"SAMWISE! What do you think you are doin' lad?" Hamfast's voice bellowed
across the garden to where his son was knelt down, hard at work. He
trembled when he heard the tone of his dad's voice and braced himself for
his harsh words.
"I'm replanting the zinnias da" he answered, keeping his eyes focused on the ground.
"Did I tell you to do that?" The Gaffer strode across the garden and towered above him. Sam shook his head. "Look at me, and speak when you're spoken to lad! Sam looked into his eyes, and his voice trembled slightly.
"No sir."
"Then why in blazes aren't you doing what I told you to do? What did I tell you to do Samwise?" Sam glanced briefly at the vegetable patch and looked back at his father's feet.
"Dig up the potatoes sir," he replied, timidly.
"So why aren't you doing it?" Sam blinked, working up the courage to tell him the truth.
"I thought...well that the potatoes mightn't be ready just this yet, and that they cold use a day longer and as for these zinnias..."
"Samwise Gamgee!" He lowered his voice so he would not be overheard. "When I agreed you could work here as my apprentice, I did not agree to you giving me lessons in gardening! If I tell you to do something I expect it to be done without a doubt!" The Gaffer advanced towards Sam, his left arm outstretched.
"Good morning Hamfast! Ah and young Sam too." A cheerful and gladly welcome voice rang out from the hill. Sam sighed in relief. The Gaffer would do nothing whilst his Master was around.
"Mornin' Mister Bilbo!" Hamfast replied, giving Sam a rough shove. Sam repeated his greeting.
"Lovely day isn't it, lads? So much better than that dreadful drizzle we've been having lately."
"Aye sir" the Gaffer replied, "but the rain is important for a healthy garden Mister Bilbo."
"Certainly, of course!" Bilbo agreed. "Well, it seems I overcatered for lunch today. Frodo and myself couldn't possibly eat it by ourselves, and I'd hate to see food go to waste. Won't you two join us?"
"That sounds lovely sir, and I'm inclined to accept. Unfortunately Samwise will not be eating with us, he's been slacking in his duties and he needs to catch up."
Sam blushed and looked down at the ground, he was starved from missing second breakfast and he doubted hid dad would allow him to indulge in afternoon tea. When he looked up again, Bilbo was giving the Gaffer a searching look, as if not quite satisfied.
"Oh now, that is a dreadful shame. Frodo enjoys Sam's company so much, and he was looking forward to having a bit of lunch with the lad."
"All the same sir, nothing good will come of Samwise getting too close to your Frodo. Not right for a lad of his status mixing with the gentry. You go on in, Mister Bilbo, while I have a word with Sam and get cleaned up."
Bilbo nodded and said a farewell to Sam, disappearing back into the hole. Within an instant, Hamfast span round to face Sam, who found himself shrinking back.
"Just see you do what I tell you lad. I want to see this year's crop of potatoes gathered when I come back, and you'll know the devil if I hear any talk from Mister Bilbo and Mister Frodo of you acting above what you ought to!" As soon as the words had left his father's lips he had gone, leaving Sam to blink back the tears that he would not let fall. He left the zinnias he was working on and fetched a sack from the toolshed.
He headed over to the vegetable patch and started uprooting the potatoes. He had been right. The crop he had pulled up were undersized, and a puce colour. By rights they should have been left alone for another couple of days, what with the weather they'd been having. Nevertheless, fearing a strike from his father, he kept on pulling them up, each one as puny as the others.
After an hour, Hamfast came out to see how he was doing. He picked one up out of one of the sacks and weighed it in his hand.
"Well this one didn't do so well," he said, trying to be civil. At that moment he saw Sam pull up three potatoes from the soil. "By the lands, are they all like this?"
"Yes, sir," Sam replied, putting them into the sack.
"How many rows have you pulled up?"
"15" he replied, preparing for the outburst to follow.
"FIFTEEN?" His gaffer yelled, his golden face turning beetroot red. "That only leaves eight rows left! Leave it alone!" Sam had been about to dig up some more potatoes, but stopped at the request of his dad. "Why didn't you have the sense to stop? 'stead of ruinin' a years crop!" Sam made no reply, he knew why he had not but he did not speak for fear of reprimand. "Leastways we can save the rest. Leave them there for another few days.
"That's what I told you da!" Sam regretted his words instantly.
"YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO TELL ME HOW TO DO ANYTHIN'!" Hamfast roared. "I am your father and you learn from me!" He struck Sam so suddenly and without warning that Sam felt himself crashing to the ground. His cheek stung and throbbed, and tears pricked his eyes. "Take yourself 'ome lad. I don't want you clambering around, gettin' in my way when I've got work to do!"
Sam turned away so as not to show the tear that fell down his cheek. Brushing off the dirt from his legs, he stood up and walked over to the gate. "I'll deal with you later" his father called from behind, and a feeling of dread crept into Sam's bones.
*
I"Sam, come here!" His father called, with laboured breathing and heavy sadness. It made him sad to think of what could bring his father to look at the world so dejectedly.
He stood still in his place, looking around at his brothers. They all shared his fathers' expression and held some of his sisters in their arms. The rest sat on chairs, or on the floor. His sisters' cheeks were wet from tears.
"What's happened?" He asked, troubled deeply to think of why his whole family was so upset. Wait! – He scanned the room again to make sure he was not mistaken. He wasn't. There was someone missing.
"Where's mama?" A choked sob from his youngest sister, he never took his eyes off of his father. Brown eyes met his golden, and his father stared long and hard, thinking of how to tell him. It had been easier for the rest. His brothers and sisters had all been present to witness the event.
"Sam," his father paused, seeming to lose his voice, "whilst you were staying down on the Cottons' farm, your mother...she, she came down with a terrible fever."
"Is she all right? Let me go in and see her!" He interrupted, worry seizing his heart. His eldest sister stood up and ran out into the garden, and his youngest followed, sobbing. He frowned, something wasn't right.
"Sam, the fever was terrible! It came on so suddenly! We sent for the healer, but he arrived too late."
"What are you talking about?" He already knew the answer but he prayed and hoped it wasn't so.
"Samwise, your mother died. She passed away last night in her sleep."
He was stunned. No words came into his head, no words were spoken. He stood there gaping, not comprehending.
"Leave us!" his father ordered. His brothers and sisters went out into the garden. He searched his fathers' face for some hint, some flicker of proof that this was all some cruel lie. Nothing showed. Staggering back his eyes scanned the room, expecting his mother to walk in and hold him in her arms. His eye fell upon the slate on the wall by the entrance. Yesterday it had been covered in chalk marks to count the days of the month, but today it had been wiped clean, and a solitary mark was etched on the grey, signaling the start of a new month. A fool! This was an Astron fool! It had to be.
He laughed. To his father, the shrill giggle of his youngest son on the verge of maturity sounded like the laugh of a madman, and he felt hot anger surge up and through him.
"You almost had me there, da!" He said when he had stopped laughing. "But that's a rather cruel fool to play don't you think?" He grew scared when he saw his fathers' face.
"Boy, the only fool in this room is you."
His face fell once more.
"No! It's a lie! It has to be! Mama's not dead!" His voice grew louder as he spoke until he almost yelled the last sentence. His father glared at him; his father had never looked him at like that and it frightened him to the core.
Footsteps. One. Two. Three. Within seconds his father was standing face to face with him, with his brown eyes blazing with fury.
"You don't understand, do you, lad? Stuck in lands of Elves and faeries where nobody ever dies, where there ain't never no hurt!" His father drew his left arm back and before he had time to blink he was knocked to the ground.
His face connected with the wooden boards, his face that had stung from the force of his fathers' strike now screamed with pain. When he had opened his eyes, he found he could see down the corridor. At the end of the corridor the room to the spare room was wide open, and there on the bed, like some beautiful elf, lay his mother, surrounded by forget-me-not petals. She was deathly still, and her cheeks were no longer filled with the rosy pallor she had possessed since she was a babe. His mother had gone, and he was left alone with his father. As if to remind him, he felt the throbbing in his cheek intensify, and he felt the gates open, and lay still, sobbing. /I
*
That was the moment it had all started, Sam reflected, as he sat alone in the parlour of #3, Bagshot Row. That fateful day when he had found out his mother had died, and acted immaturely. His father had reprimanded him something horrid, and he was sore for days after that. He looked at the clock on the mantle, at least two more hours since his father came home, and would see to him once more, as he always did. He brought his fingers to his lips, as he always did lately, when he would fear for his safety. It was a nasty habit, but one he couldn't break, and he often tore the skin at the tops of his fingers, when nibbling his nails was not enough punishment. He looked back at the clock. 1 hour and fifty eight minutes. Already he could taste the copper on his tongue, how long would it be before he would find scarlet rivers running down his back.
