Love Letters

Bilbo was in his study, golden morning light falling across the piece of parchment on the desk, but instead of writing he frowned. He was attempting to compose a letter to Frodo, but he hadn't got much further than My Dear Nephew. The presence of an empty teacup and plate, and several spoiled sheets of what had once been quite expensive stationery, was proof of how long he'd been sitting in thought. Bilbo scratched his head, then dipped the pen and touched it to the paper. My Dear Nephew, he began again. We haven't spoken for quite some time, and there are some important things we need to discuss-

"Blast and botheration!" Bilbo muttered in disgust, crumpling yet another sheet of paper into a ball. "That sounds all wrong, as if I'm about to set the Shirrifs on him. I want to adopt the lad, not frighten him to death." He unconsciously placed two fingers in his waistcoat pocket to caress the round, cool shape there at the end of its silver chain, a gesture that had become a habit when he felt cross, or anxious, or was simply trying to think. He put aside the pen, pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. Perhaps a bite to eat and a little cider would help him collect his thoughts. And a little fruit turnover, too, with a bit of cheese melted on top, and a pickle or two on the side to cut the sweetness, and oh, perhaps a bit of toast...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo didn't quite forget what he had been doing, but as he happily puttered about in pantry and larder and cellar, it did drift comfortably to the back of his mind. He went and fetched a book to read while he filled up the corners, then enjoyed a nice, long bachelor-hobbit sit-down in the kitchen, eating with his fingers and elbows on the table. Although he did keep a napkin handy so he wouldn't accidentally spot the page.

After some time engrossed in his book, a soft, unhappy noise began to intrude on the silence. He tried to brush it aside as the coo of a dove, or perhaps Bell Gamgee's old cat on a mouse-hunt outside the kitchen window, but then there was the unmistakeable sound of a sniffle. Bilbo very quietly laid aside his book, pushed away from the table and crept to the window. Putting the palms of his hands on the sill, he leaned up and out and spied the crown of a curly brown head.

"Well, that's certainly not old Queen," Bilbo said out loud to himself, then exclaimed. "Samwise! Why in creation are you crying in my herb-bed?"

Sam gave a little gasp and looked up, revealing his tearstreaked face. "Master Bilbo, I-"

"Oh, never mind, we can't talk here, come round to the door, there's a good lad."

Bilbo leaned back in and closed the window. No need for all of Hobbiton to hear poor young Sam's troubles, whatever they might be. In less than a minute there was a very timid knock at the round kitchen door.

"Come in, come in!" Bilbo called, as he was busy getting another plate and a mug from the cupboard, but after moment or so of the door remaining firmly closed, he sighed and went and opened it himself. "Come in, Sam, no need to linger on the doorstep."

Sam came in, very woeful and dusty and with chaff from the herbs in his hair. He had the look of a lad who has been scolded and was still feeling the sting. "Here, young fellow," Bilbo said, in a much softer and less brisk tone of voice. "Come to the table and pull up a chair, and I'll fix you a plate. There's cake left, and some very good cheese-on-toast, though it's gone cold now. I'll draw a bit more cider, or would you prefer buttermilk? At any rate, we'll have a talk and sort things out."

Sam's expression brightened briefly at the mention of food, but then he put his hands behind his back. "No, I'd best not, Master Bilbo, sir."

