Sam's Tale

Author: Nilramiel@aol.com, aka RosieCotton

Acknowledgements/Disclaimers: See chapter 1

Genre: General/Romance

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Chapter 32: Labor and Lemons

Setting: The Shire, Late November, 1420

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Sam drew his sleeve across his sweaty brow and squinted at the early afternoon sun.

"Oughta be getting cooler by this time o'year," said Farmer Cotton, as if he had read Sam's thoughts, "End of November - leaves shoulda been turnin' last month."

"Aye, but it's been such an unusually fine summer," replied Sam, pounding at the wheel peg again, "I can't really complain if autumn tarries, though the heat is a bit hard on Rose." He paused his pounding to glance over his shoulder at her, sitting under the lemon tree with her mother and Daisy. Sure enough, she was fanning herself with her apron.

"Don't work too hard, now, Rose," he called to her, causing all three women to laugh.

"She's not working at all, you goose," Daisy teased, "We're just sorting these lemons out by ripeness." She gestured to a mound of lemons on the earth between the ladies.

"She was pickin' them, a minute ago," Sam grumbled, but he winked and smiled at his father-in-law, who was checking the rear axle.

Sam and Farmer Cotton were building a cart. A fine sturdy cart with room enough for three hobbits on the seat and a crowd of hobbit lads or lasses in back. Sam had never had a pony cart of his own, never needed one, as he hadn't had a pony of his own. But now that he had his Bill, and Mr. Frodo's Strider, it seemed sensible to have a cart. Besides, Rosie's pregnancy was advancing to the point where riding a pony was uncomfortable.

"And dangerous," Sam muttered to himself, causing the farmer to look up.

"Eh?" he asked, "What's dangerous? Not this cart! She's as sound as an oak!" He smacked the seat of the cart with his palm.

Sam stood up and nodded. They were almost finished, and it was an excellent cart. Now Rosie could make the trip to the Cotton farm and back without worrying Sam, and both of the "Bag End Ponies" could be put to better use.

"Daisy, bring Bill over here, will you, so we can check." Sam broke off, for turning his head, he saw that the women were gone, along with the heap of lemons. He shrugged, willing himself not to worry, and trotted over to the gate. He whistled, and the doughty little pony came at once.

"Hullo, Bill," Sam said with affection, "We're almost finished, but we need you for a sizin'." He led the pony to the cart, and with the Farmer's help soon had him hitched up.

"I think the front axle needs lowering, just a bit," suggested the farmer, "and we need to finish the bed as well, or whatever yer totin' will be fallin' right out behind. After that we start to paintin'. Did you bring paint, Sam? I have some white if you dinna."

"Oh yes, we brought it. Mr. Frodo has a fair supply in one of the storerooms up at the End, left from all of the renovations. All sorts of sensible colors, and white too, but Rose insists she wants this here cart painted green, as green as the door to Bag End." He paused, and an affectionate smile tugged his lips. "I never did see a cart painted bright green, but somehow it suits, if you follow me."

Farmer Cotton looked at Sam from under the brim of his hat. "Well, it surely suits our Rose, if that's what you mean, Sam. That lass is as full of life as anything that grows, and she has always loved bright colors. Green will suit fine, lad, and will keep clean better than white besides."

"Rose says it will look handsome along with Bill's dark brown coat," Sam said bemused, "Tho' he was so dull as to be almost gray when I first laid eyes on him." He slapped the pony's glossy neck affectionately before taking him back to the field gate. It was impossible to believe that Bill had ever been the once mistreated creature from Bree.

The men set to work again, whistling as they labored, and the sun sank closer to the horizon, but the afternoon heat continued its merciless climb. About halfway through painting, the farmhouse door opened, and the ladies reappeared, bearing mugs and a pitcher, and giggling.

"Ah, just what we need," said the farmer, who assumed the lasses were bringing Ale or water. He reached eagerly for the mug in his wife's hand.

"Now just one minute, Cotton," she said. Before you go drinkin this, you need to know, this is summat new - summat we haven't tried before, and I am not sure as you will like it."

"Though we like it!" said Rosie, grinning and proffering a mug to Sam.

Sam looked doubtfully into the mug, and sniffed, but he caught no distinctive smell other then the scent of lemons, which emanated from all three women. With a shrug, he lifted his mug and drank deeply.

A strong sweetness washed over his parched tongue and down his throat, along with the unmistakable taste of lemons. It was wonderful, and the moment his mug was empty, he said so.

"It's made with lemons and water," confessed the farmer's wife

"And some sugar to take away the bitterness," added Daisy, "do you like it?"

"Aye!" said both Sam and the farmer, simultaneously and with enthusiasm. The women laughed, refilling the empty mugs from the pitcher until their thirst was vanquished.

"An' whose grand idea was this new drink?" asked Farmer Cotton, kissing his wife's cheek and taking up his paintbrush again.

"Well," said Daisy, "Pervinca Took and her cousin Poppy, not Poppy Bolger mind you, Poppy Took, they so love lemons and were always sucking the juice from them until their mouths were burning and puckered like a squalling babe's. And they got it into their heads to make a drink from the lemons. They tried it on Master Peregrin, but he said it was much too sour and suggested they pour in sugar, which they did, and soon the whole family was asking for it at luncheon. Pippin told Tom about it t'other eve at the Dragon, and Tom told Mari, and Mari told me. I knew you had a fine lemon tree right here in your yard, so I suggested to Rosie we try to make it ourselves." Daisy grinned at the men, who were quite taken about by such a long explanation.

"The little one likes it too," said Rosie, placing her husband's palm on her belly. He could feel the child stirring beneath his fingers and his pulse quickened, as it always did when he felt his child moving inside her.

"Or doesn't," he teased, bending to kiss the swell of life. "Now be off with ye lasses and let us paint this cart. By tomorrow eve it'll be fit to drive, if'n you let us finish."

"Oh, is it nearly done, Sam?"

"'Tis, an should be done in under an hour, and supper sure would go down proper about that time," he said.

"An more of that lemon drink would sure go down proper with supper," added Cotton, "If it's no trouble."

"I think we can manage it," Mrs. Cotton assured him, "tho don't be expecting it every day. It takes a passel of lemons to make just one pitcher!"

~TBC~

Author's note: I know this is not my best chapter, but after months of neglecting this story, I needed something to kick-start me. More to follow soon, or may trouts rain on me from the skies!