"I'm replanting the zinnias da" he answered, keeping his eyes focused on the ground.
"Did I tell you to do that?" The Gaffer strode across the garden and towered above him. Sam shook his head. "Look at me, and speak when you're spoken to lad! Sam looked into his eyes, and his voice trembled slightly.
"No sir."
"Then why in blazes aren't you doing what I told you to do? What did I tell you to do Samwise?" Sam glanced briefly at the vegetable patch and looked back at his father's feet.
"Dig up the potatoes sir," he replied, timidly.
"So why aren't you doing it?" Sam blinked, working up the courage to tell him the truth.
"I thought...well that the potatoes mightn't be ready just this yet, and that they cold use a day longer and as for these zinnias..."
"Samwise Gamgee!" He lowered his voice so he would not be overheard. "When I agreed you could work here as my apprentice, I did not agree to you giving me lessons in gardening! If I tell you to do something I expect it to be done without a doubt!" The Gaffer advanced towards Sam, his left arm outstretched.
"Good morning Hamfast! Ah and young Sam too." A cheerful and gladly welcome voice rang out from the hill. Sam sighed in relief. The Gaffer would do nothing whilst his Master was around.
"Mornin' Mister Bilbo!" Hamfast replied, giving Sam a rough shove. Sam repeated his greeting.
"Lovely day isn't it, lads? So much better than that dreadful drizzle we've been having lately."
"Aye sir" the Gaffer replied, "but the rain is important for a healthy garden Mister Bilbo."
"Certainly, of course!" Bilbo agreed. "Well, it seems I overcatered for lunch today. Frodo and myself couldn't possibly eat it by ourselves, and I'd hate to see food go to waste. Won't you two join us?"
"That sounds lovely sir, and I'm inclined to accept. Unfortunately Samwise will not be eating with us, he's been slacking in his duties and he needs to catch up."
Sam blushed and looked down at the ground, he was starved from missing second breakfast and he doubted hid dad would allow him to indulge in afternoon tea. When he looked up again, Bilbo was giving the Gaffer a searching look, as if not quite satisfied.
"Oh now, that is a dreadful shame. Frodo enjoys Sam's company so much, and he was looking forward to having a bit of lunch with the lad."
"All the same sir, nothing good will come of Samwise getting too close to your Frodo. Not right for a lad of his status mixing with the gentry. You go on in, Mister Bilbo, while I have a word with Sam and get cleaned up."
Bilbo nodded and said a farewell to Sam, disappearing back into the hole. Within an instant, Hamfast span round to face Sam, who found himself shrinking back.
"Just see you do what I tell you lad. I want to see this year's crop of potatoes gathered when I come back, and you'll know the devil if I hear any talk from Mister Bilbo and Mister Frodo of you acting above what you ought to!" As soon as the words had left his father's lips he had gone, leaving Sam to blink back the tears that he would not let fall. He left the zinnias he was working on and fetched a sack from the toolshed.
He headed over to the vegetable patch and started uprooting the potatoes. He had been right. The crop he had pulled up were undersized, and a puce colour. By rights they should have been left alone for another couple of days, what with the weather they'd been having. Nevertheless, fearing a strike from his father, he kept on pulling them up, each one as puny as the others.
After an hour, Hamfast came out to see how he was doing. He picked one up out of one of the sacks and weighed it in his hand.
"Well this one didn't do so well," he said, trying to be civil. At that moment he saw Sam pull up three potatoes from the soil. "By the lands, are they all like this?"
"Yes, sir," Sam replied, putting them into the sack.
"How many rows have you pulled up?"
"15" he replied, preparing for the outburst to follow.
"FIFTEEN?" His gaffer yelled, his golden face turning beetroot red. "That only leaves eight rows left! Leave it alone!" Sam had been about to dig up some more potatoes, but stopped at the request of his dad. "Why didn't you have the sense to stop? 'stead of ruinin' a years crop!" Sam made no reply, he knew why he had not but he did not speak for fear of reprimand. "Leastways we can save the rest. Leave them there for another few days.
"That's what I told you da!" Sam regretted his words instantly.
"YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO TELL ME HOW TO DO ANYTHIN'!" Hamfast roared. "I am your father and you learn from me!" He struck Sam so suddenly and without warning that Sam felt himself crashing to the ground. His cheek stung and throbbed, and tears pricked his eyes. "Take yourself 'ome lad. I don't want you clambering around, gettin' in my way when I've got work to do!"
