Of These Infinite Spaces

As he had promised, Rory sent crews down to the river at dawn. They were to work in pairs, searching the riverbank for any sign of boat or body, and they carried horns to signal the other crews if they found anything. Saradoc and Merimac worked together, beginning their search at the point where they had lost Drogo and Primula the night before.

"How far do you think they got, Mer?" Saradoc asked. "Do you think the river carried them all the way out of the Shire?"

"I don't think so," Merimac said. "I think Da's right, that we'll find them somewhere in the river bend. We didn't get nearly that far before we lost them."

"It felt like forever," Saradoc said, rubbing sore shoulders. "It felt like I was rowing for a hundred years, and we still lost them. We failed."

"Not yet," Merimac said stoutly. "We can still find them. We can bring them home."

Frodo drifted peacefully awake. He found himself curled up against Carlo Burrows, partially pinned under Carlo's arm. He had been dreaming of long adventures out in the Wild, and now he was hungry. Carefully, he disentangled himself from Carlo and headed for the kitchen. Brandy Hall was quiet, and Frodo assumed that most of the adults were still sleeping, as was usual after big parties.

He was pleased to see Esme and Cady in the kitchen. Esme was kneading bread dough, and Cady seemed to be finishing breakfast. They both turned around at his approach and stared at him. "Good morning," he said sleepily. "May I have some breakfast?"

"Yes, of course, Frodo," Esme said quickly. "Cady, my hands are all floury. Can you help Frodo? There should be more scones in the pantry if you've eaten the ones in the basket, and there's jam and fresh butter, and the milk should be finished separating by now . . . " Cady was already up and running, depositing his dishes in the wash basin and fetching fresh ones from the cupboard for Frodo.

"Are you making bread, Esme?" Frodo asked. "Can I help?"

"No, Frodo," Esme said. "This is the last of the white bread. I'm making rye next, and you're not big enough to knead that. Besides, Cady wanted to take you out mushroom hunting today."

"Mushrooms!" Frodo cried. "Good, I like mushrooms. When do we leave?"

"As soon as you've eaten and washed up," Cady said, setting scones, butter and jam in front of Frodo. Frodo spread a scone thickly with jam and took a bite.

"Cady?" he asked after a moment. "Should we wait for my Ma and Da so I can tell them we're going?"

Cady froze, a mug of fresh milk in his hand. A little too brightly, Esme came to his rescue. "Your Ma and Da aren't awake, Frodo," she said. "You go and have a good time with Cady. I'll take care of everything here."

Frodo glanced from Cady to Esme. They had a secret, he was sure, something they did not want to tell him. He would have to find out on his own. But that could wait, he decided. He took another big bite of scone and jam. There were mushrooms to be hunted.

It was almost noon when the horns started blowing. Rory and Bilbo looked at each other and felt their stomachs slide right down to their toes. Grimly, they turned and joined the other search teams moving toward the sound.

Milo and Rufus had spotted a flash of rich dark green and trailing lace among the weeds at the edge of the river bend. Quickly, the men formed chains hand to hand and sent Saradoc and Milo into the water to investigate. As they had hoped and feared, there was Primula, still clasped in Drogo's arm, caught on some fallen branches in the water. Saradoc and Milo gritted their teeth and gently freed the bodies. When they had finished, the search teams tenderly hauled Primula and Drogo up onto dry land. Merimac went tramping back to a clearing to fetch the pony cart they had brought out.

Rory bent over his sister's body and shivered, not just from the chill of the water. "Bilbo," he said softly. "Will you ride ahead to the Hall? Find Menegilda and the ladies and -- and ask them to summon the gravediggers."

"You're going to bury them here?" Bilbo asked.

Rory nodded. "I wish there was more time to notify Drogo's family, but . . . they're not in any condition to wait while we send the message. They'll have to be buried at Brandy Hall by tomorrow at the latest. We've got plenty of room for them in our burying ground. I'll send letters to Hobbiton tomorrow explaining everything."

Bilbo was silent for a moment. "You're right," he said. "Bury them here and write the letters. I'll leave tomorrow and deliver them personally."

