You're My Light in the Dark
Chapter 20 : Moments of Passing Years — August
One of the worst heat waves in a decade rolled through. It was the talk of the town, especially when farmers began passing out in the heat of the noonday sun. Healer Mayweather certainly had his hands full, thanks to the multiple cases of heatstroke. People were beginning to worry for the sake of everyone's health. It wasn't long before the Mayor issued a decree that businesses were to shut down between the hours of 11 am to 4 pm when the heat appeared to be the worst and people were advised to rest during this time. With even the popular hangouts such as the Green Dragon and the Ivy Bush closed, many hobbits took to the lake in hopes of cooling off.
That was our plan as well. With some training mixed in, of course.
Early Wednesday morning, four days into the Mayor's decree, I made my way out to Mr. Roper's to pick up the custom rope I had ordered. We planned to hang it out on one of the trees next to the lake, to use for climbing in our conditioning and as a swing into the water. The order cost us a pretty penny – ten silver pennies, to be exact – but considering this was something we'd been wanting for a while, the price was well worth it.
A bell chimed overhead as I entered the shop, which was incredibly small – just big enough for about a three-person line and the sales counter. Mr. Roper, an aged hobbit with graying hair and kind, wrinkled eyes, was quick to put down his mail to greet me.
"Ah, Miss Tamsin, just the lass I was hoping to see today!" he said cheerfully. Reaching down under the counter, he pulled out the heavy rope with a grunt. "You and your sister sure request the oddest things… so the word around town is, if you don't mind my saying so."
Between this rope, the earrings, and our pleadings with Angelica and Lily to crochet us bras… it's not hard to see how that gossip started. I ducked my head, a bit sheepish. "I wouldn't say a rope is all that strange," I returned.
"Just a small, simple rope, no. A rope of this width and length, yes." The rope was coiled around his arms as he held it out to me. "What will you be using this for? If you don't mind me asking."
I took the rope from him, taking note of its weight as I slung the coils over my shoulder like I would the strap of a bag, and gave him a smile. "It's a swing," I said simply. He gave me a crooked look, as if he didn't know what to make of that. Perhaps because he doubted that a giant rope about 30 feet taller than the average hobbit could be a swing, so I elaborated, "We're planning to hang it on a tree so we can use it to as a swing to jump into the Hobbiton lake."
"Ah," he said, comprehension finally dawning. "If only I had finished that for you a little sooner, then. Some fun is much needed these hot, miserable days."
Two hours later, finally back in Hobbiton, I hiked toward the lake to meet my friends. "Oi, there she is!" Merry called excitedly as I came upon the hillside with our designated tree. Lauren had set up quite the spread in the shade; blankets all about, picnic basket laden with food. Everyone was already there – Lauren, Merry, Pippin, Frodo, Lily, and Sam. Not five feet away was the cliff overlooking the lake, about a twenty-foot drop. It was one of Frodo's favorite jump spots, so we knew it was perfect for the rope swing.
"About time," Pippin commented through a mouth full of cheese.
Sam flashed Pippin a reproachful glance. "What he means to say is: we were getting a tad worried," he elaborated.
Dumping the rope in the grass, I parked a seat next to Frodo on the blanket. "No need to worry about me," I commented. But even as I said it, I could feel how flushed my face was. Removing my wicker hat, I made quick work of fanning myself off.
Frodo was frowning, not believing me in the slightest.
"Seriously," I said, "It's not a big deal. Besides, I had to get the surprise Lauren and I were telling you about."
"A rope?" Frodo said dubiously, eyes drifting over to the coils in the grass. "Hobbits have been passing out in this heat, and you trekked all the way out to Tighfield for a rope."
"A giant rope," Lauren corrected. Her cheekiness was infectious. I found myself giving him a broad smile.
He got to his feet then, reaching down to place the back of his hand on my cheek. "Just as I thought," he murmured. "You're hot."
