My elements were:

"It was only a bit after second breakfast but it was already scorching hot."

an imaginary friend
a painting
a boat
a broken bone

Character is: Esmeralda

Blackie

*Esmeralda Brandybuck* loved working in her garden. She sighed and smiled a soft smile as she thought back to her first year as the wife of the heir of Brandy Hall. She had been a farmer’s daughter. Not a poor farmer, mind you, a gentlehobbit farmer, but a farmer none-the-less. Though there had been hired workers on Adalgrim Took’s farm, his family had chores of their own as well. Esmeralda simply hadn’t thought much about how that part of her life would change. She had become the wife of the son of the Master, a position that came complete with servants. Flower gardening seemed to be one thing they would let her do on her own. She chuckled to herself. She would make sure there were changes when Saradoc became the Master of Buckland. She would do more of her own cooking as well as some of the housekeeping in the Master’s apartments. She also would keep her garden, adding a vegetable plot to it as she dearly missed the fun of eating vegetables she herself had grown. Till then, she would content herself with her flowers.

*It was only a bit after second breakfast but it was already scorching hot.* Esme wiped the back of her hand across her forehead to catch a trickle of perspiration that was heading for her right eye. No, she corrected herself, it was certainly hot for an early Winterfilth day but she was also overdressed, not realizing that the day would turn unseasonably warm. She took off the kerchief she had tied around her head then took off her warm woolen button-up jumper. There, now at least she could feel more of the weak breeze that barely stirred the mums she was deadheading.

Esmeralda was humming a happy tune, thinking about what would be needed for putting her garden to rest for the winter. She hadn’t heard the soft approach of small hobbit feet.

"Do ya want to pet my kitty, Mum?"

"Hmm? What Merry?" she asked without turning.
"My kitty, Mum. Do you want to pet Blackie?"

"You don’t have a kitty, Merry."

"Yes I do. Well . . . I do now and you should pet him, Mum. He’s right soft."

"He’s really soft, Mer . . ." Esmeralda was correcting her son as she turned around only to stop in mid sentence. Her little lad stood there, holding out his arms, hands almost together, fingers curved around . . .

. . . nothing.

"Pet him, Mum. He’s ri . . . really soft. Pet him." Merry’s eyes looked calmly at her, without a hint of the twinkle they usually held when he was teasing.

Esme walked the few short steps over to Merry on her knees. She reached out to where she could imagine a kitten’s head would be and began to stoke the air. "*He’s a fine kitten, Merry. And Blackie is a perfect name*. I don’t see a speck of white on him. Have you found any white on him, Merry?" She thought she might as well do her best to see the kitten Merry was seeing.

"No, Mum, I’ve not seen as much as a speck of white. He’s black as black can be. Isn’t he soft, Mum?"

"Yes, my dear, very soft indeed."

"Can I look in the store room for a box for his bed, Mum? He’ll need a bed and a bit of a blanket so’s not to get cold."

"Of course, Merry. That will be fine."

"Thank you, Mum!" the lad exclaimed. She hugged him without touching his shirt with her garden covered hands while he made sure she didn’t hug him too tightly and squish Blackie. He then moved his empty hands as though tucking a kitten firmly against his chest and ran into the smial. Esme sat back on her heels. This was indeed an interesting development.

By the time she went in Merry had found the perfect bed-box for his kitty, or at least he thought it was perfect. He had taken a drawer from an old narrow chest of drawers in the storeroom, dusted out the cobwebs and mouse droppings, asked the maid for some of the oil she used on the good furniture in the Master’s quarters to polish the parts that looked like the wood that she polished, borrowed brass polish to shine up the swirly designed pull, then asked her for a few of her best rags for the bedding. He could hardly wait to show his Mum. He had asked the cook for two small custard bowls and some scraps of meat and had put down food and water for his Blackie. He was just heading out to put some sand in the old dented shallow baking pan that he had found in the storeroom when Esme was heading in from her garden.

"Oh, Mum!" The lad was full of bounce and smiles. "Mum, Blackie likes his bed, Mum. He was ever so patient while I got it all put to rights, though he did keep pawing at the rags I used to clean it out with, and as soon as it was ready he hopped right in and went to sleep. He’s ever so nice a kitten, Mum. And I got him some bowls and food from Cook and she said he would need sand in a pan to use for a privy, so that’s where I’m going, to get sand. Did you know cats used a privy, Mum?"

