Sam, meanwhile, had gone south to the Digby's small farm to speak with Tully's father. It was barely a mile, and so he walked. Tully was out in the pasture with the cows, but Mr. Digby confirmed that he'd had a spring cold--was just getting over it, as a matter of fact--but that his son had been most helpful while he'd been laid low. "That night I was feeling special poorly, Mr. Gamgee, and he never left my side."
"Never once all night?" Sam probed. "Didn't you sleep?"
"I slept very well, thank you!" the elder hobbit responded. "My Tully brought me a rumbelo toddy to give me a restful night--but he sat by me all the same. He was still there in his chair at daybreak when the rooster crowed. I'll swear to it."
This oath wasn't entirely convincing, but Sam knew he wouldn't budge Mr. Digby an inch on it. And who knew? Maybe Tully had never stirred from his father's bedside all night.
When he left the Digby farm, Sam took the road to Tighfield and his uncle's ropeyard. It was nearly five miles and, since he was still upset over his difference with Frodo, he walked and kept up a brisk pace until he was nearly there. The day was fine and fair, and the chalky downs green, if less treed and flowered than he liked. By the time he reached the ropeyard, Sam had worked off his emotions and could meet his brother and uncle without them seeing signs of his distress and asking what it was about. He certainly couldn't tell them--not in a thousand years!
Uncle Andy was busy working at his iron spin-wheel, but he left off in the middle of winding a length fresh rope to invite Sam in to have a mid-morning cup of tea and some refreshment. Ham joined them once he had laid the newly-twined rope out across the trestles. Sam was glad to be with them. In spite of his big brother's teasing and uncle's grumbling, he found them comforting. They were plain-spoken folk, with nothing bewildering about them. So unlike the beautiful and extraordinarily clever young gentleman he adored passionately and didn't always understand. They were simple, work-a-day hobbits like himself--like he would've been if he hadn't followed Frodo halfway across Middle-Earth and come home to a life nobody could have foreseen for him.
Yet he wasn't quite like them anymore. He'd seen more of the world than they could imagine and he'd "come up" in it, even in the Shire. His uncle and brother mightn't understand or believe that he was on friendly terms with noble lords and great kings, but they had heard enough to know that he was often in the company of the Shire's best families. It wasn't just Frodo. He and Rose called on the gentry of Bywater and Hobbiton and were welcome in their parlors. He had friends in the Mayor's Hall and the Mayor's family. He could call the Thain's heir one of his best friends and not be putting himself forward by it, for Pippin felt the same about him. As for Master Merry...? Sam couldn't call him a friend, exactly--Frodo would always be a point of contention between them--but they'd been in close companionship for many years and there was no denying the bond between them. Uncle Andy didn't approve of these high connections, any more than he approved Sam's friendship with Frodo.
For a little while, Sam tried to fit himself back into the place he'd been born to and once belonged. In the privacy of his uncle's kitchen, he told Ham and Uncle Andy more about the investigation than he could tell in the Mousehole's public room.
"Farmers and maids, and Mr. Bloomer and his lad at the inn?" Andy shook his head, dismissing them all as he filled the heavily stained little brown tea-pot from the kettle and brought it over to the table where his nephews were sitting. "I can't see it being none o' them."
"Who d'you think it is?" Sam asked him.
"I don't see as it can be anybody we know," his uncle replied thoughtfully as he joined the younger pair. "'Tisn't a hobbitty thing to do, hanging. And why do it here at our yard and bring us into it? That smacks o' spite. If it wasn't for the way that rope was tied--and I know my ropes!--I'd say that lad hung himself here because he had a spite against us."
"Malbo hardly knew us, Uncle," said Ham. "Besides, he didn't do it himself. Not without help. Whoever it was, I'll wager Mr. Frodo and Sam here'll have it sorted out before the week is out. We'll know who it was, and just why they did it." He grinned at his brother. "Did you ever think I'd say such a thing, Sam? I was that surprised when you turned to being a detective. We always thought you were slack-witted when you was a little lad."
"It's Frodo who does most of the investigating," Sam answered diffidently. "He's the clever one--smartest hobbit in the Shire, if you ask me. I just go 'n' dig up things for him."
"'Dig things up'!" Uncle Andy chuckled over his mug of tea. "In spite of all this shirriffing, you're still a gardener at heart, aren't you, Sam?"
"I tend the garden at Bag End, just as I used to, and help out Dad when I can."
"And you and Rose and the little uns live up under the Hill now?" Ham asked him. "Mr. Frodo doesn't mind having you there?"
"No," said Sam. "He doesn't mind. He asked us to come and live with him when we first married. He's not always well, you know-"
"Gent he may be, but he looks right underfed," Uncle Andy interjected. "Pale too. No surprise to hear he's sickly."
"He needs looking after," Sam continued. "I wouldn't leave him even for Rose."
Ham nodded, but regarded Sam oddly. "You always was attached to Mr. Frodo," he said once Uncle Andy had gone into the larder to fetch a pot of jam for their bread. "When you was little, you used to follow him around like a puppy." He laughed. "How Halfred 'n' me used to tease you about that! Remember, Sam?"
Sam went red, remembering very well. He hadn't understood his own feelings for Frodo in those days; he only knew that he was happiest being near him. That hadn't changed.
Ham was still laughing, delighted that he could make his little brother blush by teasing him, just as he could when they were children. "Don't take on so, Sam my-lad! I know there was some talk about you 'n your handsome gent once, but nobody could say a thing against you now, not since you've married. Now why don't Mr. Frodo marry somebody? `Tis odd, that--a rich young gent like him, and nobody's caught him yet."
"You never married either, Ham," Sam retorted, "and you're getting on past fifty." He was pleased to see that he could make his brother blush as well.
"Sam's right about that," said Andy, who had returned during the last part of this conversation. "There's plenty o' girls hereabouts looking for a husband. This ropeyard's a good business, and it'll be yours alone once I pass on."
Ham went red again. "Who would have me?"
As he was leaving, Sam stopped to look at the tree where Malbo had been found hanging. The trestle had been moved back to its proper place, but the rope was still wound around the tree trunk and the noose dangled from the branch high overhead.
"Can't we take it down?" Ham asked him. "It's disturbing to Uncle Andy. He doesn't like to be out here working where he can see it."
"Leave it for awhile more," Sam answered. "Frodo might want to look at it again."
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