"Well, of course I'm—" but the retort died in my throat when, quite suddenly, his arms encircled my waist and hoisted me up in the air. Being a good foot taller than me, it wasn't hard for him to pick me up at all. "What the hell? Put me down!"
I wriggled in his grasp to no avail. He only squeezed tighter. Our friends were a chorus of laughter around us, goading him on. He was walking us backward toward the cliff. I knew what he was planning immediately.
"Frodo, don't you dare!"
"Sorry, love," he whispered in my ear, "Better hold your breath."
With an abrupt spin he tossed me off the cliff and I was falling. The blue patchwork skirts of my hiking dress were fluttering about me in the descent and I had a brief moment to worry about flashing my undergarments.
But then I hit the water.
Holy fuck was it cold!
Doused with ice, is what it felt like. And the lower I sank, the further away from the surface I got, it only got colder.
I'm a strong swimmer, so I was able to make it back to shore with little trouble, despite my clothes weighing me down. Unfortunately, Frodo knew this all too well, which was why he tossed me in the lake to begin with.
Our friends' laughter greeted me as I stomped my way back up the hill, ringing out my patchwork skirts as I went. "How was your swim?" Merry asked, grinning as he bit into his sandwich.
I shot him an unamused look before turning my attention to Frodo, who sat at the foot of the tree, slouched against the trunk. He was an image of nonchalance with an elbow propped up on a bent knee as he fanned himself with my wicker hat. "You're unbelievable," I accused.
He took my irritation in stride. "If you took better care of yourself, I wouldn't have to resort to such extreme measures," he said dryly. "Knowing you, you'd have overexerted yourself. And in this heat, I couldn't take that chance."
He was thoroughly unapologetic, but I could hardly argue with his logic and concern. Especially since I didn't feel like explaining that I'd actually experienced heatstroke before thanks to one of my coaches' punishments for being too injured to swing bars – which had involved endurance runs and rope-climbs wearing sweats and weights in summer heat.
Due to that, I'm now well aware of the warning signs and what heatstroke feels like. But that's hardly a topic I can bring up with our friends around… not that my old training is a common point of discussion between us anyway.
So instead of arguing, I took his concern to heart. Even after all this time, it feels odd to have someone actually care; to have someone actually care about me and nothing else. It kind of puts my gymnastics training into perspective – how messed up it truly was, how it had to be, because Lauren and I don't push ourselves anywhere near as hard as our coaches used to push us… and yet it's still enough to cause Frodo great worry.
"I'm sorry for worrying you," I said with earnest, swiping at a water droplet rolling its way down my nose.
I got a lopsided smile in response. His expression, one of determined resignation, seemed to say: and yet you continue to do so, so I will continue doing what needs to be done.
He reached out with his free hand, clasping his fingers around mine, and gave a gentle tug to have me take a seat beside him. As I sat, he began fanning me with the wicker hat, the new breeze feeling gloriously cool with the wetness on my cheeks and the dampness in my hair. It was all too clear that Frodo was inordinately pleased with himself.
Turning my attention back to our friends, I was relieved to find they weren't paying us much mind – instead now arguing over the last blueberry muffin, a popular summer treat, as the fresh fruit made them more delectable than at any other time of year. Pippin was holding his prize up high out of reach, much to Lily's chagrin. He's one of the tallest in our group, and Lily was doing her damnedest to get a piece, making quite the ruckus.
"You've had five of those already, Peregrin Took!" she reprimanded irritably. "Give. It. Here!" Her jumping up and down didn't do much else except amuse him.
Lauren, noticing this, couldn't stand idle. She'd worked hard making those muffins, after all. With determination gleaming in her eyes, she turned to Merry, silently telling him to stay quiet with a finger to her lips, then crept up as quietly as she could behind Pippin.
"Share that muffin, Pip! I haven't had any!" Lily cried, growing maddeningly desperate, still jumping as high as she could — which, sadly, was not high enough to reach the baked good Pippin held aloft. He cackled out a laugh at poor Lily's expense.