Esmeralda looked at Merry’s rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. He had talked non-stop, suddenly showing some of his Tookish side. "Yes dear, I knew cats that stay inside to catch mice and such use wee privy boxes. You go and get some sand in Blackie’s box."

"Yes ‘m. I’ll be back ri . . . really fast Mum! He’s in his bed over there by the hearth." She smiled after him and his remembered grammar as he ran out with the old pan in his hands, then turned to look at the, to her eyes, empty kitty bed. She would feed Merry his luncheon then go pay a visit to her husband in his office. Best, she felt, that he have some warning about all of this.

"My son has a cat that isn’t there and you don’t see any reason for me to be concerned, Esme?" Saradoc had indeed needed the warning.

"It really isn’t all that unusual, Saradoc dear. Children will often have..."

"Often?"

"Occasionally then, children will occasionally have an imaginary friend when something has happened to trouble them."

"I suppose," Saradoc said though he couldn’t recall ever having heard of such a thing himself. He sighed as the thought came to him that perhaps this was another Tookish trait. "But you say he holds this . . . this . . ."

"Kitten, dear. It’s a kitten."

"No, it’s a . . . non-kitten. Be that as it may, Esme, you say he holds it and pets it as though it is really there and that we should act the same? Is that quite the healthy thing to do?"

"Yes, yes. It will be just fine. He’ll most likely gradually forget all about Blackie as the pain of Frodo’s moving away begins to lessen."

"Blackie?"

"The kitten’s name, dear. He named it Blackie. Merry has told me that the kitten has no white on him what so ever."
"Ah. Merry told you that."

"Yes." Esme sat perched on the edge of her chair waiting for her husband to continue speaking. She was hoping he wouldn’t try to talk Merry out of believing in his new pet.

Saradoc pondered this all. His young son had been heartbroken when his favorite older cousin, who was nearly a brother after all, had left to live in Hobbiton at Bag End with old Bilbo. It had been more than a week since he had seen Merry’s slightly crooked grin lighting the lad’s face, or seen that twinkle in his eyes that was so like his mother’s. Perhaps . . .

"I’ll do as you suggest, m’dear one." He smiled at his wife and he noticed her stiff posture relax. "I’m sure you are right, that this will quickly pass when other childhood things arise to occupy him. I’m sure he misses the comfort that Frodo always gave him and just needs something he can turn to." Saradoc stood and walked around his desk. He drew Esme to her feet and into his arms. She held him as tightly as he held her. "I’ll do my best," he said and she nodded against his chest as they stood together for several sweet minutes.

And so Blackie became a part of the family of Saradoc and Esmeralda Brandybuck. Merry would feed him scraps every day . . . and the cook would send them out with the lad who brought in the milk twice a day to be eaten by the barn cats. Merry would notice Blackie’s privy box looked messy . . . and the lad who brought in the wood for the stove would take it out, shuffle the sand about and bring it back in.

One day Merry stood talking to Blackie and his Mum about the news that had come from his aunt and uncle in Tookland. Well, he was talking to *a painting* of his Mum. It was a rather fanciful painting of Esmeralda done when she was a lass that she had brought with her when she came to live at Brandy Hall. She was wearing a most unhobbity dress, all light pink and billowy in the breeze with a wide shiny pink ribbon about the waist, and an odd pink bonnet with the untied ribbons also fluttering in the breeze. He loved the painting as much as he hated the one of himself that looked rather similar, with him in unhobbit-like shiny blue clothes, and he would tell secrets to his Mum in the painting that he would share with no one else. Some he hadn’t even shared with Frodo.

"You understand don’t you, Blackie and Wee Mum? They’re all excited and, well, I am too a bit as I like Uncle Paladin and Aunt Lanti the bestest of all the aunts and uncles. Though Pearl and Nell leave a bit to be asked for, in spite of them being Uncle Paladin’s and Aunt Lanti’s, being as they are lasses and older than me, which they don’t ever let me forget. And Pervinca, well she’s not much past an infant." This being said although she was only three years younger than Merry himself.

Merry stroked Blackie’s soft head and snuggled the kitten up to his cheek. He looked up at Wee Mum. "You see, I’m not at all sure I want to be happy about this. I’ve been told I was happy about when Aunt Lanti was ‘specting what turned out to be Vinca and look what happened that time." Merry scrunched up his face and stuck out his tongue. "I want a lad cousin, Wee Mum. A lad cousin, Blackie. I mean a special one, as I’ve got other lad cousins. But . . ." Here the lad choked up a bit and tears slid down from wide-open grey-blue eyes. "But Frodo, he said I was his special cousin, like Mum had me just for him, though he also said she didn’t but that it just felt that way to him. I want one of those."

