Chapter Twenty: Scouring and Discovery
The next morning, the kitchen of Bag End is full of excited tension. Sam, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin are gathered round the table. Their plates, heaped with eggs and bacon and biscuits, have hardly been touched. The friends are poring over maps of the Shire.
"So then…," Pippin studies one map. "Do you think she is somewhere far away?"
"I do not know." Sam's messy hair is messed further as he runs his hand through it for the millionth time.
"She came to the last three nights of the festival," muses Merry. "She could not have traveled real far each time."
"Many of those who attended lived far away and stayed at inns during the week," points out Frodo.
Sam frowns and taps his fingers against the table. "That's true. But I just don't know. Rosie was in some sort of trouble and did not want to reveal herself; I assume her relatives did not know she was there. If she had stayed at an inn, she would have had to get home before the others. If she was caught…" he trails off; his frown darkens.
"So frankly she could be anywhere in the Shire," Merry says.
Sam nods wordlessly, frustration in his dim eyes.
Frodo pats his shoulder. "Perhaps we should start searching right here in Hobbiton and spread out as need be if we don't find anything."
The downcast faces of the other hobbits brighten slightly.
"I think you're right," Sam agrees. "If she is not far off, hopefully it will not take too long to find her."
"Do you suppose Rosie goes by her actual name?" questions Pippin.
"Maybe, maybe not," Sam shrugs. He pauses, thinking deeply. "We can ask for a family named Cotton; that's a place to start."
Frodo gets up from the table, struck with an idea. Excusing himself, he hurries from the room. A few minutes later, he reappears with several pieces of parchment in hand. Sitting down again, he spreads the sheets on the table for the others to see. Five sketches of Rosie Cotton gaze up at the hobbits.
"We could show these when we ask, we don't have to say who she is," Frodo suggests. "I drew them a couple of months before…we left," he adds, sensing the question hanging in the air.
Sam gently brushes his fingers over one of the drawings. Rosie's face beams up at him, a flower behind one pointed ear, with her curls draped over her shoulders. His face softens as a corner of his mouth turns upwards; he sighs wistfully.
"These are beautiful," he praises quietly.
When he lifts his eyes, he discovers the others watching him with sympathy.
Merry states, "We'll find her, Sam." Pippin and Frodo nod firmly.
Suddenly misty-eyed, Sam simply gives his friends a smile of thanks.
Rosie finishes setting the table in the dining room for breakfast. The aromas of the hot food make her tummy rumble, reminding her that she has not had her own breakfast yet. She steps back and waits for her aunt to cast an inspecting look over her work.
May is dressed and ready for the day. Lily is in her nightgown and robe, her hair messy, and her eyes still full of sleep. Rosemary's chair is empty.
"That will be all, Cinder-Rose," May comments dismissively.
"Yes, Aunt May," Rosie says with a curtsy and leaves the two to their late breakfast.
On her way to the kitchen she pauses in the hall. She yawns and rubs her tired eyes. She was up late last night and did not get much sleep. Her slumber had been filled with dreams of her and Sam. She had dreamed that she had accepted his offer of help and that she had told him who she was. Sometimes he had been glad, other times upset.
Rosie shakes her head. Now she must not dwell and wonder on him. It is past.
Hurrying to the kitchen, instead of starting on cleaning the dishes, she puts a plate of food on a tray along with a cup of water. Carefully balancing the tray, she goes down the hall to the bedrooms. Gently she knocks on Rosemary's door. A moment later, she hears a muffled, "Come in."
She enters and quietly closes the door. Rosemary is in bed, her arms draped over her knees. Rosie sets the tray on the small table next to her bed.
"Morning," she greets her cousin quietly. "I brought your breakfast."
Rosemary gives her a weak smile. "Thank you," she whispers.
Rosie sees that her eyes are red and puffy, and her cheeks have dried tear tracks. Her heart goes out to her cousin. She nods and backs towards the door.
"Wait, please."
Rosemary's voice reaches her as she grasps the door handle. She looks over her shoulder to her cousin. Rosemary tosses off her covers and swings her legs over the side of her bed. She swallows thickly, nervousness sparkling in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she looks Rosie in the eyes.
