“Be careful now—straighten that corner before you lay the counterpane down—Iris, please put the extra towels in the cupboard.”

            Esmeralda turned round in the small but comfortable space she and a bevy of mobcapped chambermaids had just spent the better part of three hours converting into a bedroom for Frodo, after a very late and long tea that turned into supper.  It had been Esmeralda’s sitting room, but she deemed it a minor sacrifice to give it up.  She wanted Frodo nearby, in case nightmares came to torment him in the dark. 

            “Well, that should be enough for now,” she finally sighed, after inspecting everything once more.  She glanced at the window, noting how the twilight was deepening.  “Any sign of Mister Bilbo and Mistress Dora yet?” she asked sharply. 

            “No, not yet, ma’am,” Iris said, “but Cook knows you’re anxious about Master Frodo, and she sent one of the kitchen boys to wait near the ferry landing and watch.”

            “That was kind of her—thank you,” murmured Esmeralda.  But still she walked down the hallway and headed for the main entrance, determined to look out for the Bagginses herself.  When Bilbo and Dora agreed over the teacups to drive over to Whitfurrows, Frodo had begged to go with them, showing his first signs of real animation in days.  Esmeralda had hesitated, wondering if seeing his home for the first time since the accident might not be too much for Frodo.  In the face of his pleas, however, she had capitulated.  Now several hours had passed, she found herself worrying that he was refusing to leave, or trying to hide from Bilbo and Dora so they would leave him behind.

            As she turned into the west passageway, she was nearly knocked flat by the young kitchen boy.  His eyes widened into saucers as he gasped, “They’re coming, mum, they’ve just landed on the Buckland side of the ferry!”

            Esmeralda gave him a smile and a reassuring pat on the arm.  “Thank you, lad, and look sharp next time.”  She pulled a stray penny from her apron pocket, handed it to the abashed boy, and hurried towards the entryway.

            The housekeeper, Viola, already had opened the huge circular door.  She peered out into the growing darkness, where the wagon Bilbo was driving up from the ferry approached the Hall.  “Isn’t he the sweetest-faced little lad?” she whispered to Esmeralda as her mistress stepped to her side.  She pointed to Frodo, crammed between Bilbo and Dora on the wagon’s seat.  “You’re awfully kind, Mistress Esmeralda, to foster him and all . . . but I know how much you loved Mistress Primula.”

            “Right you are, Viola.  I am only doing what is proper, and there’s no call for extra praise.”

            Bilbo brought the wagon to a halt in front of the stoop.  Frodo scrambled down, then turned and reached up to help Dora off in her turn.    

            “Good manners, too,” Viola said appreciatively.

            Bilbo hoisted a small trunk under his arm, while Dora gathered up several baskets of varying sizes from the wagon bed.  The three of them slowly walked into the entryway, Bilbo fighting to hang on to his burden.

            “Well, Esmie, here we are—it took us a bit of time to find everything Frodo wanted to bring, but better late than never,” Bilbo said with false cheer.  He put the trunk on the floor with a thump, and Dora placed the baskets on top.

            “I was beginning to wonder if you were heading to Bree!  You needn’t fuss with Frodo’s things, Viola will have some of the boys carry them for you.”  As Viola called for help, Esmeralda looked down at Frodo where he stood silently between Bilbo and Dora; suddenly aware of her scrutiny, he stared back with his soulful blue eyes, his mother’s eyes.

            “It’s very good of you to take me in, Cousin Esmie,” he whispered.

            Esmeralda thought for a moment her heart would burst.  Oh, my darling lad . . . She dropped her head, unable to speak, and then looked back up.  “I’m very happy to do so, Frodo dear.  Now come along with me and I will show you your room.”

            She touched the top of his dark curls, and he trailed after her with complete docility as she began to retrace her original path through the warren of passageways.  She called over her shoulder, “Bilbo, Dora, are you coming?”

            “We’ll be right there, Esmie—there’s a few more things in the wagon,” Bilbo replied. 

            “It’s next to my bedchamber—you should be able to find your way, then.”

            Bilbo’s voice grew faint as Esmeralda and Frodo made their way to his room in silence.  When they reached the doorway, they paused together at the threshold and surveyed his new quarters.

            “Do you like it?” Esmeralda asked gently.  “I know it’s not very big, but it is next door to Sarry and I.  I wanted to be close by in case you need anything during the nighttime.”

            “Yes, I like it very much, Cousin Esmie,” he said politely.  He crossed over to the high-set bed, with the low set of steps leading up to it, and drooped against the frame.  Esmie clucked softly and hurried to him, lifting him up onto the bed and sitting down beside him.

            “You’re very tired, Frodo.  You must get some rest.”

            “I know,” he said sadly.  At that moment, Bilbo appeared in the doorway, two small oval picture frames tucked under one arm and a hammer and nails clutched in his other hand.  Behind him, Dora carried a lidded basket.

            “Wanted to hang them up for him now, Esmie, if you don’t mind,” Bilbo said briskly.

            “Go ahead.  What are they?”

