A third pumpkin landed in the lane and burst closer to them, spattering seeds and pulp on their feet and trouser legs. Sam put one arm up across Frodo's chest to try and shield him from this onslaught, but Frodo eluded this protective gesture and darted down the lane. "Quickly, Sam--before they get away!" He was already looking for the swiftest way around the hedge.
By the time they found a gap in the hedge and reached the other side, the culprits had gone, just as Frodo had surmised they would. But he saw now how the pumpkins had been flung so high. Like the meadow near the Chubb smial, this end of the Party field had several young and limber saplings growing in it. More scraps of cut rope dangled from the slender trunks.
"Do you see, Sam? That's what the rope is for. They made the trees into catapults!" Frodo took hold of a rope to demonstrate: by pulling the top of the sapling down toward the earth, tying it off, and balancing the pumpkin within a fork in the strongest branches, the trap was set. The pranksters had only to wait for the sounds of someone coming down the lane--or perhaps one of them had kept watch?--then the ropes would be cut. Three pumpkins had been launched successfully this way.
A fourth pumpkin had also been launched, but hadn't cleared the hedge and fallen short in the grass; in its smashed remains, Frodo found a piece of luck.
"Sam, are you so sure it was Will and Sancho who did this?" he asked his friend.
"'Course," Sam replied hesitantly. "Aren't you anymore? Who else could it be?"
"I'm beginning to believe it must be someone else. Come and see." Frodo pointed to draw Sam's attention to his discovery: In their hasty flight, one of the pranksters had accidentally trodden on the broken pumpkin and left a footprint--a footprint much too small for a half-grown lad like Will or Sancho.
They arrived home under a darkening sky. The rain Sam had foreseen began to fall as they entered Bag End's garden, and they hastened up the steps to the front door to avoid being soaked in the sudden downpour.
Rosie had put the babies to bed and was just setting the kitchen table for dinner. Her mother, she said, had gone back to the Cotton farm; one of her brothers had been injured. "It was Nibs," she informed Sam, who was naturally concerned at the news. "He fell off a hayrick and landed wrong on his ankle. They don't think it's broke, but he'll have to keep off it for a week or so, and Mum had to go home to see to him. If it's not so bad, she'll come back tomorrow. She'd have to stop the night at the farm in any case. She wouldn't try to walk all the way back here tonight, not unless this rain lets up." Rosie turned to look at the rain washing over the small panes of the kitchen window. "The way it's coming down, it looks like it'll go on all night."
While Sam helped his wife with the dinner, Frodo went to his room to wash the spatters of pulp off his feet and calves, and to change into a clean pain of trousers. He joined the Gamgees at the kitchen table. Since Mrs. Cotton had come to stay, he'd been dining alone, usually taking a tray in his study or the parlor, and felt very lonely.
Mrs. Cotton was a great help with the new baby, but Frodo would be happier when she went home for good. Even though he tried to go out of his way to make her feel welcome at Bag End, he was never comfortable with her. Her presence in the household constrained him. Mrs. Cotton was too much aware of his position as a gentlehobbit. She would've been shocked to see him eating his dinner in the kitchen. It wouldn't seem right to her that a bachelor with people to look after him would ever enter his own kitchen at all. She was also rather shy of him, always aware that he was the master of this house and that her daughter and grandchildren were living here at his sufferance. She was anxious that they give him as little trouble as possible, and did her best to keep the children out of his way, lest they disturb him. Sam and Rosie likewise made an effort to ensure that he wasn't troubled by little Frodo's crying, but before the baby's birth, Frodo had sometimes looked after Elanor; he liked to read the little girl stories of the Elves that Bilbo had translated, and was planning to teach her to read when she was older--he expected to be around long enough for that. Mrs. Cotton had taken charge of Elanor now.
Over dinner, Sam told Rosie about the mischief with the pumpkins. "Only, Frodo doesn't think it was those lads."
"If it was Will and Sancho, I'm certain they didn't act alone," Frodo explained. "You saw that footprint, Sam. It was far too small to be either Will's or Sancho's. It belongs to a much younger child."
"Who?" asked Rose.
