July 21, almost July 22
Bolco stashed his shirt and the towel in a hedgerow upstream from the Mill. It was perhaps eleven o'clock. He turned and rode upstream, leisurely, letting his mind ramble, inviting the Creator into his tangle of thoughts.
So Pippin thought that Bolco's reputation was recoverable. Bolco pondered that for a while. Reviewing the list of four hobbits that did not think him crazy, Bolco realised that one hobbit on the list-- Songo, who lived fifty-five miles away-- was almost a commoner, like him. And the rest were aristocracy. Supposedly, influential types. But time would tell whether that would make any difference. He wondered whether the commoners would take the aristocrats' opinions seriously anyway. The field-hands would to a point, and after that, they'd revert to their own opinions. Sometimes being an aristocrat was a real liability. He couldn't help thinking that if only he was local, Songo's opinion would weigh more with the average hobbit than the other three put together. He had a sense that he was being skeptical and ungrateful, and he sighed.
The only difference he cared deeply about was whether the change in public opinion, assuming it were possible, might affect Lilac's opinion too. But he supposed his attitude might be unbalanced; Pippin seemed to think so. Perhaps he should be concerned about his reputation for its' own sake? He never had, he told himself; why start now? But he realised he had been kidding himself. He had tried not to care all these years, but he realised that his ruined reputation was the root of this sudden anger that kept surprising him. Part of him wished he could have gone on being unaware of that anger. He asked the Creator to show him what he needed to know and help him do what he needed to do. He vaguely realised that it had something to do with integrity and self-respect, and something to do with coming of age. Dealing with his reputation was a challenge he did not feel particularly ready for.
Like Pippin's other challenge, to forget about Lilac. He rolled that idea around for a while, in a detached sort of way, trying to understand it, trying to grasp it. It wasn't graspable. Forget Lilac? What could Pippin possibly mean by that? How could he forget her? How could he let go of her? How could he live any other way than as if she was the center of everything he thought and did?
He felt the Creator stirring deep within him, and suddenly and deeply knew that that was the point. The Creator should be the center of everything I think and do. He knew as clearly as if he heard it spoken, "You have allowed her to take My place." So that was it.
The night, so recently warm and starry and soft, now felt cold and dark and empty. Fear enveloped him. Lilac or God: the choice hovered around him, penetrated his soul and plunged into the depths of his being, and he cringed.
I don't know how to live any other way, he thought. I couldn't.
As angry as he was with her, he still couldn't imagine letting go of her. He would rather go to his grave loving her than live on having let her go. He rode numbly on for another mile, fighting, wrestling.
"You can't mean it," he whispered aloud. "I thought I was willing to do anything you wanted. But this? Not this. Please don't ask this. Please ask me anything else. Anything else. I can't live without loving her. You know that. You know me. You know I can't do this."
There was no softening, no relief, no letup. The choice was before him, within him, all around him. And he couldn't face it, couldn't do it. He rode on, miserable, and finally rode into the water and slid off, and began swimming downstream with Stormy following, sometimes on the bank and sometimes trotting in the shallows. He made fair time. But his heart wasn't in it. He swam four miles with the current, all the way back to where he had stashed the shirt and towel, but there was no triumph or joy or peace in it at all. When he came to where his shirt and towel were, he crawled up on the bank and lay on his face. He felt empty and lifeless, with nothing to express; no anger, no resolve, no sorrow, just cold weary fear, deadening him completely. He was surprised that he did not cry. He almost wanted to, as tired of weeping as he was, but there was nothing inside him. Stormy stood over him. After a while, he rolled onto his back and stared at the stars, but they were just distant and cold, and he rolled back over. He lay there ‘til dawn, and then rode straight to the fields.
All that day, God eluded him. He sought him, he reviewed scriptures, he sang snatches of songs under his breath, but his heart was distant and cold and dead. He plowed furrow after furrow, and ate nothing that the field hands tried to share with him. Tom fretted about him, and held frequent discussions with Dago and Jock. At the end of the day, Bolco gently said goodnight to everyone and much to Tom's astonishment, rode off eastward without any explanation.
That morning, Pippin went out after second breakfast and meandered through the gardens. They were large, since the Smials themselves were large, but he remembered where Isembrand's window was, and searched among the apple and pear trees for a large old plum tree. He found it. There was a bench. He lit his pipe, and sat down, and casually perused his surroundings.
Lilac was several gardens northward, weeding. He kept track of her progress, thinking of what he would say, dreading the discussion. But all the while, he scanned the garden, looking for something. Eventually he stood, and began inspecting the perimeter. Finally under the wall, far behind some trailing nasturtiums and almost covered by new growth, he saw royal blue glinting in the sun. He reached down, and extracted the pottery shard, and inspected it. He looked further, and found three more smaller pieces. This was it, then.
He finished his pipe, and tried to work up his courage to face the girl-- he tried not to think of her as a dragon--, but thought perhaps another bowl of leaf would help. He refilled his pipe, tamping carefully, and lit it meditatively. What Bolco saw in the girl, he fathomed less and less. She was pretty enough, if she smiled, which she hardly did these days. But she seemed consumed by wrath, and malice, and bitterness.
Still, for his friend's sake-- and also because his father still held out hope for the two of them-- he would go once more into the fray. But his patience was almost gone. He had tried tenderness, he had tried sweetness, he had tried optimism, he had tried logic. He had tried appeals to mercy, he had tried inviting her to lunch. Not even food had helped. Well, that much they had in common, he snorted. Poor Bolco.
He thought of the lives this girl was impacting with her vindictive stubbornness; Bolco, Paladin, Frodo, Tom, Mrs. Pansy. He shook his head. Mrs. Pansy, the soul of kindness if he had ever known it. His thoughts strayed to the two of them, walking hand in hand by their stream, patiently waiting to be allowed back into their own house, and he reflected how he loved them both.
Suddenly, still only halfway through the pipe, he strode toward Lilac. She did not look up until he stopped a few feet away. He stood over her, realizing that he was suddenly very angry. She stood, eyes flashing.
"Did you know, " he said, biting off the words, "that this was a borrowed vase?" He held out the handful of shards.
She looked at them, and then back at him. "No." Her eyes flashed with contempt, which only made Pippin more angry still.
"Do you know who it belonged to?"
"No, if I didn't know it was borrowed, how would--"
"I expect, " Pippin fairly barked, "that you will report to Miss Nellie's pottery shop at Bywater by the end of the day. And I expect that you will determine from her the cost of the replacement for this vase, which was ordered by Mr. Bolco Took. Inquire after the cost by that name. And I expect that you will ride your pony to Mrs. Pansy Furrow's house, to whom the borrowed vase belonged, and give Mrs. Pansy that sum of money along with your heartfelt apology for your outrageous behavior." He refrained from shouting with difficulty. "Have I made my expectations perfectly clear?"
She stared at him, thinking of a dozen sharp retorts, but every one of them died on her tongue. Pippin waited, eyes blazing, daring her to say something so that he could get really angry. And suddenly she thought of Mrs. Pansy, and wondered if the vase had meant anything special to her. She saw the sense in Pippin's orders, and bowed her head.
"Yes, sir, " she replied.