"Thank you," Rory said. Bilbo laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment and then went off to find his tethered pony. Rory turned back to the bodies. Something about Primula's dress seemed odd, and he discovered that her pockets were full of pebbles. He remembered how much she had loved to collect pretty river stones as a child and had to turn away lest he break down completely.

It had been a lovely day. In addition to the big basket of mushrooms they had collected, Cady and Frodo had visited a few chestnut trees along the road and spent some time sitting among the red-gold leaves carefully prying the nuts out of the prickly cases. Cady had seemed distracted for a good portion of the day, but when Frodo asked him about it, he would only say that he had been tired from keeping up with the children the night before. Frodo wasn't entirely sure he believed that. He would ask Cady that night while they were roasting the chestnuts.

Cady seemed to be walking slower and slower as they neared Brandy Hall. Frodo, who was impatient for fried mushrooms and roasted chestnuts, skipped ahead. He passed the fence that marked the Brandybuck burying ground, a pleasant place where the family held a picnic every year to clean and decorate the graves. Suddenly, he stopped short and stared at the activity he could see in the far corner of the burying ground.

"Cady, look!" Frodo called. "There's gravediggers out there. Who's died?"

Cady stopped short on the road and stared at Frodo, his mouth open as if to speak, but no words came out. Frodo looked at his cousin in shock. Cady had never before refused to answer one of his questions. Even more terrible was the look on Cady's face. Guilt, fear and grief were plastered there for all the world to see. All the odd looks and comments of the past day and night flooded back into Frodo's mind as he looked from Cady to the freshly dug graves and back again. Panic welled up in him, and he turned and ran for Brandy Hall as fast as he could, crying "Ma! Ma!"

"Frodo!" Cady yelled. He dropped the mushroom basket and started after Frodo. "Frodo, slow down!"

Frodo heard nothing but the pounding of his own heart as he crashed through the front door. Forgetting that children weren't allowed to run in the smial, he charged through the corridor to the banquet hall, where he had last seen his parents. He heard his name being called, but he didn't stop until he reached the banquet hall. He burst in and was brought up short by the sight of two shrouded bodies laid out in coffins on makeshift biers. "Ma!" he screamed, and then Cousin Bilbo was in front of him, picking him up as though he were five instead of twelve and carrying him out of the room as Frodo clung to him and stared at the corpses in horror.

"Frodo, you shouldn't have seen that," Bilbo said softly. He set Frodo down and steered him into Rory's study, where Rory and Menegilda were preparing to tell Frodo about his parents' deaths.

As he listened to Rory's slow, sad voice, Frodo felt hot all over, and then cold and prickly. The blood roared in his ears, and Rory's voice seemed to be coming from very far away. The voice talked about how his parents had drowned in the Brandywine River the night before and would be buried the next morning. Frodo would always have a place at Brandy Hall, and he would always have family who loved him very much --

"I want to see them," Frodo blurted suddenly. Rory and Menegilda exchanged a look. "I do," Frodo insisted. "Maybe you're wrong. Maybe it isn't them. I have to be sure."

"No, Frodo," Rory said quietly. "Those bodies aren't very nice to look at, not after spending a night and a morning in the water. Believe me, I helped pull them out. I assure you, those bodies are indeed your parents."

"They can't die," Frodo said. "My Ma just got better from -- from Bluebell. It's not fair!"

"No, Frodo," Bilbo said. "It's not fair. Nobody said it was fair. It's just what happened."

"It's not fair," Frodo protested once more. He lay down on the couch and wriggled around so that he couldn't see anyone. All of a sudden, he didn't want to look at them, and he didn't want to feel their eyes on him. He felt very little, caught up in events that were much too big for him. He didn't know at all what he should say or think or do, and he didn't want to have to find out.

After a few minutes of silence, Menegilda glided over to the couch and pushed Frodo upright. "I know it's early," she said, "but I do believe that food and sleep will be the best mender now. You'll have a long day tomorrow." She helped him to his feet and led him out of the study.

