave the weather, not on a day like this one, where the Sun seems to have forgot how to manage her business! It’s good to have an excuse to stop at home.’

‘Bad weather for working outside or travelling,’ Three-fingers acknowledged.

‘Travelling?’ Hally said in astonishment, and shook his head. ‘I can’t imagine anyone with sense travelling in this cold!’

‘Mr. Lotho sent word that hobbits might try and hide their goods from gathering,’ Bracken said, between swallowing a mouthful and spooning in more.

Hally dropped his spoon in his bowl and put on an indignant look. ‘Hiding their goods?’ he said severely. ‘Withholding their due from the poor, and refusing to provide relief? The cads! The...’ As if belatedly recalled to his senses, he looked at the children and then stopped. ‘I could say worse,’ he said, in an apologetic tone. ‘But not before the children.’

‘O’ course,’ Three-fingers said. He’d been about to reprimand Bracken, Hally thought, but now he leaned back, apparently set at ease by the hobbit’s show of sympathy (misplaced though it might be).

‘How’s Rosie?’ Bracken said, as if aware of his close call, and trying to change the subject. ‘And the babe?’

‘We named him for you!’ Parsley said, jumping into the conversation.

‘Eh? What’s that?’ Three-fingers said in confusion.

‘We named him Bracken!’ Robin said. ‘It’s a Woodsy sort of name! Mum and Dad picked it out, and told us it was in honour of our uncle!’ Which uncle, the lad did not say, for the very good reason that he did not know. He and Parsley assumed it was his Bolger uncle, and Hally and Rosemary had not seen fit to enlighten the children.

So of course there was nothing else Hally could do, but to go into the bedroom, wrap the sleeping babe in a blanket, and bring him out for the Men to admire. Three-fingers gave Bracken-the-Man a hearty nudge with his elbow, but the younger Man was all smiles, to think of a babe named for himself. Both were quite taken with the tiny scrap of hobbit, clean and contented, peacefully sleeping through their whispered admiration.

At last, Hally was able to take the babe back to Rosemary, along with the Men’s congratulations and best wishes for a quick recovery. He returned to offer the Men more helpings of porridge and honey, apple compote and tea, and sat down himself to sip at a final mug of tea before it was time for washing up. Soon he’d set a kettle of dried meat and root vegetables over the fire to simmer into soup for the noontide meal. He said as much to the visitors, going so far as to invite them to stay through the morning, for he’d nothing better to do than to sit beside the hearth and carve. The cleaning could wait until afternoon...

The conversation wandered pleasantly here and there, while the wind moaned and prowled outside, occasionally sweeping down the chimney to flatten the flames on the hearth. Inside the little smial, warmth and light and comfort reigned.

‘So,’ Hally said, feeling his way, though he was attempting to be elaborately casual. Just making conversation with friends… ‘So, I take it you’re watching the Stock Road for waggons, that these… these…’ he grasped but could not find a term to express his feigned contempt, ‘...these… hobbits should not succeed in their wicked schemes!’ Privately he was glad that he and Gundy had carted their “extra” supplies deeper into the Wood, to a hiding place the brothers had scouted earlier, the previous week, evidently before Lotho had set his ruffians to watch for such. They’d have to be careful in future, when it came to refreshing their larders from the storehole.

‘Night and day,’ Bracken agreed.

‘Have you caught any?’ Hally said, pouring more tea all around, and getting up to freshen the pot. He did it best to give the appearance that he hardly cared, one way or another, was just making conversation.

‘The smith from Stock,’ Three-fingers said. ‘He thought to spirit away a goodly part of his finished work...’

‘Silversmith?’ Hally said. ‘He probably thought the poor didn’t need his wares so much...’

The Men laughed. ‘Iron,’ Bracken said. ‘Pony shoes, hooks, pokers, axe heads, that sort of thing...’

Hally’s heart sank, though he kept his back to the Men and poked at the fire with an iron poker from the forge of that very smith. ‘Poor Will!’ he thought within himself. ‘And poor Huldy!’

He turned back to them with a determined smile. ‘So what will happen to him?’ he said. ‘Seized the waggonload, I’m sure...’

‘That we did!’ Bracken said. ‘And waggon and ponies, too...’

‘...Seeing how he protested that he didn’t have any money to pay the fine for breaking the Rules,’ Three-fingers added, a little less pleasantly.

Hally nodded. ‘Only right,’ he said. ‘Rules are made for good reason!’

Three-fingers laughed at this, and Bracken chuckled.

‘I imagine he won’t try that again,’ Hally said. ‘I hope he learnt his lesson!’

‘Next time we won’t be so easy on him,’ Bracken said. ‘It’ll be the Lockholes for him, at the least, and if he’s uncooperative, for his whole family!’

Hally thought of Hulda, great with child, and Will and Hulda’s children, and Hulda’s elderly mother who lived with them, and could not suppress a shudder. ‘Hear the wind howl!’ he said, to cover himself. ‘For certain, no body with any sense would try to sneak a waggonload of stuff down the Road in broad daylight! Please, stay a bit longer… Make sure you’re thoroughly warmed, before you go out in that again!’

And perhaps a hobbit or two might benefit, from these Watchers warming their feet at his fire through the morning...