Chapter 28. The Well-Groomed Gaffer

Freddy continued to improve physically as the days passed, though the hobbits around him avoided mention of certain words, "home" the chief among them. Estella kept her brother's mind occupied, and care of Freddy kept her so well occupied that she hardly turned the Cotton farm downside-up at all... only a little, just enough to make Mrs Cotton smile and murmur about "high spirits" and Farmer Cotton shake his head a bit, thankful for his own Rosie's solid good sense.

Sam returned from the Hill each evening with a progress report, and with Freddy doing so well under Estella’s constant badgering Frodo felt free to accompany him up the Hill on occasion, once to see the sheltered garden the hobbits had made of the remains of Bagshot Row, and another time to see the beginnings of the diggings that would become cosy hobbit holes.

The repairs to Bag End were troublesome: there was an unpleasant odour pervading the smials, and Samwise finally ordered the broken windows and doors to be removed completely to insure as much fresh air as possible. The workers took up all the rugs, took down all the hangings and curtains, and removed all the furniture, basically reducing the smials to bare walls and ceiling, which they scrubbed and whitewashed, and bare floors which they sanded and scrubbed and refinished.

’D’you think Mistress Lobelia wants any of this?’ Samwise asked Frodo, surveying the salvaged articles. Although he was of the “Use it up, wear it out, make do or do without” school of thinking, he could not see much use in the battered bits and pieces.

’No,’ Frodo said slowly. ‘I’ll write to ask her, but...’ he shook his head. Her much-vaunted collection of antiques was now a collection of junk, suitable for the ash heap but not much else. The carpets were a total loss, stained and reeking with an awful stench.

Inside the smials workhobbits were sanding the woodwork, preparatory to refinishing it. Sam had ordered the shelves in Bilbo’s study ripped off the walls and burned; new shelves would be built, matching the originals as closely as possible. He had also had hobbits tear out the cupboards in various rooms and the mantelpieces with their nasty scrawls and pictures that looked to have been scratched into the wood with knife or some other sharp object, too deep to easily sand away, and these would be replaced as well. Sam was determined that when the work was finished and Mr Frodo’s things fetched back from Crickhollow, there would be no sign that he’d ever left the place, even if it took until Mid-year’s day of the new year to accomplish it all.

Merry and Pippin arrived after supper on the last day of November. Estella, having gone to bed early with an aching head missed them, but the rest of the family were overjoyed to see them, and they were pleased as well to see the progress Freddy had made since their last visit. The mail-clad Travellers (only Pippin saw fit to notice aloud that Frodo and Sam had gone back to ordinary attire; Merry was much too polite) sat up late, gathered with their relatives and the Cottons around the bed and the little hearth in Freddy’s room, talking about their travels over the Shire, chasing out the ruffians.

When they’d answered everyone’s questions, Frodo told about the restoration of Bagshot Row and the planning for repairs to Bag End, and Sam talked about plans for replanting trees and lawns and gardens and fields. Farmer Cotton and his sons recounted how they had finished repairing the buildings on the farm and were helping their neighbours with their own repairs. Everywhere in the Shire, it seemed, hobbits were busy as bees tearing down the works left by the ruffians and repairing hobbit habitations.

’Is it as bad in other places as it is in Bywater?’ Sam asked when there was a lull in the conversation.

’How do you mean, Samwise?’ Merry asked, drawing on his pipe.

Sam blushed. ‘I mean, trees all cut down and gardens dug up or left full of weeds,’ he said. ‘The Shire gone all brown where it used to be green, and all.’

Merry gave this question sober consideration. ‘Everywhere but Tookland,’ he said finally, ‘has suffered the touch of the ruffians, and Saruman’s malice. He did his best in the little time he had to ruin the Shire as we ruined Isengard.’

’We didn’t ruin Isengard,’ Pippin said indignantly. ‘He did a fine job of that before we arrived and washed it clean!’

’You know what I mean, Pippin,’ Merry said patiently, but Pippin wasn’t through being argumentative.

’And it wasn’t a little time,’ Pippin said tightly.

’He arrived in September,’ Merry countered, keeping his tone calm with an effort.

’His Men arrived a lot sooner than that, and Lotho was working under his direction,’ Pippin argued.

’Peace,’ Frodo broke in, holding up his hands. ‘You sound as bad as orcs.’

Merry apologised immediately, but Pippin sulked until Rosie Cotton brought him a plate of bread slices and a toasting fork and asked him sweetly if he’d make some toast for his cousin Freddy? She’d heard the rumour that the Thain had publicly upbraided his son for some failing or other despite all the hard work the Travellers were doing throwing the ruffians out of the Shire, and she hoped to distract Mr Pippin from his bad humour. He began to toast a slice of bread with frowning intensity.

’I was wondering about this box, here,’ Sam said to divert Pippin from his angry mood, bringing out the treasure he’d carried to Mordor and back. ‘The one the Lady gave me.’ As he’d hoped, Pippin brightened with curiosity, putting down the fork and picking up the box to examine it on all sides. ‘What do you think it is, and what should I do with it?’