Sam turned away so as not to show the tear that fell down his cheek. Brushing off the dirt from his legs, he stood up and walked over to the gate. "I'll deal with you later" his father called from behind, and a feeling of dread crept into Sam's bones.
*
I"Sam, come here!" His father called, with laboured breathing and heavy sadness. It made him sad to think of what could bring his father to look at the world so dejectedly.
He stood still in his place, looking around at his brothers. They all shared his fathers' expression and held some of his sisters in their arms. The rest sat on chairs, or on the floor. His sisters' cheeks were wet from tears.
"What's happened?" He asked, troubled deeply to think of why his whole family was so upset. Wait! – He scanned the room again to make sure he was not mistaken. He wasn't. There was someone missing.
"Where's mama?" A choked sob from his youngest sister, he never took his eyes off of his father. Brown eyes met his golden, and his father stared long and hard, thinking of how to tell him. It had been easier for the rest. His brothers and sisters had all been present to witness the event.
"Sam," his father paused, seeming to lose his voice, "whilst you were staying down on the Cottons' farm, your mother...she, she came down with a terrible fever."
"Is she all right? Let me go in and see her!" He interrupted, worry seizing his heart. His eldest sister stood up and ran out into the garden, and his youngest followed, sobbing. He frowned, something wasn't right.
"Sam, the fever was terrible! It came on so suddenly! We sent for the healer, but he arrived too late."
"What are you talking about?" He already knew the answer but he prayed and hoped it wasn't so.
"Samwise, your mother died. She passed away last night in her sleep."
He was stunned. No words came into his head, no words were spoken. He stood there gaping, not comprehending.
"Leave us!" his father ordered. His brothers and sisters went out into the garden. He searched his fathers' face for some hint, some flicker of proof that this was all some cruel lie. Nothing showed. Staggering back his eyes scanned the room, expecting his mother to walk in and hold him in her arms. His eye fell upon the slate on the wall by the entrance. Yesterday it had been covered in chalk marks to count the days of the month, but today it had been wiped clean, and a solitary mark was etched on the grey, signaling the start of a new month. A fool! This was an Astron fool! It had to be.
He laughed. To his father, the shrill giggle of his youngest son on the verge of maturity sounded like the laugh of a madman, and he felt hot anger surge up and through him.
"You almost had me there, da!" He said when he had stopped laughing. "But that's a rather cruel fool to play don't you think?" He grew scared when he saw his fathers' face.
"Boy, the only fool in this room is you."
His face fell once more.
"No! It's a lie! It has to be! Mama's not dead!" His voice grew louder as he spoke until he almost yelled the last sentence. His father glared at him; his father had never looked him at like that and it frightened him to the core.
Footsteps. One. Two. Three. Within seconds his father was standing face to face with him, with his brown eyes blazing with fury.
"You don't understand, do you, lad? Stuck in lands of Elves and faeries where nobody ever dies, where there ain't never no hurt!" His father drew his left arm back and before he had time to blink he was knocked to the ground.
His face connected with the wooden boards, his face that had stung from the force of his fathers' strike now screamed with pain. When he had opened his eyes, he found he could see down the corridor. At the end of the corridor the room to the spare room was wide open, and there on the bed, like some beautiful elf, lay his mother, surrounded by forget-me-not petals. She was deathly still, and her cheeks were no longer filled with the rosy pallor she had possessed since she was a babe. His mother had gone, and he was left alone with his father. As if to remind him, he felt the throbbing in his cheek intensify, and he felt the gates open, and lay still, sobbing. /I
*
That was the moment it had all started, Sam reflected, as he sat alone in the parlour of #3, Bagshot Row. That fateful day when he had found out his mother had died, and acted immaturely. His father had reprimanded him something horrid, and he was sore for days after that. He looked at the clock on the mantle, at least two more hours since his father came home, and would see to him once more, as he always did. He brought his fingers to his lips, as he always did lately, when he would fear for his safety. It was a nasty habit, but one he couldn't break, and he often tore the skin at the tops of his fingers, when nibbling his nails was not enough punishment. He looked back at the clock. 1 hour and fifty eight minutes. Already he could taste the copper on his tongue, how long would it be before he would find scarlet rivers running down his back.