9.  Saradoc’s Idea

September 2, 1390

“Frodo!” snapped Uncle Dinodas.  “Keep your eyes on your work, there!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Frodo replied to the Brandy Hall schoolmaster.  Dinodas glared at him and returned to his lecture.  He was explaining the uses of irrigation in agriculture to a group of the youngest pupils in the school.  It was one of Dinodas’s most beloved topics, and he wasn’t happy about the interruption.

Frodo wasn’t sorry at all, but he obediently shifted his unfocused stare from the round window to the pages in front of him.  The Brandy Hall school-hole was not as crowded as usual; many of the pupils came from farming families in Buckland and would not return to their studies until the autumn harvest was completed.  After his years of practice, Frodo was expert at blending into the background and escaping people’s notice, but it was hard to avoid the old schoolmaster’s scrutiny when there was only a handful of hobbit children in the room.

Frodo was normally a well-behaved lad and he did try to focus on his work.  He forced himself to read again the lesson Dinodas had set him, but the words refused to make sense.  The normal routine was so difficult this afternoon...  Frodo’s twenty-second birthday was in twenty days, but he scarcely gave it a thought, for he now had something even more marvellous to look forward to: Bilbo was coming tomorrow. 

Bilbo had written and said they might expect him September 3rd, which was now only scant hours away.  Frodo could hardly keep from bouncing in his seat at this thought.  He thought of what Bilbo would say, if he knew that his usually obedient young cousin was misbehaving in school.  At the mental image of dear Uncle Bilbo trying to look stern while restraining merry laughter, Frodo could not hold back a sly smile.

“Frodo Baggins!”  Oops.  “I have had it with your ill behaviour this day!  Take yourself off to see Master Saradoc, young hobbit!  He’ll know what to do with you.”  Master Dinodas kept a well-disciplined school-hole, and he did not abide disorderly conduct.

Frodo quickly gathered up his books and removed himself from Dinodas’s sight as quickly as he could.  Dinodas might change his mind at any moment and decide to discipline Frodo himself, instead of letting Saradoc do it.  As it was, the old schoolmaster didn’t want to interrupt his engaging lecture any longer than was necessary, and Frodo closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief.  He knew Saradoc would certainly punish him, and he was ashamed of the disappointment he knew Saradoc would feel at his disrespectful behaviour, but he was nonetheless happy to be away from school today.  He could not concentrate, and it was a torment to him.

Frodo supposed that Saradoc would be in the library at this hour, having a little time to himself as he often did just before tea-time.  Frodo headed in that direction, and found the library door open.  He knocked on it to announce his presence and stepped inside.

“Frodo-lad!” exclaimed Saradoc, looking up from the letter he was writing.  “Shouldn’t you be at your lessons?”

“Master Dinodas sent me,” Frodo answered with an embarrassed shrug.  “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Saradoc studied his young cousin carefully.  Frodo was an exceptionally intelligent child, but he was not an eager student.  Saradoc knew that Frodo found school terribly dull, but really, it was the only suitable place for him.  He was a gentlehobbit and must be educated along with the other children at Brandy Hall.  Frodo would certainly do better with private instruction, where he could go at his own rapid pace, but such individual attention was simply not feasible.  At least, not in Brandy Hall...  Saradoc frowned at the peculiar thought, but pushed it away for later consideration.

Despite today’s circumstances, Dinodas had always reported Frodo to be an obedient pupil, although unusually quiet and rarely enthusiastic.  Of course, it wasn’t difficult for Saradoc to guess the reason for Frodo’s inability to concentrate today, and he could hardly punish the boy for eagerly awaiting the arrival of his favourite relative.

“We expect Bilbo to arrive tomorrow, do we not?” Saradoc finally said.

“Yes, Uncle,” Frodo said, surprised by the seemingly abrupt change in subject.

Saradoc was watching the child keenly, and he did not miss the way Frodo’s face lit up at the mention of Bilbo.  In fact, Saradoc had often observed that the only time Frodo displayed much enthusiasm for anything was when Bilbo was visiting.  The lad seemed cheerful enough most of the time, especially when playing with Merry, but Saradoc knew that Frodo had never been truly happy here, and he deeply regretted it. 

Watching those normally solemn azure eyes now sparkling at the thought of Bilbo’s visit, Saradoc suddenly sat up in his chair, frowning thoughtfully.  An idea had quite abruptly taken hold in his mind.  A preposterous idea, really, and yet it continued to grow...

Saradoc swallowed past a suddenly dry throat, still staring at Frodo.  He could not ignore this idea, or delay its consideration; he had to act on it immediately.  It was one of those ideas where all the parts of a problem suddenly fall into place, all at once, leaving a solution so desperately perfect that it simply must have been inspired by something greater than himself.