Later on, Frodo remembered very little of that awful time, and much of that memory was hazy and dreamlike. He remembered seeing Cady in the hall, sitting on the floor with his head in Uncle Dino's lap, crying bitterly, and for some reason, the idea of Cady acting like that terrified him. Menegilda's strong, capable hands prodded him toward the kitchen, where a plate of fried mushrooms was put in front of him. Frodo ate them absently, listening to snatches of conversation happening somewhere above his head.

" . . . in shock, poor thing . . . running home . . . saw the bodies . . . make up the old truckle bed for him . . . after the funeral . . . cross that bridge . . . "

Someone gave him a mug, and he drank a little, recoiling at the bitterness.

"Drink it, Frodo," a woman said. "It's just chamomile." Frodo tried to turn his head away, but the mug followed him, and he drank the whole bitter cup. Gentle hands led him out of the kitchen and took him to a straw tick that had been made up into a bed for him. His clothes were stripped from his body, and someone handed him a clean nightshirt. Menegilda was sitting in an old rocking chair, and the last thing Frodo heard before he drifted off to sleep was the soft squeaking of the chair and Menegilda's low humming.

Going to the funeral the next morning was the hardest thing Frodo had ever had to do. Wearing his party best clothes, which had been washed the night before, Frodo followed his parents' coffins out to the burying ground. He sat next to Aunt Menegilda, breathing her faint lavender scent, as Uncle Rory spoke for what seemed like a long time. He wished he could have a glimpse of whatever was under the shrouds, half certain it wouldn't be his parents. How could it be his parents? Drogo and Primula had been perfectly healthy and happy at the party. Parents couldn't just die.

Menegilda's hand tightened on his shoulder. Rory had asked everyone to stand and sing. Frodo stood and opened his mouth, but his throat had closed up and no sound came out. There was a roaring in his ears, and he barely heard the slow harmonies all around him. He stared at the two polished pine coffins, each draped with a fall of black cloth. On Primula's, someone had pinned the little brooch shaped like a yellow rose that Milo had just given her. The day was bright and sunny, but there was a crispness to the air. The ground would freeze soon, locking his Ma and Da away from him for good.

The singing ended, and everyone stood for a long, silent moment as the coffins were lowered into the graves. Then Rory picked up a shovel and solemnly threw earth in each grave. Menegilda prodded Frodo, and he stepped forward. Rory handed him the shovel. Frodo stared at it, not wanting to move. If he threw earth on his parents' coffins, it would be almost like admitting that they were really dead.

"Go on, Frodo," Rory said quietly.

Frodo realized that everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to do his part. He could feel all the eyes, and he wished that a third grave would open and swallow him right up. But no third grave appeared, and the eyes were still there. Frodo took a deep breath and marched to the pile of earth. It was over quickly. One shovelful fell on his father's coffin, and another fell on his mother's, burying the yellow rose brooch forever. Frodo threw the shovel to the ground and hurried to Rory's side. Rory wrapped an arm around his nephew's shoulders and together they watched the rest of the family bury their dead.

Bilbo left for Hobbiton shortly after the small cold luncheon. He promised Frodo that his Baggins relations in Hobbiton would not forget him and that he would be hearing from them shortly. Then he mounted his small bay pony and rode off down the road.

Rory and his brothers went to Rory's study. Frodo tried to follow them, but Menegilda restrained him.

"Not now, Frodo," she said. "They've got important grown-up business to discuss. They need some quiet right now."

Frodo went into the orchard, but he didn't feel like shaking fruit trees. He wandered back into the house and tried to play with some of the younger cousins, but the games seemed forced and awkward. He thought of going to the kitchen to help cook dinner, but then he remembered his plans to teach Drogo to cook, and he didn't want to go into the kitchen any more. Perhaps his older cousins might be doing something interesting. Frodo wasn't sure he wanted to see Cady, who had been crying so frighteningly the night before, so he went to look for Milo.

Milo was pleasant and polite and told Frodo some stories about Primula, which made him feel strange. It seemed almost rude to be learning about her life before she'd had Frodo now that she was dead. Peony got down on the floor and played tiddlywinks with him for a while, but Frodo could see that her heart wasn't in it. Finally Peony sighed.

