Chapter 9 Title: Midnight Paisley
Chapter rating: PG
"Iris?"
Silence.
Frodo peeked down the hallway. The door separating the Physician's Offices from her private residential rooms was closed. "She must have gone back into her home after Sam left," he thought.
Frodo went to the front door and flipped the "Open" sign back to "Please ring bells in case of emergencies," and locked the door. He gathered up his bunch of lavender and roses, rewrapped them in his still-damp handkerchief, and boldly walked through the hallway door and into Iris's private residence.
Strong noon sunlight puddled along the polished wooden floors of the hallway and into the residence through an open door in the back of the house. She was sitting on the grey stone stoop of the doorway, her back towards the interior, her gaze directed out into the green medical gardens beyond the stoop.
Frodo quietly walked down the hallway and stopped just behind Iris. She did not look around or give any indication that she knew he was there, but he could sense she was well aware of his presence and was simply choosing to ignore him. She was dressed in one of her usual outfits - a white long sleeved blouse and matching dark green bodice and skirt. But she had allowed her wild brown curls to remain loose and free instead of being platted into a single braid which she normally pinned up into a bun at the back of her head. The loose hair made her look a bit informal and rather rustic - more like a country farm lass than the professional physician she was.
Frodo sat down behind her, placing his legs on either side of her hips and scooting up so that his chest was against her back. She did not move. With his right hand he reached around and pulled her against himself, and with his left he presented her with the flowers.
Neither said a word as she tentatively accepted the peace offering. Frodo's now-empty left hand replaced his right as he held Iris in a tight embrace around her waist. She buried her nose in the fragrant blue and pink bouquet as he used his right hand to sweep aside her hair. His lips brushed the back of her neck. She sighed and fully leaned back into his embrace. His mouth moved onto her ear tip, then back to her neck. They sat together, looking out into the herb garden, content to let the moment happen unhurried.
"You have to fight the rumors, you know," Frodo whispered. "I cannot afford to loose you. If you leave, you will take my heart, and I cannot bear that thought."
Iris set aside the flowers. "I don't know what to do," she softly confessed. "I don't want to leave. But how can the people trust me now?"
Frodo placed both arms around her waist, hugging her tightly to himself. "Have you had lunch yet?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked. "He can be so fickle sometimes," she thought.
"It is part of my plan," he said. "Well, have you had lunch already today?"
"No. I have not felt like eating," Iris said, still confused. "What plan?"
"The plan to stop these rumors in their tracks and get you back to normal, Miss Proudfoot," Frodo said as he stood up and helped her to her feet. He was relieved to see that she had not been crying, and seemed to be in control of her emotions once again. That would make things easier.
She turned to face him, still clutching the floral bouquet in her hand. Frodo cradled her face in his right hand, and they kissed while standing in the golden sunshine. She was still tentative in letting him past her emotional barriers, so the kiss was rather chaste. But Frodo did not mind. He would see to correcting that misunderstanding later. Love is patient.
"Come," he said, "We need to get you out in public as soon as possible. The sooner people see you going about your normal business, the sooner they can ascertain the truth to what Sandyman said this morning, and the sooner they can make up their own minds that he is a fool and a liar. The more you talk to people, the more we are seen together in public as a couple, the more foolish his accusations appear."
"What do you propose, Mister Baggins?" she demurely asked. But her words belied her sly smile. This formal name-calling was a little word game the two played.
"Ah," he thought, "that's better. That's more like yourself talking now."
"Lunch at the Green Dragon Inn," Frodo said.
"But . but that's where the gossip group is," she protested.
"Exactly," he smiled as they went into the kitchen. Frodo retrieved a vase from a shelf, filled it with water and plopped the flowers into the receptacle. "Let us confront the enemy where he lives and defuse the situation at its source. After lunch we visit all the little shops in Hobbiton, plus the vendors in market square. I advise you answer any questions put to you as honestly as you can, although I suspect most folk will be far too polite to come out and say anything to our faces. And some may surprise you."
"Alright then," she acquiesced. "I'm game, as long as you're beside me."
"Always, my love," he smiled, and tried another, deeper kiss. This one was tentatively answered.
How could she resist his deep blue eyes and seductively adventurous nature? "At least let me get my hair in order first," she begged. "I want to look my best before my jurors."
Iris quickly platted her hair and put it up into its customary bun. As if on cue, a stray curl came undone and floated in front of her ear. Frodo pinched off a single pink rosebud from the bouquet and used it to secure the wayward curl back into the plat.
