WHISPERS OF THE RING
A Day’s Hard Work pt.II
The widow had been more than happy to have Frodo and Sam doing some chores around her cottage when they asked. Sam had immediately commented he could be best put to use in her garden and suggested Frodo lend a hand indoors. Frodo knew Sam's motivation behind his suggestion. Their conversation earlier clearly told Frodo that in Sam's eyes, gardening was not a job for a Baggins. Frodo had given him a warning look. Sam defended his statement with an innocent look and a determined set of his jaw.The widow was a much younger woman than Frodo would have thought, gray barely touched her temples. He had imagined her to be an old woman. She looked rather fearsome, her face being horribly scarred, but her eyes were kind and her smiles were genuine. And through the course of the afternoon they had shared good conversation…
"So tell me young man," for to Big Folk, Hobbits looked young indeed, "What brings you so far from your home?"
Frodo smoothed a crease in the bed sheet he was folding, delighting in the feel of well-made fabric, and thought a moment before answering. He hadn't confided in anyone, the fears that haunted his dreams and drove him to blindly seek his uncle. As kind as she was, the widow would probably not understand his reasons if he stated them baldly. "I am looking for my Uncle. He left the Shire five years ago, before the war. I suppose I just want to know what happened to him?"
She nodded sadly. "Many families were scattered by the war. It was during the war I was made as you see me now." She said. Her left arm hung limply at her side, and Frodo had yet to see her move it. He thought her unable to do so. Her jaw line wavered on her left side as well, and the distorted skin looked shiny and smooth. Scarred by flames. "I was living further west, with my husband and our first child, when our village was taken by darkness. It was an orc that did this, impatient with me for not running with the others when my village was enslaved. But I was heavy with child…"
Frodo heard the sorrow in her voice, but also the strength that propped her up and allowed her to continue living. He set the folded bedclothes in the wooden chest meant for the storing of such things and walked to where she sat in her willow-switch chair. "It must have been horrible." Frodo murmured in sympathy, taking her good hand in his. "Is that when your husband…?"
She shook her head. "He had gone to join the Host, all our able-bodied men folk had. Most returned to us alive, but not all. He did not. And so I was left to rebuild my life in the shadow of his memory."
Her chin was firm but tears slipped unchecked down her cheeks. Frodo reached up to brush them away but the gesture seemed inadequate comfort for this brave woman who had lost both husband and child. Shyly, uncertain how she would take it, he stepped closer and embraced her.
It was as if he had opened a floodgate. She clung to him with her good arm and cried into his shoulder. He held her tight and rocked her back and forth like he would a young hobbit. Gasping sobs wracked her body and she kept trying to apologize through her tears for her outburst. Frodo reassured her with soft words and a strong embrace that it was all right.
Her grief, strongly borne for so many years, made him examine his own troubles and compare them to hers. Here he had been so concerned about dreams and mere hints of trouble? What were his worries compared to what she had endured? It made him sick to think of his self-absorption. He vowed to himself he would never again obsess on his bad fortune when there were others in Middle Earth who had worse.
"It's alright, Ma'am. There's no need to keep it in and let is poison you."
She sniffled then dashed the tears from her eyes. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to burden you with a widow's grief."
Frodo solemnly offered her a clean handkerchief. "It is no burden, Ma'am, and it helps to ease a burden if you share it with another." He smiled warmly and she flushed a little pink.
"Thank you. For both your shoulder and your kind words."
Frodo helped her rise and supported her while she steadied herself. "And no thanks for the lovely shine I've put in your kitchen table? Nor for the linens I've crisped?" He teased gently.
She laughed. "For that then, and more, Master of Linens."
Frodo took a bow. "Ah, but you have yet to see the garden! Samwise Gamgee is from a long line of master gardeners. His father, Old Gaffer, could make marigolds bloom in the snow! I shouldn't be surprised if Sam has coaxed strawberries mid-summer!"
"Now I know you're also a spinner of tales! Such a thing is not possible!" Although her eyes were still swollen and red, there was a glitter to them that Frodo was willing to wager hadn't been there for a while.
"Perhaps . . . or not. Should we see what surprises he has found for you?"
"I should be most curious what marvels he has discovered in my poor garden. And then I'll see about an evening meal-- I'll insist you stay that long at least, if not the night." She smiled again and sympathetic feelings threatened to burst Frodo's heart in his chest. How much did one afternoon of conversation mean to someone whose life was so lonely? Surely he could delay their travels for a little longer for her sake?
He swallowed hard before answering. His eyes were bright with unshed tears but he managed to keep his voice even. "We'd be poor hobbits, or men, to refuse such a generous offer from such a lovely lady. We would be honoured to stay the night, Ma'am."