Within the Walls of Bag End
Chapter 1
It was late in the evening when Sam bid his youngest son, "a good evening," and thanked him for helping out repairing some of the old shutters. Robin Gardner was a fair lad and had the same qualities of his sisters and some of his older brothers, the same blonde color of hair. For most of his twelve siblings had all married and had children of their own, but Robin. He was well past his fiftieth birthday and still never caught the eye of any lass. He kept himself busy shirriffing the town of Hobbiton, a position his father gave him long ago during his last year as mayor.
Sam worried about him, since Robin was spending so much time at Bag End, helping him with a list of repairs. Sam felt he was taking too much time away from his job and was not delivering good satisfaction to those who kept him employed.
Rosie had passed on in the early spring and since then, Sam was tripping over his sons and daughters who constantly stopped by to check-up on him. Living alone at Bag End would have been a lonely affair, if Sam was left on his own, but this seldom happened for the elderly hobbit with his adult children living so close by him. All but Elanor. who still remained in the West March with her husband Fastred and their two children. When Rosie died, Elanor came to stay with Sam for nearly a month and was greatly sadden when she had to leave and return home again.
Sam made a promise that he would visit her when he felt his time was close before he would leave for the Grey Haven and his final journey to join Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo, the last of the ring bearers.
While he waited for his time to near, Sam wanted to repair Bag End and get it ready for the next generation of Gardner. His son Frodo would be the next heir of this magnificent home and would fill the rooms full with his fifteen children when Sam would leave for the Grey Haven.
Robin and the rest of Sam's sons all offered to help their father with all the repairs and anything else that he may have needed. This kept Sam's mind busy and filled the loneliness from missing his dearly departed wife, Rosie. That, and the finial chapter of the Red Book that Mr. Frodo had left for him to finish.
When Sam closed the front door after bidding his youngest son farewell, Sam went back into his study and saw the Red book opened and waiting for him with his quill in the inkwell next to it. However, something else caught Sam's eye. It was a small, old wood-handled chisel that had once belonged to Mr. Bilbo's father who had built Bag End. Mr. Bilbo kept a small room deep within Bag End where all of his father's tools still remained untouched until this very day. Robin could not find a small enough chisel of his own to make the carvings in the wooden shutters that would match the original design that he repaired and had to borrow it from the old room.
After he had finished his work, Sam insisted that Robin leave for his home at once so he could get enough rest for his shirriffing job the next morning. Taking the small old chisel, Sam thought to return it to the room from where it came from. Walking through the long corridors of Bag End gave Sam enough time to think about times gone by with each room that he had past. Rooms his children once occupied while they grew up in his large home. He pasted Elanor's old room and then Frodo's next to it. Down the corridor, there were more rooms where Ham played his fiddle with his other son, Pippin. Merry's room was next to Pippins' and then came Bilbo's room after that. Turning the corner and walked down another long corridor was his daughter's rooms where Rose spent her time sewing and doing her lovely needle point work. The next room was that of Goldilocks, his fair haired daughter with the large ringlets tied up in ribbons. Sam stopped by her door and smiled thinking about all the trouble he caused in making her wait until her coming of age before he allowed her to marry Peregrin Took's son, Faramir. Who would have thought that she would have ended up with five lovely lasses all with bright red curly hair. Poor Peregrin Took, he waited and waited for a grandson that never happened.
The next room was Primrose and Daisy's room who could barely be separated from her sister and insisted on sharing a room together and after that was Ruby's room. Sam continued on down the corridor until he reached what use to be Tolman's room and then Robins.
Sam paused a moment and looked back from where he came, to all those empty rooms and he smiled knowing they would be filled again with his fifteen grandchildren from his son Frodo. He knew Bag End would share happier days just ahead.
He made one last turn and he continued down the empty corridor to the small little door that seldom had any visitors and was preserved for all time to come. Sam opened the door and went inside.
Bongo Baggin's tool room was covered with thick cobwebs and dust and everything that was in that room upon his passing was left just as it had always been, except for this one small chisel. Sam could clearly see the open drawer and his son's finger prints smuggled in the thick coating of dust upon the work bench.
Sam looking inside the drawer and saw many small chisels and added the last one before he tried to close it. When he pushed the drawer to close, something seemed to be stopping it. Sam wiggled the drawer just a little, incase it was just jammed. But the drawer did not move any further. Pulling it out, he set it gently upon the workbench, Sam peered inside the cubby hole. To his surprise there was something there in the far back and Sam reached his hand inside and pulled it out to see what it was.
