4. Many Mishaps

The Hill emptied out over the next several days, and soon Frodo was alone with Merry and Pippin.  Other than the remaining Gamgees, and Daddy Twofoot and his sons, Bagshot row was empty.  He knew there were still folks on the surrounding farms, and a smattering of hobbits remained in Hobbiton, but the normal buzz of activity had gone.

On the third day of the Fair, Frodo decided he was rather proud of how he was managing.  Pippin was recovering nicely; the fifteen-year-old had been sleeping a lot and was no trouble.  Merry continued to be moody, but Frodo kept finding errands to send him on, so at least he was doing his sulking out of doors, in the fresh air.

“I’m bored!” Pippin announced, coming into Bilbo’s study. 

Frodo turned around in surprise. “Pippin-lad!  I thought you were taking a nap?”

“I woke up,” Pippin said, rubbing his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine, Cousin Frodo.  I’m hardly stuffed up at all today.  Please, can’t I go outside and play?  I’ve been cooped up inside for ages,” Pippin moaned.

Frodo hesitated and reached out to feel Pippin’s forehead.  The lad’s slight fever had broken the day before, and he did look much better.  “Well, maybe for a little while,” Frodo decided.  He picked up his book and followed Pippin into the garden.

Pippin immediately found a patch of dirt to play in, and Frodo sighed inwardly and settled on a bench to read.

He gradually became aware that Sam was muttering a good deal more than usual, and he seemed to be hacking vigorously at something.  Frodo set his book aside and went over to look.  What he saw made him gasp, “Sam, what have you done!?”

Sam slowly raised his head. “I—I was trying ta dig up this weed, an’ trying to get all of it so it couldn’t come back, but it goes all over the place.”  He sat back on his heels unhappily.  He looked around, and suddenly his eyes went wide.  “Oh, sir!  Oh no, I didn’t mean to!” he cried, aghast.  There were plants overturned, roots showing, and shrubs tilting drunkenly all over the garden.

He turned to look at his master, who was still staring around in shock.  “Mr. Frodo, I’m so very, very sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, why I wasn’t paying attention to where I dug…”  Sam trailed off, clearly close to tears.

Frodo tried to think.  It was dreadful to see Bilbo’s beautiful garden in such a state, but berating Samwise clearly wouldn’t help the situation.  He tried to swallow his dismay and said, “Calm down, Sam.  I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks.  Just… take a deep breath, and then we’ll figure out how to fix it.”

Sam didn’t get a chance to respond, for just then they heard a loud splash, followed by a wail from inside the smial.

“Pippin?” Frodo called uncertainly.  He hadn’t noticed the lad going back inside, but he realized guiltily that he had gotten totally distracted by the destruction wreaked upon his garden by Samwise.

“My Gaffer is gonna kill me,” he heard Sam say mournfully, but Frodo had no more time to spare for the young gardener, for he was already hurrying inside.

“Pippin?” he called again.  The racket had seemed to come from the direction of the room they used for bathing, so Frodo went that way.

Pippin suddenly walked into view, dirty wet footprints trailing behind him.  Frodo also noticed that the lower half of his trousers was soaking wet.

“Pippin?  Are you all right?” Frodo asked worriedly.  Pippin didn’t appear injured or unwell, just… guilty.

“Um, Cousin Frodo?” the lad said hesitantly.  “You’re not gonna like this, but my legs were all dirty from playing outside, so I wanted a bath, but, ah, it didn’t… go well.”  Pippin looked up at him shamefacedly. 

“Oh, dear.”  Frodo had just noticed a slow wave of water seeping out of the bathing room, soaking into the floor, and the baseboards, and… the hall carpet, a beautiful thing which Bilbo had brought back from one of his visits to the Elves.  He started to move the carpet out of the water, but then hesitated.  The carpet would dry, but if too much water got into the floorboards, they would rot.  He quickly put the carpet back, and pushed it up against the doorway of the bathing room to slow the seeping water.  Time seemed to be passing very slowly, the water creeping across the tiled floor of the bathing room and out into the hall.  Frodo almost laughed; a crisis in slow motion, and yet he still couldn’t make himself think what to do.

He noticed Pippin still standing there, gaping at the water like a fish.  “Well don’t just stand there, get the towels!” Frodo snapped a little crossly.

Pippin just nodded and ducked into the bathing room, coming out with an armful of towels, which Frodo mounded up on top of the carpet.  Satisfied that further damage had been averted, Frodo went into the bathing room.  The bathtub lay on its side, a water bucket overturned nearby.

“I filled the tub all by myself!” Pippin said proudly.

Frodo closed his eyes.  And emptied it too, clearly.