That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Lauren pounced, feet leaving the ground as she leapt up and tackled him. The laugh promptly died in his throat, and with a pathetic-sounding squeal they toppled over to the grass. Pippin was trying to hold the muffin to his chest, but it was all in vain. Lily's smile then was magnificent as she swooped down and pried a good chunk of the large muffin from his greedy fingers.
"No fair!" Pippin squawked rather pitifully. Lauren was still pinning him down, practically sitting on him, so it was all rather awkward — his cheeks flaring up as red as a tomato in his embarrassment.
"That's what you get," Lauren said pointedly, devoid of any apology. "I warned you last time. I told you I'd tackle you if you tried hogging all the treats again."
"I thought you were joking! I didn't think you'd actually do it!"
"I always make good on my promises," Lauren said, "You should know that by now."
Sam was shaking his head at the scene, but as he cast a lighthearted glance in my direction, I could tell he actually approved of Lauren's behavior, for once.
Lauren and I always are a little out of our depth when dealing with Sam, you see. He runs hot and cold on us – typically conversations start out fine, with the general pleasantries and how do you do's, but somewhere down the line we tend to say or do something he disapproves of. And most of the time I just can't figure out what exactly we do to earn his scorn.
But perhaps we're becoming better at toning down our louder, ruder American tendencies and behaving like normal hobbits… or so I hope.
About an hour later after a rather satisfying lunch, we decided it was time to tie up the rope on the large tree at the edge of the cliff. Sam gladly offered to help. "That's my Uncle's handiwork, see?" he said.
I was climbing up the tree, one end of the rope loosely tied around my waist, and paused my ascent to shoot a smile down to him. "I didn't know that!" I said.
He gave a proud sort of nod, pleased with his family's accomplishments. "He's my Gaffer's older brother," he elaborated, calling up to me as I reached our desired branch — high, large, and sturdy. "Finest rope-maker in all the Farthings."
"Sure is, it's exactly why I ordered this rope from him. Only the best would do." Sam beamed at the praise. Turning back to the task at hand, I took hold of the branch and let myself dangle. I was a good thirty feet up in the air, so Frodo and Sam — understandably — got nervous and started calling out concerns.
Lauren shushed them for me. "Let her do her thing, will you?" she said impatiently. "You've seen what she can do."
"Doesn't mean I'm going to stop worrying," I heard Frodo mutter.
From the dead hang, I did a chin-up pullover to a front support, then birdie perched to climb up to my feet. It didn't really matter that I was thirty feet off the ground, I found my balance easy enough. I've never been afraid of heights and I'd done it on beam and the uneven bars a million times before. This sort of thing is second nature to me now — the utmost basic of gymnastics basics — skills I mastered by the time I was five years old. I couldn't help but laugh at how our friends were making a big deal out of it, with nail-biting and worried eyes as if I was doing some death-defying stunts.
There was really nothing to it. The branch was a bit thicker than a bar but slightly more narrow than a balance beam, so it's not like I was out of my element or anything. I stood up tall, cast a look down at Sam, and picked up the conversation right where it left off by asking, "Did you ever want to learn the craft from your uncle?"
"For a bit," Sam replied, "I got bored with it pretty quickly, though. I love my flowers a lot more," he said.
I had to bite back my grin at his wording, and the irony that he had a crush on a hobbit lass whose namesake was a flower. I untied the rope at my waist and bent down to a squat to wrap it around the branch. With a bit of slack, I was able to knot it, then wrap it around a good four times before knotting it twice more. Seeing as the rope had to carry our whole body weights, I didn't want to take any chances with it falling down. "There! Now can you pull on that end, Sam? Give it a good tug and let's see if it holds."
