Hamfast eyed him closely.
“I’ll tell Mr Bilbo we found you, young Mr Baggins,” he said, “and then we’ll bring you over to his place,”
“No,” said Frodo, aghast. He managed to pull himself into a half-sitting position, arms protesting against the movements.
“No,” he repeated. “Don’t tell him yet, please. Don’t tell him what I did, don’t make me go…”
Bell and Hamfast exchanged a glance, and then Bell sighed and handed him the cup, which was still warm as if it had stood in the sun for hours.
“Hamfast will have to tell your uncle about your whereabouts. Mr Bilbo has been very worried,” she said, “but for tonight, you can stay here.”
“He has no nightgown,” said Marigold from the other side of the kitchen table, big brown eyes watching Frodo curiously. Bell rolled her eyes and ushered her children out of the room.
ooooo
“Your parents love you, Frodo,” said Bell, as she tucked him in neatly, piling even more pillows onto the kitchen bench. “They are still watching you, taking care of you somehow. Sleep now.”
She rested her hand on his curls for a moment, her face soft and friendly in the light of a candle, and she smiled at him.
Then Bell closed the door and her steps could be heard as she walked down the short corridor that led to her bedroom, leaving Frodo alone in the warm, dark kitchen, which smelled of baked potatoes.
He sighed and as his eyes fluttered closed. He wished he could have taken care of his parents the day of their accident, and this thought hurt so badly he felt as though he were homesick.
Some time after, so late it was early, he heard the door crack open. Sam stood on the threshold, small and his hair in a mess, cheeks damp with tears.
“I had a nightmare – can I sleep with you?” he asked, sounding so tired.
Frodo could feel the blankets stir as the small warm body climbed in. He smelled strawberries and green apples and felt the fabric of Sam’s nightgown scratch against his bare legs. Then tears were spilled, bitter, salty, soothing, like a potion. In them, there was a little boy whose parents had died before he could say goodbye. In them was a box filled with memories, a box that had remained unopened for many years and was now caked with dust. There were the blue feathers of a jaybird and slightly burned pancakes, with so much sweet cream on them you barely realized they had been burned.
Frodo did not know how long he had been lying there, sobbing helplessly into Sam’s curls, when two small hands began to wipe his tears away.
“Don’t worry about your tears,” Samwise smiled when he was done “I will give them back to you - maybe as a mathom - someday.”
THE END