CHAPTER 5: ANGER AND TEARS

Rosie opened her eyes wearily. After crying herself to sleep, she had slept fitfully, tossing and turning, and waking frequently. Between times, her thoughts had gone round and round, like the Hobbiton water wheel, dredging up all her grievances - and the common thread was a hatred of the Baggins. It was all his fault with his depraved ways. Sam couldn’t see that he was just being used and taken advantage of.

The Baggins didn’t deserve Sam’s love, he didn’t deserve anyone’s love. She’d heard Sam singing the Baggins’ praises, but it was all nonsense - you only had to look at the Baggins to see that. He was a shadow; he said little, and did less, and left everyone else to do all the dirty work. Captain Meriadoc and Captain Peregrin had obviously done great things, and maybe Sam, too. The Baggins had indicated as much anyway, but the Baggins himself had done nothing in the Battle of Bywater, by all accounts, except wring his hands.

Now Sam was busy with restoring Bag End and with forestry work, the Captains were hunting down ruffians and making the Shire a safer place, and what did the Baggins do? Nothing! Except get waited on hand and foot. He shut himself in the study, her study, or went off on his own for long walks which didn’t seem natural.

It was all his fault! He’d taken Sam away and changed him. “Everything!” she scoffed angrily into her pillow. And what was Sam to him? Sam didn’t seem very happy. She would have made him happy. It was unfair. The Baggins had everything, he’d even got his lovely Bag End back, or would have when everything was set to rights again. He’d sold it to the Sackville-Bagginses, and that had been the start of all their troubles. Now it had just landed back in his lap, just as it had when Bilbo left all those years ago, if stories were to be believed. Good luck just came his way without him lifting a finger. She was angry and bitter, and it was all his fault!

She had been so happy when Sam returned. She could hardly remember when he hadn’t been a part of her life. He and Jolly were the two people she enjoyed being with the most, right since she was little. Being older, he had acted as a buffer between the twins and their big, teasing brother, Tom. As they grew up, Sam had taken on more and more work for the Baggins, and his talk was full of what his master had said or done. She hadn’t minded too much until the move.

When Sam announced he was leaving for Crickhollow, she had been devastated, but half expected he might speak. Instead, he had stopped coming to see her so often, and had been busy running after the Baggins and his stupid plans. Even then she had been angry with the owner of Bag End, but it was nothing to the misery and anger she felt when she found the move to Crickhollow had been a cover for leaving the Shire completely. There had been no doubt in her mind that the Baggins had taken Sam into danger. The Gaffer’s oft told tale, the news filtering from Buckland, and eventually from Bree, left no question about it.

The Gaffer had appeared confident about the whole affair. ‘My Sam’ll look after Mr. Frodo, Black Riders or no Black Riders,’ he had said to all who would listen.
‘But who will look after my Sam?’ Rosie had raged to the night. What she only thought about the Baggins was said openly by the mothers of Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck, and she had listened with approval to the tales of their angry tirades against the former Master of Bag End.

At first, she’d hardly been able to swallow a mouthful of food. Her mother had clucked over her, and given her soups and homilies in equal measure as Rosie’s appetite waned, and she lost her comely looks. With time, the fierce pain under her ribs had given way to a dull ache, and the months had dragged by. It was not until Rethe that she had suddenly known, known for sure, that he was coming home, and she had started singing. Her mother had looked even more worried at her conviction, fussing over her and telling her he was not likely to ever come back.

But she had been right, and he had come back, and her first flush of excitement had been dampened by his failure to resume former cosy relations. It was not until the previous evening that little signs, overlooked or misinterpreted at the time, had come together in her mind in numbing certainty. Sam’s low moan, as he spoke the Baggins’ given name with such desire in his voice, coloured her perception of everything she had noticed in the short space of time since the Return.

The very first morning after the Baggins came to stay, she had taken jugs of warm water to leave outside both adjoining rooms. Blissfully happy that Sam was back, she set one jug outside the Baggins’ door, and then knocked quietly on Sam’s. Receiving no answer, she turned the handle and pushed the door open, unable to resist the temptation of a glimpse of him asleep. Not only was there no Sam in the bed, but the bed had not even been slept in. At the time, she had naively thought that the unreasonable Baggins had demanded his servant sleep in the armchair in the main bedroom.