"Rosie…I… Lily was right," she begins. "Since when you first came to live with us, I have treated you unkindly." She holds up a hand when Rosie attempts to speak. "Perhaps not quite as bad as Lily, but I have not treated you as a cousin deserves.
"When Lily…rebuked me last night, I realized I have not apologized for how I've treated you." A humorless chuckle escapes her lips. "But you probably suspect this is all some trick on my part, having a sudden change of heart," she adds more to herself and sniffs.
"No," Rosie quickly objects and moves to sit next to her. "No, I know you have not been toying with me." She gently rests her hand on Rosemary's shoulder. "Something about you has changed."
Rosemary gazes down at her hands for moment, nodding. Squaring her shoulders, she looks at her cousin. "I am very, sincerely sorry for how mean I've been to you in the past, Rosie," she says in a trembling tone. "I hope you can forgive me, and that we might be…friends."
Blinking back tears, Rosie smiles warmly. "I forgive you with all my heart, cousin." She hugs the girl. "Friend," she adds.
Rosemary clings to her, a huge boulder falling off her shoulders, her guilt gone. "Thank you." She draws back and shares a smile with Rosie. They chuckle as Rosie brushes some soot off Rosemary nightgown.
"I shall get you all dirty," Rosie murmurs apologetically.
"Nay, do not worry about it," Rosemary objects. Her expression becomes wistful.
"Did you sleep well?" Rosie asks after a short silence, concerned.
Rosemary's shoulders fall. "Not long or very well," she admits sadly.
Rosie nods knowingly and rubs her back soothingly.
"Why cannot I forget Fosco?" the girl asks, dropping her face into her hands. "I know what happened, what he is, yet I cannot…hate him."
"There must be some explanation," Rosie says.
Rosemary lifts her head. "Explanation? What I saw with my eyes is explanation enough. And Lily…" she trails off.
"Perhaps you should hear Fosco's side of things. It may not be as it seems."
"You mean like, he may not have intentionally…kissed…Lily?" Despite how painful saying the words is, faint hope comes into Rosemary's eyes.
"It is possible." Rosie hugs her. "There is only one way to find out the truth. I am certain he will not hide it from you."
Faintly, they hear a voice loudly call for Rosie.
Sighing, Rosie rises from the bed. She pauses when Rosemary catches her hand and presses a hot cake into it. Rosie smiles in thanks. On her way out the door, she leaves her cousin with a last comment:
"Maybe the reason you do not hate Fosco and think so much about him is because you care very deeply for him."
The comment takes Rosemary by surprise. She eats her breakfast in thoughtful silence.
The pony trotted down the deserted road at a good pace, alive and alert from the lump of sugar it had enjoyed. Its rider patted it on the neck as they moved along.
The day was cool, and gathered clouds in the sky threatened of possible rain. But steed and rider traveled on with purpose and determination. On either side of the road fresh, new grass had grown quickly. Small bushes, trees, and flowers had sprouted up, impatient to feel the sun. It had been a long time since the Shire had looked thus.
But the rider did not go slowly to inspect and admire the growing trees and flowers, as was usually his custom. Today he was focused on another task.
Soon he was passing fields on either side of the road as he urged the pony a little faster. His attention to the road was broken when he noticed a farmer working in one of the fields close to the road's edge. Here was one he could ask…
"Excuse me, sir," the hobbit said, drawing his pony to a halt.
The farmer looked up from his work and mopped the sweat from his brow. Slowly he walked up the slight incline to the road's edge and tipped his hat politely. "Good afternoon, young sir," he said courteously.
"Good afternoon," the hobbit replied with a small smile. "I'm looking for a…friend of mine. Last I heard she lived here in Deephallow."
"I have lived here since I was a wee lad. I know mostly everyone settled here. I might know who you be looking for."
The hobbit shifted in the saddle. "I'm searching for a lass named Rosie Cotton."
The farmer scratched his head and thought for a long moment, muttering, "Cotton, Cotton," to himself. Suddenly his face brightened. "Well, lad, there was a family named Cotton up near my sister's. Not a large family and kept mostly to themselves."
The young hobbit looked hopeful, then uncertain. "Was there, sir; do they no longer live there?" he asked with a quizzical frown.
The farmer shook his head. "They went off some months ago. I don't recall them breathing a word about where they were going to anyone. They really had no friends," he explained.