"As co-conspirator, I think you need to look the part too," she said as she also pinched off a rosebud. She placed it into a buttonhole on his coat. "Shall we go?" :::::::::::::::::::::::: The Green Dragon Inn was abuzz with townsfolk. Some were in for a late lunch, but most were there for the ale and gossip. Chas Limekiln, the inn's proprietor, was having a difficult time keeping up with drink orders, seeing as how he had not anticipated any extra crowds and was short-handed. He had sent off one of the dishwashers to bring in an extra lass to help. Everyone wanted beer and talk.
The room suddenly became quiet as a couple walked into the crowded bar. Frodo and Iris looked around the room, seeking out an empty table. Chas noticed their entrance, and elbowed his way over to them.
"Master Baggins and Doctor Proudfoot!" he exclaimed, "So good of you to come in. Please, please, let me get you a table. I assume you'll be wantin' lunch?"
"Yes, please, Mister Limekiln," Frodo replied, not taking his eyes off the crowd and keeping one hand on Iris's shoulder. Iris was a bit intimidated, but smiled at the friendly barkeep.
"Always good to have the former Deputy Mayor and the town Physician brighten the doors of my establishment," Chas announced rather loudly as he shouldered his way into the crowd and over to an occupied table in the middle of the room. "Here now. You folk don't mind moving to the bar, now do you?"
The four lads sitting at the table quickly grabbed their beers and vacated. The barkeep wiped the table clean and seated Frodo and Iris with great ceremony.
"Lunch is on the house for you two," he said. "What can I get ya?"
"No need for the special treatment, Master Limekiln," Iris said. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"Nay, lass," the proprietor protested. "I consider it the least I can do to make up for what happened here this morn. And call me Chas. Just want ya to know you've got friends in Hobbiton, and we don't want ya paying any mind to that idiot from Bywater. Now, what can I get you two? I know you didn't get to finish your dinner the last time you were here. Same as last time? Steak and kidney pie with a house ale, right?"
"That will be fine, thank you very much," Frodo said with a smile. "And thanks for the vote of confidence, Chas."
"My pleasure, Mister Baggins."
A few patrons came up to Iris and Frodo during their lunch and offered encouraging words. The rest of the crowd were content to leave the couple alone. A small gaggle of gossips occasionally glanced at the table, then continued their whispering.
After lunch, Frodo and Iris headed out on their very public rounds. They visited the woodworker's shop, the baker's establishment, and even the blacksmith's shop. A few people stopped and stared as they passed from one business to another, but most politely said their "hellos" and wished them a good day.
Most of the crowd had dispersed from the market square by the time they made their way through the little commercial stalls. Iris was tiring of all the small talk, but Frodo, ever the consummate peacemaker politician, insisted on greeting each and every vendor in the market. A few were somewhat rude, but the vast majority were polite. After finishing their walk through the market place, Frodo insisted on visiting the Hobbiton Tailor Shop as their final visit.
It was late afternoon when they passed through the entrance to the tailor's institution. The little shop's wind chimes affixed to the front door tinkled a merry tune as the door slowly closed behind them. Frodo had been to the tailor's business often and was well acquainted with Mistress Chiswell. She had been tailor for the elder Master Bilbo Baggins for many years before Frodo came to Bag End, and had taken the younger Master Baggins under her wings for all his clothes. Iris had never been inside a tailor's shop before. All her clothes were home-made.
"Well, young Master Baggins! What a pleasant surprise!" the elderly hobbitess beamed with pleasure. "And you, miss. You must be the new doctor."
"Yes mam," Iris delicately replied.
"Iris Proudfoot, may I introduce you to Mistress Lidia Chiswell, Hobbiton's tailor and probably the finest tailor the Shire has ever produced," Frodo said.
"Very pleased to meet you, Mistress Chiswell," Iris curtsied to her elder and smiled.
"Wonderful, wonderful. Now, what may I do for you, Master Baggins?" Lidia said.
"I would like to commission a new dress for Doctor Proudfoot, if you please," Frodo said as he settled back into the wooden bench set up against the front window. He had seen his Uncle Bilbo do this many times when he was commissioning a new suit for his heir. It felt good to finally be the one sitting on the bench instead of the one being measured for the new suit.
"What?" Iris stammered.
"And I want you to use your finest fabric. Something lovely and silky and very rich," he continued. "Something which will compliment her beautiful green eyes." Frodo smiled wickedly and made a great show of delicately sniffing at the rosebud in his lapel buttonhole.
"Mister Baggins!" Iris hissed. "You will commission no such thing!"
