Chapter 5

11 August 1398

Sam’s eyes were wide. He was watched Frodo’s bruised face very carefully. Frodo smiled at the youngster and took a bite of the delicious smelling potato pie. Sam’s mouth moved in imitation of Frodo’s. Frodo laughed and said, "Why Sam! You didn’t tell me you are such an excellent cook! You say you made this?"

Sam finally sat back on the bed and relaxed. He smiled that bright smile of his. "Yessir. My mum helped a wee bit, but I made most of it."

"Tell your mum I said thank you. And thank *you*, Sam. This really is delicious. You’re going to have to help me learn to cook better. I’m not that good."

"I’d love to, Mr. Frodo. And I’m sure you’re not all that bad."

"I don’t know, Sam. You haven’t seen the...things I concoct."

Sam’s face screwed up in confusion. "What does ‘concoct’ mean?"

"To concoct means to come up with something, or to make something. Usually it’s an experiment gone wrong."

"Oh. Well, I bet whatever you...concot, it’s not too bad."

Frodo laughed, and then winced. His rib hurt tremendously. Immediately Sam was at his side and took the tray from Frodo’s lap. "You want me to get Mr. Bilbo?"

Frodo managed a smile, but talking was difficult. "No. I’m...alright. Don’t...don’t worry."

Sam looked at him shrewdly. "Maybe you need to take it easy, Mr. Frodo. Just finish your meal. And don’t talk. Sir."

Frodo nodded. "But you talk to me, Sam, alright? I like hearing you talk."

"What should I talk about, sir?"

"Oh, anything. Why don’t you tell me what the Gaffer is going to plant in the garden next spring."

Sam excitedly talked about how his dad was going to plant this here, and that there. He also talked about what his father was teaching him, pausing only to remind Frodo that eating would really help, and he really should drink more water. When Frodo’s plate was nearly empty, Sam stopped. "Maybe you should rest now, Mr. Frodo. I think you’ve eaten enough."

Frodo nodded. This lad was a wonder. So sensitive and perceptive. He always seemed to know just what Frodo needed. How could he tell that Frodo had eaten all that he had appetite for? And despite the age gap, Frodo viewed Sam more as an equal than as a child. "Thank you, Healer Sam." Frodo managed.

Sam laughed. So pure, happy, it made Frodo have to fight his own laughter. "I’m not a healer, Mr. Frodo. But I best be gettin’ home. Mum will worry about me, and the Gaffer...he doesn’t think it’s proper, me bein’ up here all the time and all."

"Alright, Sam. Thank you again for such a wonderful supper. Tell your mother I said thank you, as well."

"I will. Goodbye, Mr. Frodo! Get better soon!"

"I’ll try!"

*~*~*~*~*~*

24 August 1398

Folco walked with Fatty Bolger up the Hill to Bag End. "I think that Frodo’s all the way healed now. We should invite him to come and play Town Ball* with us."

"You say he came from Buckland?"

"Yes. His parents died from a drowning accident when he was twelve, I think."

Fatty’s brown eyes widened. "They *drowned*? What were they doing?"

"You know water is rather dangerous. And those Buckland folk on the whole are...well...it’s said they have dealings with Outsiders. But my dad said they’re not all that bad. And even if they are, this Frodo fellow certainly isn’t bad at all. Why, if it wasn’t told to me, I wouldn’t have even known it."

Fatty seemed satisfied and they were soon at the green door of Bag End. Frodo himself answered the knock. His face lit up with a smile when he saw who it was.

"Hullo, Folco! I’m glad to see you."

"Hullo, Frodo. You look much better. I’m glad for that. This is Fatty, who I told you about." The two exchanged bows and ‘hullo’s.

"Fatty and I were wondering if you want to come and play Town Ball with us and some other lads down on the Common."

Frodo had a misgiving about any sort of ball game. He hadn’t played much when he was a lad, and when he got older he was not at the other lads’s skill level. This had caused him much embarrassment and forced him into even more of a shell. But he would give it a shot. "I...I’m not very good, though. But I’ll try." Frodo explained.

