Faced with the choice between his drowsiness and utter curiosity, Frodo eventually set to follow the latter. He pushed aside the blanket, rose from his bed and took the night robe handed out by his mother. But Frodo did not jump out of the bed as usual. Swaying a little, he put on the robe with Prim’s help.
“Everything’s set?” Prim whispered in Frodo’s ears. “Let’s go now.”
Still with wonder in his heart, Frodo let himself be led out, his small, fragile hand tightly grasped in Primula’s endearing hold.
Frodo spontaneously tightened his robe as chilling wind welcomed him and his mother as she opened the round door leading to the backyard.
“My two lovelings!” Drogo stood up from his sitting position, arms stretching wide, ready to hug the two most precious jewels in his life. Prim and Frodo fell into his embrace, Frodo giggling a little as his father’s fingers unintentionally probed on his waist.
“Let go, Papa!” chirped Frodo, squirming himself out of the tangled web of hugs and caresses. Just then that he saw what was behind Drogo. Frodo’s eyes widened in awe at the blanket lying on the bed of grass and all the beautiful pies and cakes that spread upon it. Frodo recognized his mother’s specialty, pumpkin tart. There were also apple pie and cream-covered strawberries and almond muffins and pineapple dipped in sugar cane sauce and warm ginger ale. But the polestar of them all lay in the middle of the blanket. It was the biggest and the most beautifully decorated birthday cake Frodo had ever laid eyes on.
The cake came in the shape of an open book laid upon a bookstand. Frodo dropped to his knees and attentively beheld it. Both the book cover and the sides, and the bookstand were expertly rendered in chocolate and cream icing, and the open pages displayed paintings of three persons – Drogo, Primula and Frodo. Lines of words and sentences, so authentic they looked like real pages of a scrapbook, ran beneath the likenesses of the family. Frodo bent closer and he then could see in the lines a special poem written for him.
The blaring sounds of the trumpets
The colorful hues of the flags
The sparkling twinkles of the stars
The cheerful chirps of the birds
All sing to you today, my dear
For this lovely birthday of yours
“Do you see that, Frodo?”
Frodo tilted his head to meet his father’s gaze. “What, Papa?”