"Now, now, Iris," he crossed his legs in front and settled back into the bench's cushions, "I am going to replace that dress that you ruined the other night while on that house call, and I shall not take no for an answer." He turned to the tailor. "Could I see a selection of your finest cloth, please?"
"Very good, Master Baggins," Lidia said. "Doctor Proudfoot, mam? Would you please step back behind the curtain? I'll get Heili to measure you while I present the fabric to young Master Baggins."
Before Iris could protest, she was whisked away for her measurements as Mistress Chiswell disappeared into the back to retrieve the bolts of fabric. Frodo chuckled at his cleverness, dug out his pipe from his coat pocket, filled it, and lighted it for a quick smoke. The room was soon filled with bolt after bolt of rich fabrics of all shades, hues and patterns. He selected a midnight blue small paisley print pattern of a luxuriously tight brushed cotton weave.
"Quite lovely, sir," Mistress Chiswell clucked. "And will the doctor be needing a blouse as well?"
"Yes, indeed she will," Frodo agreed. "Something soft and white, please. Oh, and would you please make me a matching vest out of the same blue paisley fabric? You do still have my measurements?"
"Why, yes, of course we do, Master Baggins," the tailor said, "but are you sure you want me to make your vest out of the same fabric? 'Tis a bit lightweight for a gentlehobbit's vest."
"I definitely want the vest made out of the same material," Frodo said. "Do what you need to do to make it work, but I want to pick up a matched set the next time I come by. And thank you so much for indulging me in this." He pressed some coins into the proprietress's palm, and she smiled her delight.
Iris stepped out from behind the curtain, her dignity in tact, but her emotions a bit ruffled.
"You are most welcome anytime, Master Baggins," Mistress Chiswell called out. "And a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Proudfoot. I shall be calling you in for a fitting later next week."
Iris mumbled her goodbyes as they left the establishment. She turned to Frodo and practically jumped down his throat.
"What was that all about?"
"I told you we needed to be seen in public as a couple," he replied. "This will help identify us as such."
"Well that's great, but you could have let me in on that part of your little plan, don't you think?" Iris grumbled. "Are you sure people won't think we're twins? I can't believe you ordered me a dress, much less ordering yourself a matching vest. What do you think I am? Your wife?"
Frodo stopped dead in his tracks as they reached the Physician's Office door and pulled Iris to his side. "Would you like to be my wife?"
"Iris?"
Silence.
Frodo peeked down the hallway. The door separating the Physician's Offices from her private residential rooms was closed. "She must have gone back into her home after Sam left," he thought.
Frodo went to the front door and flipped the "Open" sign back to "Please ring bells in case of emergencies," and locked the door. He gathered up his bunch of lavender and roses, rewrapped them in his still-damp handkerchief, and boldly walked through the hallway door and into Iris's private residence.
Strong noon sunlight puddled along the polished wooden floors of the hallway and into the residence through an open door in the back of the house. She was sitting on the grey stone stoop of the doorway, her back towards the interior, her gaze directed out into the green medical gardens beyond the stoop.
Frodo quietly walked down the hallway and stopped just behind Iris. She did not look around or give any indication that she knew he was there, but he could sense she was well aware of his presence and was simply choosing to ignore him. She was dressed in one of her usual outfits - a white long sleeved blouse and matching dark green bodice and skirt. But she had allowed her wild brown curls to remain loose and free instead of being platted into a single braid which she normally pinned up into a bun at the back of her head. The loose hair made her look a bit informal and rather rustic - more like a country farm lass than the professional physician she was.
Frodo sat down behind her, placing his legs on either side of her hips and scooting up so that his chest was against her back. She did not move. With his right hand he reached around and pulled her against himself, and with his left he presented her with the flowers.
Neither said a word as she tentatively accepted the peace offering. Frodo's now-empty left hand replaced his right as he held Iris in a tight embrace around her waist. She buried her nose in the fragrant blue and pink bouquet as he used his right hand to sweep aside her hair. His lips brushed the back of her neck. She sighed and fully leaned back into his embrace. His mouth moved onto her ear tip, then back to her neck. They sat together, looking out into the herb garden, content to let the moment happen unhurried.
"You have to fight the rumors, you know," Frodo whispered. "I cannot afford to loose you. If you leave, you will take my heart, and I cannot bear that thought."
Iris set aside the flowers. "I don't know what to do," she softly confessed. "I don't want to leave. But how can the people trust me now?"
Frodo placed both arms around her waist, hugging her tightly to himself. "Have you had lunch yet?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked. "He can be so fickle sometimes," she thought.