"Was there a lass named Rosie in the family, sir?"
"Well, I don't rightly know. I do seem to remember a lass or two in the family, but recall no names." Noting the young hobbit's disappointed face, he continued, "Perhaps my sister may know something; she was one of their neighbors and saw them more than I."
"I would really appreciate it," the hobbit replied hesitantly. "If you would be so kind as to tell me the way…"
"Oh, I'll show you the way myself."
Sam softly puffs on his pipe. The memory of his first trip to Deephallow in search of Rosie faintly melts away. It is peaceful and relaxing in the garden of Bag End. He listens as the birds sing a last time before returning to their nests. He watches as the sun sets on the first day of his search.
Today he asked everyone he could think of who had been acquainted or had been friends with Rosie or the Cotton family. He asked if they had heard of a family named Cotton, or had seen Rosie.
Some he had asked laughed. "You knew good and well I had not seen or heard of Rosie since she went away after her parents died," they told him. Others had been clearly surprised he was taking up the hunt again, but could only shake their heads, pitying him.
"Young Rosie's family is not the only Cotton in the Shire; there are several such named families," some had pointed out to him.
"Do you know where they live?" Sam had simply asked.
Some recommended he forget Rosie. She was long gone, and why should he believe he will find her this time if his last search end in failure?
Sam knows this search will not end in failure. It cannot. He has seen Rosie with his very eyes and will find her, no matter how long it takes him, and help and protect her from any who would mean her harm.
Only Estella had encouraged him to keep up his search. "No, I have not heard from her or seen her since she left. I have been thinking about her a lot recently; I've wondered how she is, how she gets on with her relatives, if she has any friends, if she is happy, if she misses us and Hobbiton."
Sam's face had saddened, recollecting the last conversation he and Rosie had before she suddenly rushed off. If she had spoken truthfully, she was alone and unhappy.
Estella must have read his face, for she had pressed his arm and had given him an encouraging smile. "I hope you will find her, Sam. She would probably appreciate how…concerned you are," she said with a knowing light in her eyes. "I will keep my eyes and ears open."
A smile brushes over Sam's face as he watches the sky darken. "Thank you, Estella," he breathes. "Rosie is fortunate to have such a friend." Unconsciously he touches his cheek.
Hold on, Rose-lass, he wills his thought to reach her.
"Sam!" a call comes from the back door.
The called hobbit quickly rises from the bench. "Coming, Mister Frodo!" he replies. He takes a final look up at the sky before heading inside.
Hold on, my Rosie.
Five days later…
The gossip mill is working full force in the market place.
"What do you make of it?"
"Cotton. He is asking for Cotton."
"A certain Cotton, that is. It must be a lass; it always is when a hobbit searches high and low and far and wide as Mister Gamgee has."
"I heard the name of the lass is Sapphire."
"No, you must be wrong. All he asked for was Cotton."
"I've heard he has visited three families named Cotton."
"And did he find her?"
"I assume not. My daughter said she saw him yesterday asking everyone he passed if they knew of Cotton."
"Is it true he carries the lass's portrait?"
"If he does, I have not seen it."
"And the other Travelers are helping him, are they not?" asks one hobbit at the Green Dragon.
"Yes, indeed. All four of them have been going through Hobbiton, asking away, so I've heard," replies another.
"It's not right for a hobbit to go trooping all over the Shire. They'll fall into trouble for sure."
Several cries of "Here, here!" fill the air.
"But all this fuss for one lass," murmurs an elderly hobbit disapprovingly. "Hardly fits the customs of courtship."
Others voice their agreement.
"But what do you think of this?" a hobbit questions the Gaffer who has been silently nursing his drink. "Why don't you put your son in his place? Or do you approve of his behavior?"
All eyes and ears turn to the Gaffer.
He takes a small sip from his mug. He had been in the middle of second breakfast five days before, when Sam burst in, winded and wild with excitement. It had taken quite a while for him to tell the whole story to his Gaffer from beginning to end, without leaving out a single detail; and he had outlined his plan for his search to find Rosie.
The Gaffer had heard all with nothing short of amazement. He had studied his son's face as he spoke, reading every emotion. When Sam had finally fallen silent, the older hobbit thought carefully and hard for several minutes. He did not care for Sam's travels abroad, but he saw his son was quite resolved. This search would likely be longer and harder than the one before. The older hobbit's heart had grown sore. Sam had not been himself since learning of Rosie's disappearance. He deserved a chance at happiness.
