Chapter Seven: Sheltered From The Rain

"I woke up in the morning to the sound of rain pelting my windows. Through the blurred panes I would see the young trees outside my window tossing in the wind like drunken dancers. Glad to be warm and safe in my bed, I pulled the covers up around my neck and burrowed my head into the pillow.

"Tracing the grey threads on my quilt, I wondered what Déagol was doing at home. I imagined him in front of a fire, smoking his pipe with his younger sister Pearl beside him. His brother, mother, and other sisters were a blur in the background. Looking at the sheets of water sliding down the windows, I wondered just how large their cottage was.

"There was a knock on the door, and before I could speak it opened. My sister Iris came in, her nightgown crumpled and her hair loose. 'Have you got any old clothes I can stuff in the window?' she asked. 'I opened it last night and now it's stuck that way and the rain is pouring in.'

"I got up and opened my wardrobe. 'This tore a while ago, and I never asked Mother to fix it because I thought she'd be angry,' I said, tossing her a blanket. She caught it. 'I'll be back so I can talk to you when I'm done,' she said.

"Iris was my oldest sister and the second oldest child in the family. For the past month she had been living at home again, arriving just before Grandmother fell ill. Previously she had lived across the river with her husband, who had fallen off their roof and broken his neck in August. We were under very strict orders not to mention him in her presence.

"Iris was never my companion, but she above all others understood the need to have your own territory. It was she who convinced my mother that I should be allowed to pull up things in the garden if I wanted to see their roots. It was she also who sewed me thick curtains when I complained that the lighter ones let in too much light.

"Iris was not akin to me in the mental sense, but her emotions understood mine.

"When she returned, her hair was tied back, and she sat down on my bed. 'The crack's filled now,' she said. 'Clover is mopping the floor.' Clover was a cousin of mine, about a year younger, and she shared a room with Iris.

"'How bad is the damage?' I asked.

"'Nothing that can't be fixed. I wanted to ask you…what is Déagol like?'

"'He's quiet,' I said. 'Quiet…but you can tell he's thinking all the time. He knows a good deal about growing things.' I thought for a second. 'Why?'

"'Mother was talking to me last night,' she said, leaning her head back. 'She wants me to marry again, and she made a comment about how Déagol is very talented and sure to be prosperous.'

"The thought of them married refused to mesh with my mind. Iris was very talkative, and most things that came into her head came out of her mouth. However, she was never deliberately hurtful, and in that respect and that respect alone could I find a similarity between them.

"'I don't think you'd be happy with him,' I said.

"'Oh, it doesn't sound like I would,' she said, dramatically rolling her eyes. 'I don't think I could ever live with someone so quiet. You know, I don't think I've ever heard his voice before.'

"'That's because you've only seen him at meals,' I said. 'He talks to me. And Mother and Grandmother.' The last was an afterthought.

"'But he doesn't talk much. I need to know how a person is feeling.'

"'You can tell how he's feeling,' I said. 'Watch his mouth.'

"'His mouth?'

"'Yes. His smile is sad, somewhat, but when he's really upset about something the corners fall. Every one in a while he finds something funny and then he smiles broadly but with his lips closed, like he's trying not to laugh. When he's talking about something serious his lips move very slowly.'

"She looked at me curiously, and I could feel my face grow hot.

"'Iris!' came Clover's voice from down the corridor. 'The blanket's soaked through!'

"'I'd better go and fix that,' she said, getting up."