Just yesterday evening, she had been looking out and seen the Baggins and Sam walking back up the slope to the house in the moonlight, Sam just behind his master. They walked out of sight, into deep shadow under the holly trees, and Rosie waited to see them emerge again seconds later. But it was minutes, and she had thought she must have missed them, before they came sauntering into view again, side by side this time.

‘Bloody Baggins,’ she thought now. ‘Kissing his servant under my very nose.’ She raised her head and looked round her room. Suddenly she realised she could see everything quite clearly. She swore and punched her pillow. Now he’d made her oversleep and woolgather when she should be helping her mother. Pulling herself from her bed, she washed her face in the cold water on her stand and looked in the mirror. Her eyes were red-rimmed, with dark shadows below them. She splashed more cold water on her face and dried herself without looking at her reflection again. Not a pretty sight, she thought. She’d fetch some hot water after breakfast, and have a proper wash then; there was no time now. She dragged on her workday dress, pulled a comb quickly through her curls, and ran out slamming the door behind her.

When she entered the kitchen, her mother was already at work, preparing breakfast for the family, and guests. Rosie muttered an apology and averted her red eyes. She grabbed her apron, and began reaching for bread, butter and jam to start laying the table. She slammed down cutlery and plates. At least the Baggins never showed for first breakfast, so she was spared having to look at him yet. He was much too lazy.

Her mother made a ‘tsk’ sound, her favourite sign of disapproval, and suddenly Rosie found her hand stilled, just as she was about to bang another plate on the table.

‘Now gently, my girl. I like those plates. First there’s your Sam sitting outside with the biggest black eye I ever -’

‘He’s not my Sam,’ said Rosie fiercely, shaking off her mother’s hand, ‘and I... What? What did you say?’

‘Oh, is that the way of it? Not your Sam, eh? So that’s what this is all about. And who punched him so hard Mr. Baggins found him unconscious, I’d like to know?’

‘What?’ cried Rosie. ‘I... Oh! No! Where is he? Is he all right?’

‘Like I said, sitting outside. I sent him out with his pipe. He was a bit shy of me, with his eye an’ all, and not surprising considering Mr. Baggins told me a fine tale about him slipping. Slipping don’t get a black eye like that, noways.’

Rosie tossed her head. Well of course the Baggins would lie, it was just what she would expect.

‘I took pity on Sam,’ her mother continued, ‘he was that embarrassed, and I told him I’d take him a bite out there. Must have been one o’ your brothers. No one else around the house last night, unless Mr. Baggins laid him out hisself - and that don’t seem very likely, so quiet and well mannered as he is.’

Rosie sniffed, but said nothing.

‘You going to tell me what’s to do, my girl? You were happy enough that Sam was back, last I heard.’

‘I thought he was my Sam, but seems I was wrong,’ said Rosie with bitterness.

‘Well, I did try to warn you, you can’t say I didn’t. Going off like that with never a word, and away more’n a year. You was thinking with your heart, you was. Thinking he’d come back and sweep you off your feet, for no better reason than that’s what you wanted. Samwise is a good lad, and I’d be happy to have him as a son, but he’s done naught wrong, seems to me. He never spoke for you before he went away, and a few kisses don’t make him beholden to you, no how.’

Rosie tensed. “I told you so” was not improving her temper. She was getting an angry reply together when her mother put her arms around her.

‘I sees you’ve been crying, and I’m right sorry you’ve been hurt. You’re a sweet girl, and there be lots of fine hobbits in the Shire.’

This was too much for Rosie. Anger and tears battled it out within her, and tears won. She hugged her mother tight and wept again. ‘I don’t want no other hobbit,’ she sobbed into her mothers shoulder. ‘I love Sam.’

‘Oh, my poor dear. It do seem like that now, but you’ll get over it, and you’ll look back and remember how upset you was, and laugh about it, most like.’

‘How can you s... say that,’ hiccupped Rosie. ‘I’ll always l... love him.’

‘Well, I only say what’s the truth, my girl.’

The door from the smial opened, and they both looked up together as Jolly sauntered in, whistling. He stopped when he saw Rosie in their mother’s arms and scowled.

‘Are you all right, Rosie Posie?’ he asked quietly, coming and laying a hand on her back. ‘What ever did Sam say to you last night? I saw you rush out the kitchen crying.’

