“And what might this be?” asked Sam. He eyed the small bag warily.
“I thought you deserved a raise,” answered Frodo. He pushed the bag across the table.
“Now, Mr. Frodo,” Sam shook his head. “You gave me a raise not six months ago -- just after Mr. Bilbo left. There’s no call for this.” He pushed the bag back towards Frodo.
“But Sam,” protested Frodo, “you spent the whole winter helping me carry in wood, and clearing snow off the path, and making sure the chimney was adjusted so I didn’t fill Bag End with smoke… again… and making sure I didn’t starve to death…”
Sam chuckled. “That’s what folks do for each other -- especially folks who are friends. Now you just put that back wherever you got it, and we’ll finish the cake and have another cup o’ tea.”
Frodo smiled, and gave the bag the tiniest push back towards Sam. “A little extra might come in handy, if you’re thinking of…”
“Of what?” Sam asked suspiciously.
“Getting married, maybe?” Frodo adopted his most innocent expression. “If anyone’s caught your fancy, that is.”
Sam began rearranging the knives and forks in front of him. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he murmured.
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” said Frodo. “Well then, what else shall we talk about? Will you be putting in any new roses this year?” Sam blushed. “The rose is such a lovely flower, don’t you think so?”
Sam flushed a deeper red and began building a rickety structure with the silverware. “She’s so… so…”
“She’s wonderful.” Frodo chuckled at his friend’s discomfort. “How will you ever ask her to marry you, if you can’t even say her name out loud?”
”Rose Cotton!” Sam declared loudly. He looked astonished at his own bravery. “Maybe someday…”
“Maybe someday you’ll let me pay for the wedding,” said Frodo. He gazed at his friend. “Sam,” he sighed, “Bilbo left me so much money, I don’t know what to do with it. And no one deserves it more than you do.”
“You deserve it!” exclaimed Sam, shocked. “And why do you have to do anything with it? You’re likely to live as long as Mr. Bilbo, if not longer, and you may need it someday; no one can tell what’s goin’ to happen in the future.” He looked at Frodo carefully. “Are you feelin’ all right, Mr. Frodo? Didn’t you enjoy your visit to Buckland?”
“Yes.” Frodo added a spoon to Sam’s pile of cutlery. “And no.” He frowned. “Every time I visit Buckland, or Tuckborough, all my aunts and cousins -- oh Sam, there are so many of them -- they arrange all these dinners, and teas, and outings, and picnics, and…” He added a small fork. “Did I mention how many cousins I have?”
“Female cousins, are they?”
“Yes,” muttered Frodo. “Odd thing, that. Most of them are female.” He grinned suddenly. “Poor Merry, they’re going to descend on him in a few years. And Pippin will have it even worse.”
Sam sat back and eyed his friend critically. Surely there wasn’t a better catch in all the Shire than Mr. Frodo. To have him settled down, and taken care of, and sharing Bag End with someone special…
“You don’t want to marry, sir? Bag End was meant to house a crowd o’ kids, and that’s a fact.”
“Sometimes I do.” Frodo’s gaze swept past Sam, to the window. And beyond. “And sometimes I want to follow Bilbo.” His voice grew soft and distant. “Where could he be?”
“Didn’t Gandalf say anything?”
“He said Bilbo’s gone to stay with the Elves,” replied Frodo. “That means Rivendell, I suppose, or perhaps Mirkwood.”
“Where the spiders are?”
“I forgot about that,” Frodo grinned, “Rivendell, then.”
“Is it very far?”
“Weeks and weeks,” sighed Frodo, “if you can even find it. There’s supposed to be something hidden and secret about the place.” Suddenly he burst out laughing. “What is that you’re building, there?”
“Gandalf’s cart,” Sam said with a smile. “You just have to imagine that this teacup is the horse, and these cookies are the wheels…”
“What shall we do with Gandalf’s cart?”
“It’d make an interesting planter,” said Sam thoughtfully. “If it were a-brimmin’ with flowers and vines all overflowin’… why, after a few seasons, you’d hardly remember it’d ever been a cart at all!”
“Great idea,” said Frodo firmly. He got up and started to pick up the dishes. “Serves Gandalf right, not sending word, and leaving me with more questions than answers.”
“Would that be all right, then, sir?” Sam popped one more cookie in his mouth, then piled the silverware on the empty cake plate. Mr. Frodo’s baking was improving, no doubt about it. “Should we be fiddlin’ with a wizard’s property, like that? Seems like askin’ for trouble.”
“Don’t worry, Sam,” Frodo chuckled. “I’ll ask him not to turn you into anything too strange. No toads or snakes…”
“How about a bird?” asked Sam with a grin.
“Oh Sam,” gasped Frodo, “how about an eagle? You could fly me everywhere, and we could see everything together! Can you imagine what it would be like to be so high up, on the back of an eagle?”
“’Twould be a wondrous thing, at that,” agreed Sam. He looked nervously at Frodo. “Can a wizard turn folks into other things? I mean, if he gets mad enough?”
“I don’t know,” replied Frodo. He laughed. “Maybe we should just leave that cart be, for awhile longer.”
“Good idea,” said Sam, relieved. “Let’s do that.”
“What are your plans for this afternoon?”
“It’s such a nice spring day, Mr. Frodo; just perfect for seein’ to the flowers.”
“It would be nice to have more roses about, Sam.” Frodo grinned. “That’s the loveliest flower of all.”
“Aye, sir, you’re right,” Sam smiled shyly. “She surely is.”
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