I straightened away from Tory's stone at last, and wiped my eyes. When I woke up that morning, I had realized with a shock that Tory had been gone for over eight months. It felt like a lifetime.
The pressure in my chest began building relentlessly. I did not want to look at the small stone to my right. I could just see the stars and clouds incised on it out of the corner of my eye.
My vision began to blur and I stared off for a moment, gathering myself. When I blinked, a green and white shape suddenly coalesced into that of a solitary figure standing at the edge of the cemetery. He was looking down steadily at the graves before him. How long had he been there? I felt a surge of anger at the interruption. I'd never seen anyone else here before. After all, it was not the way of hobbits to moon around over the dead all day.
I couldn't bring myself to turn with him standing there. I took a deep breath and waited. After several minutes, the silent figure still had not moved. Was he even breathing? I tried to remember who was buried over in that corner. It was fairly recent. A sibling of Old Rory's who had died young? A sister? In a flash, I realized what had eluded me. It was Primula and Drogo Baggins who were buried there. So, most likely, the person standing there so quietly was….Frodo Baggins.
What are you doing here? I fumed inwardly. Why aren't you back in Hobbiton where you can hide with your devoted servant to care for you? When the figure's shoulders twitched, I realized with a shock that I had spoken aloud. He turned to peer at me over the graves, and I saw it was indeed Frodo.
"Are you addressing me?"
"Not at all, I was mistaken," I said hastily. "My apologies." I bowed my head. Now he will surely go. Instead, I heard footsteps crunching toward me through the heat-seared grasses.
Keeping my eyes determinedly on the ground, I saw a pair of feet come to a halt before me. They were dirty and scratched as if the owner had walked a long way since the day had begun. "True, I live in Hobbiton, and am lucky enough to have a devoted servant. But most are too polite to speak of it, especially when one is standing in a cemetery."
Cursing under my breath, I raised my eyes. He was wearing fine green breeches and a plain white shirt with a russet vest. It took me a moment to grasp that the pallor in his face was not just the morning light washing the color from him.
He seemed much thinner and I wondered about the aforementioned 'difficulty settling' he'd had. He looked back at me with the same puzzling recognition. I knew I had aged a thousand years from the happy lass he had once been acquainted with.
"Why, Tansy, it's been so long…." His voice trailed off, as he took in where I sat. He flushed brick red, looking away. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Tansy," he said quietly.
"It has been difficult, but it will get better," I managed, in one of the time-honored Hobbit responses to sympathy. Today, the inane pleasantry struck me as so ridiculous I nearly started giggling.
"Will it?" he asked. I looked up at him, startled, even shocked at the question.
"Yes, I believe it will," I stammered.
"Do you?" he asked, looking at me steadily. His eyes were a dull cloudy blue, not at all the gorgeous ocean-blue I had heard silly young lasses giggling over. "Because sometimes I find myself doubting that things will get better. And fearing that they will get considerably worse."
I could think of absolutely no polite response to make. I finally said, "I'm sorry but I don't understand…"
"Yes, I know." He started to turn away and then looked past me at the very stone I was trying to avoid seeing. "Unusual," he said quietly.
"Beyond the circles of the world," I said, biting my lip to keep my voice calm. I held up my hand to forestall comment and continued. "I know it's an outlandish quotation that only proves that I am mad with grief." I looked at him defiantly, wondering if this would cause him to make his excuses and shuffle off.
He seemed to read my look. "I like it, actually. And many thought Bilbo was quite mad, but I always found his company perfectly agreeable." He gestured to the ground. "May I?"
I shrugged, and he dropped gracefully down next to me. I was congratulating myself on my composure when the rest of the stone's lettering finally leaped into my vision.
Tobas Brandybuck, 1416-1420, beloved child
I turned away from Frodo and confronted the stone. The words were still there. And Toby was still dead.
"It seemed like a stomachache," I said, hardly aware I was speaking.
"Did it?"
"Yes, just a stomach ache after the May Day feast. How inane, how absurd is that? I thought I'd seen the worst of death when my mother died or Tory, but Toby… "
I felt a movement next to me and realized that Frodo was holding out his handkerchief. I took it silently and wiped my eyes. I glanced over at him. He was sitting quietly, seeming very self-contained and peaceful. A little breeze swept across us just then, and blew his hair back away from his face. I was suddenly frozen, remembering.