He glances at those in the Green Dragon. "I would not have it any other way," he firmly repeats the words he spoke to Sam when he gave his blessing. His stare books no room for argument.
"I would certainly like to know what has come over you, Rosemary," May sighs as she drinks her tea.
Rosemary looks up from her needlepoint. "Mama?"
"It seems as though you have become…soft," the other explains, her eyes thoughtful. "You have argued with your sister in the last few days more than you have in two months. I could understand, with this…incident regarding Fosco Took…"
Coloring furiously, Rosemary demands in a whisper, "And what do you know about it?"
"Oh, everything," May says with a wave of her hand. "Lily told me how she is quite taken with him."
Everything… Rosemary's lips tighten. She remains quiet.
"I am hurt you did not tell me," May goes on. "Having two daughters attached to the same lad can be resolved. Surely you can give him up for your sister."
Her daughter stares at her, dumbfounded. Before she can speak, May changes the subject.
"I could understand if you two argued about him. But I cannot understand why your arguments are focused on Cinders," May's eyes grow hard as she examines Rosemary.
Turning pale, the lass takes up her needlepoint, her hands shaking.
"Once upon a time you teased and loved Cinders just as much as your sister does. You called her names and bossed her around and looked down your nose on her and laughed at her. Now, wonder of wonders, you have stood up for Cinders. You've rebuked, rebuked, your own sister for being unkind to her. You've suggested we work her too hard, that she needs proper clothing and warm blankets to keep away the cold at night." May stares at her daughter. "Just what is the meaning of this? Is it possible you…like Cinders?"
Taking some deep breaths, Rosemary slowly looks over at her mother. A lump forms in her throat, and she at first finds words with difficulty.
"Yes, yes, I do like Rosie."
May's eyes widen.
"I realize now she is a dear, sweet girl. She has suffered our harsh abuse without even seeking revenge. She is my cousin, your niece; she is part of our family and deserves better treatment. In her I found a friend unlike any I've ever had. She shows concern and compassion to me, something I never received from you or Lily, my own flesh and blood. Lily was always your favorite, and I have never been able to measure up to her.
"I realize now I do not have to be stuck up and haughty and proud like Lily. I should just…be myself."
She cannot begin to read the expression on May's face as her eyebrows almost disappear under her hairline.
"I see," she says in a tone Rosemary has never heard before. "I sensed there was something…different…about you, Rosemary. I often wondered why you never turned out as well as Lily. You have too much of your father in you, I suppose. Well, everything is out in the open now and can be properly dealt with. I'm sorry you feel you must take up Cinders's cause."
Her eyes now flash in that familiar way, and Rosemary shrinks in her chair. A feeling of unease settles in the pit of her stomach.
"If your behavior was only because of Lily and Fosco I could easily forgive you," she goes on. "But since it does not… It is hard for me to call you daughter when you do not feel as much affection for me and your sister as you do for Cinders. It is a shameful embarrassment to me to know you no longer approve how I run things in my own house.
"We shall be going to visit my dear mother soon. Cinders will have a lot of extra work to do in preparation. She could use another pair of hands to help make sure everything gets done, and done well." May pauses and tilts her head to the side.
Rosemary's mouth opens as she realizes her mother's meaning. She is stunned, speechless. May's mouth curves into a wicked smirk.
"Since you have taken such a fancy for her and all, I'm sure you'll get along. Since she will likely have to teach you a good number of her chores, I beg you to learn quickly. It will not be good if your being taught slows her in responding to my and Lily's needs."
This time she smiles brightly and finishes her tea. "Now that that is all settled and done, take this," she holds out her cup and saucer, "to the kitchen and see if Cinders needs help with making luncheon, Rosemary."
Rosemary does not move, disbelief written over her face at this unexpected turn of events. A roar sounds in her ears. She blinks at the hobbitess who is her mother.
May's face softens. "If working in the kitchen is not the place for you, it is not too late to change your mind. Lily and I will welcome you with open arms, and we shall be the family we have never truly been if you drop this nonsense of Cinders not being treated rightly and all. That's all I ask of you, daughter."