He reached up with both hands, fisting the rope tightly, and just as he was about to pull, a shrill scream rang out from the lake. Frenzied turns, curiously concerned at the alarm, breaths caught in our throats at the scene. From up on the cliff, we could easily see a small boat had capsized and that some hobbit lasses were barely treading water.
Sam was beside himself. He immediately dropped the rope and ran right up to the edge of the cliff. "May! Marigold!" he shouted, the fear in his voice enough to make my heart skip a beat. Those were his sisters.
"Shit," I swore, feeling a bit trapped and useless up so high in the tree.
Frodo and Merry each grabbed at Sam, holding him back from jumping off the cliff after them. "You can't swim either!" Merry was reminding him.
Frodo gripped the gardener by the shoulders, pleading with him to calm. "Deep breaths! I'll get them, I promise."
Lauren, meanwhile, was tugging at the lace-ups of her dress, making quick work of getting it undone. She threw the burgundy skirts over her head, left half-naked in the lacy slip she had on underneath. It was scandalous, to say the least.
With one glance in Lauren's direction, Pippin spluttered, "What in the world are you doin'?" But she completely ignored him, instead focused solely on getting to the water as fast as she possibly could, sprinting toward the cliff's edge. With a yell, she jumped — cannonballing down the good twenty-foot drop to the lake below. Frodo, an excellent swimmer in his own right, followed not long after.
I'm nimble, but finding safe footing while climbing down a tree is not a speedy endeavor. The fastest way down is the rope, by far.
The still untested rope.
A moment's hesitation was all it took to steel my resolve.
"Fuck it."
I eased myself into a front support, then rolled back over to a dead hang — piece of cake. As was wrapping the rope around my legs and shifting my weight from the branch to the rope. I slid down the rope quickly — too quickly — and all too familiar burns flared up on my palms and around my legs by the time I reached the ground.
The run from the cliff to the shore was longer than I ever remembered it being. With a crowd starting to gather on the sands, it felt like I was the last one there. Frodo and Lauren were already coming in close to the shore — May holding on to Frodo, with a look of pure, panicked despair, while Marigold's face was hidden beneath her lolled head of golden curls as Lauren held her up.
"She's not breathing!" Lauren cried, struggling with the girl's weight in the shallow water when they reached the beach. I leapt forward, and with Pippin's help we were able to bring her ashore.
Whispers broke out amongst the crowd at Lauren's words.
"Another one drownded then."
"Poor old Hamfast."
"Shame, such a young thing."
My sister cast about the dirtiest look she could muster. "Shut up, she's not dead! If we wanted your opinion we'd fucking ask for it." As you can imagine, that didn't help matters. As Merry hopped in to help with crowd control, I turned to the girl turning blue on the sand. Despite never having done CPR before, I had heard a few things about it and had seen it done in movies countless times before. It's worth a try.
Tilt the chin, so the air goes into the lungs.
That song Staying Alive also came to mind.
So without a second thought, I tilted Marigold's chin, pinched her nose, put my lips to hers, and blew.
Understandably, Sam was hovering over me the whole while. "What are you doing?!" he asked, with no small measure of alarm. But he didn't stop me — hopefully because he realized I was trying to help.
I just shook my head at him, blew air into her lungs again, then sat up a little straighter. I clasped one hand over the other, then pushed the heel of my hand down into her chest as hard as I could, using my whole upper body weight.
Push and push and push.
Staying alive, staying alive, ah ah ah ah...
People were yelling around us. "What does she think she's doing?"
"She shouldn't be doing that!"
"She's not a healer!"
"Call for the healer!"
"Someone stop her before she hurts the lass!"
"Leave her alone! She's breathing for her, you idiots!" I could barely hear Lauren say over the surrounding din. Hands grabbed at my shoulders, jostling me, but I didn't care. I just grit my teeth as I pushed back as good as I got, not even stopping to look at who tried to get at me, or if I'd hurt them by elbowing them as hard as I did.
Staying alive, staying alive, ah ah ah ah...