Rosie turned, her sobs stilled, and her eyes flared with anger. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? I might a’ guessed.’

‘Me?’ said Jolly, eyes open in surprise. Mrs. Cotton nodded, letting her daughter go.

‘Rosie’s right now, ain’t she, Jolly? Don’t look the innocent for me, if you please. You laid out Samwise, in this very kitchen.’

Jolly’s expression flitted though many changes and finally settled on sullen. ‘Well, he deserved it. Making Rosie cry like that, and I didn’t knock him out. Just threw a punch to teach him better manners.’ He shifted his feet uneasily and looked at Rosie, obviously expecting some sign of appreciation or solidarity from his twin. Rosie glared at him.

‘Better manners, is it?’ cried Mrs. Cotton, her voice rising. ‘Making Rosie cry is no reason to be knocked senseless. I’m doubly ashamed of you Jolly - not even staying to see if he was all right. He might have been laying there all night if Mr. Baggins hadn’t found him. Samwise is an old friend o’ this family and he’s a guest in this house. Not only that, but your brother is a’ going to be married to his sister, and I will not have you making trouble between the two families.’

Jolly opened his mouth to try and get a word in edgeways, but Mrs. Cotton just ploughed straight on, her voice shaking with anger. ‘If you don’t go straight out that door,’ she pointed at the back door, and her finger was shaking as well, ‘and apologise to Sam, you are going to be in deep trouble, my lad. I’ll have you cleaning out the midden for starters. Aye, and send Sam along to watch. As for you, Rosie, you can take him a tray with a bite to eat.’

Rosie and Jolly both looked at their mother in horror. Rosie was confused by her reactions. Being angry with the Baggins was easy, it gave her thoughts a focus. She didn’t want to admit to herself how much she was hurting, and she certainly wasn’t prepared for the rush of concern that engulfed her when she heard Sam had been hurt. He had rejected her, so why was she so worried about him? Her anger turned on herself, for being so stupid, and she clenched her hands.

Sam was sleeping with the Baggins! And her mother wanted her to take him breakfast as though nothing had happened! The fact that Sam had chosen his master, and it wasn’t even another lass who was her rival, was like salt in the wound. Angry at Sam for the perversity of his loving, angry at Jolly for hurting Sam, angry at herself for minding that Sam had been hurt, angry at her mother, and most of all angry at the Baggins for just existing, she felt as though her head would burst. She glared at her mother and wished she could throw a tantrum with impunity, like a four-year-old hobbitling. It was tempting to just do it anyway, but she’d probably get a slapped cheek and a dose of foul medicine, if she knew anything about her mother. Rosie looked at her twin again, this time with sympathy, and saw it mirrored back in his expression.

‘I’m serious,’ said Mrs. Cotton. ‘I won’t be having family rifts making problems for Tom and Mari. You’ll make your peace with Sam, unless you can give me good reason not to.’ She raised her eyebrows and looked at Rosie.

Rosie glowered, but held her tongue. She had no wish to tell whom she had been passed over for. She swallowed and picked up the tray. Curiosity was getting the better of her, and she wanted to see what damage Jolly had done.

‘Come on, Jolly. Let’s get it over with,’ she said with resignation. Her anger with her twin had evaporated. It was like him to come to her defence without even knowing what it was about.

‘If you say so, Rosie Posie,’ he said glumly, and opened the back door for her. ‘So what did he say?’ Jolly asked as he shut the door behind them.

‘It’s not what he said, it’s more what he didn’t say,’ Rosie explained. ‘He don’t love me and there’s an end to it. That’s all I’m saying at the moment.’

Jolly leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘More fool him, then, little sis. I hope he doesn’t take a swing at me, I caught him unawares last night. None of us have ever beat him in a fight.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘He stopped Tom getting too rough with me many a time when I were smaller.’

‘He’s been a good friend to both of us, but I wish he weren’t staying here now. It’s more than I can bear to have him so close an’ all, when I know he don’t want me.’

They looked around, and then headed for the kitchen garden as the only place to sit and catch the morning sun. As they came round the corner of the house, they saw Sam sitting on a bench. He was sucking on his pipe and staring down at his feet. He looked up at their approach, and - not surprisingly - didn’t look pleased to see them. He frowned, laid his pipe aside, and stood up waiting for them. He wants his hands free, Rosie thought and she heard Jolly, beside her, swallow. There was an awkward silence, broken by Sam.