"I've been thinking about it. Mosco Burrows used to run around with those two. You remember when the three of them stole half the umbrellas in Hobbiton for old Pum Pettigrow? It was Mosco who confessed--he isn't as confirmed a liar as his older cousins, and he still has something of a conscience. And Milo and Peony aren't so indulgent of mischief-making as Auntie Pru and the Chubbs. I think I'll go and call on the Old Place tomorrow and have a chat with him."
The rain was still coming down hard when dinner ended, and as Rosie cleared the table, she repeated with more surety that her mother wouldn't be back tonight. While Sam washed up the dishes, Rosie took a peek into the nursery at the sleeping children, then went to bed herself. The Gamgees usually went to bed early, to get a few hours of sleep before little Frodo woke them up. Grown-up Frodo said good-night and went into his study to read over what he'd written earlier in the day, and smoke his pipe before he too retired for the night.
When he went to his room, he found Sam there waiting for him, sitting at the foot of the bed in his dressing gown and nightshirt while he warmed his toes at the fire.
Frodo smiled. "Did Rosie send you?"
"She's fast asleep, and I didn't want to wake her by getting in next to her," Sam replied. "'Sides, I thought I'd rather come sleep with you. I haven't been coming to you regular-like since Mother Cotton came to stay. But she's not here tonight."
"No, she isn't," Frodo agreed, still smiling. Since Mrs. Cotton had come to Bag End, Sam had been sleeping nightly in Rose's bed for appearances' sake, and Frodo had missed him terribly even though they saw each other every day. It was difficult for them to live together as if they were no more than friends in a house with someone who was unaware of their private arrangement.
"Well, I was thinking as this'd be a good time to catch up," Sam continued to explain. "That is, if you're feeling up for it."
"Of course I am."
"You were abed just yesterday," Sam reminded him.
Frodo brushed Sam's concern aside. "Yes, but my bad spell has passed off. It wasn't so awful as it used to be, when I was bedridden for days afterwards. I'm fine, Sam. Truly, fine. I'm up for anything you'd like." To show Sam how 'up for it' he was, he fairly leapt into Sam's arms. It was the sort of pounce that would've once taken Sam by surprise, but Sam was used to Frodo's pounces by now and was ready this time; when Frodo landed in his lap, he caught him by the arms and turned to lay him out across the foot of the bed. Frodo laughed out loud and pulled Sam down on top of himself.
They were in the middle of an enthusiastic kiss when, from the far end of the winding corridor, came the now-familiar and unmistakable wail of the baby. At the sound, Sam pushed himself up off of Frodo, and sat up with a resigned huff.
"Can't Rosie take care of it?" Frodo asked him.
"I told her I'd see to the baby tonight, 'less he needs a feeding," Sam replied as he climbed off the bed. "It's only fair. She's had the care of the litte uns all afternoon while you and me was out." He went to the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"I'll be waiting right here for you," Frodo promised as Sam went out.
By the time Sam returned, Frodo had put the firescreen before the fire and changed into a nightshift, one he'd chosen with great care. Nightshifts were essentially a shapeless and sexless type of garment, but Frodo had picked out one that had some lace trim around the collar. He was searching through his chest of drawers. "My little namesake's gone back to sleep?"
"He woke Rosie up after all, and she's taken him," Sam reported. "He's quieted down now he's with her, and she'll put 'm back in his cradle once he's asleep."
"And she doesn't mind your spending tonight with me?"
"No. Why should she? When Rosie wants me back, she's only to ask."
"You told me once, before the baby was born, that you and Rose haven't been... ah-" Frodo ventured, not liking to ask such a personal question.
But Sam answered bluntly, "No, and not since then either. Caring for two little uns at once is tiring enough--we aren't ready for a third yet!"
"I thought you couldn't get another baby as long as you were nursing the first." Frodo knew very little about these matters, but he'd heard enough conversations between mothers and mothers-to-be to gather some basic information.
"So did me 'n' Rose, but that's not how it worked out for us. It was when she couldn't nurse Nel anymore that we knew little Frodo was on the way." Sam sat down on the bed. "I'm sorry, Frodo. You must be thinking how nice 'n' quiet Bag End used to be afore Rosie 'n' me started having babies all over it. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to go back to that cottage in Buckland to finish your book in peace and quiet. I noticed as how you aren't writing much since the baby came."
