15 ~ Writing Plans

Despite the fact that I feel alone at the Cotton’s house now that my closest friends have all gone home, I am looking forward to having tonight to myself.

Sam is here, waiting for Rosie. The rest of their families have already headed out, but Rosie was still searching for matching hair ribbons when Sam showed up. It seems that my cat enjoys using them as play things. I promised her I’d buy her some new ones at the market on Monday.

For now, though, she’s been keeping them in a box, safe from prying claws.

We hear footsteps in the hall, and Rosie comes out, dressed in a beautiful creamy yellow gown, with a satin like gold sash. She had the dress made when my aunt gifted her with left over yellow fabric from Pippin’s sister’s dresses. Marigold had one made just like it. She’s also managed to find two matching yellow ribbons.

Sam rises, smiling. “You look beautiful, Rose,” he says.

She blushes, grinning back at him. “Why thank you, Sam.”

They look at me.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come, Mr. Frodo?” Rosie asks, looking concerned.

I nod. “I’ll be fine,” I reply.

“There’s plenty of food in the kitchen, if you get hungry,” Rosie says. “I baked a pound cake this morning, if you want it.”

“Thank you Rosie,” I say, smiling at her. “Now you go have fun!” I shoo them towards the door, quickly catching Wanderer before he dashes out with them.

They turn back at the gate and wave before going on down the road. I wave back.

Then I close the door, and lean against it, sighing. The house is completely silent. I love the sound of silence. It is very comforting after so long hearing that constant voice in my mind. I do not hear it much any more.

I go to my room, setting Wanderer on the floor, and drag a big black box out from under my bed. I open it and lift out a leather bound red book. I flip to the first empty page where a note is resting between the leaves.

I pull it out and read it again.

Here is your Yule present, my lad. I was awake to pick it out myself. I hope you like using quills, otherwise this ink will do you no good. Please use it to write your adventure in my book, after mine of course. Please hurry, lad. I want to hear it all!

Namarie,

You loving uncle,

B. Baggins

I smile at the way he lapsed into Sindarin halfway through the note. Then I pull out the four bottles of black ink he sent me for Yule, and my favorite quill pen.

Wanderer is watching me questioningly. He’s never seen my writing things before, or any writing things for that matter, as I always write while he’s wandering in the afternoons.

His big yellow eyes follow me as I take the things to my desk. Then I go back to the trunk and pull out an old pad of notepaper and my uncle’s notes.

Tonight, though, is different from my normal writing. I have finished Bilbo’s story, with Sam as my faithful reader and helper, and now I intend to start our story. I plan to write the whole thing, including Merry and Pippin’s journeys. I wish everyone to know what they did to protect the Shire.

I haven’t even told Sam what I’m going to do because I know he’ll say I don’t have to. But I do have to. If not for others to read, then to help me. I need to write it down.

I sit at the desk and let Wanderer lie in my lap as I pull the top off the crystal ink bottle, prepare my pen and blotting paper, and begin at the beginning of my tale: Bilbo’s birthday party.

The memories of the Party so long ago come back to me easily, and before I know it, I am nearly twelve pages into the story and at the end of Bilbo’s speech.

Wanderer has fallen asleep in my lap and the clock on the mantle reads ten-thirty. The Cotton’s won’t return for another hour.

I sit back and sigh. It’s started, now I must finish it. I wonder absently how long it will take me to write all of this, and I might need another book soon. There are many pages not written in yet, but it seems rather small to fit our whole story in.

Wanderer rises and yawns. I glance down at him. “What do you say about having some pound cake?” I ask, as he looks at me. He leaps off my lap and heads for the kitchen, and I follow him.