‘Good morning, Rosie, Jolly,’ he said quietly, giving each of them a little bow of his head. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning.’ He looked wary. Rosie inspected the damage Jolly’s fist had done; Sam’s face was a purple colour around his eye, and the eye itself was half closed from the swelling. She wished she didn’t feel so concerned at the sight, and tried to push the emotion away. She wanted to lay cool fingers on the area and kiss away the pain. Most likely someone else had been doing that already, and the thought helped her, bringing her anger back.

Jolly spread his hands in a peaceful gesture. ‘I’m sorry I hit you, Sam,’ he said. ‘I’ve got wrong with Mother over it, and I’ve got wrong with Rosie, and I’ve come to apologise.’

Sam looked quickly at Rosie, and then smiled at her twin. ‘Thank you, Jolly,’ he said. ‘That can’t have been easy to come and say. I think I maybe did deserve it, but I’ve always counted all the Cotton family my friends, and I’m hoping I still can.’ His gaze flicked to Rosie again as he said this, and then back to Jolly.

‘I think we’ll have to wait and see, Sam,’ answered Jolly, carefully. ‘I don’t feel very friendly towards you at the moment, but I’m sorry I hit you.’

Sam made that little half bow of his head again, and Rosie thought, not for the first time, how different he seemed. His speech was subtly finer, and the way he behaved was different. Maybe he was giving himself airs and graces because he fancied himself more than a servant, now that he had slipped between the master’s sheets.

‘I’ll be getting to work, then,’ said Jolly, looking uncomfortable. ‘Unless you wants me to stay, Rosie.’

‘No, get on to breakfast, Jolly. I’ll be in shortly,’ Rosie answered, and noticed Sam’s expression become guarded again. With a look of relief, Jolly strode back to the house, and Rosie held out the tray.

‘Mother asked me to bring you some breakfast, Sam,’ she said. ‘Do you mind if I stop while you eat it?’

Sam took the tray she was holding, and with a tilt of his head motioned for her to sit down on the bench. He sat down next to her and laid the tray aside. The eyebrow of his good eye was raised in query. He reached out for his pipe again, and she was envious that he had something to do with his hands. She clasped hers in her lap to stop them shaking. She didn’t really know why she had asked to stop; it wasn’t premeditated, and she had no careful plans of what to say. Sam took the stem of his pipe out of his mouth and cleared his throat.

‘I’m sorry, Rosie. Words don’t say it too well, but I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. I hope in time you can forgive me. I’m going to move my things down to my Gaffer’s, and then I’ll be out of your way.’

‘Oh, Sam! I’m sorry Jolly hit you. I never asked him to or nothing, and I’ve not said anything about you and... and...’ She couldn’t bring herself to say the name.

‘Thank you, Rosie. That’s more than I have a right to expect, and I’m not asking for any promises, but seems to me the less gossip flying around the better.’

‘I suppose you’ll be carrying on as gardener?’ Rosie said, in a small voice.

‘The garden’s what I love, but I’ll be more like a steward, so to speak, looking after the day to day running of Bag End, as well.’ Together they watched the sparrows that had come hopping round the bench as soon as the breakfast tray appeared.

‘Sam, you don’t seem very happy,’ said Rosie at last, tilting her head to look at his face. He looked at her thoughtfully, his brown eyes gazing into hers.

‘He isn’t well, Rosie.’

Rosie bit her tongue on a retort. There was no point bad-mouthing the Baggins to Sam. Maybe one day he would realise how he was being used. Maybe one day she would be there to pick up the pieces... She held eye contact a moment too long, and flushed as she looked back at the small nondescript birds pecking in the dirt.

‘I never lied to you, Rosie,’ said Sam, his voice gentle.

‘You said you loved me.’ She couldn’t keep the shake from her voice.

‘It was no less than the truth. You are very dear to me. There are lots of different ways to love, I just didn’t know them all. Love of parents, love of sisters and children, love of friends, love of someone you can’t imagine the sun rising without. A few months back, I thought Frodo was dead, and the only thing I wanted was to lay down and die with him. Sometimes I think it would have been better that way, with both of us dead together, but then that necromancer, Sauron, would have won. The Shire and all Middle-earth would have gone up in flames. Saruman - Sharkey that is - and Sauron, both had a lot of spite against the Shire.’

