May the 1st, 1430

Sam woke up near dawn; faint light trickled through the curtains, and the other half of the bed was empty. The sheet felt cool under his hand. He got up, plodding down the hallway, following the faint whiff of a sweet aroma to the kitchen.

Rosie stood in front of the table, an apron over her nightgown, both hands buried in a bowl filled with dough. Another bowl was waiting on the windowsill, filled with apple slices and raisins, and she had lit candles in the three biggest candelabras available.

“What are you doing there, lass? It’s awfully soon to start baking, isn’t it?”

She shot him a sharp gaze.

“Would you make the crumbs, please?”

That was not the answer he had expected, but Sam knew an order when he heard one. He stepped obediently beside her, taking a third bowl and helping himself to a generous amount of butter, flour and sugar. They kneaded side by side in companionable silence, and he spread a handful of flour on the table when she reached for the rolling pin. Then the pie was in the heated oven and Rosie filled the kettle under the pump for tea. Outside, the sun had finally risen over the horizon, and the white walls of the kitchen shimmered rosy and golden.

Suddenly Rosie spoke.

“The day before our first anniversary, he sat here with me in the kitchen while I made an apple pie for you,” she said, her voice very soft. “‘You are Sam’s home’, he told me, ‘you are the rosebushes in the garden, the green rolling hills and the dark soil on his hands. Your love roots him in the Shire… thank you for being the woman you are, my dear Rose.’ And he kissed my hand.”

Their eyes met, and Sam swallowed.

“I miss him,” he whispered. “I miss him, Rosie.”

Her hand came up, stroking his cheek.

“Of course you do,” she replied. “How could you not? Be careful if you marry your Sam, my Mama warned me when you came back, for you’ll get not only a husband but an addlebrained, old bachelor extra. I guess she didn’t know better.”

To his surprise Sam heard himself laugh, but Rosie’s face was serious.

“Tell me something,” she said, her voice slightly tense. “Was Mr. Baggins right? Do I root you in the Shire? Am I really your… home?”

Sam cupped her face with both hands, drew her close, and kissed her until he felt her body relax in his embrace.

“You are my home and my roots,” he whispered close to her mouth. “You are my love, my heart and my hearthfire. And you always will be.”