There was a small leather bound book with its pages filled full of writings from his old master. Sam instantly recognized this book and it brought back memories of when he was a child studying when Frodo first came to live at Bag End with Mr. Bilbo.
Mr. Bilbo insisted that Sam come by each morning to study with Frodo in learning his letters and his numbers. When Frodo had finish his studies, Sam often found him sitting under a tree writing in this small little book. It fascinated Sam as a child because this book was not like any other book that he had ever seen. It was small enough to fit into a pocket and not on a shelf. He would ask Mr. Frodo to read him a page of his writings, but Frodo would put it in his pocket and take out another book to read to him. Frodo never talked about his little book to Sam and Sam understood Frodo and never asked him again about this book. If, Mr. Frodo wanted to write secrets than Sam would not bother him about it.
Looking at this little book, Sam wondered how it got caught in the tool drawer. Perhaps Frodo put it there many long years ago and had just forgotten all about it. He put it into his pocket and would save it for him when they were reunited again in the Grey Havens.
Putting the drawer back into the cubby hole and closing it, Sam left the tool room and shut the door. He was very tired from the long day with his son repairing the old stutters. So Sam walked through the long corridor and headed to his room that he had always shared with his dearest Rosie.
Sam placed the little book on his desk and took off his weskit. Sitting down in his chair in front of his desk, he looked at the little book again. He took his handkerchief and began to wipe it clean from all the dust in that old tool room. The brown leather still had a little shine to it, but Sam wanted it a little better for when he would return it to Frodo.
He went and got some beeswax and a polishing towel. Carefully, Sam began to work the beeswax into the old leather and with each small circle motion from his fingers. He could see the dirt and grime beginning to lift. When he wiped it clean, the leather looked as good as the day it was made. This pleased Sam as he admired the fine leather cover.
Wanting to make this special for his old Master, Sam found some tissue paper that Rosie always kept for wrapping gifts in his desk drawer and he carefully folded the small book into it and sat it upon the table. He thought of Frodo's surprised face when he would give it to him when he saw him.
When Sam prepared himself for bed, he crawled into the warm sheets and cozy quilt. Resting upon his pillow, he looked upon the familiar ceiling. His mind thought back to happier times with Rosie by his side and his heart began to ache with missing her all over again. His bed felt empty without her laying here beside him. His tears began to build in his aged old eyes and threatened to spill over and run down his cheeks. He blinked his eyes and dried them with his sleeve of his nightshirt and did his best to think of something else, but it was too late to shift his thoughts. The loneliness in his heart had filled him and there was no getting away from it.
Sam turned and tossed, and turned once again, but he could not find a comfortable spot. His mind could find no rest that he sought. Hour after hour, he laid there doing his best to convince himself to go to sleep, but sleep would not come to Sam. Finally somewhere between the middle of the night and the dawning of a new day, Sam got up from his bed and went in search for something to read that would put him to sleep. He went through a stack of his favorite books, but he knew each line by heart and just how each story would end. They seemed dull and uninteresting. He saw Rosie's journals, but knew that by reading them it would only increase the loneliness and missing her that already kept him from sleeping.
Sam stood in the middle of his bedroom perplexed in what he should do next. His eyes roamed each shelf and table until they rested upon the tissue wrapping and Frodo's small little book. In his mind, Sam thought that Mr. Frodo would not mind very much if he read a page or two, just to help him fall asleep.
Carefully unwrapping the small little book, Sam felt a little guilty in knowing these were secrets that Frodo did not want to share with anyone. It was his private thoughts and Sam felt like he was betraying a trust and tried to put it down once again. For the longest time, Sam just stood their staring at the small book and argued with himself incisively. The more he stood there, the more curious he became until finally Sam just picked it up and brought it over to his bed.
Climbing in his bed and covering himself up warmly, Sam fluffed up his pillow and moved the candle a little closer on his night stand and opened Frodo's book. He had promised himself that he would only read a few lines, just to get his mind thinking about something else and perhaps then, sleepy enough to close his eyes. He had hoped it was a small book of poems that Frodo loved so much or a story about the elves.
"I love her," read Sam from the beginning paragraph and he continued, "I love her with all my heart. Minderell Maggot, even her name sends my heart to racing,"
Sam put the book down upon his lap and his expressionless face could not believe the words that he had just read. "Frodo was in love?" he whispered to himself being so confused.
Never in all the time that he had known Frodo did he ever mentioned a lass that he had once loved or ever being in love for that matter. This confused Sam greatly and if it was wrong to read his private journal, Sam could no longer help himself. He had to find out more.