Rosemary shakes her head slightly and the roaring diminishes. Her face now calm and composed, she rises gracefully from her chair and walks over to her mother. May smiles and opens her arms. Shock comes over her face when, instead of hugging her, Rosemary takes her cup and saucer. Rapidly, undisguised fury settles over May's face.
"You are no daughter of mine," she hisses. "Get out!"
Wordlessly, Rosemary obeys. For some reason, she is not surprised when she steps into the hallway and comes face to face with Rosie. For a second they face other, then Rosie puts her arm around Rosemary's shoulders, and together they walk to the kitchen.
And for the first time in her life, Rosemary feels…free.
Nine days later…
"What is this about Sam traveling over the Shire?" Fosco asks Pippin at the autumn dance.
He has not danced once and plans to keep it that way. The last two weeks he had hoped to run into Rosemary to give his mother's invitation. But he never saw her. And he has been completely miserable, wondering just what she thinks of him.
"He is searching for a girl," Pippin tells his cousin. "This is the second time he's looking for her. The first time he gave up, but now he has renewed hope and determination to find her this time."
Fosco nods. "That's the way to do things," he murmurs.
Pippin glances at him with understanding.
You've spent all you time pining away in despair. Sighing and moping day and night will not make her appear, Fosco Took, he scolds himself. You should make an effort to try and find her.
Unless she is not really that important, and is just like all the other girls, another part of his mind suggests.
Of course she is important to me! he protests.
Then stand up straight and be a Took! Search for answers!
"It has been hard," Pippin's voice breaks his train of thought. "Now that practically the whole Shire knows about it, we are getting so many tips and half of them aren't true. People just want a chance at Sam. It is driving him crazy."
"Who is she?" he says aloud.
"Her name is Rosie Cotton. They were friends for years and—" Pippin notices Fosco start. "What is it?" His face becomes concerned.
"Cotton. That…girl I told you about, Rosemary?" Fosco asks. At his cousin's nod, he says, "Her last name is Cotton."
"Are you sure?" Pippin asks, his eyes widening.
"Yes, I'm positive."
"Sam has visited several families by the name of Cotton. I wonder if your Rosemary's family was one of them," Pippin wonders.
"She's not my Rosemary," Fosco protests, blushing.
"Not yet," Pippin winks before turning serious. "I can ask Sam if there was a Rosemary in any of the families he saw. If there was not…then we may have a fresh lead to go on!"
Seven days later…
May grumbles as she goes into the kitchen. Even with two "servants" she cannot escape doing some chore or other. Lily is finishing packing her trunk; they leave for May's mother's later this afternoon. Rosemary she sent off to buy some last-minute things from the market place. And Cinders is working in the garden. Thus leaving May to make her tea herself today.
"We really need three servants," she murmurs to herself as she puts on the kettle to boil.
Soon the kettle whistles merrily, and May takes it off the fire. Carefully she pours some of the water into a cup and adds some tea leaves, stirring her tea with a spoon. Drinking it slowly, she moves to the kitchen window and gazes out into the garden.
The leaves on the trees are beginning to turn from green into colors of yellow, red and orange. Summer is gone.
But May's attention is not on the trees. Her gaze is fastened on Rosie who has stopped her work and is now dancing about the yard.
"Why that little…!" May exclaims. "She knows about taking no breaks." She is about to throw open the window and order her back to work, but pauses.
She watches carefully as Rosie moves about the yard gracefully with an invisible partner, a dreamy smile on her face. May's eyes narrow. Something about the way she moves, does the steps, seems familiar…like the dances she saw Samwise share with that lass everyone was talking about. Suddenly, it all falls into place.
"Cinder-Rose…the mysterious lass," May realizes. "I should have known…but I never do see her cleaned up and in a dress." A dark storm cloud settles over her face. "Against my orders she went to the festival. And she is the one Sam Gamgee loves." So my suspicions were right from the start.
Quickly, she moves out of the kitchen. "We shall be gone by the time any news of us reaches his ears," she talks to herself, thinking of the gossip surrounding Sam's search that she has heard.
There is much to be done, and in so little time.
Widow Willow chats with her friend Miss Barrow at her flower stand. The two pause in their conversation when a hobbit comes by and examines the blossoms. Widow Willow studies the customer while her friend asks if she can be of assistance.