            “You’ll see . . .” Bilbo busily hammered the nails into the empty wall at the foot of the bed.  He hung the pictures, careful to conceal them, and then stepped away with a flourish.  “There you are!”

            They were matching portraits of Drogo and Primula—the ones they had made by a limner soon after their wedding, Esmeralda realized.  Frodo stirred beside her and said softly, “Uncle Bilbo told me this way Mama and Daddy would be watching over me while I slept.”

            Dora added, “And here are your favorite books, beside your bed just like at home.”  She unlatched the basket lid to show the contents to Esmeralda, and then placed it next to the headboard.  “And now, dearest, I must go to bed.  My old bones are beginning to creak.”  She kissed Frodo’s cheek.  “Bless you.”

            “Good night, Aunt Dora,” Frodo said listlessly.

            Bilbo coughed and said, “I’m off to bed as well, Frodo-lad.  We’ll eat breakfast together in the morning, would you like that?”  He embraced the forlorn little boy tightly. 

            “Yes, I would, Uncle Bilbo.  Good night.”

            Bilbo and Dora departed, closing the door behind them.  Esmeralda turned to Frodo and said, “Come, let me dress you for bed and tuck you in.”

            He obediently allowed her to undress him, slip a fresh nightshirt over his head, and comb his tangled hair.  Not until she drew the sheets and light silk counterpane up to his chin did Frodo speak again.

            “Can I ask you something, Cousin Esmie?”

            “Of course you can.  What is it?”

            “When I asked Uncle Bilbo where Mama and Daddy went, he told me they really weren’t in those boxes in the ground today.  He said they sailed to the West, to the Undying Lands, and that they’re staying with the elves in a beautiful place, the most beautiful in all Middle-earth.  Is that true?”

            Esmie, nonplussed, was at a loss for an answer.  She hardly thought about such philosophical questions, and she was uncertain that Bilbo’s explanation was what Frodo really needed.  But after thinking for a few moments, she could see the wisdom of what Bilbo had told him, and nodded.  “Yes, Frodo dear, he’s quite right.  They’re staying with the elves now.”

            “Can I go be with them some day?”

            “Yes, you will, I’m sure of it.”

            “But until I go, I don’t belong to anybody, do I?  That’s what Reginard told me today, that I’m nobody’s child.”

            Esmeralda felt herself melting with a kind of fierce tenderness.  She hugged Frodo against her, hot tears trickling down her face and into his hair.  “That’s not true in the least, Frodo love, and it was wicked of Reginard to say so,” she said in a muffled voice.  “You’re my child now, the child of my heart, always and forever.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes, really.”

            “Even if you have a baby of your own?”

            “Absolutely.  You’ll have a baby brother or sister then—won’t that be fun?”

            “I like that, Cousin Esmie.  Will you have one soon?”

            “I don’t know,” replied Esmie, a stab of pain lancing through her.  “Now go to sleep.”

            As Frodo closed his eyes, there was a tiny, barely audible knock on the door.  Muttering under her breath, Esmeralda opened it and stared down in surprise at the determined little girl standing there, her nightdress coming off one shoulder and a rag doll held against her chest.

            “Can I come in, Aunt Esmie?  I have to say ‘night to Frodo.”

            “Of course you can, sweetheart, but then you must go back to your room.”

            The five-year-old Pearl Took walked over to her cousin’s bed and scrambled up beside him.  She smiled at her aunt, and despite her better judgment Esmie returned the smile.  Adorably pretty, charming, and willful, her niece was hard to resist.  Esmeralda thought in chagrin, She’s as stubborn as Paladin—have mercy on us all when she gets older! Out loud, she said, “Pearl, dear, you’ve said good night now.  Time to go to your own bed.”

            “But I want to stay with Frodo, Aunt Esmie.  Please, can’t I?  Alone is bad.”  Pearl’s lower lip trembled, and she gazed imploringly at Esmeralda.

            Esmeralda began to weaken.  “It’s up to Frodo, poppet, it’s his room.  Frodo, would you like Pearl to stay with you tonight?”

            Frodo smiled, his affection for his tiny cousin shining out from his face.  “Yes, I would, Cousin Esmie,” he said shyly.

            Esmeralda sighed.  “Very well, then—here, Pearl, get in—” She whipped up a corner of the counterpane and Pearl slid in happily, snuggling into a pillow with her doll while draping a small arm across Frodo. 

            “Now sleep, both of you.”

            “Yes, Aunt Esmie,” Pearl said in her piping voice.

            “Good night, Cousin Esmie,” said Frodo sleepily.  “I love you.”

            “And I love you.  Good night.”

            Esmeralda picked up the candlestick, slipped out the door, and closed it noiselessly.  She paused and leaned against the wood with her forehead, drained and overwhelmed with raw emotion.  Please, Primmie, she prayed silently, let me do this right.  Let me raise him the way you would have.  As she stood there, she dimly heard the children’s voices from within.

            “Not alone any more?”

            “No, Pearly-girl, not alone.  Go to sleep.”

            Esmeralda lifted her head and began to walk next door to her chamber.  A soft sigh escaped her as hope slowly rekindled in her heart.

            Everything is going to be all right.