Remembering my Tory and my Toby… It was one of those long lazy days following the day Tory returned from a gadabout. We nearly always spent that time lounging about, re-acquainting ourselves with each other and with Toby. Sometimes we would paddle, or even take out one of the small boats of the Brandybucks. Tory had taught me how to handle myself in the water, but I still was not as comfortable as he and Toby were.
That day, Toby had made a beeline for the water, and Tory had followed him and kept his toddling feet steady. It was early and already Toby was turning brown. There was a sudden gust of wind, and Tory had squinted off into the distance, and then pointed. I turned and looked back, seeing the thunderheads building up in the East.. So much for paddling that day. Tory had lifted Toby up on his shoulder, and the freshening wind blew in their faces, flattening their hair back and revealing the similarities in their facial structure.
I had stood on the bank, watching them walk toward me, feeling as if I could never be any happier than I was at that small moment in time. I could see them now, walking toward me, the wind blowing against them, but they didn't seem to be getting any closer. They were receding, the wind was blowing them away from me, and Toby held his little arms out to me pleadingly. "Mama!"
I was sitting in a golden-lit cemetery, watching Frodo Baggins' hair blow back away from his face. I looked at him, and saw the beauty in the bones and lines of his face. Even pale and thin, he was as gorgeous as an angel. Why had he come here?
I closed my eyes, trying to master myself. Why had he returned? I wanted to pound that beautiful skull into the stone before me. I hated him. Tory had left me to rescue him and for what? So that he could live in peace in his beautiful hole. What right had he to live and be so beautiful when my husband and child were in the cold ground?
I opened my eyes to find him watching me. He looked as if he felt he should say something but was unsure of what to say. I was so very familiar with that look. He opened his mouth, but I spoke first, with a malicious edge.
"So, Frodo, tell me all about your travels. Went to Mordor, didn't you?"
He flinched visibly, and looked away hastily. I felt a twinge of conscience but ignored it. Maybe now he will leave me in peace. A little silence fell between us.
Then he cleared his throat and said slowly, almost tonelessly: "I was at the Battle of Bywater, Tansy. Shall I tell you all about it?"
It was my turn to flinch, and look away. I clenched my hands into fists, feeling a mixture of remorse, anger, and recognition. I had no right to taunt him so. I could see something had hurt him terribly.
He began to shift onto his knees, preparing to get up and I couldn't bear to have him leave thinking so ill of me. I put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," I said. "I don't know what came over me to say something so unkind. Please don't leave."
He hesitated a moment, then sat down again. "I understand," he said reluctantly. "I know only too well what can come over one." His face tightened for an instant, as if he were near tears, then eased.
"Few will refer to my travels to my face, you know," he said, thoughtfully.
"I've heard a few whispers here and there."
He looked startled. "What do they say? I wouldn't think anyone would be interested, truly. "
"Perhaps not the men, but women are always interested when someone comes to a bad end. Especially one so well-favored to begin with."
He looked astonished at this, and I shook my head at myself. I was being rudely frank. Dahlia would be most displeased with me if she heard of this conversation.
"Bad end? Well-favored?" he repeated.
"The handsomest and richest bachelor in Hobbiton could not be considered anything other than well-favored," I answered impatiently. "And if he foolishly runs off on some adventure and comes home ill and melancholic, most hobbits would think that a bad end."
He stared at me with a curious mix of emotions on his face. He looked down and closed his eyes and his shoulders began to shake. I felt a surge of alarm—I hadn't meant to drive him to tears! I reached over and patted his shoulder cautiously. He threw his head back and a peal of laughter echoed around the cemetery. I pulled my hand back, as he got himself under control.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not laughing at you. To think what hobbits consider a 'bad end', it quite overcame me."
I was unused to being laughed at. "I see." My curiosity prompted me to ask, "So what is a bad end, that a hobbit definition amuses you so?"
The smile died on his lips. "I don't believe that you would truly like to know the answer to that, Tansy. Surely you can imagine…"
I shook my head argumentatively. "Tory died fighting ruffians to save the Shire. My child died of an illness," my voice shook for a moment, then steadied. "Neither of those is a 'bad end'. An end, yes, but not a bad one." I blinked back tears and focused on Frodo again. "So, no, Frodo, I don't think I can imagine."
