Sam pressed soil firmly about the delicate roots of the new plants. "What we plantin' weeds for Da?"
Ham rubbed dirt from his trowel. "Now, what did I tell you about weeds, lad?"
Sam went to stick his thumb in his mouth, then thought better when he saw its colour. "Weeds is only flowers growin' in the wrong place. But, Da . . . aint Mr Bilbo's garden the wrong place for these?"
Hamfast collected up the rest of their tools, grunting as he climbed from his knees. "They're not what I would call pretty, I'll grant you. A mite straggly some might say. But some plants is good for medicine and this is one of 'em."
Sam trotted after his Da down the hill to Number Three. "Is Mr Bilbo sick, then?"
Hamfast shook his head wearily. It had been a long day and Sam's mouth seemed to form a question every five minutes. "Not Mr Bilbo, no. But young Master Frodo is comin' to live here in a few months and he needs to take a special tea, regular."
Sam considered for about four minutes, so they were almost at the door when he asked, "Will Master Frodo stay in bed all the time then, like Sissy Proudfoot?"
Hamfast paused to hang his tools in the shed before ushering his youngest into the kitchen. "Gracious, no lad. Sissy got hit by a cart. Master Frodo just gets headaches sometimes, that's all. And the tea's supposed to stop 'em."
"Hello love. All finished?" asked Sam's Ma as they closed the door.
O0o
"Hello Mr Gamgee." Frodo poked his head out of the parlour window and Ham nearly dropped his shears on his toes as he leapt to his feet.
"Master Frodo! I thought you were off to Michel Delving with Mr Bilbo."
"Uncle Falco doesn't like young people, apparently."
"Why ever not?" asked Ham, bushy brows rising in amazement at the thought that anyone would not like youngsters. He loved his own brood fiercely.
Frodo shrugged. "Even Uncle Bilbo doesn't know. But he has been known to chase them off with a switch. He's a bit of a recluse. Maybe he doesn't like the noise."
Ham sniffed. "Faunts should make noise. Playin's part of growin' up. Me and Bell would be in a worrit if any of ours got quiet for too long."
"I imagine you would." Frodo looked up at the impossibly blue summer sky. "And I think I've been quiet for too long myself today. What are you doing, Mr Gamgee?"
"Just trimmin' the grass above the window and then I'm goin' round back to dig some taters. Mr Bilbo said you was gettin' low." He stepped back in alarm as Frodo clambered out of the window, landing nimbly in the border between some petunias.
"I'd like to help if I may. I've been indoors too long and fancy some exercise."
Ham blinked. Mr Bilbo had been known to dead head a few roses or pull a carrot but he'd never offered to dig taters and Ham wasn't sure it was proper for a gentlehobbit. Then again, he didn't hold with youngsters sitting indoors either. He held that fresh air made faunts grow. Master Frodo was no faunt but fresh air would do no harm. His height seemed to have outstripped his width at some point and if he couldn't grow some proper hobbit padding he could at least grow some muscle, and for that there was few things better than digging. He gave the grass one last snip. "Right you are, Master Frodo. I'll just gather my tools in the barrow and we can get goin'."
He felt justified at once when Frodo's face broke into a broad gap-toothed grin, and clearing up took no time with the youngster's willing and eager hands. Only ten minutes later they were standing beside Bag End's well tended vegetable plot.
Ham set his hands on his hips. "Now then, young master. What vegetables do you need for the pantry aside from taters?"
Frodo frowned. "Are the spring onions still good? Some lettuce perhaps? I'd rather have salad than boiled veg. today. I bought rainbow trout at market this morning."
"A salad you say? I've tomatoes against the fence down the end. I reckon there'll be some ready to pick and there's cucumber in the frame. The spring onions are still good, though they need pullin' soon. As for lettuce, you can either have a full head or just pick yourself some leaves. There's three different varieties to choose from."
Frodo's eyes lit up, his mouth watering at the prospect of a fresh crisp salad with boiled new potatoes and lightly fried rainbow trout. "That sounds wonderful. I'll just pick a few leaves of lettuce. No point having a whole head wilting in the pantry."