"And I will thank you, " said Pippin as his hands closed around the shards and withdrew them, "to refrain from wreaking destruction within the boundaries of my father's gardens. Good morning, Lilac." And he spun without waiting for her reply, and departed the gardens. She slowly returned to her weeding, and thought for a while, and then set her trowel down and went looking for her father.
Pippin was eating luncheon with Paladin when hoof beats drew his attention. He looked out the window and saw Foggy trotting toward Bywater.
That afternoon, Foggy returned briefly, Lilac reported to her father, and then departed again. Pippin watched out the window wordlessly as the pony headed for the North Fields. Paladin wondered, but did not ask.
Daffodil ran to the window as hoof beats approached. Mrs. Pansy came to the door wiping her floury hands on her apron-- Daffodil had gathered enough blackberries for another pie-- and was surprised to see Lilac trotting into her yard. Lilac halted at the stable paddock, looped her reins over the fence, and approached the house.
"Good day, Miss Lilac."
"Good day, Mrs. Pansy." Lilac looked about a little awkwardly for a moment and then summoned her courage. "I have an apology to give you, Mrs. Pansy. I am sorry that I broke your vase." She struggled for a moment. "My behavior was very bad. I... it was atrocious. I am sorry."
Mrs. Pansy stood, tempted to say something, but wisely refraining.
Lilac reached into her pocket and withdrew a folded handkerchief containing the price of the vase, and wordlessly extended it to Mrs. Pansy.
Mrs. Pansy did not reach for it. After a pause, she said very gently, "I believe the person to whom you owe the price, would be Mr. Bolco."
"Won't you take it, and give it to him for me?"
"Well, lass, he should be home soon. Why don't you come in for some tea, and wait for him?"
"I really would rather not, " Lilac said stiffly.
"Well, you don't owe me the money. I won't take it, " Mrs. Pansy replied, as gently as possible.
"Oh, please, " Lilac blurted desperately. "Mr. Pippin told me to give it to you, and he'll be terribly upset if I don't. Please, please take it."
"It wouldn't be right, child. I can't do that. Now why don't you come in, and have some tea. It will settle your nerves." Mrs. Pansy stepped forward, and placed a kindly arm around Lilac's shoulders, and guided her inside. Only the memory of the flame in Pippin's eyes enabled Lilac to obey. She tried to tell herself that she wasn't afraid of Mr. Peregrin; and she wasn't. But she was suddenly afraid of the truths that he had begun to open her mind to. She had had several miles that day to think his words over, and several of them echoed. Wreaking destruction. Outrageous behavior. Heartfelt apology. The words, and the broken vase, hovered in front of her like a mirror that she didn't want to look into.
Mrs. Pansy put the kettle on, and came to the table, catching up a shawl as she did so and wrapping herself against a slight chill. Daffodil came into the kitchen, and looked at Lilac, and frowned slightly. She had overheard enough to know that Miss Lilac was one reason that Mister Bolco was sick. She did not approve. She sat at the table in prim silence, staring at Lilac. Lilac considered her, but found it difficult to meet the little girl's eyes. Lilac stared at the tablecloth instead, or at Mrs. Pansy.
"Mrs. Pansy, " said Lilac, "Where did you, where did that vase come from?"
"Tom has a tendency to give me flower-filled vases for my birthday, " Mrs. Pansy said with a gentle smile.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, " Lilac moaned. "From your husband."
"Yes." There was a long pause.
Daffodil fidgeted, frowning at Lilac.
"Can you forgive me."
"Yes, dear." Mrs. Pansy reached out an affirming hand and clasped Lilac's wrist gently. There was another long silence.
"Mama, can I go and pick more berries, " Daffodil suddenly asked.
"All right."
"For Mister Bolco, " she said, defiantly, seized a basket, and marched out.
Mrs. Pansy smiled. "She adores him. Fortunately he's terribly fond of her too."
"Is he."
"They're such fun to watch, " Mrs. Pansy said. "Tag, tickling, picking berries, relating to the ponies. He's so good for her. And we like to think she's good for him, too."
"Really."
"Yes. We've been hoping that now he has a pony, he will take her out riding."
"Alone?"
"Of course, " Mrs. Pansy said. "Daffodil couldn't be in better hands."
"Oh, but, " said Lilac, and shook her head.
The teakettle sang. Mrs. Pansy stood, and got the tea ready.
Lilac persisted. "You can't really think that Daffodil should be out alone with Bolco."
Mrs. Pansy emptied her hands, and placed them on her hips. "There is no one, " she said, "in all the Shire that I would sooner trust with my daughter. He may be out late some nights, Miss Lilac, but he has a heart of pure gold. And he loves my daughter. And I trust him with her." Mrs. Pansy sat down with her tea.
"So he's still out elf-chasing, " she murmured.
"Elves? .... no, I don't think so." Not after last night. Bolco, she thought, was pursuing something wilder than elves, more untamed, more eternal. The Creator. Eru, the One. Iluvatar, the All-Father. The names sang to Mrs. Pansy like poetry. To experience Iluvatar, she thought, would I wander all night under the stars, or swim in wild rivers, or ride in the early morning hours? If I did, could I really experience him? See him? Touch him? Taste him somehow, in some strange way? There had been something about the stream last night, she thought; she had wondered if Iluvatar put it there knowing that they would live here someday. She supposed, he must have known. And she was grateful. She enjoyed that stream.
Lilac stared at her. She pondered on, half forgetting Lilac as she stirred her tea. The steam reminded her of the fog that she so loved when it surrounded her house. If Iluvatar created everything, she thought, then he created fog too. She smiled.
Lilac sipped her tea, and looked around the kitchen restlessly. Mrs. Pansy remained lost in her reverie for a while longer.
The rays of the westering sun lit the kitchen, and Mrs. Pansy abruptly stood. "The pie should go in now, " she said, giving Lilac a warm smile, and busied herself with the several dishes she had prepared.
Lilac sat and waited, wondering. "Mrs. Pansy," she finally said, "what does Bolco do out late at night?"
Mrs. Pansy pondered her answer, and then came back to Lilac. "I think, " she said gently, reaching out and brushing a stray lock from Lilac's face, "that that is between Mr. Bolco and Iluvatar, unless you want to ask Mr. Bolco yourself."
"There's no need, " Lilac said hurriedly. Iluvatar, she thought. Who was Iluvatar, and what did Bolco have to do with it, or him, or her? The name sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. Still, she hid her interest. "It doesn't matter."
"Perhaps it doesn't." Mrs. Pansy began to set the table. Lilac expected her to ask for assistance, but she did not.
"Then again, " said Mrs. Pansy, "perhaps it does, just not in a way that you can understand yet."
"What do you mean? I'm not stupid."
"No, darling. Of course you're not stupid. Just young, and not yet wise."
"That's a strange thing to say, " Lilac objected, taking offense.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not, " Mrs. Pansy replied.
"What do you mean?"
Mrs. Pansy busied herself, and let the question dangle.
"You are being rude to me, " Lilac objected.
"I am being rude?" Mrs. Pansy gently retorted.
Lilac suddenly wondered what Master Peregrin would think of her part in this conversation, and suddenly felt that he would not approve. She resented worrying about his opinion. He wasn't even here. She sat back, feeling put upon and defensive.
"Would you like some more tea, dear?"