Rosie couldn’t help scoffing as she said, ‘The necromancer’s just an old legend. No one believes in him.’ It was easier to think about this than the other thing Sam was saying.

‘Tell that to the King, Rosie. Tell that to the Elves. They have powerful long memories, and they knew him from the time he walked in those “old legends.” Tell that to Frodo, as carried Sauron’s Ring into Mordor and destroyed him. Now there’s new legends in the making, and the minstrels of Minas Tirith sing of Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom. Seems to me, Frodo is famous everywhere but the Shire, and that’s a sadness all in itself.

Unable to help herself, Rosie said bitterly, ’And you love him because he’s famous, I suppose.’ She regretted it as soon as she’d spoken, as she looked at him and saw the brown eyes flare with anger.

‘I love him because he’s the best, Rosie. And no one knows that better than I do.’

‘And I’m second best, I suppose!’

‘I can’t help where my heart’s led me, Rosie. Nor wouldn’t want to. But I can’t stop here and add to your hurt, now you know how things stand between me and Frodo.’

‘How things lie, more like,’ thought Rosie fleetingly, then sadness that Sam was going, when she had thought he would be hers forever, banished all sarcasm.

‘I’m off to the Gaffer’s tonight,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll stop there until Bag End is ready.’

‘Oh.’



Sam watched Rosie’s toes make slow circles in the dusty soil; the sparrows hopped out of the way and eyed the tray of food. He didn’t ask what “oh” meant. His head was aching again, and his face throbbed. He didn’t feel up to this conversation. It was going to be a bad day all round. He thought again of all the things his Gaffer would say, wanting to know what happened. He was likely, from Sam’s point of view, to ask all the wrong questions. He had half decided to tell his father about his new relationship with the Master of Bag End, but the Gaffer’s narrow-mindedness the day before didn’t make him feel much like opening his heart. The work men would give him a lot of grief, with merciless speculation and innuendo, probably thinking he’d been tumbling someone’s sweetheart and got his comeuppance.

Sam had learnt from Faramir, and also from watching King Elessar making judgements, that sometimes silence was the best response. People talked to fill the void, and sometimes said more than they meant to. He waited to see what “Oh” meant, but on this occasion the wait did not bring the answer.

‘Mother will be that mad at Jolly and me,’ said Rosie at last, and Sam knew that wasn’t what she had been thinking.

‘I’ll tell her I was going anyway, to be nearer Bag End now the real work is starting,’ said Sam. He wondered what Rosie had really meant. Surely she didn’t want him to stay?

‘She thinks a lot of you, Sam.’

‘She thinks a great deal more of you, lass. I know it’s no comfort, but I think a lot of you, too. You’ll make someone a fine wife, someday.’

‘But not you, Sam.’

‘No, lass. I’m sorry. Not me.’

A tear trickled down the side of Rosie’s face, and without thinking, he reached out and wiped it away with his thumb.

‘Since you’re sitting here with me, perhaps you’ll do me the kindness of sharing my breakfast,’ he said, not really expecting her to say yes, but wishing to show he was still willing to be a friend. He was both surprised and pleased when she gave him a weak smile and nodded.

Rosie ate some bread and honey, but refused any scrambled egg or bacon. The scrambled egg was well past its best, cold and rubbery, but Sam was hungry and ate it all. The tea was cold, too. Never mind. He’d get the Gaffer moved in, and they’d have second breakfast there, or maybe Widow Rumble would feed him before they started. Rose finished her bread and stood up, soothing her apron down. Sam stood as well.

‘Thank you for breaking bread with me, Rosie,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it.’

Rosie didn’t answer, but suddenly hugged him quickly. She kissed him on the cheek and ran from the garden. He stared after her as the sparrows flew up in a flutter of wings. He could hear her feet running over the flagstones, and a fumbling at the back door. There was a bang of the door slamming shut, and then silence.

He drained his mug and took the liberty of leaving his tray on the bench to avoid the kitchen. The room would be heaving with the Cotton family by now. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and headed for the stables to harness Bill.

Sam rubbed his hand up and down between Bill’s eyes, and patted the pony’s neck. ‘If you ever get to understand women, my lad, you’ll be a wiser beast than Samwise Gamgee,’ he said. Bill nodded his head in agreement, and Sam laughed.