"It doesn’t matter." Folco said. He and Fatty smiled reassuringly at Frodo. Frodo smiled back and hollered to his uncle that he was going out to play.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Hey Folco! Who you got with you?" A lad yelled as the trio approached the large, grassy field right outside Hobbiton.

"His name’s Frodo Baggins. He’s new here." They were soon surrounded by five lads. The one who had spoken to Folco was apparently the leader of the bunch.

"Hullo Frodo. I’m Milo. Where did you come here from?"

"Buckland." At this, some of the lads eyed Frodo with suspicion.

"You don’t talk like them." one of the lads commented.

"My da was from Hobbiton originally and so I really didn’t pick up the accent."

"You want to play ball?" Yet another lad asked.

"Sure."

And so a game was started. Two teams of four were made. One lined up behind a big oak tree and the other team spread out around "bases" that were made of old flour sacks. Frodo was on Fatty and Folco’s team. They were up to bat first. When Frodo’s turn came, he almost hit the ball, but not quite. Three stikes, and he was out.

‘Great first impression!’ He thought sarcastically.

In the field, Frodo was not much better. He dropped the ball twice, and didn’t get the ball to the base on time. At the end of the game, Frodo tried not to let his embarrassment and shame show.

"You played well, Frodo." Folco said.

Frodo just nodded.

"We’ll do it again sometime, I hope." Fatty said, patting Frodo on the shoulder. "You’re fun to play with. It was nice meeting you."

"And you, Fatty. Thank you for inviting me, Folco and Fatty."

"Our pleasure, Frodo, truly. Well, bye for now!" Folco called and Frodo went his way.

The walk home for Frodo was desolate. He was very thankful that Folco and Fatty had been so very kind to him. Indeed, it touched him. But he had felt like such a fool playing that game. He wasn’t very good at ball. He was good at other things, of course. But he didn’t fit in. And that was all he wanted. Just to fit somewhere. The only places he could do that were at Bag End, while alone, or while exploring in one of his books. When Frodo arrived home, he found in his uncle’s spidery writing that informed him that he had stepped out to take care of some business. He would return soon. If he wasn’t home by six o’clock, eat supper without him. He was to help himself to the larder.

Frodo sighed. It was only five. The tween went to take a bath. Might as well. It was hot and he had sweated. It felt so good to just sit and soak in the tub. When he got out, he wen to his room and started reading. Soon his Uncle arrived home.

"Frodo lad! I’m home!" Bilbo called.

"Uncle Bilbo! I thought you had been eaten by dragons." Frodo said with a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.

Bilbo laughed and rustled his nephew’s curls. "You needn’t worry about that, lad! Eaten by dragons! Ha, ha ha! But come! Let’s have some supper, shall we?"

"I’m starved!"

"Don’t go saying that! No one’s supposed to know I starve you and keep you as a slave!" Bilbo was, of course, only teasing. Frodo smiled and went into the kitchen. He loved his uncle. Bilbo could always make him laugh and always have a good time.

As the two sat down to dinner, Frodo tried to avoid the subject of how his day went. But it was inevitable.

"What did you do today, lad?" Bilbo asked.

"Folco and Fatty came and offered to let me play Town Ball with them."

"Hmmm. That sounds like it was fun."

"Yes." Frodo wasn’t really lying. At least he had met some lads his age. "It was fun."

"Good, good. I received a letter today."

"Oh?"

"From your Uncle Saradoc."

Frodo’s face brightened.

"He’s coming to Bywater on business, and wishes to come by and say hello. Perhaps to stay for a couple of days, if all goes well."

"Can Merry come as well?"

"No, lad. He said to tell you that Merry cannot come this time. But the lad does miss you, Saradoc said. He’ll be glad to see you."

"I can’t wait to see him again. I mean...not that...he was better or anything like that...but, he is family after all, and I do still love him...."

"Oh, Frodo. Of course you miss him. And probably your Aunt Esme and little Merry lad. It’s only natural after they cared for you."

Frodo was relieved that Bilbo was not mad and that he understood. "Thank you." Bilbo lovingly patted Frodo’s shoulder. "When is Uncle Sara coming?"

"In a fortnight."

"I can hardly wait."

________________________________________________________________________

*Town Ball is what baseball was called during the American Civil War.

TBC....

Copyright Frodo Baggins 2006