He pursed his lips for a moment, staring off into the distance. And, with something of a jerk, I remembered my plans for the day. What are you doing, Tansy? I thought in some frustration. I thought you were trying to get rid of Mr. Baggins, not prise his life story out of him! I shifted to get up and he looked over at me.
"I thought you wanted to hear about my travels."
"Yes, but I began to think you wanted to be alone," I answered.
"Not at all, I merely needed to marshal my thoughts." I looked closely at his face, and saw nothing amiss. After fussing over the definition of 'bad end', I could not leave now without impressing him with my own oddity, to be sure. And hobbits acting that odd generally got marched off to concerned relations and given tonics. I would play for time, and hope to be excused…say, at elevenses? I sighed. The Baggins family was notoriously long-winded. Perhaps I could escape him at lunchtime.
Without further ado, he launched into an account of Bilbo's final party. I was amused to note that he apparently assumed I was too young to have attended.
"And next day, I had charge of the various small legacies Bilbo had left behind. It was vexing because there was more than a few who seemed to think the entire household was being given away. Some young hobbits seemed to think they would be able to dig up Bilbo's legendary gold," He paused and laughed. "In fact, your brother Sancho was one."
"Yes, he told us he had been thrown out. Grandfather was exceedingly annoyed. I pointed out that good guests usually do not begin excavations in unused rooms, and Father boxed his ears. He'd left that part out."
Frodo looked at me in surprise. "You speak as if you were there, but I don't remember you."
"Well, I was seventeen and rather insecure so I avoided everyone I knew. Bilbo left Grandfather a book. He was more outraged by that than by your treatment of Sancho."
Frodo chuckled. "I think I remember which book, too. Wasn't it a copy of some of Bilbo's translations?"
"Yes, and the tag said, For Odo Proudfoot, for his instruction. Grandfather almost burned it. 'Foreign trash!' he said. 'A respectable hobbit needs naught of that sort!' " I had to smile, thinking back to the scene. I had rescued the little book, planning to annoy Grandfather with it later.
Frodo went on with his tale. "After Lobelia and Otho had left, Gandalf came 'round and said he was off to do some research, concerning part of my inheritance. He advised me to keep this a secret and said he would visit when able." He glanced at me sideways for a moment.
I leaned forward interestedly. "Part of your inheritance? I've never heard that before. What was it? Something Bilbo had got on his travels?"
Frodo was quiet for a moment, and then asked me, "Was your marriage arranged, Tansy, or was it a love-match?"
I was startled by the change of subject, and then I realized why he'd done it. He'd come to some difficult part of his story, and was having second thoughts about confiding in some gossipy third-cousin once removed he barely knew. This was the perfect opportunity for me to take offense and storm off. And yet, I hesitated. As I rationalized it to myself, having a row with Frodo Baggins was not the exit I had imagined.
"The best of both, actually," I eventually answered. "A love-match that we convinced our elders to arrange for us. Tory was a friend of Sancho's and we were always fond of each other. I knew how I felt quite early. And when the time came to choose me a husband, my grandfather was more than ready to consider him."
Even nine months after his death, it was still difficult to speak of my Tory at times. I took refuge in a line of poetry that our conversation had brought to mind. "The Sundering Seas between them lay, and yet at last they met once more, and long ago they passed away, in the forest singing sorrowless."
"How do you know that bit of poetry?" Frodo's brows were drawn together in consternation.
"It's out of that book of Bilbo's, of course," I said, wondering at his question. Surely he knew it himself?
"You read it?"
"Yes, I thought anything that angered Grandfather so must be interesting. I found the poetry beautiful, though sad," I replied, vexed at his obvious surprise. "I still have it, in fact. I understand it a bit better now." He was still apparently speechless at the wonder of a woman reading. "Speaking of Bilbo, is he…is he still well?"
He smiled, affection shining clearly in his eyes. "Yes, and next year will pass the old Took in age. He is at the Elven refuge of Rivendell. Soon to pass over sea."
I looked at him in wonder. "Into the Uttermost West?" Songs and stories…
He nodded, looking sad. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "I guess I should continue on with my story? The item Bilbo had left me was a magic golden ring. As you guessed, he had come upon it in his adventures."
I listened quietly, considering his reaction. I was amused at the irony. I had earlier worried about Frodo thinking me odd. But it seemed if he judged me by his own standards, I would have to act oddly indeed to make any impression on him. As he recounted Gandalf's final test and revelations to me, it seemed more than ever like a fairy-story, told for amusement while we two sat in the heat of an August day.