’I wondered when you would think of it,’ said Frodo with a smile. ‘Open it!’

They all gathered round Sam as he gently pried the lid off. It resisted at first, then gave suddenly with a small popping noise, so suddenly that he nearly spilt the contents, catching himself just in time. Inside it was filled with a soft, fine grey dust. He picked some up between finger and thumb, letting it trickle back into the box. ‘Finer than sand,’ he said in wonder.

’Don’t breathe on it, you’ll blow it all away,’ Pippin warned. ‘What’s that in the middle?’ He pointed to something that they decided was a seed, like a small nut with a silver shale. Sam carefully lifted it from its soft resting place, shaking any clinging grains of dust back into the box, and examined it. Merry held out a hand, and Sam placed it gently in his palm.

Merry looked at it from all sides, ran a thumbnail around the crack without trying to pry it open, hefted it in his hand. ‘It’s like nothing I’ve seen, not even in the Old Forest,’ he said.

’Let me see,’ Pippin demanded. Looking to Sam for permission, Merry handed the seed to Pippin, who took it with great care for all his reckless ways and handled it as delicately as anyone. Slowly the seed was passed from hand to hand, even the Cottons wanting a look. At last it came to Freddy. Watching his cousin’s face as he held the silver seed, Frodo saw lines of care drop away, as if the goodness of Lorien settled for the moment on Fredegar, driving away the shadows. Then Freddy handed the seed back to Sam, and the moment passed.

Sam put the seed carefully back into its dusty resting place and sat a moment in silence, looking at the contents of the box. ‘What can I do with this?’ he said at last.

’Throw it in the air on a breezy day and let it do its work!’ said Pippin, ever impetuous.

’On what?’ Sam asked practically. He still had no idea what the dust was, or what it was for, and said so.

’Choose one spot as a nursery, and see what happens to the plants there,’ said pragmatic Merry.

A frown furrowed Sam’s brow as he shook his head. ‘But I’m sure the Lady would not like me to keep it all for my own garden, now so many folk have suffered,’ Sam said, thinking of what Merry had reported. The whole Shire was as bad as Bywater, Sam thought soberly. The whole of the Shire, come to ruin. His vision in the Mirror of Galadriel had become reality. Would the Shire ever be green again?

Frodo had been watching his face intently. He too remembered the Mirror. Now he spoke softly, persuasively. ‘Use all the wits and knowledge you have of your own, Sam, and then use the gift to help your work and better it.’ Sam nodded, looking into the box, such a little bit of dust to ask so much of it. Frodo went on, guessing his thought, ‘And use it sparingly. There is not much here, and I expect every grain has a value.’

On the First of December, several notable things happened. Odovacar and Rosamunda, with their son recovering nicely and their daughter firmly in charge of his care, left before dawn, to travel to Bridgefields to check on the hobbits living there, and to see how the repairs on Budge Hall were coming along. They had told Freddy the night before that they’d be leaving to make a visit to Buckland, neglecting to tell him they’d be stopping off home along the way, though they did say they hoped to be back within a week.

Merry and Pippin also left before dawn. They figured that they’d be chasing ruffians perhaps another fortnight, but that the Shire would be clear well before the Yuletide celebration started. Merry’s arm was still a bit sore, but he’d left off the sling and had been out in the field a good ten days previous to the visit, hunting down elusive ruffians, slaying those who resisted and escorting the ones who surrendered to the Bounds and over. Now they were on their way back to the Great Smials, to check on Ferdibrand Took (who, like Freddy, was improving steadily), and to gather their troops for another sweep.

First thing in the morning, Freddy awakened to the feeling of hands unbuttoning his shirt, but this time, instead of stretching sleepily and lying passive and compliant while the hands ministered to his needs, he reached with his left hand to grab at the fingers, hearing an exclamation of surprise from Mrs Cotton.

’Leave hold, lad, we’re going to give you a nice wash and—‘

’No,’ Freddy said firmly, opening his eyes to see Mrs Cotton’s astonished face. ‘Thank you, but no,’ he said more politely.

’Now Mr Freddy,’ she began, and he shook his head.

’You are not going to give me a nice wash,’ he said stubbornly.

Frodo spoke up from the doorway. ‘What’re you about, cousin?’

’They’re not going to give me a nice wash,’ Freddy repeated.

Mrs Cotton put her hands on her hips. ‘Mr Freddy, I’ve a husband and grown sons, not to mention I’ve been helping to tend you ever since they brought you in here. You need a wash and you’re going to get one.’

’Frodo,’ Freddy said, releasing Mrs Cotton’s hand to reach out for his cousin. Frodo crossed quickly from the door and took his hand.

’What is it, Freddy?’ he said. After three weeks of hourly feeding during the day and several small meals at night, Freddy was beginning to fill out. He was still terribly thin, but no longer looked cadaverous, and his handclasp was growing stronger.