‘You’re the only one today who ain’t going to pass comment on my good looks, but no point putting it off.’ He led Bill out and fastened his traces to the cart, wishing as he did so that life could be simple.

At Widow Rumble’s he got the second breakfast he’d been hoping for, and a lot of sympathy from the widow over the state of his face. He told her he had slipped and fallen, and she either took his story at face value or was too polite to voice her doubts. He heard a soft ‘hrmph’ from the Gaffer, and knew his father was saving his disbelief until they were alone.

Sure enough, the Gaffer waited until they were taking a break in his new home. They had brought his belongings down, and also collected some of the new furniture, ordered to the Gaffer’s specifications and paid for by Frodo. Sam knew Frodo considered it small recompense for the original furniture that had been lost when Bagshot Row was flattened. All that the Gaffer had been able to save was what he could carry or fit in his barrow. Thinking of this made Sam feel more sympathetic towards his father. His moaning about taters was merely symbolic of a wider loss, but at the end of the day, all he had lost were possessions.

The Gaffer had evidently already been in to light the new range, and the hole was warm and snug. Now he picked up the kettle, filled it at the newly installed pump, and put it to boil on the hot plate. ‘I’m sorry I upset you yesterday, lad,’ he said. ‘Come here and give your old dad a hug, and tell him you forgive him.’

‘Oh, Da,’ said Sam, hugging his father and thinking how frail he seemed. ‘I’m sorry I got angry, but Mr. Frodo has been through more than I can ever explain.’

‘Mr. Frodo has been very generous,’ said the Gaffer gruffly. ‘A real gentlehobbit, like old Mr. Bilbo.’

Sam smiled fondly at his father, and the Gaffer studied his youngest son’s face. ‘Now are you going to tell me the truth about that eye. You ain’t fooling me with your “slipping.” I knows a punch from a fist when I sees one. What have you been up to?’

Sam sighed. ‘I’ve got something to ask you first, Da,’ he said, still juggling in his mind how much to tell his father. ‘Can I come and stop here for a while?’

‘Oh, like that is it?’ said the Gaffer. ‘That’s not a question as needs asking. This is your home for as long as you wants it. Though it’s high time you was looking round for a hole of your own, like, and settling down with a nice lass. That way you wouldn’t be getting into fights, or it’s to be hoped not.’

‘I’m planning on moving up to Bag End, once it’s all finished, Da,’ said Sam, wondering if this was the opening he was looking for.

‘Are you now?’ said the Gaffer, surprised. ‘We’ve always managed the garden without the need to live in.’

‘I’m taking on the management of the smial, as well as the gardens,’ Sam explained.

‘It’s to be hoped he’s paying you well, and not just expecting to take your living expenses out of your wages,’ said the Gaffer, looking hard at his son.

‘He’s not going to be paying me at all,’ said Sam quietly, seeing his way forward.

‘What! Are you mad? You can’t just live on his charity, you’ll be working twice as hard as before!’

‘Mr. Bilbo gave me a couple of bags of his gold, Da. But that’s beside the point.’

‘Well, I don’t consider it besides the point, unless he was giving it you to work for his nephee.’

‘He gave it to me in case I was thinking of marrying.’

‘Well, there you are,’ said the Gaffer triumphantly. ‘You oughta be settling down and starting a family. Gold or no, you should be asking Mr. Frodo for a decent wage. I can’t believe he’s expecting you to work for board and lodgings.’ He wagged his finger at Sam, to emphasise the point.

‘Da, shut up and listen to me,’ said Sam, taking the hand that the Gaffer was waving at him between his own. Now it had come to the point, his heart was beating uncomfortably fast. The kettle chose that moment to boil, spilling water over the range, where it hissed and bubbled, forming small droplets that leapt and danced across the hot surface. Sam cursed and reached across for a cloth, so he could lift the kettle from the heat.

‘Better let me make us some tea first, lad,’ the Gaffer said, looking at his son curiously. ‘And then you can tell me what’s eating you up, and how you came by that fine decorlation round your eye.’

Sam went and stood in the doorway and looked up towards Bag End where the day’s work was already underway. Bill was standing patiently hitched to the gate-post, his head in his nosebag; he was ignoring the crowd of hobbit children that had gathered around him. One of the hobbit-lads looked up and saw Sam; he nudged his friends, and they all turned to stare, with unfeigned interest, at Sam’s impressive eye.