He appears pale and thin. Dark circles are under his tired eyes. An air of sadness hangs over him. Yet she notices the almost determined firmness of his jaw and how soft his eyes become as he gently touches a flower.
He settles on three roses.
"These are the last until spring comes again," Miss Barrow says as she gives the hobbit his change.
"They are very beautiful," he nods. He starts to go off but hesitates. "Have either of you, ladies, heard of a family named Cotton?" he asks, turning back.
Both hobbitesses realize this here is no other than Samwise Gamgee. Miss Barrow shakes her head, pity in her eyes for him. Widow Willow speaks.
"I do know of a family named Cotton, but you might have already seen them. I have a special friend who works for a family that goes by Cotton."
"Oh, the girl who is always dressed as a boy?" asks Miss Barrow curiously.
Widow Willow nods her head. "Yes, that is her." She returns her attention to the interested Sam. "The family is of a mother and her two daughters. Her husband is always off on some business. Anyway, they moved here over a year ago. They keep mostly to themselves. But they are very well off. I don't understand why they neglect Rose in such a way. She has put up with a lot from them."
Sam's heart leaps at these last words. He trembles slightly. Despite himself, he cannot help but wonder at the possibility… The others notice the sudden color in his cheeks and spark in his eyes.
"Do, do you where I might find this family?" he asks hopefully.
"Why I think I can. Let me draw you a map…"
Rosie and Rosemary manage to lift the second trunk onto the back of the wagon. Already their arms are aching. As they work to load all the luggage, Rosemary wets her lips and glances at her cousin.
"Rosie, have you heard this rumor about Samwise searching for a certain lass?" she asks.
The other girl flushes slightly and says, "Who hasn't?" Her laugh sounds nervous.
Two more trunks get into the wagon.
Rosemary wipes sweat from her forehead and tries to catch her breath. "Do you think he might be looking for…Lily?"
Surprised by the question, it takes Rosie several moments to gather her thoughts. "You, oh, you mean because they danced together at the festival."
Her cousin nods.
"I-I do not know," Rosie says softly. She meets Rosemary's eyes. "Do you think she is the one he is searching for?"
"No, I do not," she answers, holding Rosie's gaze. "Mama said you and Sam had once been friends."
The girl instantly drops her gaze and moves toward the final trunk. "It is true. My brothers were very good friends of his," she admits.
Rosemary follows her, her eyes searching. "Have you considered the possibility that it might be you he his searching for?"
A thick silence hangs over them as they hoist another trunk into the wagon. Thoughts race through Rosie's mind. Does she suspect, know? Does Aunt May suspect? she wonders worriedly.
"It is possible," she whispers. She wills herself not to look away when Rosemary studies her.
"Rosie—"
"Cinders!" May calls from the doorway of the hobbit hole, startling both girls.
"Yes, Aunt May?"
"Come into the parlor. I must see you." The hobbitess disappears inside.
Rosie exchanges a glance with Rosemary. "I'll be back as quick as possible and help you with the final trunk," she says, nodding to the item at their feet.
Wordlessly, Rosemary nods.
Rosie hurries inside the hole and enters the parlor. May is seated in the chair by the fireplace.
"Close the door, Cinders," she orders.
Rosie obeys, nervous.
"Come here." May takes one of her hands when she is near. "Cinders, Rosie, you have been a member of this family for nearly two years. During that time I have sheltered you, clothed you, and feed you. And you have helped me greatly with the many chores that have needed done daily."
Rosie listens in bewildered silence.
"All these many months I have given you many responsibilities which you have carried out without complaint. I have come to trust you; when I want tea I am given tea. I send you to market for certain things and you always return with them. I have never suspected you not fulfilling my requests and wishes. You have always obeyed me."
Sudden tension fills the room.
"But now I wonder if it is too good to be true. Many servants can become bored and lazy and are prone to not completely following orders, to playing games and jokes, to disobeying." Her grip on Rosie's hand tightens, and the girl gasps slightly. The hobbitess stares hard at her, and fear wells up in Rosie.
"I was hoping," May continues, reaching with her free hand over the side of her chair, "If you would happen to know where this came from, and why it was in your room." She holds up a yellow dress in her hand.
Rosie's face turns white.