"No thank you. Well... Yes, Ma'am. Yes, please." She sagged in her chair, miserably.
"What's wrong, child?"
"I don't know."
Outside, Daffodil's voice cut through the sunset air. "Daddy! Daddy! You're home! But where is Mister Bolco?"
"Hi, darling."
"Where is he, Daddy? What happened? Why hasn't he come home?"
Tom strode in carrying Daffodil, halfway through her list of questions, and shushed her. He was about to speak to Mrs. Pansy, but he saw Lilac sitting at the table. He put Daffodil down. "Run along." She glowered at Lilac and left.
He spoke no greeting, but likewise glared at Lilac, mastering his temper with an obvious effort. Lilac reddened.
"Lilac has been sharing a pot of tea with me, " Mrs. Pansy said soothingly.
"Well, I hope you've enjoyed her company, " said Tom coldly.
How did she suddenly become the villain, Lilac wondered, baffled. "I have something for Bolco, " said Lilac, trying to work up some defiance, but not doing very well.
"What is it?" snapped Tom suspiciously.
"Tom, " soothed Mrs. Pansy.
"She's done enough hurt, " Tom barked. "What do you want with Bolco?"
"To give him the vase price, " said Lilac. She took the handkerchief out of her pocket.
Tom pointed to the sideboard. "Place it there. I'll see that he gets it and nobody else."
Blushing furiously, she stood and placed the handkerchief on the sideboard.
"Good evening, " Tom snapped, and stood aside to let her pass. "I trust you can find your way safely home over the fields, or do I need to see you home."
"That won't be necessary." She stepped out. Mrs. Pansy called "Good evening, Lilac, " after her.
She went to the paddock fence, and untied Foggy. Daffodil came out of the stable, and glared at her. She mounted and turned Foggy towards home.
"Miss Lilac, " Daffodil said.
"Yes, Daffodil, " Lilac replied, reining Foggy in.
"Do you know why Mister Bolco didn't come home tonight?"
"No, why should I?"
"You were mean to him last time, " Daffodil said. "You should have been nicer. I just thought you were probably mean to him again."
"No, I wasn't, " she said. But then she thought of the shattered vase, and the tattered flowers. Suddenly the child's accusation stung her, and she dug heels to flanks, and tore out of the yard at a gallop. Foggy was so lathered when she reached the Smials that she had to walk him several miles past to let him dry. She was tempted to put him away sweaty, but she didn't.
When she finally went inside, she headed to the dining room for supper. Pippin looked up from his plate, and icily held her gaze. She reluctantly approached him, and stood in front of him.
"Mrs. Pansy wouldn't accept the price from me, sir. She said that I owed it to Bolco, not to her."
"And?"
"I waited for him to come back from the fields, but Tom came home without him. Tom told me to leave the price on the sideboard, and he would see that Bolco received it."
"Why didn't Bolco come home?"
"I don't know, sir. They seemed to think I should, but I don't know."
Pippin didn't know whether to sigh or cringe. What now?
"Thank you, Lilac. That's all." Pippin put his head in his hand and waved her away.
"Sir?"
"That's all, Lilac."
Dismissed.
She looked around, and found Isembrand, and went and sat with him, and suddenly sank onto his shoulder, miserable. He looked down at her and stroked her glossy hair.
"Father, am I unkind?"
"There, lass, " Isembrand said, "What brings that up now? It's supper. Don't go spoiling your appetite. Come, fill your plate while it's still hot."
She noticed that he didn't say no.
(evening of July 22)
After he was out of sight of the field hands, Bolco wondered where he was going. He had no plans, he just didn't want to be with himself, and he didn't want to disappoint Daffodil by not eating any dinner or supper. He slacked the reins and urged Stormy forward, letting him choose, and letting his mind go blank.
Stormy cantered along like a rocking chair, lulling Bolco. Eyes turned to gaze at him as he cantered past, and he realised he looked odd again, riding bareback with a rope headstall. Let them stare. He focused on Stormy's ears and daydreamed.
Stormy slowed to a walk, and neighed. Bolco looked up. He was approaching the courtyard of The Green Dragon. Stormy was calling the horses in the courtyard. Several answered.
Bolco tried not to care, and left the reins alone. Stormy wandered in, and sniffed noses with one, a sturdy-looking chestnut with a broad blaze and a pleasant demeanor, and they were soon friends.
Bolco threw his leg over Stormy's neck, and slid off, and tied Stormy beside his new friend. He wandered in a daze toward the door of the inn. The sun had just set; most people were home eating dinner, he guessed. Tom Cotton walked past him, looking at him oddly. "Evening, Bolco," Tom said.
Bolco nodded. "Good evening."
"What brings you to The Green Dragon?" Tom said, not unkindly.
"My pony, " Bolco said. And then he laughed.
Tom didn't know what to say, and looked suddenly uncomfortable.
"I gave him his head, and he came here. I had no plans."
"I see, " said Tom, more confused, and feeling rather sorry for the lad.
Bolco waited.
"Eh, Ah... Bolco lad, can I interest you in joining me for a drink?" Tom said, looking around the yard at the other faces who were looking at Bolco with less than kindness.
"Why not, " Bolco muttered. And then aloud, "Thank you, Tom. You are quite kind."
Well, he's polite, thought Tom. "Come in, lad."
A few folks stared at Tom as he led Bolco to his usual table. "What can I get you to drink?" Tom asked.
"It doesn't matter, " said Bolco. "Anything will do."
"Beer, then."
"All right. How much is it?"
Tom paused, and then told him. Bolco reached into his pocket, where the remains of his previous week's pay still waited a day and a half, and a four-mile-swim, after he had bought the vases. There was more than enough to cover plenty of beer. With a shrug and a smile, he gave Tom enough for two drinks.
"I was planning on buying, " Tom said softly. "Thanks."
"Yes, but you wisely decided not to argue with the lunatic, " Bolco smiled, and laughed cheerfully.
Tom laughed too, puzzled but not offended, and went for the drinks.
The door opened, and Master Samwise entered. He headed for Tom's table, and then stiffened. Bolco saw him stiffen, and he stiffened too. Sam stopped, and searched the room, and went over to Tom.
"He just showed up in the courtyard, " Tom offered. "Said his pony brought him here. He looked lost. I asked him in."
"Good thinking, " Sam said, and took the two drinks from Tom. "Get me a mug." He headed for the table.
"Hello, Master Samwise, " Bolco said, trying to relax.
"Hello, Bolco. Welcome." Sam set a beer in front of Bolco, and one beside him waiting for Tom. "Good to see you here."
"Thanks, " replied Bolco, not knowing what else to say.
Tom arrived with Sam's mug and set it down in front of Sam. Bolco liked the fact that Sam and Tom had each served the other, and it relaxed him just a little. He had been ready to banter with Tom, and see where the evening took him, but Samwise caught him off guard.
Tom noticed. "Sam got you all nervous?"
"Well, yes." Bolco replied, relaxing a little, smiling a little.
"He does that to the rest of us, too. You never know when he'll come out with something profound, these days."
"Well, I'm glad I'm not alone." And he meant it. He looked at Tom, waiting, wanting to find something else to laugh about. He wrapped his hands around his mug and leaned over it, because that's what he had seen others do, but the scent was going to gag him if he stayed that way, he realised, so he slid it away a bit.
