Of Bagginses and Bolgers

(corresponds to Chapter 2 of Book 1)


Estella Bolger had more Took in her than was good for a respectable hobbit-lass. At any rate, that was the general consensus in Budgeford. Her mother, Rosamunda, had been, by all reports, a very Tookish Took before she settled down to become the stout, jolly, and ever-so-slightly less than proper Mrs. Odovacar Bolger; why, even her hair had been a wild shade of reddish-brown before fading to a matronly grey. Estella, the unexpected and rather late second child, had inherited both the copper curls and the impishness of her mother. When she was no more than a child, she had called Bilbo Baggins an adopted uncle, if you please, and spent hours over at Bag End in Hobbiton listening to his ridiculous stories. Even her older brother Fredegar, who ought to have had more sense, seemed to prefer time with the mad branch of the Baggins family to ordinary tween mischief. He was often off gallivanting with Frodo, Bilbo's younger cousin and heir, and left his sister to be bewitched by whatever tales old Mr. Bilbo told of far-off lands. Folk wondered that Odovacar did not rein in his children, but gossip held - supported by a few knowing looks from Rosamunda - that his wife had overruled him.

"Well, they'll grow out of it in time," common wisdom proclaimed via the voice of Azalea Grubb. She was Odovacar's cousin, as proper a hobbit-matron as the Shire had ever produced, and thus an Authority on the Subject. "It's to be expected of children like Essie - she don't know how mad it all is yet. She'll grow some hobbit-sense."

The growth of hobbit-sense, evidently, was a slow process. Estella was sixteen when the Party - and the legendary Disappearance - took place, and she had wept bitterly when it was discovered that Bilbo was nowhere to be found until her blue eyes looked like wet cornflowers rimmed by red poppies. She even had the gall to sass one of the Proudfoots, who had remarked that it was just as well if Mad Baggins had finally popped off for good. "Uncle Bilbo," - for so she still called him, by his especial permission, - "is a Hero and a Writer, and he's worth ten Proudfoots any day of the week!" She had shrilled this out with all of a teen's dramatic intonation in the middle of a crowd and more than one hobbit had heard and shaken their head. "Hush, Essie, and don't talk back to your elders," her aunt Tulip Bolger had scolded. Estella had crossed her arms and stared stonily at the departing Proudfoot. "Well, he is."

The next day, when everyone had returned to find out what had really happened, the crowds were both disappointed and thrilled by the fact that even Frodo seemed to admit that Bilbo had gone for good. There went much of the best gossip in the Shire, but also any reason for the younger hobbits to grow mad and go off on Adventures! Some of the curious throng were even asked to step into Bag End, as Bilbo had left presents for them. Most were useful comforts given with Bilbo's native generousity to the folks who needed them, but some of the gifts had a joke or a point to them. Estella had been wide-eyed with wonder and tears when Frodo called her inside and picked up a wide thin book bound in brown leather from a table in one of the parlors. Bilbo had collected various and sundry articles with a passion - most hobbits did - but his taste had always run towards books and trinkets of Dwarf or even Elf-make rather than hobbit mathoms. She had always been fascinated by his library and consequently turned the cover of her present almost reverently.

For ESTELLA BOLGER, read the note scrawled on the flyleaf, with love from Uncle Bilbo, with the hope that it will help.

It was a book of maps. She had snorted in mild annoyance at the pointed remark. She had hid from her brother Freddie in the bogs down by the Water near Frogmorton once three years before, and had gotten hopelessly lost by nightfall. It had taken a search party to bring her back safely, and she had yet to live down the teasing. The book itself was beautifully done; all the roads in red ink, and the names in blue. The first dozen or so were maps of the Shire, but most of the volume consisted of maps of lands far beyond the Boundaries. Strange names - the Lone-Lands, Dale, Gondor, and the Riddermark - stared up at her like elvish magic from the pages. The Shire-maps were done in Bilbo's own hand. She hugged it to her chest and looked up at Frodo. "Where did he go?" she pled in a small voice.

Bilbo's heir frowned sadly. "I wish I knew, Essie."