And just as I was about to put my mouth on hers again, Marigold choked out a breath, water gurgling up fast.
Thank God!
I urged her on her side as she continued to vomit up the water in her belly. Sam fell to his knees beside us, large tears rolling down his cheeks, hiccuping as he tried to hold back his sobs. He hugged his younger sister to his chest, tucking her under his chin. I don't think I'll ever forget the look of blossoming relief on his red, tear-stained face when he turned to me.
"Thank you," he mouthed quietly. "Thank you."
The murmuring around us didn't quiet in the slightest. If anything, it only grew worse. I did my best to ignore it as we made our way back up the hill.
Needless to say, the whole affair cut our fun outing short. Sam was quick to take his sisters home, scooping Marigold up in his arms and carrying her away like the knight-in-shining-armor he truly is at heart. I always knew he had it in him, that he had to, for him to be the same Sam I read about in Lord of the Rings. But this is the first time I'd actually seen it firsthand. I've been trying not to compare people to their fictional counterparts… but it's so hard not to, sometimes.
The rest of us weren't really in the mood to continue our picnic. It was sort of an unspoken understanding when Lily silently started packing up the basket, the rest of us following her lead. Not one protest, even from Merry and Pippin. It didn't escape my notice that the two of them were shooting furtive glances in my direction, as if they were trying to watch me without me noticing. Their looks of renewed interest were all too clear. It didn't surprise me in the slightest when Merry tried to pull Lauren aside, but she only shook her head at him, offering promises to try and explain things later.
Frodo, soaking wet from head to toe and clothes still dripping water, offered quiet comfort by slipping an arm around me. I leaned into his embrace, not at all caring about the cold and wet still clinging to him or what people might say. Somehow I get the feeling we're already going to be the hot topic of conversation, public displays of affection notwithstanding. "Some day, huh?" I commented.
He hummed his approval at the sentiment. "Aye, that's one way of putting it," he said, then gave my shoulder a squeeze. "You did well."
"You did too. Regular lifeguard, you are."
He leaned in close then, dipping his head low and close to my ear so the people around us wouldn't hear as he asked, "Was that a trick from New Hampshire?"
I smiled a bit at the question, at how he likes to refer to where I grew up. The way he summarizes the reality I used to know as simply New Hampshire is just so cute and almost quaint, considering the enormity of the circumstances. "Yeah," I whispered back. "It's the sort of thing that everyone knew about, but not necessarily how to actually do it, you know? It's not like it's a skill you'd use everyday." As I went about my brief explanation, I was dimly aware of my hands shaking. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing. I crossed my arms, pinning my hands down against my body as I turned my head toward him, admitting, "I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew I had to do something. I had to try."
"That's my lass. Knew I liked you for a reason," he quipped, affection clear in his voice before he placed a quick kiss on my temple. "Come along, then. No more worrying, the excitement's over for the day. Let's go home."
Frodo was wrong, however. Sure, we went home to Bag End but the excitement of the day wasn't over. Far from it.
"Oh Sam," I breathed, my heart swelling at the sight of the sandy-haired hobbit at the front door with three enormous bouquets of flowers. He had put together a mix of about every color imaginable; all collected from the Gamgee's personal garden, no doubt. "They're beautiful. You didn't —"
"Yes, I did," he interrupted, pushing his way past the doorframe to thrust one of the bouquets into my arms. He wasn't taking no for an answer. "You saved my sister," he said, as if I needed the reminder. "I don't really know what you did, or how you knew what to do, but you saved her, you did." He said it all so sincerely and without any of the polite standoffishness that usually invaded our conversations when it was just the two of us alone.