Pippin took in his cousin’s pained expression.  “Frodo?” he said cautiously.  “What’s the matter?  Did you stub your toe?”

Frodo didn’t say anything for a moment.  Then, “Are you still feeling all right?”

Pippin nodded.

“Good.  Then go and get the mop, and clean up this water.  And for goodness sake be careful.  I’m… going for a walk.”  And with that, Frodo turned around and walked back outside, leaving a concerned Pippin in his wake.

It was well past time for afternoon tea, but Frodo decided that could wait.  He needed a nice, calming stroll first.  Unfortunately that was not to be, as he met Merry on the road down the Hill.  That in itself wouldn’t have been bad, but Merry was in the company of one of Frodo’s least favourite people.

“Frodo!” cried Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, dragging Merry along by the ear.  “I won’t stand for this!  Something must be done.”

Frodo sighed inwardly.  “What’s the matter, Cousin Lobelia?” he said, trying not to grit his teeth.  He hadn’t seen any of the Sackville-Bagginses lately, and had entertained hopes they’d all gone to the Free Fair.  Lobelia at least hadn’t, for here she was, her face red with anger and clashing horribly with the rather garish orange and brown hat she wore.

“Young Meriadoc here,” she said, giving Merry a shake, “was disrespectful to me.  In public!”

Frodo glared at Merry.  Apparently the mishaps of today were not yet over.  “Merry?”

“I—uh, well, I may have… insulted Cousin Lobelia’s hat,” the tween said sheepishly.

Frodo raised an eyebrow.  “Insulted?”

“I… said it looked like a… chicken was roosting on her head.”

“You see?” Lobelia shrieked, giving Merry another shake.

Frodo closed his eyes, hoping faintly that when he opened them he would be in bed, this whole dreadful day nothing but a dream.

No such luck.

Frodo took a deep breath.  “Merry, come along.  Lobelia, I am most dreadfully sorry.  I assure you it won’t happen again.”

“You assure me?” Lobelia exclaimed angrily.  “Well, that’s not good enough!”

“I assure you,” Frodo repeated firmly. “It won’t.  Happen.  Again.”  He glared at Merry, who had the grace to look chastised.

Lobelia sniffed loudly.  “Well… see that it doesn’t!” she exclaimed, and turned on her heel.

Frodo turned as well and began to walk back to Bag End, Merry trailing behind.

“Didn’t you think it looked like a chicken?” Merry whispered when they were well out of earshot.

“Well yes, but why on earth did you have to tell her so?” Frodo said, exasperated.

“You know she’s always insulting us Brandybucks,” Merry said mutinously.

“Did she this time?”

“Well no, but—“

“Merry, you can’t just go about saying whatever you like,” Frodo snapped.  “Your words and actions have consequences!”

“Now you sound like my father!” Merry shouted, and ran ahead into Bag End.  Frodo heard his bedroom door slam a moment later and shook his head, following more slowly.

As he passed through the garden, he saw a sandy head bent over what had previously been a neat bed of marigolds.  Frodo’s heart sank as he remembered his dug-up garden, but he really didn’t want to think about that just now.  “Sam, you should go home,” he called.  “It’s getting late.”

Sam looked up, and Frodo was shocked to see the tracks of tears on his young friend’s face.

“Oh, Sam,” Frodo sighed.

After he’d sent Sam home, he had Pippin help him carry the sodden carpet outside to dry and then got tea for the two of them (Merry was refusing to come out of his room).  Feeling calmer with food in his belly, Frodo brought Pippin, and Pippin’s wooden dragon, up to the very top of the Hill and collapsed on the grass.  He laid there and tried to relax as Pippin ran about with the dragon.

It was almost time to think about supper when he heard someone else coming up the path.  He sat up to see Samwise approaching nervously.  “Sam?”

“Mr. Frodo, I just wanted ta… see if there was anything ye needed, and ta say again… how sorry I am.” Sam paused, crouching next to him and wringing his hands.

“Sam.” Frodo put his hand over the calloused ones of the young gardener to stop their fretful motion.  “It’s all right.  You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“But—“

“Sam,” Frodo waited until the anxious brown eyes rose to meet his gaze.  “The flowers will grow back.  The garden will recover,” he said gently.

“You’re a kind master, more kind than I deserve,” Sam said quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Frodo said, and tossed away the blade of grass he’d been fiddling with.  “We’ve all had a difficult day.  Tomorrow will be better, you’ll see.”  He nodded firmly.

Sam smiled softly, thinking, not for the first time, that he had a better master than anyone.

“Frodo,” Pippin said suddenly.  “What’s that smoke there?”

They turned to look where Pippin was pointing.  Frodo frowned.  It did look like smoke, and it seemed to be coming from Bagshot Row.