He wound his tale through the Shire, to Buckland, and through the Old Forest. Most of this was not new to me, for their journey had been extensively discussed in the upheaval following the disappearance. And Tory had told me of Shire folk seeing strange Big Folk dressed in black, and riding black horses.
While none would consider spending the night in the Old Forest, Bucklanders did go into it occasionally. It seemed a certain age was reached which nothing would settle but to brave the Forest for a time, and then brag of it later. Tory had taken me in once, and we had stayed right close to the gate. Though he had whispered of the menace in the air, I sensed nothing. I hadn't seen any trees moving of their own accord, either.
When Frodo described Tom and their rescue, however, I was genuinely astounded. "You mean this being lives in the Old Forest, right on the borders of the Shire?" I interrupted. "And it's not an elf or a troll…or an orc?"
"I can only repeat his description of himself. He called himself Eldest. He is none of those things. When I finish, you will see what a puzzle he is. He lives there still, Gandalf visited him on our journey home."
I took his polite hint, and settled back to let him finish. He had a wonderfully pleasant voice, and an even, well-modulated style of speaking. When he spoke of the lady Goldberry, he stammered a bit for the first time since beginning to speak.
I grinned. " Why, Frodo, it sounds as if you quite admired this lady!"
"She was very beautiful," he admitted. "I saw beautiful ladies in my time away, but she was more. She emanated kindness and warmth, like a fire in the hearth…" He saw the look on my face, and blushed brightly. "But she plays little role in this story. After we left Tom, we strayed into the Barrow-downs and were nearly killed by a wight."
When he finished telling of the encounter with the wight and their entry into Bree, we heard the lunch-bell ringing. I was startled. I had not even noticed that elevenses had passed. "My, luncheon already and only to Bree!" I exclaimed.
He shrugged. "I hope I have not bored you too greatly. And that you don't think too badly of me now."
"Think badly?" I repeated, surprised. "Why would I?"
"With the wight, I felt like I wanted to disappear. …and leave my friends behind."
I didn't want to diminish his trust by giving him an easy reassurance. I said slowly, "I don't believe courage or cowardice lies in the content of one's thoughts, Frodo. Anyone in such a position would wish for an easier way. But wishes are only wishes, and in the end, one's actions and choices are what we must judge by."
"Yes, I agree with that," he said. His voice sounded bitter and sad. But when he raised his face up to me, it was calm. "I will walk you back, Tansy," he went on, "It's the least I can do. You were an excellent audience."
When he stood up and offered me his hand, I noticed the missing finger. I glanced up at him, and saw how tight his eyes and mouth seemed. Did he expect me to shrink back from him, or stare, or ask how on earth he'd done it?
I smiled, and said "Thank you" and took his hand. I clasped it firmly, sliding my fingers around his. I pulled myself up with a tug that rocked him on his feet before he steadied and completed the motion with a surprising strength. The tightness in his face relaxed, and he gave me a brilliant smile. I was taken aback at the force of the Baggins charm on full. An answering smile curved across my face, and chatting of minor matters, we returned to the Hall.
Dahlia was pacing back and forth impatiently when I opened the door. "I didn't think you would be so long, Tansy," she began reproachfully. She stopped abruptly when Frodo followed me into the room.
"Your daughter-in-law was kind enough to chat with me this morning, Mrs. Brandybuck, and I selfishly made her late to lunch," he said politely.
"Why, how nice to see you, Mr. Baggins," Dahlia exclaimed. "Won't you have some luncheon with us?"
"I would enjoy it, Mrs. Brandybuck, but Merry is expecting me." He nodded and smiled pleasantly to us both, and left.
Dahlia looked at me speculatively for a long moment, but said nothing. I was glad. I suddenly didn't want to try and explain anything to her. The rest of that day passed quietly enough. I busied myself with some stitching, and Dahlia announced she had some visiting to do and would see me at supper.
Opal wanted all the details of my chat with Mr. Baggins, but I said that we had discussed only common matters, such as the weather and the harvest. I felt not a twinge at the dishonesty. I felt rather protective of the things he had told me. I was sure he would not wish them bandied about as common gossip. I found myself wondering more than once where the story went from Bree.