"Good thinkin' lad." Ham pulled two trugs from the bottom of his barrow and handed one to his new assistant. "You gather lettuce and pull onions while I collect tomatoes and cucumber. Don't forget to pull the onions from the base or you'll get no bulb."
Frodo grinned at Ham's slip into the more familiar,'lad'. It was nice to be treated like family, bringing back happy memories of his parents, now long gone. His parent's smial had not been near as grand as Bag End and when Frodo was Sam Gamgee's age he helped his father in the garden much as he was doing now. It felt comfortable . . . apart from the sun which was far too hot on the back of his neck. He never thought to tie a hanky around it for offering to help had been a spur of the moment decision.
It was the work of only minutes to collect the salad items and Frodo carried them indoors to the pantry while Ham Gamgee popped home for an extra garden fork.
"Have you dug taters afore, Master Frodo?" In the short period away Mr Gamgee had apparently remembered that he was addressing his employer's heir and not one of his own.
Frodo felt the loss. "I am afraid I haven't. But I am willing to learn," he replied as he accepted Ham's best garden fork with a silent prayer that he would not break it.
Ham was sceptical but decided to let the lad have a go. There was a whole row to dig so any help was welcome. "Right, then. You start that end. The soil's light so it should be easy goin'. Push in about a foot away from the plant and deep as you can, then just lever the handle like this." Ham demonstrated and the first plant heeled over obligingly, revealing a network of roots with potatoes on the ends. "Check in the hole and just pull em' all out and leave 'em in the sun." He watched as Frodo tried the next and nodded approval when he managed it well enough. He would pick up speed with practice and it seemed there were some muscles in that too-sleek body after all.
Frodo would like to have said that he dug half the row, but in truth Mr Gamgee met him only one third of the way along. Frodo was developing blisters on his palms and his right hand even seemed to be going numb. He smiled ruefully as he recalled Uncle Saradoc's round tones. "Too long with your head in a book, Frodo."
He paused to straighten his back and Ham noticed, recognising all too well the stiffness of one not used to hard labour. "Come and have a drink of water, Master Frodo. We'll sit for a few minutes afore collectin' all them taters."
Ham wound up a bucket of water while Frodo collected a couple of mugs from the kitchen and the two perched companionably upon the edge of the well to slake their thirst. Frodo took a good swallow of water and frowned. It had a slightly sour taste although Ham did not seem to notice. Maybe he had not washed the cup properly this morning. He threw out the water and refilled his mug.
"Tis a good crop," Ham observed. "A wet spring to get things goin' and then a nice warm summer. If the weather holds there'll be a fine wheat and barley harvest."
Frodo took another sip and decided he still did not like the taste. "At Brandy Hall all the youngsters helped with harvest. We tied the sheaves and the little ones gleaned the fields after us. I even got to use a scythe the last year I was there." He shifted a little to sit with his back to the overly bright sun.
Ham gained a new respect for the slender youth. "Did you now? Harvest is hard work to be sure. Me and mine have always helped Farmer Cotton and his lads at harvest time." He nudged Frodo and grinned. "Mrs Cotton sets a good table."
"Do you think she could feed one more?" Frodo asked as he stretched his neck. He was beginning to feel a headache coming on and put it down to unaccustomed exercise and not enough to drink.
"Certain she can. Why, even Mr Bilbo's been known to help out some years. Half Hobbiton turns out and most brings extra food. Then there's Harvest Reel afterwards. Now there's a party and a half." Ham grinned and set down his empty cup. "Come on, Master Frodo. Tis the job soonest started that's soonest finished. Let's get these taters bagged and the greenery to the compost."
Frodo set his own half-drunk mug aside, accepted a trug as Ham took the sack to his end of the row and began to throw in the now dry potatoes. Frodo went to the other end. His back protested immediately. By a quarter of the way his head felt as though it would burst and he began to get the familiar dreaded stabbing pains and blurred vision. He finally sank to his knees with a whimper.