"Not quite your taste?" Tom prompted.
"Oh, I hate beer."
"Why'd you buy it?"
"When you finish yours, we can trade mugs, can't we?"
Tom chuckled, and Sam nodded. "Well, now, you've found a good friend, Tom."
Bolco smiled at Sam, and relaxed a little more.
"How's the harvest going?" Sam asked Bolco.
"Well enough, " Bolco nodded. "I'm with good lads. Couldn't ask for better."
"Tom's a fine fellow, " Sam prompted.
"Of course I am, " Cotton agreed heartily.
"I meant Tom Furrow, " snorted Sam. The three shared a hearty laugh, and Tom and Sam pulled at their beer.
Bolco continued. "Tom Furrow has been as steady as a rock, and cared for me through thick and thin. I'm sure I owe him my life. I can't say enough about him. And his wife is as wonderful a lady as you could ever wish to know, and a magnificent cook, and a lovely mother."
Tom glanced at Sam, and then back to Bolco. "You do like her cooking?" he said, timidly.
"It's wonderful. I just can't eat much of it, is all."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. Not for want of trying. So Sam, how are your gardens doing?"
"Oh, fine, " Sam shrugged. "It's been a fine year, the finest I've ever seen, and that's a fact. Drowning in strawberries. Loads of blackberries, weighing the canes down 'til they're leaning hard over. I've been worrying some might break, but not a one has; not a one. And in the gardens, there are hardly any bugs to be found; no sir, not even in the cabbages. An amazing year it is. Amazing." He pulled at his beer. "So, Bolco, about that pony you've been riding."
"Stormy."
"The restive grey."
"Yes. I'm quite fond of him."
"Where did he come from?"
"Mayor Baggins didn't tell you."
"No," Sam shrugged, raising his eyebrows, "should he have?"
"No. I'm glad he didn't."
Tom roared with laughter, and pounded Sam on the back. Sam looked a little taken aback, so Bolco laughed, jostled Sam's elbow a bit, and spoke.
"He came from Long Cleeve. He belongs to my father, or I suppose he did. I walked up to see my family during our last break, and my father wanted me to be able to visit more easily next time, " he smiled at the memory, "and so he told Dondo to give me the pick of the stable. I asked Dondo to help me choose somebody tough and practical, and he chose Stormy."
Sam nodded, listening, and had another sip of beer.
"Well, he's perfect for me, " Bolco continued. "He's no bigger than I need; he's tough; he's nocturnal if he needs to be; and as much as it will shock and surprise you to your very bones, he likes the water." Bolco wished he liked beer, because he thought that last sentence should have been punctuated by a sip to hide his smile. He clasped his hands in front of his mouth instead.
Sam and Tom looked at each other, and Sam smiled. "Time for a confession, I'm thinking, and speaking of water, since you've brought it up and all," said Sam. "I've seen you swim."
"More spies!" Bolco sat back. "Did you listen too?"
Sam stammered a little and fell silent.
Bolco wanted the laughter back again. He wasn't sure what to do or say, but if it had been Songo, he would have playfully whacked him. So he reached across and whacked Sam on the arm. "Don't do it again, " he snorted, and put his head in one hand, and glowered at Tom. "Do I have to hire a team of bodyguards so I can be crazy in peace?"
Tom laughed, and Sam blushed into his mug.
"Oh, come on, " said Bolco. "Just come down and swim with me next time."
Sam choked on his beer.
"I'll teach you, " Bolco insisted.
Tom roared with laughter. Sam laughed, very nervously.
"Come on, I'm quite good, " Bolco leaned forward. "Trust me, Sam."
"NO!" Sam suddenly howled.
"Sam, you grieve me, " replied Bolco. Tom was still roaring. Sam drained his mug, hiding in it, and quick as lightening, Bolco swapped mugs with him. "Here, keep going."
Sam smiled hugely. Tom's face fell. "I thought..."
"I'll buy you another, " Bolco said.
"No, I was joking, " Tom replied.
"I promised, " said Bolco. "Here. No, I'll go get it. What's it called?"
"Beer, " said Tom, looking at him oddly.
"Yes, but what do I say, when I ask for it?"
Sam intervened. "You say, 'Mug o' beer, please.' And slide the coins on the counter. Not too hard."
"Show me... here, " said Bolco, handing him the coins. "I want to get it just right."
Sam chuckled, and Tom got a case of the giggles, and Sam slid the coins toward Bolco. "Like that."
"Got it." Bolco headed for the bar, imitated Sam exactly, and came back with the mug, and presented it to Tom, and sat down.
"So you like ponies, Sam, " Bolco prompted.
"I like my pony, " Sam replied.
"Tell me about him."
"He came from Bree. His name's Bill, " Sam began. Tom took a sip of beer.
"Did you go through Bree yourself?" Bolco prompted.
"We did, " Sam said.
"We. Who?" Bolco prompted again.
"Why, Mister Frodo, Mister Pippin, Mister Merry, and I."
Bolco suddenly grew very serious, and leaned forward. "Sam. Please. Tell me the story."
"About Bill?"
Bolco nodded. "Yes. About Bill, Mayor Baggins, Pippin, Mister Meriadoc, and yourself. Please."
Sam sat back, and frowned, fingering his mug, and Tom wondered what was bothering him. "Bolco, I'll tell you about Bill, now, as far as Bill's story goes. That's fine for telling at an inn, I think. But the rest of the story... perhaps Mister Frodo should tell it." And with that he launched into a summary story beginning with Mr. Frodo's decision to travel-- he did not say why-- and the companions he ended up with. Speaking softly, he quickly overviewed the flight from Hobbiton, and the pursuit by Black Riders, through Green Hill Country, to Crickhollow; glossed over the trip through the old Forest, Tom Bombadil, and the Barrow Downs; then described the arrival at Bree, the return of the Black Riders, and the theft of their five ponies.
"There was one pony left in the entire town for sale. A bony, hungry, sad looking pony, owned by that scoundrel Bill Ferny, what's more. We bought him, the pony that is, and at a high price too. But he was glad to come with us, even loaded down as he was. He was glad to get away from that Bill Ferny."
Sam took a pull at his beer.
"We tramped through the wilderness, and a long trip it was, and got all the way to Rivendell, which is another whole story, how we got there. But Bill came with us the whole way, and never put a foot wrong. And at Rivendell, he rested up-- like the rest of us; Rivendell would heal anybody, mark my words-- but as I was saying, Bill rested up and got well fed, so's you would hardly recognize him. Happy and strong and healthy he was, with a gloss on his coat and a dapple on his haunch and a sparkle in his eye, what's more. And when we left there at the end of December, he came with us again as our pack pony.
"Long days we traveled, in nasty snow and cold and wind, and Bill worked and worked, and you couldn't have found a better pony anywhere. Steady as a rock and strong as a tree he was, and he made me proud of him, right enough. Up and down moorlands, across foothills, through rocky country. And then there came a place," Sam frowned, "where Bill couldn't come any further. We had to go underground, beneath the Misty Mountains; and there was no taking a pony with us. I knew better afterwards it'd had a been the death of him, but it didn't make it any easier letting him go then. And it was a hard choice, let me tell you, turning him loose and sending him away, listening to the wolves howling and all." Sam shook his head. "That was a far piece from any safe haven. I wondered if I'd ever see him again."