’I want a bath,’ Freddy said. ‘A proper bath, in a tub, without a lot of folk undressing and dressing me and fussing over me as if I were a babe.’

’A bath,’ Frodo repeated, meeting Mrs Cotton’s eyes, then looking down again. ‘I think we can manage that, Freddy. Give us a few moments.’

’Take all the time you need,’ Freddy said, settling back on the pillows now that he’d got his own way.

It took more than a few moments to fill and heat the coppers of water on the stove, but finally the large tub in the bath room was filled with steaming water and Frodo and Rudivacar stationed themselves by Freddy’s bed, ready to help him up.

’You’re not going to carry me,’ Freddy ordered.

’We’re not, eh?’ Frodo answered, delighted at these signs of new life in his cousin. ‘Do tell, what are we going to do?’

’I’m going to walk,’ Freddy announced.

’Do we watch while you fall on your nose, or are we allowed to assist you?’ Rudivacar said, carefully exhibiting no more than idle curiosity.

’Shall we place a wager on how far he manages to go on his own?’ Frodo asked with a grin.

’Don’t be an ass!’ Freddy said. Concentrating fiercely, he swung his legs to the side of the bed and slowly sat up. Shaky but triumphant, he took a few deep breaths. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’m ready.’

Frodo and Rudi each took an arm, helped him to stand, and accompanied his shuffling progress down the hallway to the bath room. Confronted with the high-sided tub, he sighed. ‘Very well,’ he said softly. ‘I could use some help from here on out.’

Frodo and Rudi quickly divested him of his night-shirt and lifted him into the tub, careful to keep the right hand with its bandages and splints clear of the water. Freddy sighed again, this time a sigh of contentment, and leaned his head back against the tub. ‘Honestly,’ he said, ‘I cannot imagine a more pleasant feeling than this.’

Frodo held his right hand clear of the water while Rudi handed him a soapy flannel so that he might scrub himself and then his uncle soaped and rinsed his hair for good measure. ‘You could use a good shearing,’ Rudi said when he’d finished.

Frodo felt Freddy stiffen. ‘Cousin?’ he asked softly.

’It’s nothing,’ Freddy snapped, but his breathing was ragged.

’Let’s get you out of the tub before you take a chill,’ was all Rudi said, meeting Frodo’s eyes with a worried frown, though his tone was determinedly cheerful. They lifted him from the tub, towelled him dry, robed him in a fresh night-shirt, and accompanied him back to the bed room, where they tucked him up once more.

’Ah,’ Freddy sighed. ‘Nothing like a brisk walk of an early morning to stimulate the appetite.’

’You’re hungry, then,’ Rudi said, pleased.

’No,’ Freddy said, ‘but I may pretend, mayn’t I?’

Estella had been apprised of the situation and had kept a discreet watch on the shuffle back to the bed room, peering around the edge of the kitchen door. Now she appeared with a tray, plopping it onto Freddy’s lap. ‘Breakfast!’ she carolled. ‘I asked the chickens to lay especially tasty eggs for the Gaffer this morning, and they all said they would.’

’Did the pigs promise tasty ham?’ Freddy wanted to know.

’No, they were rather reluctant to talk to me, for some reason,’ Estella said, ‘but the ham is tasty for all that.’ She cut off a large piece of ham and without further ceremony stuffed it into Freddy’s mouth. He chewed, swallowed, opened his mouth to say he could feed himself, thank you very much, only to be assaulted by another forkful, and yet another.

’It seems Estella has things well in hand,’ Frodo said, ‘so I will leave you for the nonce.’ Freddy tried to protest, but couldn’t get a word out in between onslaughts of food, and so he decided to give in as gracefully as he could and get the meal over with.

He settled back and closed his eyes when his sister took the tray back to the kitchen. He was just drifting off into a pleasant haze when he heard her voice again, close at hand. ‘Hold still, you old Gaffer, you,’ she said. ‘This won’t take but a few moments.’ He felt a comb pulled through his hair, and then heard the distinct snip, snip of scissors.

’What are you about, Babe?’ he said, stiffening and opening his eyes.

’I’m cutting your hair,’ Estella said firmly. ‘I can hardly tell what colour your eyes are any more.’ She carefully refrained from referring to shears or sheep, and Freddy relaxed, but only slightly. This was Estella, after all. When younger, she’d cut his hair, and Frodo’s, while they slept, and the two of them had had to wear caps for more than a few days until the hair grew out again.

She had him sit up so that she could trim the back of his head as well, and then Frodo helped him stand up from the bed for a moment. It seemed that while he was in the bath, Estella had laid a sheet over the pillows, and now she simply whisked this off the bed with its load of trimmings. ‘There you have it, Gaffer!’ she crowed triumphantly. ‘All clean and cosy!’

In truth, he did feel lighter and freer. He wondered why nobody had thought to give him a haircut before this. He asked for a cup of tea, which they were delighted to provide, and then he settled back for a nap in the short time he had until they would waken him to feed him again.