(Beg pardon for the unexpected delay in updating.
Life has been unusually interesting lately.)

Chapter 82. I witness an interesting conversation 

The "differentness" of this day continues when we return from our morning constitutional.

'Well, well, well,' Tall Bob says under his breath as he pulls the heavy door wider to allow the three of us to enter together. 'A welcoming committee!'

We halt behind him as he stops and bows to the innkeeper and those standing with him – this-Bob, with Nob close at his elbow, and on his other side, my old Woman of Archet and the Woodman whose scent reminds me of my old Man.

'Bob?' the innkeeper says.

Tall Bob opens his mouth and begins, 'I...' It appears that the innkeeper encompassed both stable workers with his singular query, for at the same time, the stable master moves forward and holds his empty palm under my nose, asking, 'How did he go for you? Any stumbles? Did he hang back at all, or show signs of distress, or did he show any signs of tiring in going there, to the marketplace, and then back again?'

Tall Bob drops to one knee to speak face-to-face with the Hobbit, dividing his glances between this-Bob and Nob and Master Butterbur as he speaks. 'He's well – marvellously so! Old Master Underhill's balm and tonic have worked wonders for our Bill!'

This-Bob grins at the good news. 'And the mare,' he says to Tall Bob – though this time there is no question in his tone, and then he turns to address my old Woman and the Woodman. 'I am glad to say she has fully recovered from her long, all-out gallop to bring the news of the attack on Archet.' He pats my dam's neck. In her turn, she whickers softly, the sound low and throaty, as if to offer confirmation regarding her well-being.

For the first time in all my encounters with the Man, the innkeeper seems at a loss for words. 'I...' he says, as if he means to echo Tall Bob. But unlike the groom, he is not interrupted; rather, the single word trails off into seeming uncertainty.

Tall Bob stands up again as the stable master returns to the innkeeper's side and takes hold of Barliman's hand. 'Go ahead, Master,' he says, his tone infused with encouragement. Indeed, 'tis difficult to discern worker from master in this moment.

The innkeeper swallows hard under our combined gazes, as if he finds difficulty speaking.

My old Woman, who is invariably kind, smiles at the Man and says, 'We must thank you for finding room in your stables for our dear, brave Lady, even though we hadn't the coin to pay for her keep, not at present.' She exchanges a glance with the Woodman, then nods and says, 'We removed to Archet in the first place because of the threat of robbers – or worse! – but now there are barely enough roofs left in Archet to shelter people, as things stand.'

Barliman opens his mouth, but she is not quite finished speaking. 'Master Brockhouse announced that he will take up a collection amongst those who did not lose everything, to pay Bree-folk for sheltering those beasts we were able to save... at least until some of the buildings can be rebuilt.'

'Rebuilding will take some time, considering the difficulty of going outside the walls to harvest timber, along with the time needed for seasoning,' the Woodman puts in. 'Our family lost everything in the fires... and so we have no coin to give... but my axe will help me pay back our neighbours with wood for hearth-fires and charcoal-making and building.' Meeting the innkeeper's gaze squarely, he adds, 'And if you'll take firewood in trade for Lady's boarding, well then, that'll spare some coin for other needs...'

Barliman bobs a bow, just a matter of politeness, for our old Man and Woman were never the sort to put on airs. 'Master Rushlight...' he begins. 'As fair-spoken as your old dad ever was... But I,' and he swallows again before continuing. 'But I,' he repeats, and shifts his feet, and then says a third time, 'but I – I find myself in the position of having to ask a boon of you.'

The eyes of my old Woman and the Woodman widen in surprise, and it seems to me as if I can smell surprise on the part of Tall Bob into the bargain. But the innkeeper and the two Hobbits with him seem uncertain. Their mien is serious, even grave.

'Our gardens,' the innkeeper says after a pause that feels to me as if he is endeavouring to gather together his scattered thoughts, and then he speaks on with a little of his usual breathlessness. 'The fields belonging to the Pony, I mean, the ones both inside and outside the Hedge and Dyke. They have yet to be put under the plough, and the days are warming, and if we're not to be caught short in the harvest, well, it has to be done, as I'm sure you can see!' He looks from face to face and seems to feel the need to explain further. 'Though I'm all for Bree in most matters, I cannot deny that we've looked outside the Hedge and Dyke for such things as wine and pipe-weed from the Shire, and honey and truffles from the Woodmen, and barley and oats and other crops from those farming outside the walls... but the usual shipments we have always counted on from the Shire have stopped altogether, and no explanation... and I fear we must look to ourselves from here on out.'

'So what is this boon you speak of, Master Butterbur?' says the Woodman, breaking into the innkeeper's flow of worrying thoughts as he exchanges glances with my old Woman and Tall Bob.

The Master twists his apron in his hands as he speaks. I think he hardly knows what he is doing, actually, but I prick my ears forward to listen more carefully nevertheless, for his eyes fix on me as he talks. 'I and my father and my grandfather before him, we've never kept a yoke or pair of plough-beasts of our own but hired a farmer or two to plough the land where the Pony's foodstuffs grow from springtide until autumn harvest-time. It has always been that almost no horses or ponies for draught or what not were kept in Bree – in before-times, that is – though you wouldn't know it now, of course, what with those farmers whose beasts weren't taken by robbers bringing them within the town walls and boarding them here at The Pony alongside the two or three riding-ponies as we've always kept here... But even now, with them on the spot as it were, they are all out in the fields, other fields, is what I means to say, and none to spare, not even for hire as things stand.'