"Nonsense, Sam." Frodo understood what Sam was really worried about. "That has little to do with the baby. I've reached the most difficult part of the story to write about, that's all. I couldn't finish it without your help. Besides, Pippin's living in the cottage at Crickhollow now." He turned back to the chest to continue his search in the uppermost drawers. "I don't mind the children, Sam. I adore Elanor--you know I do--and I'll love little Frodo just as much once we become better acquainted. After all, Uncle Bilbo's parents dug out this smial intending to fill it with children, even if there hasn't been one here since he was born. It's too big a home for lonely bachelors. It needs a family. If Bag End could feel, I'm sure it'd be pleased to be serving its true purpose at last."
Sam was reassured. Only now, he began to take notice of what Frodo was doing. "What're you looking for?"
"When I was in Bywater a week or two ago, I stopped at Mrs. Twistletwig's sundries shop and made a purchase. There were a few things we'd talked about--remember? Ideas I wanted to try."
Sam remembered, and turned pink at the ears. Since they'd returned from their journey to Long Cleeve, he and Frodo had discussed some of their more exotic and unusual thoughts they'd been having about what they'd like to do with each other, but with Mrs. Cotton and the new baby in the house, they hadn't been able to try any of them out.
"We haven't had time to make special plans for tonight, but now we have an opportunity... Ah, here it is!" Frodo found what he was looking for, and turned to show Sam what he'd bought: a strip of pink ribbon about two feet long. "It was the only thing I could buy without causing comment. Mrs. Twistletwig probably thought I meant it for Rose or Elanor, or perhaps that I was finally sweet on some girl."
Sam regarded the ribbon with astonishment, as if he'd never seen such a thing before. "Wh- what're you going to do with that?"
In reply, Frodo laughed and bounced onto the bed beside him. "I'll show you." He reached out with one hand to wind the ribbon loosely, playfully around the crown of Sam's head, then trailed it down his face, tickling the tip of his nose and his lips.
Sam squirmed at the light, teasing touch, but didn't pull away. At Frodo's gentle urging, he lay back on the bed, head on the pillows, and let Frodo undo the front of his nightshirt; the ribbon, still clutched in Frodo's hand, followed his movements, writhing and jumping with each twist of the wrist down Sam's chest like a long, pink snake as Frodo opened the buttons. Then Frodo took one of Sam's hands and placed his own free hand against it, palm to palm, and wove the ribbon between their outspread fingers, binding them together. Sam watched these games with quickening breath. As always when Frodo led him beyond the plain lovemaking he was used to, he felt torn between an undeniable thrill of anticipation and a certain amount of trepidation at whatever Frodo might have in mind. He had no idea what Frodo intended to do next.
It wasn't until Frodo coiled the ribbon around Sam's arm and tightened it that he began to be nervous.
When Frodo saw the look his face, he abruptly released the loop. "I don't want to frighten you," he assured Sam. "It's meant to be fun, my dear. I promise, we won't do anything you aren't ready for. Let's start slowly." Sitting upright, he wound the ribbon around his own brow, pulling his hair away from his face. He tried to tie a bow on top of his head, but his fingers were unfamiliar with the exercise and moved clumsily.
"Here," Sam offered, "duck your head down. I'll tie it for you." He was accustomed to tying his daughter's hair-ribbons for her and, in an instant, made an expert bow.
"How does it look?" Frodo asked.
Sam considered the effect judiciously. "Pretty enough," he said after a moment, "but you oughta've got a blue one. That's your color, Frodo. It'd suit you better'n this pink."
"There weren't any blue ones in the shop," Frodo answered, and leaned down again to kiss him. "Next time I'm in Bywater, I'll see if I can find one. Or perhaps I might buy something else."
Site Info
We are the home of 1292 authors from among our 2552 members. There have been 2904 reviews written about our 3820 stories consisting of 10734 chapters and 29400445 words. A special welcome to our newest member, Rosamundeb.Categories
Skin Change
Donate
Help us keep one of the oldest running LotR archives available to all. Even the smallest donation helps!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