Merry’s eyes flashed angrily and he scowled. Blackie squeaked as he got held a bit too tightly. "Sorry, Blackie," the lad muttered as he kissed the kitten’s soft head. "It just makes me angry and it isn’t at all fair." He looked again at the painting, which seemed to him to look back. "Wee Mum, Mum and Da have said I can’t choose what kind of cousin I get. They said one must take what one gets . . . that I have to take what I get. But I really want a lad cousin. A just for me cousin so I . . ." The fire faded, the tears returned. "So I won’t miss Frodo so much maybe." Merry hugged his kitty, wiggled a finger in farewell to Wee Mum and headed off to the kitchen to see if he might be able to snitch a treat.

The months passed and soon the Saradoc Brandybucks made a hasty trip to Whitwell. Merry was supposed to have stayed behind. The birth had come early with both Eglantine and the new babe doing poorly, that being the reason the trip was hastily arranged.

Merry hid amongst the luggage. He couldn’t, wouldn’t be left behind. With the news of the birth had come news of the babe’s gender . . . Merry simply had to see his very own special, hoped for, prayed for, wished for, so very much needed, lad cousin. Especially with all the grown-ups whispering, thinking he wouldn’t hear, that his baby and his favorite Auntie were not well. And of course, Blackie went with him.

What would they all have thought, the grown-ups and his lass cousins, if they knew there was a kitten in the cradle with the tiny new babe? But Esme did know. She was keeping a good watch on her little Merry every time he was near the wee one. She saw him put Blackie at the infant’s swaddled feet. Saw him stroke the kitten to calm it, make it dozy and comfy. Saw him telling his new cousin about the kitten Merry was putting in his cradle to comfort him and help him get better. But Esme told no one else of Peregrin’s invisible guardian.

Later, Merry was cuddled up on her lap, his soft child’s cheeks damp with worry tears.

"I . . . (sniff) . . . waited real good, Mum. I really did, and . . . (sniff) ‘Here, blow your nose dear.’ ‘. . . Thank you, Mum. I really hoped lots of good hopes and such and tried not to ask . . . (sniff) . . . too much if my cousin was here yet." He paused to gaze up at his mother.

Esme smiled at that. It had become a part of their daily routine; ‘Is my cousin here yet, Mum?’ ‘No, Merry. Not yet.’ "Yes," she said aloud to her young son, "Yes, Merry dear, you tried very hard."

"And now he’s here before he ought to be and . . . He didn’t come early cause I kept hoping he’d hurry, did he?"

"No. No, no, Merry dear. Pimpernel and Pervinca were early as well, though not as much so as wee Peregrin. It had naught to do with your wanting him so badly."
"But he’s sick, isn’t he, Mum?"

"Yes, my dear one."

"And Auntie too."

"Yes."

There was a long pause. "I heard grown-ups at the Hall saying they might . . . die." The last word was a half swallowed whisper.

"There was a chance of that, yes Merry," Esmeralda said softly, hugging her own baby a bit tighter as she did. "But they have made it this far. They have made it through four whole days now and the healer says they are both getting better, growing stronger. And we will stay here until we know all is well, my Meriadoc Brandybuck." She tweaked his ear and kissed his forehead as she used his full name, as was a habit between them. Merry snuggled in closer to his mother. "You’re cuddling tight, dear. Won’t you be squishing Blackie?"

"I left him at home," came the snuggle-muffled reply.

"Did you now? That’s odd, I thought I saw you put him in wee Peregrin’s cradle."

Merry’s head popped up, eyes and mouth wide open in surprise. Esme chuckled. "It is quite all right, dear one. I shan’t tell anyone. The other grown-ups might not like there being a kitten in with your wee new lad cousin, but I know that Blackie will be most careful with your baby."

The lad snuggled back against his mother’s bosom. " ‘S just till he’s better, Mum. Till healer says him and Aunt Lanti are going to. . . be all bet . . ."

Esme sat a long while, rocking her son while he slept.