“Frodo-lad,” Saradoc said, after a brief pause.  “Run and get your Aunt Esmeralda for me, all right?  She’s likely to be in the upper pantry.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Frodo said, looking puzzled.  “What about my punishment?”

Punishment?  Oh, of course- “Er, after you’ve sent your Aunt, go and help the cooks prepare the tea things.”

Frodo nodded and went out, still confused about Saradoc’s behaviour.  The future Master of Buckland had seemed so distracted all of a sudden, and his punishment was astonishingly light.  Perhaps Saradoc was distracted by his anticipation of Bilbo’s arrival as Frodo himself was?  That didn’t seem likely; Saradoc was a grown hobbit and thus always in complete control of his feelings, after all.

Esmeralda was indeed in the upper pantry, going over Brandy Hall’s stores with the head cook.  “What’s the matter, dear?” she asked, when she caught sight of the blue-eyed hobbit clambering down the stairs to where she was standing.

“Uncle Saradoc asked me to send for you, Aunt Esmeralda,” Frodo answered.  “He awaits you in the library.”

“Is anything wrong?” Esmeralda asked.  Frodo had the most peculiar expression on his face.

“Er, I think not,” Frodo said uncertainly.  “He just said to send you right away.”

“All right,” said Esmeralda.  She closed the sack of flour she had been inspecting and marched up the stairs to the main level of Brandy Hall.

His first mission accomplished, Frodo followed his aunt up the stairs and went into the kitchen.  He spied Miss Poppy at the baking counter, putting the finishing touches on some miniature apple tarts.

“Hullo, Mr. Frodo!” Poppy said when she noticed Frodo standing beside her.  “What brings you here, lad?”

“I’ve been sent to help with the tea things, Miss Poppy,” the little hobbit announced.

“Well, what good luck for me, then!” Poppy exclaimed cheerfully.  “You can start filling the pastries for the next batch.  Wash your hands first, mind!”

*          *          *

Back in the library, Saradoc sat very still, smiling slightly and gazing out the window.  His unfinished letter lay forgotten on the desk.  Esmeralda would be here soon, and then he could finally share his idea with someone.  He knew there would be opposition to his idea, and strictly speaking it wasn’t really proper, but some things were simply more important than propriety.  Things such as the happiness and well-being of a kind-hearted hobbit lad who had been entrusted to the care of Saradoc and his wife under tragic circumstances.

Saradoc heard a soft footfall behind him and turned away from the window to find his wife standing in the doorway.

“Is something wrong, my love?” Esmeralda asked.  “Is little Merry all right?”

“Merry is still being watched in the nursery, darling,” Saradoc tried to smile reassuringly.  “Nothing is wrong.  I just wanted to speak with you.”

Esmeralda raised an eyebrow and seated herself in the chair across from her husband, motioning for him to continue.

Saradoc sighed.  “It’s about Frodo,” he said finally.

“Yes?” Esmeralda prompted, looking concerned.

“Do you think he is happy here?”  It was a loaded question, and one they didn’t often discuss.

“No,” Esmeralda said softly, after a brief hesitation.  Her warm brown eyes were sad.  The Bucklanders were Frodo’s only relations with the proper resources to raise a young orphan.  But she knew very well that he was not happy.

“Esmeralda,” Saradoc said, finally bringing himself to reveal his idea.  “I think Frodo should go and live with Bilbo at Bag End.”

Startled brown eyes looked up into Saradoc’s, and then frowned down at the floor.  There was a long silence.  She loved her little cousin dearly, and at Brandy Hall he was surrounded by other children and hobbits who were experienced parents...  and yet, it was not what he needed.  The crowd in Brandy Hall was swallowing the child, not nurturing him. 

They had all believed this to be the best possible arrangement for Frodo in the event of his parents’ deaths; Drogo, Primula, Saradoc, Esmeralda, and Bilbo had all agreed to it when Frodo was born.  And yet, they had all been mistaken. 

Saradoc’s plan was a good one, Esmeralda had to admit, and one that no one had considered before.  Others might object to Bilbo as being an unsuitable guardian, but she and Saradoc were the ones responsible for Frodo, not others.  They had sworn to do what was best for Frodo.  Bilbo himself would no doubt need a great deal of persuading before he would believe himself capable of raising a child, but Esmeralda knew the old hobbit well, and she had to admit that he could give Frodo exactly what the child needed: love, individual attention, belonging.

Esmeralda finally looked back to her husband.  Saradoc was still waiting for her response.  She looked deeply into his eyes and nodded slowly in agreement.  Merry would miss Frodo terribly.

“We’ll discuss it with Bilbo when he arrives tomorrow,” Saradoc said.  Convincing the old hobbit that he could do this would be difficult, but Saradoc had no doubt that they would succeed in the end.  He reached out to grasp his wife’s hand, and they sat together in the silent library.