I bit my lip and ducked my chin, a bit uncomfortable with it all and hating how I couldn't be completely honest with him. I'd already been visited by Healer Mayweather. After doing a check-up on the young Gamgee lass, he paid me a visit to glean some information on the "drownded revival method" I used on the girl. The old healer hadn't been too pleased with how little I was able to relay to him. It all had come down to vague understanding and a whole hell of a lot of luck, after all. In the end, he'd asked, "Was it the song, lass?" flashing me a knowing glance. At my frown, wondering why the hell he focused on my singing Staying Alive, of all things, he'd continued, "It's not the most popular notion 'round these quiet parts, sure, but I can't deny the fantastic ways magic can enrich — and even save — our lives."
"I'm not magic," I'd said, a bit bewildered he'd even jump to that conclusion.
"Whatever you say, lass," he smiled with a yeah right sort of voice, tapping his nose as if it was all a big conspiracy.
The admiration in Sam's gaze was daunting. "It was nothing," I said, forgetting for a moment that the modest phrase wasn't used in the Shire.
"It was everything," he insisted, a little taken aback at my words. It only added to my unease.
I gave a reluctant sigh, knowing all too well that he wasn't going to let the matter drop. Perhaps a nice distraction will do the trick instead. Opening the door wider to invite him in, I asked, "Would you like some tea?"
And as we spent the afternoon chatting — about everything and nothing, with me telling stories, describing scenes from movies as if I'd seen them first-hand during trips abroad — I had a sinking feeling the questions and visitors from this incident were only just beginning.
Later on that evening, much later than I'd actually been expecting, the Sheriff paid us a visit. Lauren and I were getting the table together for a light supper when he arrived. Bilbo answered the door, and we could hear the exchange of pleasantries and offer of a seat at our meal as he led the way toward us in the kitchen.
"Alas, I'm here on official business, I'm afraid," the Sheriff said, politely declining, "But I appreciate the offer."
Lauren huffed a small noise of frustration at that. We shared a heavy look, a mix of Really, can you believe this shit? and Here we go again…
Bilbo wasn't happy about it either, it seems. "What's this about then? Not the incident at the Lake, surely."
The Sheriff breathed a heavy sigh, as if he'd been expecting Bilbo's reaction. He sounded genuinely contrite when he replied, "Believe you me, if it weren't for the formal complaints, I wouldn't be here disturbing your supper."
"Complaints?" Bilbo echoed, incredulous. "My lot saved those girls! Some show of gratitude this is!"
I couldn't help how my heart soared with appreciation at those words, even despite the nerves that spiked at the news of complaints being filed with the police. Lauren and I somehow managed to compose ourselves just as they entered the kitchen.
Sheriff Dodd is an older hobbit, perhaps in his seventies, looking to be about a year or two away from his retirement. He held his cap under his arm; a large feather was tucked in the band of the cap, standing at attention and signifying his official capacity. His grey curls were sleek and combed back away from his face. Distinguished and dignified were words that quickly came to mind; and with that keen, almost hawk-like gaze, he had a polished air about him in a way that most hobbits just… don't. He reminded me of those successful, clean-cut businessmen usually seen strutting around Boston — the sharp men in sleek suits and shiny, polished shoes. His mere presence demanded respect.
"I've already been 'round to visit the Gamgee's," Dodd explained. "They had nothing but praises for your lot, I assure you. I'm merely here to finish up the inquiry. No stone left unturned and all that."
"Be that as it may," Bilbo continued, "I want to state for the record how this is truly and utterly preposterous. The notion there were even complaints! You and I both know had anyone else saved those girls, nothing would have ever come of it. This is all due to the Tamsins' foreign upbringing."
"Duly noted," Dodd said dryly. It gave the impression he was of similar mind.
Lauren and I shared a look of complete surprise. Honestly, now that I think back on it, this is exactly the sort of thing police should look into — people thought I'd been assaulting the poor girl, at one point I actually did assault someone, and Lauren had been running around cussing everyone out. To hear their opinions that this could all be chalked up to prejudice was a little surreal.
"Now I've come to understand Frodo was also involved?"
Bilbo nodded. "Yes. Hang on a tick, I'll fetch him." And he scampered down the hall.
