Notes to Readers:
I do not understand... I uploaded this on 9/28, had a "success" message, and
yet today when I go to look at the reviews and upload the next chapter, it
appears that ffnet thinks there are only seven chapters to the story. My humble
apologies.
Announcement: "Runaway" now officially has a co-author. Please extend a warm
welcome to Jodancingtree, author of "The Shaping of Samwise", "Sam's Rose", "Another
Way of Leaving, and "The Drunkard of Bag End", just to name a few. Even though
I name only these stories, there are many more wonderful tales that have come
from her pen. Check them out!
Thank you for the comments! Reviews are very motivating and give me insights
into the stories that make me dig deeper in writing, which I probably wouldn't
do were I the only one reading these stories...
Xena, thank you for taking the trouble to review twice! As to Ferdi's head
pains, remember in "Flames", he had two serious head injuries, and his head was
still aching after a week in bed, after the pony races towards the end of that
story. His head pains following that incident mainly occur when the weather is
changing, which didn't happen during other "Ferdi" stories you've seen. *** It
was fun imagining life in an average hobbit hole, the way most hobbits must
live. It is probably not as common for "plain" hobbits to teach their children
to read, but remember, Rosemary grew up in the Great Smials, coming from a
well-to-do family until her father lost the family fortune in the fire.
Hai, what a wonderful idea! Farry having something of his own to take care of,
I bet he doesn't even take care of the pony he rides.
Bookworm, making up words can be fun and entertaining. I do it all the time,
whenever hobbitly practical.
Aemilia Rose, there just might be some foreshadowing there.
Miriel, the Bolgers
represent all that's best about hobbits, I hope. *** You're right, poor Ferdi.
He has the luck of the Tooks, I'm afraid.
FantasyFan: What is the
matter with Ferdi's head? You may recall in "Flames" he had two
serious head injuries, one from a ruffian's club, and the other in the pony race
near the end of the story. It mainly bothers him when the barometric pressure
is low. (I got this from the experience of a brother who had a serious head
injury at age three. He stuttered as a child, grew out of it, but when the
barometer plunged, or when at high altitude, he started stuttering again, was
short-tempered, and suffered head pain.) *** It didn't come up in FirstBorn,
not really being a plot point there, but is important to the plot in this story
and the one following "Truth" on the timeline ("Solid Ground"--in the
works at the moment, and due to begin posting after the last chapter of
"Truth" goes up). *** Thank you for the insightful analysis of
Frodo's character formation (as well as your always-though-provoking comments
on the current chapter). You have a real gift for mining nuggets of meaning
from reams of material.
Ff.net and other factors permitting, expect to see the next chapter two
days from this posting. If you cannot access ff.net, try www.storiesofarda.com. You can leave
reviews there, as well (thanks Miriel and FantasyFan!), and there is a
"reply" feature where an author can reply to a review right there
rather than within the text of the story. I have also discovered the
"author alert" feature. Amazing place, that SoA.
The next chapter of "Truth" will be added on the morrow, if ffnet
agrees. Did I tell you it is 24 chapters in length?
Enough admin notes. Let's get to the story.
***
8. More of the Same
Ferdi and Hally were gone the rest of the day, to Faramir's surprise.
Rosemary caught him glancing at the door as they sat down to the midday meal –
later than late nooning at the Smials; Farry calculated that it must be nearly
two in the afternoon. 'It's all right, lad,' she said. 'Undoubtedly they shot
some game and roasted it on sticks over a fire. They know how to fare away from
hearth and hole.'
Farry nodded, tucking in to his own excellent plateful of home cooking. He
thought of his own miserable efforts to feed himself after his food ran out.
Stealing was the only way he'd been able to fill his belly: a fine state of
affairs for a lad making his own way in the world, he grumbled to himself.
After the table was cleared, washing up done, and all was once again tidy,
there was time free for play. These Bolgers didn't play like the Tookish
cousins Farry preferred to spend his time with, each trying to best the others
in contests of wit or brawn, or seeking out mischief for a lark, or thinking up
ways to shirk necessary tasks, or sitting in glum or sullen boredom.