"I'm sorry, Frodo," she said. "We aren't really very good company, are we?"

Frodo shrugged, not wanting to commit either way.

"Truth to tell, we're all a bit worried about Ma," Milo explained. "Auntie Primula was her favorite sister, and she's been a nervous wreck all day. We hadn't even planned on staying after the funeral, but then Da said he hadn't the heart to take her back to Pincup and away from her family so soon. She's sleeping right now, and the rest of us are just waiting."

"That's all right," Frodo said. "I guess I'm just waiting, too." He sat and waited with Milo and Peony for a while. Asphodel didn't appear, and eventually Milo fell asleep in the armchair.

"I won't wake him," Peony said, as she tucked a blanket around him. "He didn't sleep at all well last night. He kept having nightmares. I think he was dreaming about being at the dock. It must have been a terrible thing to watch. I guess he just wants to avoid thinking about it, so he sleeps a little during the day."

"I don't want to think about it, either," Frodo said. "Maybe I should go and sleep." He took a step toward the door, then stopped and turned back to Peony. "I'm sorry about your party," he said and hugged her.

She choked a little. "No, Frodo," she said shakily. "We can always have another party. But there won't be another Primula and Drogo." Frodo didn't want to see Peony cry, so he left the room.

Under the watchful eyes of his brothers, Rory opened a strong oak box with a small brass key. It was the Brandybuck deed box, and it contained, among other things, the family wills. Primula's will was there, as was a copy of Drogo's. The final execution of Drogo's will would have to wait until Drogo's next of kin could be notified and a meeting arranged, but the Brandybucks could read Primula's will and execute those parts which did not depend on the Bagginses.

Both wills seemed to be made out properly, each with the proper seven signatures in red ink. Primula's will began with the disposal of her money, which went to Frodo, as everyone expected. As Frodo was still a minor, Primula had assigned the Master of Buckland, whoever that might be, to keep the money until he came of age. She had also specified where in the house the money was kept. Rory and his brothers nodded. It was very like Primula to remember to include that little bit of information to save her family the trouble of tearing her house apart.

The next item in the will was the distribution of Primula's personal property. She had listed several specific small items first which were to go to various members of her family as mementos. Primula had left her silver tea service to Asphodel and her family, and their brothers were silent for a moment, dreading breaking that news to Asphodel. That particular tea service had been a wedding present from their mother, and Asphodel had helped Mirabella go through some of the Took family antiques to choose something suitable to pass on to Primula. They let themselves be absorbed by the memory of their sister's wedding for a few moments, and did not notice when the door opened just a crack and Frodo peered in.

The next item in the will was major property and land. Rory squinted at Primula's small, neat script in the dimming light. A wooded section was willed to Saradoc, which was no surprise, as that particular parcel of land was one of the family heirlooms. The item after that, the house, was not an heirloom. Primula had bought that house when she had married Drogo.

"'The house at Number Seven Oldbuck Way,'" Rory read, "will be passed to Drogo Baggins, my husband; or, should I survive him, to that man that may be my husband, or to my son Frodo Baggins if he should be of age. Should I die a widow, and Frodo be not yet of age, the house will be sold, and the proceeds of the sale kept in trust for Frodo until he comes of age.'" There was a sudden click at the door, and the Brandybuck brothers looked up. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, they continued to read the will.

The news that his house was to be sold jolted Frodo out of his lethargy. To lose first a sister and then both parents within a few months was bad enough, but now it seemed that Uncle Rory meant to turn him out of his home. Frodo realized that he had not been home since the day of the party, and he was suddenly terrified that the little house had vanished along with his parents. Without even stopping to tell anyone where he was going, he headed straight for the door. In a panic, he wrenched it open and ran all the way down the road to his home.

Fortunately, it was still there. It hadn't vanished yet, and if Frodo had anything to say about it, it wasn't going anywhere. Frodo ran inside, flung himself down on his own bed and pulled the covers over his head. Drogo was dead, and he was the master of this house now, and it was his responsibility to see that it stayed right where it was.