Dear Mr. Frodo,
I’m writing this, sitting in front of my kitchen table. Sam is outside, planting new tulip bulbs in the old bed beneath our - your - bedroom window. I hope you don’t mind that we have moved there. It is closer to Elanor’s room, and I can sleep better now that I’m sure I will always hear her when she needs me at night. She has learned to walk... we must always be careful because she clings to everything she finds useful to keep her balance – included tablecloths – but she is a wonderful little lass.
My Sam is doing fine, too. He is still the best gardener in the Shire, and sometimes people even come from Buckland to ask for his advice. They also come to see the Mallorn tree... sometimes when I fetch a basket with fresh eggs from my mam, I see people standing on the party field, gaping up at the golden treetop and cauteously touching the trunk. Yesterday I even caught Will Whitfoot there. He actually stroke one of the leaves, would you believe that? When he saw my gaze, he murmured something about „like a poem“ and hurried away to his cart. Poems! I always thought Old Will has no more poetry inside of him than the old bull on the farm of my father, but it seems I was wrong. Must be some kind of elvish spell.---
I just wanted to call my Sam for tea, and then I noticed that he was no longer in the garden. The basket with the tulip bulbs was nearly empty, and I found his small planting shovel, but he was gone. I’ve been waiting for something like this the whole day. He still has his moments when he takes it hard, you know... the fact that you came back but didn’t stay, and that he had to stay behind on the wharf of those havens and wave while you sailed away with that elven ship. I took Elanor and went to the party field, and there he was, sitting with his back against the mallorn tree.
„Are you well, love?“ I asked, and I had to free Ellyelle’s fingers from my hair (she can pull rather hard if she wants, and that hurts).
He raised his head, and I could see that his gaze had to make a long journey to return to me. But at last he was back again, and he gave me a smile.
„Of course I am, Rosie-lass.“ he said. „I was just... remembering, is all.“
„Well, then let us remember together,“ I said. „Tell me all the stories about Mr. Frodo you always wanted to tell me... and I will tell you how he came to our farm one day just in time to save me from our angry sow.“
I saw his eyebrows rise, and a slow smile spread on his face.
„Your sow?“ Now it was a downright grin, and he took Elanor from my arms and sat her on his shoulders, and she squealed and clung to his hands. „I’ve never heard of that.“
„No wonder“, I remarked. „It is the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me.“ ---
I have told him the tale (no need to repeat it here, you know it anyway, and I’m sure you are still laughing about it, even in those strange elvish lands), and we had our tea, and this evening I will make a fine prok roast with cabbage pie and a plum cake for desert (the plums are marvelous this year!), and there’s still plenty to do, and I have to hurry now.
He is happy, Mr. Frodo, he is indeed, even if he sometimes has those moments. I guess that’s perfectly normal when you miss a friend. I’m taking good care of him, as I promised you the day before you left. Take care for yourself, and for Mr. Bilbo, will you?
I hope you don’t miss my kitchen too much.
Yours faithfully
Rose Gamgee