Ham called, "What is it, Master Frodo? Are you sick?"
Frodo lifted a head that felt twice its usual weight. "Headache. Sorry," was all he could manage between clenched teeth.
Ham ran to his young master. "You ninnyhammer, Hamfast Gamgee. This is your fault. Gentlehobbits aint made for diggin' taters. I'll catch it hot from Mister Bilbo later." He wrapped an arm about Frodo's shoulders. "Can you walk, sir? You'll feel better lyin' down inside I'm thinkin'."
Struggling to his feet Frodo only bent forward to heave up the contents of his stomach. It was fortunate lunch had been forgotten and most of what brought up was water. "Sorry, Mr . . . " Ham caught him as he fainted.
oOo
Frodo was lying flat and something cool was dabbing at his face, at least the half of it he could feel. He wished it would go away because the side of his head that could feel anything was feeling everything. A large, very sharp spike was being rammed repeatedly into the side of his skull and he lifted a hand to swipe it away.
"You'd best stop that, Sam. Let me in now." That was Bell Gamgee's voice, pitched soft and low. "Can you hear me Master Frodo?"
Frodo swallowed before whispering, "Yes."
"Good lad. Is this one of those headaches Mr Bilbo said to watch for?"
"Yes."
"Well, now at least we know what we're dealin' with. Sam lad, go fetch me the little brown bottle from the kitchen table, the one Mr Bilbo left us."
"Yes, Ma."
Frodo tried not to wince when he felt the vibration of every step as Bell's little faunt ran into the kitchen and back again.
"Now Sam. I think Mr Bilbo said it was five drops. Aye. Here it is on the side. Tis well it's in numbers 'cause I don't have any letters and yours ain't good enough yet."
Frodo wished they'd just stop talking and give him the drops. Then he could sleep off this beastly headache. He bit back a cry when Bell lifted the pillow.
"Here, lad. Just you drink this down. Mr Bilbo says you've had it afore."
He swallowed, concentrating upon keeping the medicine down as his head was lowered once more.
"Should we move him to his bed, Bell?" Frodo recognised Ham's voice.
"No, love. Let him sleep. He's comfortable enough on the couch and movin' could make him sick again." Bell's voice was close by and a gentle hand took his, stroking the back in a soothing rhythm. Frodo was vaguely aware of the room emptying until there was only the soft stroking of Bell's thumb on his hand and the clock ticking. Somewhere between one tick and the next he slipped into merciful sleep.
oOo
Two days later Frodo knocked at the door to number three Bagshot Row. It was little Sam who admitted him to the Gamgee's kitchen. Bell was cutting slices off a large brown loaf and her eldest daughter, Daisy, was buttering them.
"Why Master Frodo! Tis good to see you with some colour again. Are you feelin' better?" asked Bell with a shining smile.
"Much better, thanks to you and your family. I am so sorry that I frightened you all. I'm afraid that with all the excitement of being left on my own in Bag End I forgot to take my tea that morning." He held out a cloth covered plate triumphantly. "I've baked you a cake to thank you."
Bell wiped her hands on her apron before lifting the cloth to reveal a large and very respectable looking seed cake. "Well now, you didn't need to do that but I thank you very kindly. That will be very nice after supper and plenty for all. I couldn't have baked better myself."
Frodo took that as high praise. All Hobbiton and its surroundings knew that Bell Gamgee baked prize winning pies and cakes. "Bilbo is teaching me. I'm afraid I was not very interested in cookery when I lived at Brandy Hall."
Bell decided to keep to herself her opinions of those who lived 'down over'. "Will you stay to supper? There's plenty. Tis salad with a nice bit of ham on the side."
"No thank you, Mistress Gamgee. Bilbo arrived home a little while ago. I hope you don't mind."
"Bless you, no. There'll be family news to catch up on I've no doubt." Bell shooed him good naturedly out of the door, slipping the little brown bottle into his hand and bending to whisper, "I'll not tell your uncle about the slip if you don't."
Frodo leaned in impulsively to give her a hug. "Thank you, Mistress Gamgee."