The Woodman is nodding by now, and I have the feeling he would like to say something like get on with it were it not for the debt he appears to owe the innkeeper, what ever it might be. But it is my old Woman who interrupts the innkeeper's renewed – and threatening to become unending – flow of words. She places a gentle hand on the master's arm, and he startles at the touch, his hands freezing in place, fists clenching his tortured apron. 'I – I beg your pardon...' he stutters.

'You have it, along with my gratitude for all you've done for us – taking in our Lady and her colt, not to mention how her colt saved my youngest son's life, only a few days ago.'

'Alder will be well – Young Tom hopes he'll walk again some months from now, and so we all hope,' the Woodman puts in. 'But for this pony you happened to have took in under your roof – Lady's colt, that is – my brother would be cold in the grave instead of warm in his bed, recovering from his injuries, with his wife and children gathered round as if they cannot quite bring themselves to let him out of their sight!'

'Not took in,' the innkeeper says, loosing one hand from its grip on his apron to hold up his palm in a staying gesture. 'He's a boarder – and his board is paid up at least until his owner comes to claim him...'

'And not Ferny,' Tall Bob says with a sort of dark satisfaction.

'No, o' course not!' the innkeeper says staunchly. 'I paid Ferny good coin for him, three times his worth, to try and make up for all of Mister Brandybuck's ponies going missing that terrible night when all our troubles began, though we hardly knew it was so at the time...'

'Three times his worth,' my old Woman echoes, her expression quizzical. 'And yet, I should say you got the best of the bargain.' She sighs. 'I wish we'd never sold him away.'

'It couldn't be helped, Mum, and by the time you heard who'd bought him, well, it was too late to mend matters,' Tall Bob says, but the meaning I take from his words is that somehow he is connected to my old Man and Woman. And the Woodman who stands here before me. And the unfortunate Man that he and others – including Bert and myself – laboured to save when a fallen tree threatened to crush him to crumbles.

The innkeeper has remembered his purpose, it seems, for as if the others hadn't spoken, he forges ahead. 'And so with half the draught beasts now gone from the Bree-land, there's none to be had for love or money that I may hire to plough the Pony's gardens and fields. And so...' But he abruptly stops and gulps, as if he has suddenly run out of words.

'And so you thought to harness Lady and her colt – what is it that sweet little lass calls him... Poppet? You thought to harness them to a plough, I take it; for pulling together they'd make relatively short work of your fields here in the town, or so I should expect,' my old Woman says shrewdly. 'And I've no doubt you wouldn't even have to hire guards to keep them safe as they plough your fields outside the town. I can quite easily imagine you'll have folk stumbling over their feet for the privilege of watching o'er the heroes of Bree and Archet, along with the satisfaction they can anticipate in terms of giving a good drubbing to any robbers that might dare to show their faces!'

But the innkeeper shakes his head, and his expression is a study in misery. 'But they're boarders,' he says. 'I cannot in good conscience put them to work! 'Twould not be proper!' His face falls, and he is twisting his apron again as he adds in a lower voice, 'We only sent Bill out as a messenger because of the emergency, not at all because I felt I could make free with someone else's beast as was boarding with us.'

'But we can,' my old Woman says firmly, once again reaching to take hold of his arm and staying the restless hands. 'For Lady is ours, and Laddie-Bill-Poppet was ours too, once upon a time... His owner might not be here anytime soon, I take it, that you might ask his leave?'

At her inquiring look and tone, Master Butterbur shakes his head, though he continues to scrutinise his toes as if expecting to find a hole or two in his footgear.

'But I can hardly think,' she goes on after a breath or two, 'with the excellent care he's receiving here, that his owner would begrudge your need – yours and your workers' and the needs of all who look to The Prancing Pony – and especially considering how unstinting you and your forebears before you have been in helping others through the years...'

To my astonishment, I see a deeper blush mounting in the innkeeper's ruddy cheeks, though his head remains bowed.

The stable master speaks now. So quiet has he been through this entire conversation, I would have forgot he was here (except for the touch of his hand, gently patting and stroking my neck as he listened, for he left the innkeeper and returned to my side at some point in the conversation). 'If his owner takes offence at putting our Bill to the plough, I'll take all the blame for it,' he says. As I look towards him, I see one side of his mouth lift in a wry smile. 'And for my cheek, you can discharge me from my place if Mister Brandybuck cannot be otherwise satisfied.' He lifts his other hand to the side of his mouth as if guarding the next words. 'Seeing as how I'm half-discharged already...'

Tall Bob goes to one knee before the Hobbit, speaking face to face. 'You'll be back, Bob,' he says. 'We're all counting on it. You just keep on healing whilst keeping the inn's books, and Nob-here'll keep us in order, and all will be well with the world by the time Young Tom pronounces you healed and ready to come back to us.'

As things turn out, the Man is righter than he knows. But that is a story for a later time.

Thus, just after the Sun reaches her zenith this day and then begins her slow glide down the bowl of the sky, she peeps from behind the springtide clouds to smile upon my dam and me, pulling together in near-perfect harmony under Tall Bob's guiding hand. And the heavy plough follows close at our heels, wakening the ground from its winter slumber in preparation for the sowing of the seeds that, as we are all hoping, will grow into food for Man and beast.

*** 

Author's note: Some of Barliman Butterbur's speech draws from the original text. All credit goes to J.R.R. Tolkien.

***