Lauren was leaning back against the cabinets next to me, arms crossed, head ducked down. Her eyes were scrunched, staring at nothing in particular as she got lost in her thoughts. But it was all too easy for me to know what was on her mind: probably a lot of inward cursing about how this whole situation was bullshit. "No good deed goes unpunished, huh?" she muttered under her breath.
"I must admit I am curious," Dodd began, giving us a once over. "We've received quite a few visitors in Hobbiton over the years — travelers passing through, foreigners coming to visit… usually here to Bag End. But you're the only ones to have stayed. Why have you stayed?"
"We didn't intend to," Lauren responded, relying on our old rehearsed script. "We were also just passing through when we were accidentally separated. By the time we found each other again, we had fallen in love with the peaceful and quiet life the Shire offers."
Dodd nodded at that. "You're minors to boot. Young lasses traveling alone… that is a rare sight. Dangerous. I hear you still do it, Kate," he said, turning his attention to me. It was all too easy to hear the concern in his voice. "Making deliveries and camping alone in the woods. My son works the mail service and delivers the same as you. Can't say I'd approve if one of my daughters were to do it instead."
"Good thing she doesn't need your permission, then," Lauren sassed.
Oh God, flippant with the damn police. She'd been doing so well before that, too. It's been nearly three years — you'd think she would've learned to control herself by now. Guess you can take the girl out of America but not the teenage American attitude out of the girl.
Dodd's eyebrows were so high up they were practically hidden in his hair, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. It was a look of pure surprised displeasure if I'd ever seen one. With his regal bearing and official authority, I'd wager he hasn't ever been spoken to like that before — especially not while out on official sheriff business.
"I apologize for her attitude and lack of sense," I was quick to say, then shot Lauren a quelling look. "What she meant to say is that we're capable of handling ourselves."
Lauren rolled her eyes and turned away. Luckily Dodd either didn't catch it or decided to ignore it. Calculating gaze trained on me he commented, "Yes, I'm starting to see that. Your parents must be very proud."
I couldn't tell if that was sarcasm or not. Or if it was his way of asking about our parents — where they are and why they aren't around. "We wouldn't know. It's been some years now since…" I trailed off purposely, clearing my throat, leaving him to come to his own conclusion without me having to lie. "Some things are learnt out of necessity when you're on your own. Especially around the Big Folk."
Realization seeped into his expression then. That of course, I should've known sort of look. "I can imagine."
It took a lot of effort not to smile in relief at the fact I'd won that particular round. Frodo came into the room then, saving us from further small talk that wasn't quite so small. Thank God. He cast a quick glance between the three of us — with Dodd's serious demeanor, Lauren's scowl, and my forced calm — before slipping his own mask of light-hearted politeness into place. It was something I'd only seen from him outside of Bag End; an act of pleasantness despite whatever people might say. "Good evening, Sheriff."
"Ah, good!" Dodd said, sounding equally relieved, "You're all here then. Let me just say: It's not every day we have good news after a boat tips. Thank you for that."
Frodo gave a nod. "We couldn't stand idle." He gestured to the kitchen table, motioning for the older hobbit to sit.
Pulling out a chair, Dodd replied, "I imagine not. What with your own family history, Mister Baggins." As sympathetic as he sounded, that remark didn't sit well with me at all. I mean, the fact he said it at all, it was if Dodd believed Frodo only helped because his parents drowned. If it bothered Frodo, he certainly didn't let it show. He's had a lot of practice staying polite amidst ignorant questions. "It's not often you find hobbits 'round these parts who know their way 'round water. Never mind two. When did you learn to swim?"
"The summer following the accident. My Uncle Rorimac was the Master Brandybuck at the time. He'd been very insistent I learn. Made it a condition for me staying at Brandy Hall. Said he refused to lose another nephew in such an avoidable manner," Frodo explained.