After supper, someone tapped on my door. Opal was up like a flash and had the door open before I could say a word. Merry entered. He said something quietly to Opal, and she smiled broadly and went out. He came over and sat in the big chair next to my rocker.
"Hullo, Merry, how are you?" The evenings were always difficult. It was so quiet.
"Is it all right that I told Opal I wished to speak with you privately?" he said grinning. "And at great length?"
"Oh, Merry…" I didn't have the energy to yell at him. He knew full well the talk that would be about the Hall tomorrow.
He turned serious, and took my hand. "Tansy, I wanted to thank you for spending time with Frodo today. He seemed quite cheerful at lunch."
"Oh, you needn't thank me, anyone would do the same," I answered distractedly.
"No, actually, very few would," he replied.
I was taken aback. "Say again?"
"Tansy, you haven't heard much of the news lately, isn't that right? Frodo had…a difficult time, and it may be a while before he is properly himself again. I hoped a visit would cheer him up. But then, everyone sees him acting so gloomy… Do you see the problem?" I did, only too well. Hobbits are unused to handling sicknesses of the mind and heart, and their best-intentioned responses could hurt like acid.
"I have a favor to ask of you during Frodo's visit," he went on. "I wonder if you would be so good as to spend some time with him each day. I wish to give him less time to brood."
I shook my head in annoyance. Merry's plan seemed to be to let the mad resident of Brandy Hall entertain the mad visitor from Bag End. I was too fond of Merry to refuse him, so I gave over my promise with no resistance. As he left he warned me to say nothing to Frodo, for fear of angering him.
More likely, you don't wish any to know what a softhearted meddling goodwife you are, Merry.
Afterwards, I sat in my rocker and read over the little book of poetry by B. Baggins. The room was so dreadfully quiet. I could hear every breath I took. Only recently had Opal and Dahlia decided I was fit to take care of myself at night.
It had never been quiet before, even when everyone was asleep. A husband and child make such a noise and take up so much space. I dropped the little book and climbed into bed, clutching Tory's shirt and Toby's blanket.
"Just a little stomach-ache," I'd told Frodo. Just a small complaint. Such a simple thing to have destroyed my life. I picked up a little glass bottle from under my washstand. I turned it in my hand, looking at the flower and skull drawn on the label, before removing the wand. I licked it meditatively, suppressing a grimace at the bitter, stinging taste.
**********************************
We'd given Toby willow-tea, and his pain and fever seemed to ease. He fell asleep as the May Day celebration went on, with singing and sometimes giggling in the hallways. Opal, Dahlia and I had sat up chatting, checking on him as the night progressed. I had dozed off when some sudden activity woke me. I sat up and looked around. The moon was down, making it quite late. I walked into Toby's room and gasped. Opal and Dahlia had stripped his clothing and draped his little body with damp cloths. His face was pale, and he was murmuring something, eyes closed.
They looked up at me, and I knew something was horribly wrong. "What is it?" I cried. I grabbed his little hand and knelt down next to him. His hand was damp and fiercely hot. I had never felt flesh so hot. I swallowed down a wail of anguish. "Why didn't you wake me?"
"We were about to," Opal said.
"We've sent for the healer," Dahlia added.
I brought my head down to his, and kissed his hot forehead. Then I heard what he was murmuring. "Mama, mama, mama…" My tears dripped on his face, and I began rinsing out cloths and laying them on him. The heat of his body had already dried some of the cloths. I saw his hands jerk slightly when I was bathing his arms. Suddenly, wild tremors raced up both arms until his torso was jerking with the force of them. His eyes flew open, and he gave a tiny cry, as if he had no strength. The tremors stopped and he began crying miserably. I gathered him up and looked at Opal and Dahlia in horror.
"It's a fever fit," Opal said, quietly.
"What- what do we do then?"
Dahlia looked tired. "We need to put him in the bath."
When the healer arrived, we had immersed him a bath of cold water, and managed to force some more tea down his throat. Her face was solemn as she examined him. As she ran her hands across his abdomen, he cried out in pain. At last, she sat back with a sigh. "Well?" I asked.
"Keep on trying to bring his fever down," she said. "I think oil of fennel, perhaps dandelion will help. I'll get it from the stores and be right back."
A few minutes after she left, Toby began to shiver. "His fever's breaking," Opal said, gladly. "Let's get him out and dried off." When we had him tucked back into bed, his eyes opened again. He reached out to me, and I cuddled him close. "Tired, mama, so tired," he muttered.
