Chapter 4. Sleight of Hand

Life continued quietly at Bag End. Winter snow and rain gave way to lovely spring, and Sam found much solace from his troubled thoughts, working in his garden again. When Frodo took to wearing gloves on both hands, Rose and Sam made no comment, but Merry, arriving on a visit, took him to task.

'Now, Frodo,' he said exasperated, 'When you were wearing one glove, I just thought it was affected...' or that you were trying to hide the missing finger, he didn't say, but Frodo could see it in his eyes, '...and I didn't want to say anything, but gloves in the house? What is the matter with you?'

'Would you believe I'm trying to stop biting my nails?' Frodo asked mildly.

Merry snorted.

'All, right, then, I didn't want to worry you, but I have trouble keeping warm these days.' He met Merry's eyes calmly. 'Don't worry so, cousin. I'm fine. Really.' Merry looked unconvinced, but let the matter drop.

Pippin breezed in. 'Hullo, Frodo!' he said cheerily. 'Say, you've forgotten to take your gloves off!'

'He's trying to stop biting his nails,' Merry muttered. 'Come on, Pip, let's see what kind of goodies Rose has baked up. There's a delicious smell coming from the kitchen.' Arm across Pippin's shoulders, Merry guided him from the study.

***

When Frodo came out to the kitchen, drawn by that same delicious smell, he found Merry and Pippin at the table enjoying freshly baked scones, dripping with butter and honey.

'Mmmm, that smells good,' Frodo said, and Rose set a place for him at the table.

'Sit you down, Mr Frodo, and have a spot of tea to go with the scones. I was just fixing a tray to take to the study.'

'Well, I'll save you some steps, then,' Frodo chuckled, and sat down. He saw Merry raise his eyebrows when he kept his gloves on to eat, but his cousin didn't comment.

Pippin looked up suddenly. 'When did you start wearing boots, Frodo?' he asked curiously. 'Are you trying to stop biting your toenails, too?'

Frodo bit into a melting scone as his cousins' laughter washed around him.

***

One day Frodo was slicing up an apple in the kitchen. Gloves made the task too awkward, so he'd laid them aside for the moment. Rose watched in fascination as the knife and apple apparently hovered mid-air, neat slices falling off onto the plate.

Frodo caught her gaze and smiled. 'Look, Mum, no hands!' he said gaily, but suddenly gave a sharp exclamation and knife and apple fell to the table.

Rose stared in fascination as red drops began to appear mysteriously on the table top, then looking at Frodo's face, she realized what had happened. 'You've cut yourself!' she gasped, jumping to her feet as quickly as her condition would allow.

'So it appears,' Frodo said grimly.

From the rapidly growing amount of blood on the table, it was a bad cut. 'That's going to need stitches,' Rose said.

'And how are we to manage that?' Frodo said quietly.

'I don't know, but we've got to get pressure on that.' Grabbing the dishtowel, she suited action to words, but grabbing at Frodo's hands she missed. She solved that problem by holding out the towel. 'Put your hand in there,' she ordered. The blood that stained the cloth gave her a clue where to apply pressure, and the cloth outlined the hand, which was a help.

At Sam's step, both looked up, for all the world like guilty lovers inconveniently interrupted, Rose with Frodo's hand between her own.

Frodo met Sam's quizzical gaze, then smiled down at Rose. 'We're going to have to stop meeting like this, my dear,' he said. 'Your husband is beginning to suspect something.'