"It is part of my plan," he said. "Well, have you had lunch already today?"
"No. I have not felt like eating," Iris said, still confused. "What plan?"
"The plan to stop these rumors in their tracks and get you back to normal, Miss Proudfoot," Frodo said as he stood up and helped her to her feet. He was relieved to see that she had not been crying, and seemed to be in control of her emotions once again. That would make things easier.
She turned to face him, still clutching the floral bouquet in her hand. Frodo cradled her face in his right hand, and they kissed while standing in the golden sunshine. She was still tentative in letting him past her emotional barriers, so the kiss was rather chaste. But Frodo did not mind. He would see to correcting that misunderstanding later. Love is patient.
"Come," he said, "We need to get you out in public as soon as possible. The sooner people see you going about your normal business, the sooner they can ascertain the truth to what Sandyman said this morning, and the sooner they can make up their own minds that he is a fool and a liar. The more you talk to people, the more we are seen together in public as a couple, the more foolish his accusations appear."
"What do you propose, Mister Baggins?" she demurely asked. But her words belied her sly smile. This formal name-calling was a little word game the two played.
"Ah," he thought, "that's better. That's more like yourself talking now."
"Lunch at the Green Dragon Inn," Frodo said.
"But . but that's where the gossip group is," she protested.
"Exactly," he smiled as they went into the kitchen. Frodo retrieved a vase from a shelf, filled it with water and plopped the flowers into the receptacle. "Let us confront the enemy where he lives and defuse the situation at its source. After lunch we visit all the little shops in Hobbiton, plus the vendors in market square. I advise you answer any questions put to you as honestly as you can, although I suspect most folk will be far too polite to come out and say anything to our faces. And some may surprise you."
"Alright then," she acquiesced. "I'm game, as long as you're beside me."
"Always, my love," he smiled, and tried another, deeper kiss. This one was tentatively answered.
How could she resist his deep blue eyes and seductively adventurous nature? "At least let me get my hair in order first," she begged. "I want to look my best before my jurors."
Iris quickly platted her hair and put it up into its customary bun. As if on cue, a stray curl came undone and floated in front of her ear. Frodo pinched off a single pink rosebud from the bouquet and used it to secure the wayward curl back into the plat.
"As co-conspirator, I think you need to look the part too," she said as she also pinched off a rosebud. She placed it into a buttonhole on his coat. "Shall we go?" :::::::::::::::::::::::: The Green Dragon Inn was abuzz with townsfolk. Some were in for a late lunch, but most were there for the ale and gossip. Chas Limekiln, the inn's proprietor, was having a difficult time keeping up with drink orders, seeing as how he had not anticipated any extra crowds and was short-handed. He had sent off one of the dishwashers to bring in an extra lass to help. Everyone wanted beer and talk.
The room suddenly became quiet as a couple walked into the crowded bar. Frodo and Iris looked around the room, seeking out an empty table. Chas noticed their entrance, and elbowed his way over to them.
"Master Baggins and Doctor Proudfoot!" he exclaimed, "So good of you to come in. Please, please, let me get you a table. I assume you'll be wantin' lunch?"
"Yes, please, Mister Limekiln," Frodo replied, not taking his eyes off the crowd and keeping one hand on Iris's shoulder. Iris was a bit intimidated, but smiled at the friendly barkeep.
"Always good to have the former Deputy Mayor and the town Physician brighten the doors of my establishment," Chas announced rather loudly as he shouldered his way into the crowd and over to an occupied table in the middle of the room. "Here now. You folk don't mind moving to the bar, now do you?"
The four lads sitting at the table quickly grabbed their beers and vacated. The barkeep wiped the table clean and seated Frodo and Iris with great ceremony.
"Lunch is on the house for you two," he said. "What can I get ya?"
"No need for the special treatment, Master Limekiln," Iris said. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"Nay, lass," the proprietor protested. "I consider it the least I can do to make up for what happened here this morn. And call me Chas. Just want ya to know you've got friends in Hobbiton, and we don't want ya paying any mind to that idiot from Bywater. Now, what can I get you two? I know you didn't get to finish your dinner the last time you were here. Same as last time? Steak and kidney pie with a house ale, right?"
"That will be fine, thank you very much," Frodo said with a smile. "And thanks for the vote of confidence, Chas."
"My pleasure, Mister Baggins."
A few patrons came up to Iris and Frodo during their lunch and offered encouraging words. The rest of the crowd were content to leave the couple alone. A small gaggle of gossips occasionally glanced at the table, then continued their whispering.