"My dear Samwise," Bilbo said, with a twinkle in his eye, and he gently but firmly lifted the lad up and deposited him on a kitchen chair. "I must insist!"

~~~~~

There followed yet another long period of eating, though this time Bilbo settled for a cup of tea. Sam ate politely but steadily, his tears dried, and Bilbo felt a warm glow at the sight of his healthy appetite. When Sam had twice emptied his plate, he leaned back in the chair and sighed with satisfaction. Great heavens, he's as full as a Yuletide goose, Bilbo thought, half in alarm, half in amusement. He'll roll off on to the floor and fall asleep if I don't rouse him. "Now then, Sam. Don't go nodding off. If you wouldn't mind indulging an old hobbit's curiosity, I would very much like to know what made you so unhappy."

Sam looked miserable again. Bilbo braced himself for more tears, but instead Sam searched around in his pocket, brought forth a silver penny and laid it on the table. "It was about this, Master Bilbo. Begging your pardon sir, and not meaning to offend, but I'm giving it back."

"Why ever for?" Bilbo said. Bilbo had a fondness for all the Gamgee children, but young Sam, with his shy smile and kind heart, was his particular favourite. He had given Sam the penny for no real reason other than that he was an honest, hard-working lad who deserved a penny, and he wanted him to have it. Consider it an early gift for my birthday, Sam-lad! Bilbo had laughed. No doubt I'll be far too confusticated to remember to give it to you properly in September, so you'd best have it now. "This was a present, Sam, yours to keep."

"Oh sir, do please take it back," Sam said anxiously, pushing the coin closer to Bilbo's outstretched hand. "Dad says I mustn't keep it, that it's not right to take something from my elders and betters when I hadn't earned it. He kept it on the mantle all night and said I was to come here and give it back, and I meant to but I couldn't help crying, I felt that bad about it."

"Ah, so that's how it is," Bilbo said out loud, and to himself You've put your foot in it this time, Bilbo Baggins, giving the lad as much as his dad would earn in a day, without a thought in your head about it. "Don't go crying again! I'm not at all angry, only sorry, that's all. You're a good boy to mind what your father says, he means well, you know." The stubborn, prideful old goat. "Here now, let's wipe your eyes." Bilbo used his best linen handkerchief, the one with BB embroidered in the corner with gold thread, to gently wipe Sam's damp face. And he let him blow his nose in it, too, for good measure. A little lad's tears were of more worth than gold thread, and linen would wash. "Better now?"

Sam nodded but didn't speak. Bilbo sighed, brushed the penny off the edge of the table and into his pocket with the handkerchief, then sat in silence for a spell with his chin on his fist. Well, what to do now? He had made a hash of things and caused poor Sam a world of trouble, and it hurt him to think of the boy leaving Bag End with empty hands. "No," Bilbo said. "No, I won't have it. I meant for you to have a gift for my birthday, Samwise and you shall have a gift, or my name's not Bilbo Baggins. Come along, Sam!"

He jumped to his feet and made for the next room so suddenly that Sam felt he had no choice but to hurry after him. Feeling rather like a little chick fluttering after an angry mother hen, Sam followed him to his study. Bilbo began to search here and there, moving books and opening chests and muttering to himself. Sam put his hands behind his back and tried to look at everything at once. He had never been in Master Bilbo's study before. It was all so big and cluttered and fascinating, quite unlike the Gamgee's tidy little hole, and it smelled wonderfully of paper and ink and pipeweed, and the dusty-sweet odour of old, well-kept books.

"Aha!" Bilbo said at last. He turned around, and Sam saw that he had an old slate and slate-pencil in his hand. "Come here close and sit on this stool, Sam, and I shall give you your gift." Sam sat down on the little stool and Bilbo pulled up his own desk-chair to sit beside him. Bilbo gave Sam the slate-pencil and then covered his small, brown hand with his own. "Look."

Bilbo's hand moved, gently guiding, and Sam watched with wonder as strange lines and shapes took form. First a tall curved line, rather like a garden snake that had once given him a fright, till his Dad had said it meant him no harm. Then two straight lines that touched at the top and were bridged at the middle, and after that two more bumps like low hills.

"Letters!" Sam exclaimed. "Look, Master Bilbo! I'm writing letters!"

Bilbo laughed and tapped the slate. "Indeed you are, Sam. S-A-M, that spells Sam, and Sam is you. I would like to teach you to read and write, Sam, as my birthday gift to you to replace that penny. Would you like that?"

Sam's face lit up. "Oh yes!"

"Then we'll do it," Bilbo said, slapping Sam's knee. "I'll have to discuss it with your Gaffer first, but don't you worry, I'm sure I can talk him around to the idea." He looked at Sam very seriously. "But this will be a great and wonderful gift I'm giving you, Sam-lad, worth more than a whole chest of silver pennies, and not one to be accepted lightly. It's not going to happen overnight and sometimes it will be a struggle, but once you start reading and learning, it can never be taken away from you. The gift is yours, forever and always."

"I'll work hard, sir," Sam said, very humbly. His round face was shining with joy, and his heart so suddenly filled with love for his old Master that he thought it would burst, and he threw his arms around Bilbo's neck. "Thank you, Master Bilbo."

Bilbo's eyes were stinging. Something had got in them, he supposed, some dust from the shelves perhaps, and he blinked it away as he petted Sam's hair. "Good lad, good lad," he murmured.

A voice called from far away, and Bilbo took a breath and sat back. "Bless me, but that sounds like your mother!" He turned to look at the clock. "And no wonder! It's past four, and no doubt you're missing your Tea. You had better run along, or Bell will strip the hide off me for keeping you. Ready for another meal, Samwise?"

"Oh, yes sir," Sam said quickly, and they both laughed.

Bilbo saw him to the door and watched him run down to Number Three. Bell Gamgee was standing on the doorstep, shading her eyes against the sun. Bilbo smiled as he saw Sam jumping up and down and waving the slate, and then she laughed and took hold of his hand and they went in, and the door closed behind them.

Bilbo walked slowly back to his study, feeling a bit worn, then collapsed into a chair and mopped his face. "What a busy morning I have had!" he said, then chuckled, remembering another much busier morning long before, when a wizard had appeared on his doorstep. The ravening horde of Dwarves that had followed on his heels had certainly kept him hopping. It had all turned out for the best, but goodness, what a mess and a racket those Dwarves had made! Dirtied every cup, plate, platter and utensil in the smial, drank up every drop of beer, and...

"Oh, bother, now what am I forgetting?" Bilbo muttered. He turned in his chair and spied the unfinished letter. "Dear, what an old fool I am! Well, there's no chance of getting it in the post today, but I had better finish it."

As he had done hours before, Bilbo lifted his pen.

Dearest, most beloved nephew Frodo,

It has been far too long since I have seen you, and I miss you very much. In another month or two it will be time for our birthdays, and the Party, as always. But before then, very soon, I will be coming to visit you in Buckland. I have an idea in my head that makes me very happy to think of it, and I very much hope that it will make you happy, too. So keep on the lookout for a rather eccentric hobbit arriving on the Bucklebury Ferry. He'll be smiling from ear to ear, his pockets stuffed with handkerchiefs and toffees, and his mad old heart filled to bursting with loving thoughts of one Frodo Baggins, and by that you will know him as yours truly, your affectionate uncle,

Bilbo

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The End