Looking After Frodo

Merimac closed his eyes, feeling the first throbs of a powerful headache pounding against his forehead and temples. Why had he ever volunteered to look after the baby?

Frodo's wailing grew even louder, and Merimac winced. How could someone so small make so much noise? He glanced over his shoulder at the door, willing Primula or Drogo to enter the room. They did not, of course, for they had gone to the market at Bucklebury and would not return for at least another hour or two. And the rest of his family – and all of Brandy Hall – seemed determined to let Merimac handle the situation alone.

There was nothing wrong with the baby. Frodo was not hungry, his clothes were not wet, and he was not feverish. As far as Merimac could tell – and he had checked each several times, just to be certain – there was no logical reason for his incessant crying. Merimac had tried rocking him to sleep in the cradle, singing to him, reciting silly poems and childhood tales he thought he had forgotten long ago. But nothing seemed to work, and Frodo looked even more miserable than Merimac felt.

When the wailing rose to a piercing shriek Merimac cringed and leaned over the side of the cradle, peering closely at the baby and desperately wishing he knew how to calm him. Just then Frodo's arms reached up and his tiny hands latched onto Merimac's collar, clinging tightly. His face was red and tear-streaked, and he hiccupped in mid-sob. Suddenly, Merimac knew just what to do.

Carefully he lifted Frodo, supporting his neck as Primula had taught him. The crying soon subsided, though the baby shuddered and his breath hitched. Merimac held him close and rubbed his back soothingly until at last Frodo was calm.

"I can't wait until you learn how to speak," Merimac said quietly. "It would have saved us both a lot of trouble if you had been able to say that you wanted me to pick you up."

Frodo squeaked a protest.

"I know it is not your fault," Merimac replied, patting the baby's soft and silky curls. "I can hardly blame you. I should have known better. But I'm not used to looking after babies, Frodo. I hope someday when I have children that they never cry."

"Pffth," Frodo replied, resting his head on Merimac's shoulder.

"Yes, you're right," Merimac sighed. "That's hardly realistic." He tilted his head to peer down at Frodo. The baby had forgotten his tears and now looked up at Merimac with large, expectant eyes.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to put you down now that you've finally stopped crying," Merimac assured him. "But what shall we do now?"

Frodo reached one hand toward the window. Merimac turned and saw that it was raining. He had been so preoccupied with trying to calm Frodo that he had not even noticed the unexpected storm approach. Dark clouds blanketed the sky and a steady rain had begun to fall, pattering against the windowpane and rushing in rivulets down the grassy hills.

The market would close early, and soon Primula and Drogo would return to the Hall. But Merimac would not mind if they were a little late, so he could go on watching his cousin. He did not find it so terrible, now that he knew how to calm the baby.

Taking a seat on the rocking chair, Merimac continued to hold Frodo. The baby murmured quietly to himself in some language of his own, and snuggled closer to Merimac, burrowing into his warmth. Together they awaited his parents' return.