Robin was carving a farm for the littlest Bolgers. Already he had several cows,
a team of plow ponies, some tiny chickens and tinier chicks. He was working now
on a rooster, and the three littlest ones crowded round him, eyes wide,
commenting in whispers on the comb and wattle and mouth opened "just like he's
a crowin', even now!"
Buckthorn was constructing a byre for the wooden animals out of sticks from the
kindling pile. The two middle lads had used a half-burned stick to trace a game
board upon the hearthstones, and were playing at Kings with pebbles for pieces.
The oldest girl was knitting a bright scarf, and the middle girl was sitting on
the hearthrug with the youngest, sewing an apron for the little one's doll.
Farry found himself drawn into the play with the little farm, consulted on just
where to place each animal, and he found himself grinning at the littlest lad's
enthusiastic crows as that one pretended to fly the cock to perch atop the
little byre. From where he sat, he could see the game of Kings come to a finish
and another game begin without fuss or bother. It seemed as if in this home,
the winner didn't gloat and the loser didn't pout, they simply set up for
another game and were soon hard at it.
No, it was not at all like the cousins whose company he preferred, back at the
Great Smials. It should have been terribly dull, like spending time with
Ferdibrand's family, "goody" Rudi and the rest, but instead it seemed peaceful,
and purposeful, and anything but boring.
Rosemary watched the lad unobtrusively as she sat in the rocker with her
mending, her needle never pausing in its journey even as her thoughts ran along
busy lines. Surely this was the son of the Thain in their midst, though he did
not look down his nose at their humble pursuits. Indeed, he took part as
heartily as the rest, but silent still. Why was that? she wondered. He
didn't seem frightened, but why did he not speak? And why was Ferdi hiding away
here in Woody End with the lad? He hadn't sent a message to the Thain as she'd
expected. What in the world was her baby brother about?
Parsley, the eldest girl, set down her knitting and rose to put the kettle
on for tea. The other two girls rose from admiring the effect of the finished
apron adorning the doll and laid the table, whilst the lads tidied away their
toys and tools. Soon they were sitting around the table again, talking,
laughing, passing a plate of biscuits.
Farry found himself surprised once again. Tea at the Great Smials was a
substantial meal, why, even if it was just sandwiches and teacakes, it was ten
kinds of sandwiches and six kinds of cake. Biscuits might be served as an
afterthought, for the purpose of filling up the corners after the meal, but to
have biscuits alone for tea?
After tea, it was time for chores again. He helped Robin with the milking and
taking care of the animals in the byre, and he helped Buckthorn chop more wood,
then brought in armloads to lay by the hearth. By the time the chores were
finished, it was time for supper, and Hally and Ferdi had returned from their
work in the woods. This was more like it, hot pork pie, steaming under its
flaky crust. The sun was seeking her bed outside, and at the Smials they'd be
having a light meal, eventides, and then the children would be sent to bed.
Farry had been allowed to stay up for late supper on special occasions, but he
was used to being sent off after eventides, and so it was not much of a shock
to him to see the Bolger children getting ready for bed. What was a shock was
seeing the adults making ready, as well.
The children clamoured for a story from their uncle. Hally had seen in their
time cutting trees together that Ferdi was having one of his bad days, though
Took that he was he hadn't said a word in complaint. Now Hally took charge and
spun a tale of his youth in the woods, and how he'd met Rosemary when her
family's coach had broken down on the Stock Road.
'What a beautiful creature she was,' he said, his eyes faraway in recollection,
'I hardly had the presence of mind to say two words to her.'
'You did say two words at that,' Rosemary laughed. As the children pressed
eagerly for more, she added, 'I sneezed, and he said, "Bless you." And that was
all he said!' She smiled fondly at her husband.
'But more of the story will have to wait,' Hally said, 'for it is full dark
outside now, and time to blow out the lamps. Off with you, now, all of you!
This tired woodcarver needs to seek his own bed.' He and Rosemary shooed the
children off to their beds, and then Rosemary came back to look at Farry's
healing wound and put on a fresh dressing.
'It is healing nicely,' she said. 'In a few days, I think, you'll hardly have
anything to remember that fox by.' She noted the glance Farry shot at Ferdi,
saw her brother shake his head, saw the lad drop his eyes. "Not yet," Ferdi
seemed to be saying. Not yet... what?