Frodo's words that he penned in this book was so eloquently written and flowed with such magic that the imagines began to play in Sam's mind as he read and he could envision Frodo back then on that day in his book.
In The Marish
It was the kind of spring day that sends your feet down any given path and a song bursting deep within your heart. A day like Frodo's Uncle Bilbo proclaimed, to lose oneself on a path of adventure.
Frodo's heart was stirring from all the beauty all around him. The sky was a crystal blue with the sun shining brightly above him. The trees had their first new growth of leaves in deep solid green color and the open field on the other side of Brandyhall, was thick with tall grasses and blooming wild flowers. On the other side of the Brandywine River, stood the Marish and held a promise of an adventure in the thick cover of its wet forestland with Buckleberry Ferry just waiting to take him across.
It was all Frodo could do to contain himself while he ran down the path heading towards the ferry.
Frodo looked back to the shore and then to his home that he had always known, Brandyhall. This was his last summer that he would remain in residence and by autumn, he would be leaving Buckland for Hobbiton and living with his Uncle Bilbo at Bag End. He had anticipated this for many long years after his parent's death when his Uncle Bilbo first asked him to come live with him and soon, he would be leaving Buckland forever. The thought made him sad for a moment, but living with his uncle turned that sadness around while he imagined in his mind how wonderful it was going to be.
The rushing water that lapped at the edge of the ferry, pulled Frodo's thoughts back to his adventure and he pulled on the rope to get him to the other side. Before the ferry touched the shoreline, Frodo's anticipation could not be contained any longer. He leaped from the platform and landed upon the wet soggy grass. He heard the thud of the ferry as it met land and just like a fine race horse at the starting gate, he was off and running, jumping the thick brush and dodging stump and tree that stood in his chosen path.
Deeper and deeper his feet carried him into the dark misty Marish and wet forest land. The echoing of the birds that chirped and the frogs that croaked, gave an explosion of noise in and all around him. Frodo only paused for a moment and turned in circles standing in the center of a small clearing just listening to the sounds within the Marish.
Frodo knew better than to take the path leading right, after his run-in with Farmer Maggot's dogs and the old farmer himself, frightened him enough never to try that again. He only hoped that the farmer was not on the same path that he was taking. No watermelon or mushroom was worth getting caught by those vicious dogs.
A new sound drifted across the small clearing in which Frodo stood, a very faint whispers in musical tones that seemed to charm his very soul. Every so soft, kind and gentle the tones caressed his hearing. He strained his ears to listen and wondered where it was coming from. It seemed to bounce off every tree.
Frodo turned to the left and walked a few yards, but the sweet tones lessened to where he could barely hear them anymore. He went back to where he first heard it and then took the path leading right. Then the sounds became clearer, but still very faint. He knew by this, he was getting closer.
The fear of the dogs and the farmer seemed to be forgotten as he was so entranced by the lovely sound in which he was seeking out. The further he traveling in the direction of the sweets tones gave way to audible sweet sounding words and he listened while he walked closer to them.
"Oh shadows of winter your gray clouds hide the light,
To darken the heart of a misty, long cold night,
It creeps every so slowly to cloud the eyes,
Pulling circles of darkness and tears that openly cries,
Vanish from me the coldness of your breath,
For your wind brings spring to its death.
It flickers like a candle that fights not to be snuffed out,
But ever so fragile it dares not to shout
If hither comes the light of early Spring behind your cold tresses,
Allow it to bloom in the field that is dresses.
Shrouding the color that fades into shades,
On the wings of a blacken bird you take it all away."
Frodo stood frozen in place when his eyes rested upon the loveliest hobbit that he had ever seen. Her long dark curls fell all about her small shoulders and framed her pale soft skin. Her eyes were of the deepest blue color that no spring sky could ever create or fell short from what Frodo could even imagine. She sat upon a swing with ropes tied high in a thick branch of a very tall tree.
She grasped the swing's rope into her hands and leaned her head against them. Her dark curls of her long hair hid her hands that held on the rope. Frodo could see the anguished upon her face and felt the sorrow of her song. Then without him realizing it, he heard his own voice suddenly speak.
"Why do you sing of a cold winter night, when it is a pleasant warm spring day?"
Startled by his sudden words that seemed to jump out at her, she dashed to her feet and stood frozen in place. She shouted out to the voice that questioned her. "Who are you?" she demanded sternly and standing her ground.