"I know, it's all right, sweetie," I whispered. "Rest, and mommy will rock you."
When the healer returned, she was glad to see he was awake. She slipped a teaspoon of fennel oil in his mouth quickly, and followed it with a decoctation of dandelion leaves. "There, perhaps that will help," she murmured.
Her choice of words was not lost on me. "What is wrong with him?"
She hesitated. "I cannot say for sure."
"Then what do you think?"
She sighed again. "As a cut or a wound can go bad, so can a person's insides. I don't know why this happens, but I have seen it a few times. There is pain and fever, and the belly gets hard and rigid. Sometimes the body will fight it off."
"Sometimes?"
She looked at me sympathetically. "And sometimes, the person will die of it."
I felt the world spinning about me. It could not be. It simply could not be. There was no way Toby could be dying. He stirred in his sleep, and I bent my head and inhaled his soft fragrance. He still smelled like a baby. It was not possible that he could be so sick. And yet, within two hours, he had begun to heat again.
I clung to hope longer than anyone through the nightmare days that followed. Whenever the fever subsided, we dosed him frantically with willow tea, dandelion, fennel, chamomile, sage, anything I or the healer had ever heard of to help with stomach problems. I made sure he drank plenty of water so the fever wouldn't dry his body out. Despite everything, he weakened steadily.
As the healer had predicted, his little belly grew rigid, and painful so that to even brush it made him cry out. His fevers were so fierce that his little body jerked regularly in the fits. The fevers sent him out of his head, and he would cry out and thrash around, calling for me, calling for Tory, for Granny and Gramps. Three days after that first night, when the fever subsided again, I took him in my arms.
I stared long into his face, trying to burn it into my memory. His once-rosy cheeks were pale and sunken. His small body seemed wasted, too, and his belly was swollen. So much pain, I thought wearily, Great ones, would you take my life and spare him? Please spare him. Even as my mind formulated the thought, I knew it would not happen. My baby was dying, and it was close at hand. Torric stood over me, bright tears in his eyes, the lines of his age carved painfully in his face. Dearest Opal had sat down 'for just one moment' and fallen asleep. Dahlia sat next to me, holding one of Toby's feet. She held it cradled in one palm, and ran her fingers over it gently, caressingly.
"I love you, Toby," I said softly. "Mama loves you so much."
His brown eyes opened. This was a familiar ritual for us. "Love my mama," he said haltingly.
"This much," I finished, opening my arms wide for a moment. A smile trembled on his lips. Then a spasm ran over his body, and he began to cry weakly.
"Hurts, it hurts. Make it stop, Mama."
The healer touched my shoulder. "Give him this, Tansy," she said. She held a teaspoonful of some oil. I looked at the bottle in her hand, labeled with a picture of a poppy and the skull. Distillation of poppies. It had no virtue except to ease pain. It was powerful and dangerous, and rarely used. Except in cases of last resort.
I eased it into his mouth, and cuddled him close again. His small form was hot against me. Despite the fever, the drug did its work and soon he relaxed into sleep.
I leaned back into the chair wearily. I was so tired. I felt as if I could sit here with him forever, if only I were permitted to. I must've dosed off then, for the next thing I remember is his body beginning to cool. Hope surged in my breast. The fever was breaking again, perhaps this time for good.
I sat up abruptly, and looked down into his face. He was so relaxed, and very pale. There was a subtle peace in his face that I'd not seen for days. As I stared at him, I heard Opal wail. Torric fell on his knees, and bowed his head. I looked at them in confusion, and over at Dahlia. The tears in her eyes spilled as she said, "He's gone, Tansy."
I felt myself beginning to shake. "No," I told her. "The fever's come down again, maybe for good this time…. He can't be dead." Dahlia looked old. Normally, she took good care of herself, but today she looked very old. She tried to take Toby out of my arms. "What are you doing?" I pulled away violently, and nearly knocked her to the floor.
Opal stood up. "Tansy, dear, give Toby to us. We'll lay him out." Her voice cracked on the last words. How many had Opal had to lie out in her time?
It seemed my heart knew better than my mind, or else why were tears running down my face? "He's not dead," I repeated. I looked down at him, and shifted him a bit. "Toby, wake up. Wake up, sweetling, Granny wants to see you." His face was slack, the skin growing cooler by the minute. He was too cool. I needed to warm him up.