Sam glanced up from his beer and was startled to see Bolco's eyes filled with emotion.
Bolco said, "Go on. You obviously found him again later. Where, and when?"
"The next fall, " Sam said, still looking into Bolco's eyes, surprised to see him moved about a pony he had never met. "We were traveling back, after everything was over, and we stopped at Bree on the way home. And the innkeeper, there, Butterbur at The Prancing Pony, told us that Bill-- that's my pony, now-- was in the stable; that he'd come back thin and shaggy as to be hardly knowable, but Bill it was, and Nob had cared for him, bless him, and they'd held him for me, hoping that I'd be back for him. I was so delighted to have him back, I can hardly tell you. He came back to the Shire with me, and he's been with me ever since."
"I'd like to meet him, sometime, if that's all right, " Bolco said earnestly.
Sam drained his mug. "Come on then, " and he stood.
"He's here?"
"In the courtyard."
Tom drained his mug too, but then said, "I'll wait and hold the table, the place is starting to fill up."
Sam and Bolco went out into the courtyard, and Sam walked toward Stormy. Bolco was confused, until he saw that Sam was actually focused on the pony beside Stormy; the chestnut that had called to Stormy from the road, and Stormy had made friends with.
"This is Bill?"
"Yes."
"He called Stormy in here, from the road, " Bolco said, amazed. "Stormy came straight to him. That's why I tied him here. But you weren't in the Inn yet!"
"I was, " said Sam. "I was in with Mister Frodo."
"Mayor Baggins was here?"
Sam nodded, smiling.
"What's so funny?"
Sam evaded that. Bolco let it go for now, guessing that Sam thought that "Mayor" was a funny nickname, and turned his attention to Bill. Bill snuffled his shirt thoroughly, and nuzzled his cheek and blew into his face. Bolco reached up and gently pulled on his crest, and Bill leaned on his shoulder. Bolco smiled, expecting him to bump heads next, as was so often the rule. But Bill surprised him, and simply put his nose against his chest. Bolco stroked his face gently, and explored for itchy spots. He found a few.
Sam liked the way the boy handled a pony; and what's more, he was impressed that Bill liked Bolco. He had always felt that Bill was a good judge of character. He waited, giving the lad plenty of time. And Bolco was in no rush; he waited until Bill lost interest in him, before he stepped away, then giving Stormy some reassuring attention, rinsing his hands with water from the trough, and then facing Sam.
If Tom had not been waiting, Bolco would have suggested a ride. Sam turned back towards the common room, and Bolco followed. "Do you ever ride just for the sake of it, Sam?" Bolco asked.
"Not often, " Sam answered. "Rosie's a good excuse for me to stay close to home."
"Of course, " said Bolco, trying not to sound disappointed.
"But once in a while, " Sam shrugged, "I might."
They headed for their table, Bolco following Sam closely, as the place was filling up. They sat down, and Tom was just about to get up and fetch more beer, when four more mugs arrived, two per fist. Bolco looked up startled, and then froze.
"Mayor Baggins!" Bolco shot Sam a look, and Sam grinned.
"Good evening, Bolco. And welcome. Hello, Tom." The Mayor sat down. "Bolco, what brought you to The Green Dragon?"
Bolco hesitated, and Sam and Tom waited for more humor, but Bolco's reply was sober. The Mayor's presence changed everything; a quick jest would not do. "I left the fields and gave Stormy his head, and let him run; and as we passed the courtyard, several ponies called Stormy, and he stopped beside Bill. So I got off. Tom invited me in."
"You didn't go home to Tom Furrow's house tonight."
"No, sir, I didn't want to."
"Why not?" Frodo asked gently.
"I have too much that I can't sort out, sir."
Frodo waited, but Bolco had no more to add to that, and simply met Frodo's gaze, and drank it in again, resting. Sam watched, much happier with Bolco's treatment of Mr. Frodo than previously.
"You want to have it all sorted out before you go home?" Frodo asked.
"I don't know, sir. I don't see how I can. But I hate lying awake; I'd rather do something."
Frodo nodded.
"You haven't eaten then. Can I get you something?"
All three hobbits were startled at Bolco's cringe. "No, sir, please. I really don't want anything."
Frodo held his peace but wondered what on earth had happened. Sam pressed him. "Are you sure, lad. We'll take care of it." But Bolco shuddered.
He'll leave first, thought Frodo, and gently waved Sam off. "Never mind, Bolco, just sit and talk with us for a while."
But Bolco had lost all sense of fun or comfort, and he sat frozen in his seat out of pure obedience to the Mayor. Sam frowned, baffled. There was a long awkward silence.
"Perhaps I'd best be going," Bolco murmured, with a strange flashback to his previous exit from The Green Dragon on Midsummer's Day.
"Nonsense, " said Frodo, firmly. "Rest, lad. Stay with us. Sam, how are the fruit trees looking?"
Sam followed with a thorough report on plums, peaches, pears, apples, and grapevines, which populated the neighborhoods of Bywater and Hobbiton. Bolco listened as if faraway, thinking of the harvest that would soon come at the Smials, and how he wanted to be far, far away from it. Long Cleeve sounded better and better. He decided to talk to The Took and see if he could be dismissed for weeks at a time.
He was startled when Sam turned to him. "You could join us here in Hobbiton for the fruit harvest, Bolco."
He thought a moment. It was too close to the Smials; ten or fifteen miles just isn't enough distance. "Thank you, Sam. I'll be expected in Long Cleeve. But it's delightful to be asked, and I'm grateful."
"You'd need a long break in the harvest to make it to Long Cleeve, and you'd be weary, " Frodo reasoned soothingly. "Keep Hobbiton in mind. "
Bolco studied them and suddenly realised they were trying hard to protect him from the Smials' harvest too, and he balanced between heartbreak over the past and warmth toward his friends. There was another pause. Tom finished his mug, and Bolco quickly swapped with him, and shared a quiet smile with Tom.
Frodo gazed into his own mug, sipped at it, and softly asked, "Were you planning on returning to the Furrows' today?"
Bolco's reply was equally quiet. "I hadn't thought about this evening, sir. In the morning, before work, I will."
"For breakfast?"
"To see Daffodil. She'll worry otherwise."
"Lovely child."
"She keeps me sane, " Bolco all but whispered.
"Then, " Frodo smiled, "please be sure and see her."
"She'll want me to eat, " Bolco confessed.
"She's not alone."
Bolco said nothing.
"Will you swim?"
Bolco nodded.
"Do you want to rest between now and then?"
"I don't know if I can, sir. That's partly why I'm here."
"I wish you could tell me what's bothering you."
"Perhaps later, sir."
"All right then. Well, for me, this is late, especially if I'm going to wake up in time to meet you." Sam took the hint and drained his mug. Tom nodded.
"Did you ride here, sir?"
"Yes, Sam and I came together. Strider is tied beside Bill."
"Strider. May I meet him?"
"Of course. Are you sure you won't come back to Bag End and rest?"
"Perhaps I'll ride back with you, sir. But I don't think I'd sleep, not until I'd had a swim first." He turned to Tom. "Good evening, Tom, and thank you. Especially for drinking that beer."