"Frodo," he answered, "Frodo Baggin from Brandyhall."
"You are far from your home, Mister Baggins," she told him.
"What business do you have here?"
"No business to speak of, Miss," added Frodo. "Only a day that can make your feet wander in search of what is over the next hill."
"And being in the Marish has found you your answers for your search?" she asked him.
"I've been to the Marish a time or two, when I was a young lad and still living at Brandyhall."
"Then you take your chances wandering where your feet should not take you," she reminded him.
"If you speak of the farmer and his dogs, I am aware of them and on my guard as I fear them," commented Frodo.
"But still not so fearful because you stand here on our land," she added.
"It was your voice of song that kept me from my fear. It was more beautiful than any flower or sunlit sky," He complimented her.
"Perhaps I should whisper my songs when I sit upon my swing or who's to say who else my songs would bring,"
"That would be more to pity because it would be like the Shire not having a any flowers or gardens and how sad that would be," Frodo told her.
She smiled at his answer and her cheeks turned a shade of pink being so complimented by this stranger. It encouraged Frodo while he stood and watched her.
"In telling you my name, I would very much like to know yours?"
Looking up from her swing that she sat upon and glancing at the hobbit who stood just a short distance away from her, she told him, "Minderrell Maggot, to answer your bold question, Mr. Baggins," she said with a brilliant smile that lit up her face.
Her smile sent Frodo's heart beating faster and he became lost in the beauty of her face.
The sound of dogs bellowed a hollow a short distance away that broke the spell cast upon the two who faced each other playfully. Fear instantly seized Frodo and he snapped his eyes in the direction of their hollowing. He took a few steps backward, but fought his instinct to run not wanting to leave Minderrell. But she beckoned him to run with the wave of her hand.
"Hurry, Frodo!" she exclaimed. "You must get yourself from here quickly. My Da is coming with his dogs and he'll not be so understanding as I am."
"When can I see you again?" he asked her quickly.
"That I do not know," she said. "You must hurry!"
Frodo took off running as fast as his legs could carry him.
Breathlessly, he stopped at the ferry and wiped the sweet from his brow. He was glad that he was able to get away in time before the dogs caught his scent and chased him out of the Marish. He was also saddened that he could not have spent more time with Minderrell and getting to know her a little more. She intrigued him with her wit, song and dazzling smile. Her beautiful face and her name would be impossible for him ever to forget.
Frodo smiled when he looked back from where he had come and knew in his heart that he would see her again.
When Frodo walked into Brandyhall, he went directly to his quarters and over to his desk. Envisioning the lass who had captured his heart, he took out his quill and ink and finding some parchment, he began to write her a new song to sing.
Sing me a gentle song;
For your voice my heart does long.
Your song soars on butterfly wings….
Sing to me of spring;
Of fields of flowers and beautiful things,
So you must sing to me….
Sing of trees, blue skies and distance hills,
Oh, so lovely Minderrell………..
He placed his quill into the ink and dusted his parchment to dry.
Tenderly, he folded it and placed it into his pocket and raced to the gardens of Brandyhall. There, he searched for a flower as beautiful as Minderrell.
Frodo returned back to the swing where he found her earlier in the day, but she was not their and neither were the dogs. He placed his parchment of his song and flower on the wooden swing.
Caressing the ropes where her gentle hands had touched, Frodo turned and walked away heading back towards the ferry.
The next day, Frodo returned to the swing, but did not find her there. His flower and parchment was not there either and he smiled knowing that she had found them. He again left another parchment of a song that he wrote for her because he could not get her out of his mind. Writing her these songs, eased his desire of wanting to see her. He left a flower as equally beautiful as the other.
Each day, Frodo returned back to the swing and left yet another song and beautiful flower. Each time, he would find the swing empty and his prior gifts gone. For the days that passed that he did not see her only increased his anticipation and his desire. His songs became words of longing and dreams of being with her. He spoke from his heart of what he felt and it moved him to tears from missing her.
When the days turned into a week and still no answer came from her, he felt that he had lost her and she would never come to him. He placed the last flower that he would give to her and knew that he would not return back to this swing. A tear dropped from the edge of his eye and drifted downward upon his cheek, then he turned and walked slowly away.
From behind him came a soft whisper of a song…..
"I sing to you your song of spring,
in the hopes of what your love can bring;
I come to you to sing…"
He stood frozen in place and closed his eyes tightly and listened to the soft tenderness of her song. Ever so slowly, he turned around opening his eyes to behold her.
There stood Minderrell…..