Pippin (as Merry began calling his lad cousin) and Eglantine ended up fine and Paladin’s sister, her husband and their son went back to the Hall. Much to Esmeralda’s surprise Blackie went back with them. She had hoped that Pippin’s arrival would be the event that would allow her son to no longer need his imaginary pet. That perhaps Blackie would remain at Whitwell to look after Merry’s special lad cousin. But for whatever reason in her child’s heart and mind, Merry still seemed to need his special pet.

Years passed happily. Though wee Pippin’s colds always seemed to settle in his chest, a few of them serious as is oft the case with early babes that survive, and Merry ran the gamut of childhood illnesses, life was good for the closely tied families.

It was the summer that Pippin was seven years old and Merry was fifteen with childhood starting to leave him behind, that the lads decided to build a toy *boat* to sail upon the raging Brandywine River. Or, at least to sail upon the sluggish section of it where the banks were beach-like and the lads were allowed to play in the shallows.

"Build it big ‘nough for Blackie to ride in," Pippin said as he stroked the kitten’s fur, for a kitten Blackie remained.

"Good idea, Pip." Merry smiled in agreement. But his insides felt funny. Lately it seemed that Blackie wasn’t around as much. Merry was busy with studies and friends and the few times he was lonely or hurting he wasn’t always able to find the little black kitten. Blackie was there now, in Pippin’s arms.

Soon the lads were busy building their boat. Pippin helped as he was able, spreading glue on the edges of boards where Merry told him to spread it, holding the measuring line taut while Merry marked things with the lead stick. But soon Merry became engrossed in the details of the small vessel, forgetting to keep an eye on his always curious Took cousin.

The scream that came from the young lad was piercing.

Merry spun to find Pippin screaming and pulling at the little finger of his right hand . . . which was held firmly in place in the vice.

"Hurts! Hurts! Make it . . . make it stop biting me, Merry!"

Merry instantly grabbed the lad and lifted him off his dancing feet. All Pip was doing was making it worse by moving about. "Hold still, Pippin!" Merry cried as he tried to open the vice, making it tighter on his first try before quickly changing the direction of the handle. It didn’t need to be loosened much before the small finger was free. But Pippin’s finger hung at a very strange angle.

It was a rough afternoon as the finger swelled, the healer yanked on it to set the *broken bone*, then bound it to the little lad’s ring finger and splinted them both. She gave Pippin two spoonfuls of an obviously evil tasting gooey elixir then left, saying he would fall asleep soon and sleep most of the afternoon. Merry had stood back at the edge of the room, hands clasped by his chest, sweating anew at each squeak of pain that came from his cousin. His mother saw him there. She could tell he was holding Blackie. She knew to leave him be. All Esme did was nod to Merry when she and the others finally left his and Pippin’s room.

"You mad at me, Merry?" Pippin’s voice sounded very young and still shaky with pain.

"No. Not mad at you, Pip." Merry’s voice didn’t sound much different from his cousin’s.

"Then . . . (sniff) . . . how’s come you . . . (sniff ) . . . you’re way over there?"

Merry walked slowly to the bed and sat down on the edge, but he didn’t face Pippin. His hands moved near his chest as though he were stroking something. "I’m angry at myself, Pip. It’s my fault you’re hurt." He paused and sniffed a bit, wiping his nose on the shoulder of his shirt. "I got all busy with the boat and forgot to watch you."

"It’s all right, Merry," the child said softly while reaching awkwardly out with his bandaged right hand to touch his cousin’s arm. "I put my finger in that dragon’s mouth, so it bit me."

Merry smiled both at Pippin’s easy forgiveness and at the dragon. Pippin yawned as he lazily blinked several times. Merry figured the nasty healer goo was starting to work.

"Here," he said, as he pulled Pippin’s covers back a tiny bit and tucked the small black kitten in beside his special lad cousin. "Blackie says he’s to be your kitty now. He figures you’re a young lad and you’ll be having lots of hurts and such and you’ll need him."

Pip yawned, blinked then wriggled down around the kitten, wrapping his un-bandaged hand around its soft warm little body. "Ya sure, Mer?"

"Yes, Pip. He told me just now. And he’s really excited to ride in his boat." The older child ruffled the younger’s hair before giving him a kiss. "I’ll go finish it up and we’ll let him try it out tomorrow when your hand isn’t hurting as much."

"All . . . righ’," Pippin mumbled as he fell asleep.

Merry never really saw Blackie again.

But Pippin did.

A/N: Blackie was my husband’s childhood imaginary cat (which his older sister eventually stomped to death). This story is in memory of Blackie, who my husband has never forgotten.