[alaklondewen]

Plans?! What plans? Henry stood dumbfounded watching his sister walk away. May had plans for her money…plans he, her own beloved brother, didn’t know about. It wasn’t fair; he wanted plans for his money. “Humph,” he muttered under his breath, and then quickly jogged after her.

“So, when do you think we’ll be going into that big old forest?” May asked over her shoulder.

“The forest? Man, oh, man do I want have a look in there, but how are we ever to get a chance with those kids around the rest of the trip.” Henry’s griped through his clenched teeth as he threw another razor sharp look toward that Crispin lad.

Henry was about to utter some more condescending remarks about the Whitfoots, when he felt a firm grip on his shoulder and was spun around to find himself face to face with Mr. Whitfoot. Henry blanched immediately assuming Mr. Whitfoot heard them talking about the forest. Oh, we’re goin’ to get it now, he thought and lowered his head almost anticipating some sort of blow.

“I must speak to both of you about something,” the Whitfoot father had a commanding voice that demanded their full attention. Henry swallowed hard and raised his eyes to looked at the older hobbit. “You two are working for me now. Technically, you’ve always been slightly in my employment, but you will now be working for me more fervently. You’ve each been given a great responsibility, as your parents have no doubt already told you. My wife and I treasure Alora and Crispin more than anything else and if you let the slightest thing happen to them…well, let’s just say I can’t be held responsible for what happens.”

Henry’s eyes widened. Now he was sure Mr. Whitfoot had heard them talk of going into the forest. At least they hadn’t done anything yet, so the older hobbit couldn’t actually accuse them of anything. Glancing quickly at his sister for support, he was surprised to see her standing so straight and meeting the Whitfoot’s gaze with her own. May had always been so strong and brave. Henry looked from one to the other and felt Mr. Whitfoot’s grip on his shoulder ease and then disappear completely. The older hobbit seemed to be searching for something in his vest. The boy watched curiously, wondering how many pockets a rich man had in his vest, until the man finally pulled his hand out.

“It is customary, in many of the hobbit businesses of Bree-land, to give those in your service a taste of the rewards they will receive in the future, a sort of incentive to persevere. So…”

Henry’s jaw dropped and his eyes grew as big as saucers when he saw the coins in the hobbit’s palm. Was Mr. Whitfoot just giving them those coins…for nothing? The boy gawked at the outstretched hand, until Mayflower elbowed him in the ribs and told him to close his mouth.

“Thank you, Mr. Whitfoot,” May quickly snatched the money without dropping a single, shiny coin. “We will do our best to take care of your darling children, Sir. Isn’t that right, Henry.”

“That’s right, Mr. Whitfoot. We won’t let nothin’ happen to them…we promise.” He added quickly nodding is head vigorously. “Thank you, Sir.” If this Whitfoot character was going to just give them money without them working for it, maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

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Memory of Tree's post:

May was stung by Kalimac Whitfoot’s imperious and condescending tone. ‘He shouldn’t be allowed to talk to us like that,’ she inwardly seethed. ‘If he doesn’t think we’re good enough to watch his children, why doesn’t he just come out and say so?’ But she held her tongue quite well until he had finished speaking.

“It is customary,” he concluded. “In many of the hobbit businesses of Bree-land, to give those in your service a taste of the rewards they will receive in the future, a sort of incentive to persevere. So…” Kalimac fumbled around in his vest, withdrawing several shining coins.

May was puzzled. ‘We haven’t even done anything yet, for goodness sake!’ one part of her mind cried. Although she didn’t mind working for the Whitfoots, May despised charity. But Kalimac Whitfoot didn’t seem to be acting particularly charitible – May was certain something else was up, and she didn’t like it.

May stepped back, crossing her arms and cocking her head a little. Her mind was racing back to the streetfights of the children back in Bree. There were generally two groups: the “town kids” (as they called the rich landowner’s children), and the lower class sharecropping children – the “ruggers.” No one was really sure how that nickname came about, but any poor child was thrilled to be named one.

May remembered the way it had gone back in the streets. Somebody insulted somebody else, and the maybe someone got pushed or knocked into, and before long all the kids knew that there was going to be fight and turned out to either participate or enjoy the show. But before the actual fight broke loose, there was a bit of restless silence – the quiet before the storm, maybe – where the children from both sides studied each other, sized up their enemy. This is what May was doing now.

It was a test. Of course. He was waiting to see which of them would take the coin from his outstretched palm.

So Kalimac Whitfoot stood there, extending the money to them both, waiting. Then she made up her mind. Quicker than thought May snatched the coins from his hand so lightly that he barely felt her fingertips brush his palm. Kalimac looked down at his still outstretched hand, almost surpirised to see the money gone.
“Thank you, Mister Whitfoot,” May said politely and expressionlessly. “We will do our best to take care of your darling children. Won’t we, Henry?” She couldn’t help sounding a little bitter on that last statement. Henry was still standing, gawking at Mr. Whitfoot’s red velvet vest like he expected bright copper coins to bulge from the buttonholes or fly forth from his shirt cuffs. May elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Henry blinked and closed his mouth. “That’s right, Mr. Whitfoot. We won’t let nothin’ happen to them… we promise.” He chimed in obediently. “Thank you, sir,” he added as an afterthought.

May clenched her teeth. She knew exactly what Henry was thinking. ‘He’s not doing us a favor, Henry,’ she screamed inside her head. ‘He’s not being nice, or kind, or even polite. That man is just being what he’s always been, a stingy, proud, self-concieted little pig, and nothing more.’ But of course, she said nothing of the kind out loud. “Come on Henry. We’ve need to finish what we were doing, if Mister Whitfoot is entirely finished.” She turned her back on Kalimac Whitfoot and stalked away with Henry trailing confusedly along behind her.