His father touched his shoulder. ‘Here you are, lad,’ he said, and handed Sam a large mug of hot tea. ‘Come on in, and I’ll listen to your heart’s content.’

Sam closed the door behind him. He’d lost the impetus, and couldn’t get started again. He took a sip of his tea, aware his father was watching him closely.

‘Well I’m listening,’ said the Gaffer at last, ‘but seems to me like you ain’t telling. You were going to put me right on the matter of working for naught but your keep, like some Brandybuck dependent in that great hall o’ theirs. Your Mr. Frodo is half Brandybuck, after all, but that’s not how it’s ever been done in Hobbiton, to my certain knowledge.’

‘I’ll not be a dependent, Da. Nor a servant. I’ll be doing as much or as little as I want. If I do things because they make his life happier or easier, then I’ll be doing them because they make my life happier and easier. I’ll be his steward for the look of the thing, but I’ll be there as his equal.’

‘An equal? Don’t be daft, Samwise. You’re a Gamgee and he’s a rich Baggins.’

‘Not that rich, Da. Not after he’s paid out to rebuild these holes and repair Bag End.’

‘Doesn’t make you an equal, no how. You must have lost your senses. You need a wife, lad, to sort you out.’

‘I’m not going to marry,’ said Sam quietly, trying to keep the shake out of his voice.

‘Not going to marry? Why ever not? Load o’ nonsense.’

Sam took a deep breath. This was the point when he found out if he was going to be staying at New Row, or unceremoniously thrown out the door. ‘Frodo...’

‘Oh, Frodo is it? When were you so free with the name?’

‘Since I made so free in his bed, Da,’ said Sam, and swallowed.

His father choked, and spluttered tea across the room. ‘What!’

‘I’m sorry, Da. I love him, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re not going to shout it from the bank tops, but I wanted you to know the truth from me and not through some gossip.’ He looked at his father, waiting his response. The Gaffer appeared completely winded by his son’s revelation, and was opening and shutting his mouth without making a sound.

‘You might have waited till there was a at least a chair set out for me to sit on, lad,’ he managed at last, his voice gruff. ‘I feel like I’ve had my legs knocked from under me, so to speak.’

Sam hurried to extract a chair from the furniture piled in the corner of the room, and helped his father sit down. A chink of hope had opened in his anxious mind. If his father was making this small joke, he wasn’t likely to be throwing him out. He’d have done that already if he was going to - further entertainment for the small hobbits outside the gate.

‘I’m sorry, Da,’ he said again.

‘Is this what the black eye’s all about then?’ asked the Gaffer, looking up at him.

‘Aye. Rosie found out and was upset,’ Sam admitted.

‘Hmmm. I bet she was. So it’s all round the Cottons’ now, I s’pose, since I take it she wasn’t the one to mash you. No wonder you be worriting about gossip coming around to me like the wild fire it is.’

‘Jolly was the one who hit me. But he didn’t know why Rosie was upset. She’s not saying at the moment, though I’m not sure why. She came and hugged me this morning. Now why should she do that? I can’t fathom it out, but I’m best out of the way. So if the offer still stands to stay here, I’ll move my things down this evening.’

The Gaffer suddenly blazed up in anger. He leapt up and thumped his fist on the wall in lieu of the table which was under a heap of other furniture. Sam jumped. He’d just started to relax in the belief that his father wasn’t going to get angry.

‘Didn’t I tell you this is your home?’ his father shouted.

Sam was taken aback by his vehemence. ‘I didn’t know how you’d react, Da,’ he said, spreading his hands and shrugging his shoulders in a gesture of confusion.

‘You disappeared, Sam!’ His father was still shouting, but paused and stared at his feet; his voice when he continued was quiet and sad. ‘You disappeared, and you nigh broke my heart.’ He looked up at Sam again. ‘You’ve allus been my favourite, and suddenly you was gone with only enough of a good-bye to see you on your way to Buckland. Many’s the night I’ve spent, laying awake, wondering if you was safe, wondering if I’d ever see you again. I never blamed Mr. Frodo, unlike some I could name. I held him to blame over selling Bag End, but I’m guessing he had no choice ‘bout that.