Tom stood and shook his hand firmly. "Come on back anytime, lad. Whether you feel like buying or not."
They shared a friendly grin and Bolco turned toward the door. He noticed numerous stares directed his way, but many were less hostile than they had been earlier, and some were openly curious.
He slipped out while Sam and Frodo were still talking to Tom; he wanted time to introduce himself to Strider. By the time Frodo and Sam joined him, Bolco had found several itchy spots on Strider's jaw and chin, and they were well on the way to being friends. Bolco rinsed his hands again by the trough, and they mounted and rode toward the Mill.
Frodo spoke. "Bolco, you said you wouldn't sleep until you'd had a swim first. Why don't you have a swim now, and then come up to Bag End and get as much sleep as you can in the parlor? You can still get home to the Furrows' in time for breakfast."
"Mayor, you are far too kind. But it just might work. I'm more weary than I thought."
"I'll wait for you, " Frodo offered. Sam fidgeted. "Sam, go on up the hill and get the couch ready."
Sam reluctantly turned, but Bolco protested. "Mayor, don't wait until I'm done. Go on up the hill, and get some rest."
"You won't come if I don't wait, " Frodo argued.
Bolco gave in. "I will, sir. I'll come. Go ahead, and rest."
"I'll be up, lad, " Sam said, as Frodo turned.
"I'll be dripping; I've no dry things, " Bolco realized.
"I'll set some out, " Sam shot back.
Bolco slid off of Stormy, stripped off his shirt and draped it over Stormy's back, and stepped to the edge of the bridge. To his astonishment, Stormy trotted off to follow his new friends. Bolco's jaw dropped, but he did not call him back. It was only a mile walk. And apparently Stormy was as glad of his new friends as Bolco was of his. Bolco dove in off of the bridge, and swam as hard as he could ‘til he was numb with weariness, and then emerged dripping and began the ascent to Bag End. Before he was a fifth of the way, he was surprised to hear two sets of hoof beats coming from the gate; Sam soon appeared on Bill, leading Stormy and offering him a towel.
"Sam, thank you so much." He didn't want to keep Sam waiting any more, so he gave himself a once-over with the towel, resigned himself to riding in the dripping breeches, and caught a handful of mane and swung up, draping the towel around him.
Sam chuckled. "Sorry, lad, I didn't think to bring your shirt."
"Last night I rode four miles upriver without one. I didn't even think about it being immodest, I suppose I should have."
The ponies were turned out in a little paddock just below the gate into Bag End, where they greeted Strider gladly and settled down to grazing. Sam showed Bolco inside, and as soon as he was dry and dressed for sleep, Bolco threw himself on the couch and Sam heard snoring moments later.
"Beats me how he can sleep on an empty stomach, " Sam muttered, shaking his head, and glad that the parlor had a closeable door. Bolco could snore.
July 23
Bolco woke at three, and looking out the window, saw streams of pipe smoke in the moonlight. The Mayor was awake then. He dressed quickly and went out, and found the Major wrapped in a blanket against the cold, and sitting in the garden. "You'll need a blanket too, lad, it's chilly, " the Mayor warned. Bolco fetched one from the parlor and came back out.
They sat for a few minutes talking about the stars and the trees; Bolco learned that Frodo was as fond of trees as he was, and Frodo suggested they take a walk in the woods at some point. Bolco agreed. They discussed several trees in the garden, and Frodo mentioned the Mallorn growing down in the party field, and suggested that he ask Sam to show it to him.
There was a pause, and Frodo asked, "So what is weighing on your heart, that you suddenly can't go home and have supper with the Furrows?"
Again Bolco was surprised that he felt no deep emotions as he replied, "Something that Pippin said. Well, I thought it was Pippin at first, but then I realised he was a messenger."
Frodo waited.
"Pippin told me to forget Lilac."
"He did?"
Bolco nodded.
Frodo didn't know what to say.
"It's hard, " said Bolco.
"I should think so, " said Frodo, "quite."
"I can't really. I mean, I don't even know how to try. I was out riding last night-- two nights ago, now-- and I just couldn't see it. I don't understand. But I know somehow I have to."
"Do you? Really?"
Bolco nodded. There was a very long pause.
Frodo refilled his pipe, and pulled at it, and said quietly, "How do you know it's true?"
"I was riding along the river, " Bolco began, "and thinking about it. And I was wondering how to do it, and what it meant. And I remember thinking that ever since I moved to the Smials and met her, back when I was sixteen, Lilac had always been the center of everything I thought and did."
Frodo waited.
"And that's when I knew, really knew, that that was wrong. That the Creator should be the center of everything that I think and do. It was almost as if I'd heard his voice saying so. For a moment I wondered if I really had. And I knew that I had to, to choose. I knew that I had to let go of her, and let the Creator be the center of my life. And Mayor Baggins, I have no idea how to do that. And I am not even sure that I am actually willing to. Even though I must. And I don't know how to become willing. I don't know what to do."
He looked at the Mayor, whom he had never seen so confused before. Bolco found that deeply comforting, and was suddenly grateful for the Mayor's asking about it in the first place.
The Mayor took another thoughtful pull at his pipe. "You're quite sure about this."
"No! I wish I was."
"What do you mean?"
"One moment it all makes sense. And the next, I remember how hard Jake and Josh and James prayed, seeking the Creator's blessing and grace for Lilac and I, and how they always remembered her, and encouraged me that she would wait for me and be here for me when I got back."
"They did?"
"Always. From the time I mentioned her on that first Friday night-- the four of us climbed the pine tree with our tea, and talked and talked. That was the night Josh promised to teach me to swim. Anyway, ever after that, they listened to me babbling about her, worrying about her, getting starry-eyed about her, fretting that she'd lose interest or not wait for me or whatever. And so they prayed, I mean they asked the Creator to help her to wait, and not to worry, and to watch over us. Again and again. Night after night. Sometimes James would ask for the Creator's grace over Lilac even when he blessed the food." Bolco shook his head.
"Blessed the food?"
"Every meal. We hardly ever ate without asking the Creator to bless the food, the meal, the company, the conversation. And the Creator always did. But James would keep talking to him until the food was half cold. Josh got so annoyed sometimes. The other two could bless the meal in two sentences and be done. Janiece, perhaps four or five."
The Mayor considered. "Perhaps it would be better to speak to Iluvatar after dinner."
Bolco laughed. "Both, I think. Briefly before, lengthy discussions after."
"You do seem to like speaking to Iluvatar."
"He likes to listen."
"He does?"
Bolco fidgeted. "Have you ever seen a grandfather watching grandchildren? Just sitting back, watching them as they play?" Bolco struggled. "That's not it. More like when you see an old friend or relative coming that you haven't seen for a bit, and you want to just listen to them talk. Or maybe when your pony just comes up and leans on you for a minute because he wants to."
The Mayor was getting more and more lost.
"I'm not making much sense, am I?" Bolco sighed.
"I'm still curious, about this whole quandary about Lilac. I admit I'm baffled."
"So am I, " Bolco said. "But I do know that the Creator is supposed to be the center of my life, and right now, Lilac is. And that's got to change."
"But is she really?" the Mayor persisted. "Who do you spend more time with?"