After lunch, Frodo and Iris headed out on their very public rounds. They visited the woodworker's shop, the baker's establishment, and even the blacksmith's shop. A few people stopped and stared as they passed from one business to another, but most politely said their "hellos" and wished them a good day.
Most of the crowd had dispersed from the market square by the time they made their way through the little commercial stalls. Iris was tiring of all the small talk, but Frodo, ever the consummate peacemaker politician, insisted on greeting each and every vendor in the market. A few were somewhat rude, but the vast majority were polite. After finishing their walk through the market place, Frodo insisted on visiting the Hobbiton Tailor Shop as their final visit.
It was late afternoon when they passed through the entrance to the tailor's institution. The little shop's wind chimes affixed to the front door tinkled a merry tune as the door slowly closed behind them. Frodo had been to the tailor's business often and was well acquainted with Mistress Chiswell. She had been tailor for the elder Master Bilbo Baggins for many years before Frodo came to Bag End, and had taken the younger Master Baggins under her wings for all his clothes. Iris had never been inside a tailor's shop before. All her clothes were home-made.
"Well, young Master Baggins! What a pleasant surprise!" the elderly hobbitess beamed with pleasure. "And you, miss. You must be the new doctor."
"Yes mam," Iris delicately replied.
"Iris Proudfoot, may I introduce you to Mistress Lidia Chiswell, Hobbiton's tailor and probably the finest tailor the Shire has ever produced," Frodo said.
"Very pleased to meet you, Mistress Chiswell," Iris curtsied to her elder and smiled.
"Wonderful, wonderful. Now, what may I do for you, Master Baggins?" Lidia said.
"I would like to commission a new dress for Doctor Proudfoot, if you please," Frodo said as he settled back into the wooden bench set up against the front window. He had seen his Uncle Bilbo do this many times when he was commissioning a new suit for his heir. It felt good to finally be the one sitting on the bench instead of the one being measured for the new suit.
"What?" Iris stammered.
"And I want you to use your finest fabric. Something lovely and silky and very rich," he continued. "Something which will compliment her beautiful green eyes." Frodo smiled wickedly and made a great show of delicately sniffing at the rosebud in his lapel buttonhole.
"Mister Baggins!" Iris hissed. "You will commission no such thing!"
"Now, now, Iris," he crossed his legs in front and settled back into the bench's cushions, "I am going to replace that dress that you ruined the other night while on that house call, and I shall not take no for an answer." He turned to the tailor. "Could I see a selection of your finest cloth, please?"
"Very good, Master Baggins," Lidia said. "Doctor Proudfoot, mam? Would you please step back behind the curtain? I'll get Heili to measure you while I present the fabric to young Master Baggins."
Before Iris could protest, she was whisked away for her measurements as Mistress Chiswell disappeared into the back to retrieve the bolts of fabric. Frodo chuckled at his cleverness, dug out his pipe from his coat pocket, filled it, and lighted it for a quick smoke. The room was soon filled with bolt after bolt of rich fabrics of all shades, hues and patterns. He selected a midnight blue small paisley print pattern of a luxuriously tight brushed cotton weave.
"Quite lovely, sir," Mistress Chiswell clucked. "And will the doctor be needing a blouse as well?"
"Yes, indeed she will," Frodo agreed. "Something soft and white, please. Oh, and would you please make me a matching vest out of the same blue paisley fabric? You do still have my measurements?"
"Why, yes, of course we do, Master Baggins," the tailor said, "but are you sure you want me to make your vest out of the same fabric? 'Tis a bit lightweight for a gentlehobbit's vest."
"I definitely want the vest made out of the same material," Frodo said. "Do what you need to do to make it work, but I want to pick up a matched set the next time I come by. And thank you so much for indulging me in this." He pressed some coins into the proprietress's palm, and she smiled her delight.
Iris stepped out from behind the curtain, her dignity in tact, but her emotions a bit ruffled.
"You are most welcome anytime, Master Baggins," Mistress Chiswell called out. "And a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Proudfoot. I shall be calling you in for a fitting later next week."
Iris mumbled her goodbyes as they left the establishment. She turned to Frodo and practically jumped down his throat.
"What was that all about?"
"I told you we needed to be seen in public as a couple," he replied. "This will help identify us as such."
"Well that's great, but you could have let me in on that part of your little plan, don't you think?" Iris grumbled. "Are you sure people won't think we're twins? I can't believe you ordered me a dress, much less ordering yourself a matching vest. What do you think I am? Your wife?"
Frodo stopped dead in his tracks as they reached the Physician's Office door and pulled Iris to his side. "Would you like to be my wife?"