"Ah, thought as such. Word is it's much more common a skill out that way in Buckland."
"Bound to be, aye. The ferries are quite popular."
"And what of you, Miss Tamsin?"
Lauren wrinkled her nose. "Just Lauren, please."
"Lauren," Dodd repeated indulgently. "You learned abroad, I take it?"
"Yeah, back when I was pretty young. Our parents often took us to the beach when we were kids."
"The beach?"
I jumped into the conversation at that. "The sea, she means. You know, at the Elven harbor out west? We enjoyed jumping off the docks."
The sheriff frowned but nodded, accepting the answer for what it was, even if our foreignness didn't sit right with him. Nothing about our explanation was typical hobbit behavior.
"Lauren, it's been reported by others at the lake today that you were the first one in the water to go after them." The Sheriff paused, just long enough for Lauren to bob her head in confirmation before continuing, "…In naught but your underclothes."
"Yes," Lauren said, drawing the word out slowly in a so what? sort of way. "Though I fail to see why that's of any relevance."
"You may be exotic, lass, but surely you understand why such behavior is indecent."
Exotic? I couldn't help but snort at that. Never thought Lauren and I would ever be considered exotic. And as for indecency? Well, since day one Lauren's toyed with hobbit notions of propriety, both intentionally and not. It's part of the reason why we're still given the side-eye by some of the more conservative people around. But to bring it up in this instance, when it was clear she'd only acted out of necessity… he was playing with fire. If he thought he'd seen real attitude from her before, he was sadly mistaken. The sass from earlier was mere child's play compared to the proverbial bear he'd just poked in the eye.
Irritation rolled off of her in waves. For fuck's sake might as well have been stamped on her forehead. "I wasn't running around half-naked for the fun of it!" Lauren spat angrily, raising her voice. "Extra clothes weigh you down in the water. I couldn't risk it with my skirts, not when I knew I had to hold someone else up too." Using her bum to push away from the counter, blue eyes flashing, she was just starting her rant. Propping one hand on her hip — a feminine power stance if there ever was one — she cast her other arm wide, pointing in the direction of the front door and the world that lay beyond it. "Those girls could've died. I was too worried about trying to prevent that to concern myself with ridiculous notions of impropriety. But you know what? If it's such a problem, maybe I won't bother next time. You can jump in and save them. See where your priorities are then." Her voice had taken a hard edge by the end.
The sheriff appeared to be well and truly gobsmacked. He hadn't expected such a fierce reaction. Mouth hung open and eyes shut tight as his thoughts whirled, it seemed he didn't know where to even begin from that. She'd completely turned the conversation around. By throwing the moral high ground in his face, she'd somehow flipped the whole matter right smack dab on its head.
Frodo was pressing his lips together in an attempt to keep from smiling. He actually looked fairly pleased — if not proud — at my sister's outburst. My guess is that it's exactly the sort of thing he's wanted to say in response to all the gossip for years now, it just wasn't the proper thing to do. Leave it to Lauren to not give a shit. Her tempter truly is a sight to behold — when it's not directed at you, that is.
"Will that be all?" Frodo asked lightly. His words were polite, as always — because that's Frodo in a nutshell: polite to a fault. But with the way he said it, with that tight-lipped failing attempt in trying not to smile combined with that knowing glance of his, Frodo was all but promising that the conversation would only get worse from here on out if the sheriff insisted on proceeding with the conversation. I probably would've laughed if the circumstances weren't so serious.
"You know what," the Sheriff said, and it was very obvious from the exasperation in his tone, that no, that was not all. That there was much more to be discussed. But I knew from the way he began to eye us wearily that there was no way he was going to continue. He wasn't going to touch the matter further, not with a ten-foot pole. For him, dealing with crazy foreigners at the end of his long day just wasn't worth it — especially over a matter he didn't believe warranted an inquiry in the first place. He heaved a heavy sigh. "Yes. Yes, I do believe that is all."