“Sam, who was home when you left?” Frodo asked.

“Just Daisy and the babies, sir,” Sam replied uneasily.  “May and Marigold went visitin’ in Bywater today.”

“Let’s check on them,” Frodo decided.  “Pippin, go back inside till I’m back, all right?”

Pippin’s face fell and he looked ready to argue, but at a glance from Frodo he nodded reluctantly.

As Frodo and Sam made their way down the Hill the smoke seemed to diminish.  At #3 Bagshot Row they found Daisy standing in the open doorway, fanning the smoky air with her apron.

“What happened, Daisy?” Sam asked his sister.  “Everythin’ all right?”

Daisy rolled her eyes.  “Oh, just fine, Sam-lad.  I plumb forgot about the biscuits I set to baking for dinner is all, and, well, we shan’t be having any biscuits now.”

Frodo and Sam both looked at Daisy, who blushed under the scrutiny.  She certainly could be a bit of a scatter-brain, but she was an efficient and capable cook.

“You forgot?” Sam asked dubiously.

“Well, yes,” Daisy said, exasperated.  “I was a mite distracted.  Not to tell tales, but a certain someone got pond muck all over himself and his sister, and I had quite a time putting them both to rights.”

The door to the back bedroom opened a crack and Hob peered out.  “I said I was sorry, Aunt Daisy,” he whined.  “Can I come out now?  I’m getting’ hungry, an’ so is Pet.”  Petunia’s little face appeared below Hob’s, and she nodded solemnly.

Daisy looked around.  “I guess the smoke is as cleared as it’s gonna get.  Come on out, you two.  Sam, will ye help me with supper?”

Sam nodded and ducked inside.  Daisy smiled at Frodo and shrugged apologetically.  “Thanks for comin’ down, Mr. Frodo.  Sorry if we worried ye—it’s just been one o’ those days, if ye follow me.”

Frodo huffed a laugh.  “I do indeed.  Things have been going wrong all day for us, as well.”

Daisy smiled.  “Hob thinks he’s cursed us all, poor lad.  He broke Henna’s table mirror the day before they arrived here, and another lad told him he’s brought bad luck on ‘imself and all he meets, for seven days.”

“Superstitious nonsense,” Frodo snorted.

“Aye,” nodded Daisy.

Frodo frowned as he suddenly noticed Daisy’s left foot was an entirely different colour than her right.  “What happened to your foot, Daisy?” he exclaimed.

Daisy glanced at the enormous bruise.  “Dropped Ma’s iron skillet on it, I did.”

Frodo winced in sympathy.  “I don’t suppose this other lad told Hob there was a way to lift the ‘curse’,” he said off-handedly.

“Oh, aye,” she said. “Hob has to save someone from ‘mortal peril’, or someone has got to save him.”

“Mortal peril?”

“Aye.”

Frodo sighed.  “Not much of that round here.  I suppose we’re doomed then.”

“Aye,” Daisy smiled uncomfortably.  “But as you said, Mr. Frodo, it’s just superstitious nonsense.”

“Exactly,” Frodo nodded.

“Well… I’d best be getting back to it,” Daisy said.

“Right.  Ah—be careful.”

Daisy smiled. “You as well, Mr. Frodo.”

When Frodo got back to Bag End, he was greeted at the door by Pippin.

“Guess what, Cousin Frodo!” he chirped.  “Merry’s come out of his room, finally, and we’re makin’ supper!”

Frodo went into the kitchen cautiously, dreading what he might find.  He didn’t smell any smoke, at least.

Merry turned from the hearth when Frodo came in. “Stew’s almost done,” he said, and smiled a little apologetically.

Frodo smiled back, relieved that Merry was speaking to him again, and that no further mishaps had befallen the household.

He took a step toward Merry and flinched as a wet, sticky substance squished between his toes.

“Ah—sorry about that,” Merry said sheepishly. “Pippin and I tried to get out that gelatin you had setting in the pantry, and we spilled some of it.”

“Most of it,” Pippin piped up.

“Um, yes, most of it,” Merry confirmed reluctantly.

“All over the floor!” Pippin continued, and Frodo looked down to see that, indeed, the sticky substance was spread over most of the floor.  Merry’s footsteps squelched as he walked over to Frodo.

“Pippin tried to clean it up, but I think he just spread it around more,” Merry added apologetically.

“I was helping!” Pippin said indignantly.

Frodo sighed.  “Merry… Pippin…” He looked at each of them in turn.  “Get out the plates and let’s have that stew.  I’m starving.”  And he squelched resolutely out of the kitchen, wiped his feet on a handy dishrag, and went to sit at the dining table.