"Well, not Lilac, that's for certain, " Bolco said, suddenly exasperated about that. "I haven't seen her since Midsummer's night."
"At all?" said the Mayor, startled.
"That says a lot, doesn't it? Over a month." Bolco rubbed his hollow eyes, and scraped his fingers through his hair. "Pippin's right. If I don't let go of her, I'll finish myself off just by lack of appetite. And it'll be nobody's fault but mine."
"I see, " said Frodo, "now that you put it that way."
"Yes, " sighed Bolco. "So... now how do I do it? Mayor, I still love her more than anything. Anything."
It suddenly occured to The Mayor that since he joined Sam, Tom, and Bolco at the inn last night, he had not seen Bolco shed one tear. He wanted to ask about it but didn't know how. He set the thought aside for the moment. Bolco went on.
"Part of me has given up on her completely ever since Midsummer's Night when she tossed me out. And the other part thinks of her whenever I pass a wildflower, or a garden, or a tree that looks climbable, or a sandy shallow stream that we could wade in. Part of me thinks she'll come around somehow, that with all of that asking by James and Josh and Jake and Janeice-- and I did some asking of my own, too-- the Creator will somehow get through to her. I was going to bring her flowers again this morning. I won't have time."
"No?"
"I've got to go and see Daffodil, or she'll worry herself terribly all day. I hope she didn't worry all night."
Frodo waited.
"Mayor, it's as if I think of her instead of breathing. As if she's been burned or etched into my mind and my soul, into the core of who I am. Even if I want to, how do I let go of something that's become so much a part of me for the last ten years?"
Frodo's demeanor changed; recognition flooded his face; he nodded, and nodded again, and yet a third time, and he meditatively sent several blue streams of smoke out over the hill as Bolco watched. And then he lightly and carefully blew one perfectly round ring, and watched it hover softly for a moment. Bolco was about to compliment him on it. And just as suddenly, he pulled at the pipe hard, and sent another stream of smoke, and blew the ring away. He did not make another one.
Bolco realised the Mayor was not only far away, but also in turmoil. Bolco waited. And waited. The Mayor finished his pipe, and knocked out the ashes, filled it again, lit it, and got halfway through that pipe too. Finally the Mayor spoke, still sounding very far away.
"Perhaps if you put it that way, lad, I understand. I've a story to tell you myself. But not this morning. Another night. Actually, I'd rather tell it in daylight, if you don't mind."
"All right, sir. Whatever you like."
Several more streams of blue smoke went out over the hill, followed by a soft question woven with melancholy. "Would you sing, Bolco?"
The request wrung Bolco's heart. He gazed at the Mayor for a moment, not knowing what to pity him for. Compassion welled up in him, but instead of reaching for the Mayor as he was sorely tempted to do, he shifted, sitting cross-legged on the bench and turning inward. Three songs were waiting just below the surface, and unlike the day before, this morning he sensed the Creator's presence as he sang. He started with two songs that the Mayor had heard before, and finished with the song that had first come to his mind. He sang it through several times.
I remember you in the night;
You have helped me, you have held me.
I'll turn to you in the night;
In the shadow of your wings I'll sing.
My soul follows close behind you;
Your right hand upholds me.
I'll lie down in peace and sleep,
For you alone keep me safe.
When I awake, I am still with you,
Each morning I'll sing to you.
If I take the wings of the morning,
And dwell in the furthest sea,
Even there your hand shall lead me
And your right hand shall hold me.
My soul follows close behind you;
Your right hand upholds me.
He waited, praying, and slowly opened his eyes, staring at his hands in his lap. When he looked up, he saw that Sam had noiselessly joined them, and was sitting beside the Mayor. The Mayor had hidden his face in his own hands, and Sam had gently placed a hand on the Mayor's near shoulder.
Bolco looked for any indication that he'd done anything wrong. Sam showed no anger, only concern and compassion for the Mayor, and Bolco felt suddenly that he was intruding on them. He was about to look away, but in the gloaming he noticed as if for the first time, that Frodo's ring finger was gone from his right hand. If the Mayor did not tell him why, he thought, at some point he would ask Sam. He wondered about the smoke ring. Hadn't the war been called the War of the Ring? He tried to remember the odd snatches of story he had heard, but he could peice none of it together in any way that made sense. But there was no mistaking the Mayor's inner turmoil.
He closed his eyes again, and prayed hard for the Mayor.
A few moments later, Bolco was startled to hear Sam call his name softly. He opened his eyes.
"Sing some more."
His river-song was waiting, and he did not think Sam or Frodo would particularly like it, so he hesitated, but no others came to mind. So he sang it, softly, shyly, hoping they would not mind it. He always sang the whole song through once in order; but after that, he sang the verses in whichever order they came to his mind, lingering.
I've been fed with the bread of tears
Restore me, call to me
I've been given tears to drink
Now let your deep call to deep
Pure river of the water of life
clear as Crystal
Coming from the throne of God
and of the Lamb
I'll drink from your streams
I'll wade in your waterfalls
I'll swim in your river
I'll drown in your breakers
Let my heart be your throne
Pour from me, flow from me
Deeper and deeper
as you call to me
I drink, I wade, I swim
I drown in you
Everything lives
wherever your river flows
He let himself softly and quietly ramble through the song, since it seemed to take on a life of its own, and he sensed the pleasure of the Creator. He forgot where he was, and immersed himself in the song and in Eru.
When he opened his eyes, Frodo and Sam were watching him, clear-eyed, and the sun was up. He started, and turned to the Mayor with an apology on his lips, but the Mayor nodded. "Daffodil's waiting, lad. Go on. And thank you."
Sam reached out his hand, and Bolco shook it as he stood. The Mayor extended his, and Bolco took it gently in both hands, wishing he could somehow place the Mayor's hand into the Creator's hand, and leave him in his care.
"Good day, lad, " said Frodo.
"Good day, Mayor Baggins. Good day, Sam."
"Good day, Bolco. You'll come back for your breeches. They're not dry yet, " added Sam.
"Yes. Thanks." So Sam wanted him back, too. He and Sam shared a smile, and then Bolco whistled and turned towards the gate. To Sam and Frodo's surprise, Stormy cleared the paddock fence, and a moment later cleared Bag End's gate (and its steps), and stood snorting and swishing his tail by the front door.
Bolco turned sheepishly to the two hobbits saying, "I forgot his headstall is still hanging on the paddock fence. Come on, Stormy." Stormy turned followed him like a big dog, and when Bolco opened the gate for him, he jumped forward down the steps and waited while Bolco put his headstall on. Bolco swung aboard and with a wave headed down the hill, and home to the Furrows.
Daffodil ran out at the sound of hoof beats, and was immensely relieved to see him. He carried her in to the house, and apologized to Tom and Missus Pansy for worrying them, and not letting them know where he was going. He told them he had spent the evening with Sam, Tom Cotton, and The Mayor, and the night in the parlor at Bag End courtesy of The Mayor and Sam. Mrs. Pansy smiled, and Tom nodded with approval.
Bolco apologized again for letting them worry, and tried hard to explain. "I didn't have any plans. I just let Stormy go, and he stopped at the inn, and then I just stayed. I'm sorry I worried you."
"Have you eaten, lad?"