I pulled him close until his face was snuggled into the curve of my neck. "Toby. Toby! Toby!" I heard myself screaming his name. Opal's face crumpled as she dissolved into sobs. "He-is-not-dead. He's not…." I could not go on. I finally sank down to my knees and keened out my anguish, cradling my baby against me.
**********************************
That hot August night in 1420, I turned over in bed restlessly, picturing the crowd at Toby's memoriam. I was still far too wide-awake. I lifted the wand from the bottle and sucked on it absently. This time, I didn't even notice the taste. I remembered that everyone in Brandy Hall turned out.
**********************************
I had stood next to Opal and Dahlia, while tears ran unchecked down my face. Opal sniffed into a hankie, but Dahlia stood dry-eyed. When the moment came and we were expected to leave, my legs began to tremble. I struggled not to throw myself to the ground and wail and tear my hair and generally make a spectacle of myself. Dahlia's iron-like grip on my elbow helped keep me upright. We had walked partway back to the Hall before I balked.
Dahlia looked at me blankly. "Tansy, we must go back and make an appearance at the funeral supper."
I choked at the thought of trying to eat just then. At that moment, I had completely forgotten everything that Dahlia had done in the last year. "I will not- not- NOT go and make conversation," I managed to say, almost pleadingly. "I was his mother. His mother. Don't you understand?"
For a moment, Dahlia's face began to crumple and I felt a rush of mean-spirited satisfaction. She put her hands over her face, and took a deep breath. Then she removed her hands, still dry-eyed, and said in a steady voice, "You set too much store on that child, Tansy. You have a long life before you yet. You will have other children."
Opal tutted disapprovingly. "This is not the time, 'Lia," she said.
I felt myself beginning to shake. "I will not have any more children," I told her. "Fine, I will go and make an appearance. But I will not pull myself together. What for? There is nothing." At the supper, I stood silently for a bit, making no attempt to hide the tears in my eyes. The guests avoided eye contact and shuffled their feet uneasily. I started when a felt a touch on my arm.
It was Merry, looking at me sorrowfully. "I will miss him, Tansy. I'm so terribly sorry."
I felt the tears starting up again, but he didn't look away or flinch. "Thank you."
He put one arm around me and hugged me to him. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked softly.
I shook my head. "No. There is nothing." I felt a huge rush of fatigue then. Shrugging away from him, I left the supper and went straight to bed. I stayed there for three days.
In the month that followed, I was never alone. Either Opal or Dahlia stayed with me, day and night, coaxing me to eat, nagging me to sleep. I moved mostly in a daze. I could not comprehend how quickly and easily my life had fallen apart. A thousand times, I wished I'd stayed home from the feast, although the healer had told me over and over again that there was no way to tell what brought the illness on.
Opal and Dahlia quietly packed his and Tory's things up one morning while I was out for a walk. They saved a single shirt of Tory's, and Toby's favorite shirt, poppet, and blanket. When I returned home, I cried and raged at them for that. They were implacable.
"It does you no good to cling to the dead like this, Tansy," Dahlia said, firmly. "You need to move on with your life."
"What life?" I sobbed, burying my face in Toby's blanket. "What life?"
Opal was ashen. "I know, dear girl, I know," she said. "But you must force yourself to think past this moment, and this pain. Now please consider coming with us to dinner tonight?"
I stood up, still holding the blanket. "I will not," I screamed at her. Then I ran to my bedroom and slammed the door. The rest of the summer slipped by, golden days filled with swimming and berry picking.
After that first month, Opal and Dahlia began to leave me alone occasionally. But I still had no enthusiasm for any activities, despite Opal's continued pleas and Dahlia's barely-restrained impatience. Merry came to my door once or twice, but I refused to see him or anyone else except Tory's family. If I met someone on my daily trek to the cemetery, I said little and hurried away.
**********************************
I turned my head and looked at the bottle on the washstand. The flower label caught a stray gleam of moonlight and glittered. So beautiful…. My thoughts were beginning to slide gently out of focus.
I had just given Merry a promise that would delay my joining Tory and Toby beyond the circles of this world for at least a fortnight. I was so alone. Why had I promised him? I was so alone and this bed was so cold. I curled up on my side, tears rolling silently down my face.