‘You know me, Sam. I don’t go round saying as how I’m feeling, but I was right glad to see you back and,’ he suddenly smiled and held out his arm to Sam, ‘you’re a daft bugger if you think I’m going to lose you again!’

Sam didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he hugged his father while he made up his mind, and found crying had got the upper hand.

‘There, there lad,’ said his father, patting his back awkwardly. ‘I’m not saying I approve, and I’m mighty anxious about what Mr. Frodo feels towards you, but I can see why I touched such a raw nerve yesterday, and I’ll say sorry for that again.’

‘I’m sorry I had to go off without a word, Da. I’m sorry I caused you so much heartbreak, but there was no other way, truly there wasn’t.’

‘Well, hows about we get some more furniture before you tell me anything else that’s likely to poleaxe me,’ said the Gaffer gruffly. ‘A bed would be favourite if you’ve got any more surprises for your poor old dad.’ He ruffled his son’s hair, and Sam yelped.

‘Ow! Sorry, Da. It’s just I cut my head open last night.’

‘Jolly did you proud, didn’t he?’ said the Gaffer. ‘Come on, lad. Let’s give that Bill of yours some work to do; lazy lump he is.’

‘Da!’

His father winked at him, and Sam laughed. ‘I love you, Da,’ he said.

‘You’re a great pansy. Now come on wi’ you, or we’ll never get done.’


Sitting on the cart together, with Bill trotting along in front, father and son were quiet for a while, each busy with their own thoughts. The sunshine of the morning had been replaced by high grey cloud, but it didn’t look to Sam as though it would rain. Things had gone so much better than he’d dare hope, but he realised he had forgotten to look in at Bag End. It would have to wait until they got back with the last of the furniture.

It was the Gaffer who broke the silence, touching Sam on the arm to get his attention first. ‘Do you think Mr. Frodo would accept an invitation from the likes o’ me? An invitation to supper?’ he asked.

‘Da, now you’re the one being daft,’ answered Sam, smiling delightedly at his father. ‘Of course he would. He’s never been proud, you know that, and seeing how things stand, he’d like to think of you as family. Knowing him, I doubt he’s even thought you would do him the honour of asking him.’

‘Honour?’ scoffed his father. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Yes, honour,’ said Sam, in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘Frodo has always been one to see the true worth in people, and ignore those who use their money and position to throw their weight around. It’s why the Sackville-Bagginses never liked him. He just used to look right through them, like they weren’t there, somehow. And he would be honoured that you invited him, knowing how things are between us.’

‘Aye, well, think on it as a looking over,’ said the Gaffer, gruffly. ‘I’m not giving my blessing until I see that he’s as arse-over-tit in love wi’ you, as you are wi’ him.’ Suddenly, the Gaffer roared with laughter, slapping his knees and wiping tears from his eyes. Several hobbits turned to stare as they trotted past. It was some time before Sam could get any sense from him, and he had no idea what the object of his father’s mirth was. He looked at his father with exasperation, although the laughter was infectious, and he couldn’t help smiling himself.

‘Pull yourself together, Da, and tell me what’s so funny,’ he said at last, as his father’s mirth showed some sign of abating.

‘It’s just... oh, it’s just what Mr. Frodo said,’ hiccupped the Gaffer, almost getting control, and then doubling up again.

‘What? What did he say?’ asked Sam, thoroughly mystified and beginning to get annoyed.

‘I asked him... I asked him if you’d given satisfaction. And he said... he said...’ The Gaffer nearly choked at the memory.

Understanding dawned on Sam’s face and he started to laugh as well. ‘He said, “Perfect satisfaction, Mr. Gamgee.”’

‘Straight faced as you please,’ gasped the Gaffer. He wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘Oh, I allus knew he had a wicked sense of humour, but he got me proper there.’

‘Aye, he was nearly weak with laughing about it, later. Meaning no harm, you understand.’

‘And no harm done, son. Except to nearly make me fall out this cart, now.’ He went to ruffle Sam’s hair, thought better of it, and clapped him on the back. ‘Give us a few days to settle in, and then ask him over. I shouldn’t wonder if it didn’t get so late he’d have to stop the night.’

Sam stopped the cart, then, and hugged his father.

‘Hmmm, well,’ said the Gaffer. ‘We’ll never get finished at this rate. Best get on, lad. Best get on.’