Bolco hung his head, and that was Tom's answer. Missus Pansy headed for the kitchen and cooked up some eggs and pancakes and bacon, and fried up some potatoes. Tom would not let him budge toward the fields until he had competed with Daffodil for the full breakfast. It was a serious struggle, but Bolco did his best and Tom could not complain.
After breakfast was over, Tom sat back, and Daffodil sat in Bolco's lap, and they chatted for a bit. Then Tom stood to go, and called Daffodil to his side. "Missus Pansy, " he said, stretching, "Would you kindly give Bolco his message from the other night." And he sauntered to the door, and turned, waiting, trying hard to look casual and failing. He honestly did not know what to think or hope; that the handkerchief full of coins would be welcomed or rejected; that it would be taken as a sign of hope or despair.
Bolco eyed him. "Tom, what is it?"
Tom nodded at Missus Pansy.
She said carefully, "We had a visitor yesterday afternoon." She watched Bolco, gathered her wits, and went on. "Miss Lilac rode here, and stayed through tea ‘til just before dinner, and left the price of the vase here for you. It's there, on the sideboard, in the handkerchief."
Bolco sat numbly, staring at the handkerchief, looking at Missus Pansy, and back at the handkerchief. He was in shock. Tom started to worry. Missus Pansy felt a glow of hope. Daffodil waited.
Bolco looked back at Missus Pansy. "She stayed for tea?"
"And waited for you and Tom to come home."
I missed her, he thought. I wasn't here, I rode away, I missed her. The one night I didn't come home, she came here. He studied Missus Pansy. She was smiling, a little. He looked at Tom. Varying emotions were rapidly crossing his face; Tom himself didn't know how he felt, so Bolco couldn't read him. He looked back at Missus Pansy.
"Did she ask after me."
Missus Pansy stepped forward and took both of Bolco's hands. "She's a confused young lady, Mister Bolco. She did ask after you. But she didn't want to be seeming to be asking after you. Be very careful, Mister Bolco dear. She's still angry and defiant." Mrs. Pansy studied him, and added softly, "But I think she's curious."
Tom came into the kitchen and stood by Missus Pansy. Bolco was awash with conflicting emotions, and finally just lifted Missus Pansy's hands, and kissed them. And then he stood, and walked to the sideboard, and carefully lifted the handkerchief, untied it, emptied the money into his other hand, walked to his room and put the money aside, and stared at the handkerchief and thought for a few minutes more. Then he put the handkerchief in his pocket, and returned to the kitchen.
Hope, as Pippin had realised just the other night, has a marvelous affect on the appetite. Bolco faced Daffodil. "We have a little time before I have to leave for the fields. How would you like to ride behind me on Stormy, just this once since we're in a hurry, and we'll see how many blackberries we can pick before I have to go?"
"Hurray!" Daffodil shouted, and danced for glee. Tom laughed aloud, and Missus Pansy clapped her hands with delight. "Room for berries after breakfast!" she celebrated, and hugged her husband.
Bolco kissed her cheek on his way out, and clapped Tom's shoulder. Daffodil danced after him, and they were soon trotting over to the blackberry patch, which was really not that far.
Bolco set a record for blackberries eaten, which Daffodil proudly reported. But she had to have Mister Bolco help her count.
That day he thought and prayed feverishly as he weeded and cultivated. He was, if anything, more confused than ever. But the despair was gone. Knowing that Lilac had been under the Furrow's roof just yesterday gave him a hope that put a spring in his step, a light in his eyes and, as had already been shown, a new appetite. While not yet a regular hobbit's appetite, still, he could eat once again, and more than before. Tom chuckled and whistled with delight.
But in the back of his mind, he realised that even that glimmering new hope was an indication that his life centered, still, around Lilac. And about this he wrestled all day.
He was afraid that he would not sleep, but after eating berries and bread for each meal in the field, and then competing with Daffodil for dinner and supper, he slept like the dead.
July 24
He awoke just past four, and quickly cut a bunch of flowers-- making sure that the snapdragons were genuinely pink-- and galloped to the Smials, and left them on the bench under the plum tree in one of the inexpensive vases. He was back in time for breakfast, smiling. He ate well, and then Daffodil rode Strawberry, and they went to the blackberry patch to collect second breakfast. This time they also picked enough for Bolco to eat at Luncheon, and Daffodil began work on a Pie's worth for dinner. Then they trotted home, and Bolco walked to the fields with Tom, this time carrying a pack with his own elevensies and luncheon and tea.
The other field hands were stunned to see him carrying the pack, and celebrated with much glee.
At supper, Bolco had seconds on the blackberry pie. They were both small slices, but nevertheless, Tom had a beer to celebrate. Bolco didn't.
The next morning, Bolco woke at two, anticipating his swim, and galloped to Bywater. He saw no one. He cut a bunch of flowers on the way to the Smials, nervous, wondering what he would find. He had the second inexpensive vase in his pack; Missus Pansy had suggested he bring it just in case. What a lady Missus Pansy is, he thought.
The previous day's vase was on the bench, on the opposite end from where he had left it. It was empty; empty of flowers, but full of water. Bolco picked it up. The stone bench was wet underneath where the vase had been. There was more water in it than he had left, and the water was fresh. He was quite certain. It had been refilled, and set there again, waiting.
With a sudden, wrenching thrill of hope, he kissed the vase, kissed the flowers, put them in the vase, and set them on the bench, and ran back to Stormy. He sang softly on the way home. But the worship songs he sang made him wonder, again, what the center of his life was.
"Help me, Creator, " he whispered. "I'm so torn. I have hope for the first time in over a month. And yet I'm afraid too. I know I'm not right inside. Show me. Change me. "
Missus Pansy had breakfast waiting, and this time Bolco and Daffodil rode a little earlier to the blackberry patch, and got enough for breakfast, luncheon, and the pie, all at once. Daffodil was triumphant.
July 25 - July 31
For the next seven nights, Bolco left fresh flowers every morning. He put the vase on a different part of the bench each time, and poured out a little water into the flower beds before he put the flowers in the vase, but each time he returned, it had moved again, and was filled with fresh water almost to the brim.
He took on color, and the weight loss halted, and Tom and Missus Pansy even hoped he had gained a little back. His eyes still looked hollow, but less so. He smiled easily, laughed often, and his eyes shone.
And yet, he was uneasy deep inside. He was off-center, or wrongly-centered, and he knew it. He earnestly asdked the Creator for help. He could no more forget Lilac now than forget to breathe.
He wrestled, he feared, he struggled. But he ate, and laughed, and worked and swam. And on nights when he did not swim, he plunged himself into his runes, and sought God, willing him-- and begging him-- to win.
August 1
There was a three-day harvest break coming, the second, third and fourth of August, and Bolco had promised to go north. He rested Stormy as much as he could for several days before, and did not swim. On the morning of August first, he rode gently to the Smials, filled both vases with flowers, and left a note that said simply, "Long Cleeve, Aug 2-4. Back Aug 5 or 6."
He said goodbye to Daffodil at breakfast, packed for the trip, and took Stormy to the fields. He would leave straight from the fields. Tom shooed him away two hours early, urging him to make some progress by daylight. He rode up the river past Overhill, and camped early, an hour south of Oatbarton.
******