CHAPTER 3

To Frodo, it seemed that the remainder of the year passed far too quickly. Before he knew what he was about, Yule was knocking at the door, bringing Bell Gamgee with it. A week before the event he opened Bag End's front door, to a gust of wind-driven rain and a bundled up Bell. "Come in Mistress Bell. Whatever brings you out in this weather? Let me take your cloak."

Bell allowed him to relieve her of it willingly, revealing a large covered bowl in her arms. "I've been makin' soup and thought ye'd like some. Tis only root vegetables but it warms the belly, specially with a few dumplin's." She rummaged in her capacious apron pocket to produce a small package, which she offered with the word, "Suet".

Frodo accepted both willingly. "If it's your soup it will be wonderful. Please come through to the kitchen. I was just about to make myself a cup of tea and I believe I have a couple of sausage rolls left.

"Thank ye, kindly, Mister Frodo. I'll say thank ye to the tea but not the roll. My tummy has been a bit off, lately. I've left Marigold ironing yer shirts by-the-by. She'll be fetchin' 'em after supper."

"It's good of you to do those jobs for me. I'm afraid my ironing skills stop at the odd collar and cuff." Frodo took down a cloth from the mantle and carried the kettle to the sink. There he added hot water to the teapot, swilled it once and brought both to the table. Bell added three spoonfuls of tea to the pot, stirring while Frodo had added the hot water.

The kitchen was warm, so Bell unwrapped her shawl before sitting down at the table. Frodo frowned, for it seemed to him that Bell Gamgee had lost a little weight. The family was surely not struggling for money. Frodo had more than matched Bilbo's hourly rate of pay for Sam and, even with Hamfast cutting back on his gardening work, the small family of four should manage well enough. "Has your stomach been bothering you a lot?" he asked as he placed mugs and a jug of milk before Bell.

Bell shrugged, adding milk to both mugs. "It comes and goes. Tis always worse after fried food so I don't eat that. Sometimes it just hurts for no reason. Tis probably age."

Frodo poured tea into the mugs and pushed the honey toward his guest. "Have you seen the doctor?"

"Tis nothin'. It'll pass. Such things always do."

Settling in a chair opposite, Frodo laid a hand upon Bell's work-scarred one. "You know that if you can't afford the doctor I'll pay, don't you? You're like family to me."

Bell withdrew her hand, waving away his offer. "Don't ye go worritin' now. Tis just age, is all." She gave a deprecating laugh. "I'm no spring chicken ye know! Anyhow, there's a reason I've called."

Frodo let the matter lie. "And what is so important to bring you out on a filthy afternoon like this? Not that I'm unhappy about the soup, but I suspect you know that I won't starve without it."

"Well, 'twill be Yule in two weeks. What have ye planned? Will ye be visitin' family in Buckland or Tuckborough? Only, if yer plannin' to be away, me and Ham will have to set off the Yule light."

Frodo coloured. "Goodness. I had not even considered that. I am sorry. You would need to make plans of course. How selfish of me not to tell you mine."

"No need to worrit, Mr Frodo. Tis yer first time without yer uncle and tis bound to feel a mite strange. I didn't mean to make ye feel bad."

"Thank you. I have no plans, if I'm honest. I was going to join everyone in the field for the celebrations. I'll be here to start the light at least, so you don't have to worry about that and I shall cook myself a dinner here."

"Will ye be havin' guests?" Bell asked, evidencing some concern.

"No." Suddenly, saying it out loud brought home to him how quiet his Yule meal would be. He had never been alone at the Yule table. Even on those years when Bilbo and he celebrated alone, there had always been an easy companionship between them that did not need others. He took a deep draught of his tea as his throat threatened to constrict.

Bell's eyes narrowed. "I thought so. That settles it, then. Ye'll be joinin' me and mine fer the Yule dinner. I've already spoken with Hamfast. Daisy and Bartimus will be comin' so one more is easily served."

Frodo's mouth dropped open. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose."

Bell laughed, rocking back in her chair. "Bless ye, Mister Frodo. Ye've said it yerself, many a time. We're as good as family, so there'll be no talk of imposing. In truth, we'll be put out if ye say no. I, for one, could not settle to eat, thinkin' of ye up here, all alone at the turnin' of the year."

Now Frodo grinned. "I certainly wouldn't want to offend the entire Gamgee clan."

"Indeed not, young sir. Not unless ye want to find yer next set of laundered smalls a mite chafin'." Bell winked. "My Marigold is a dab hand with the starch. I reckon she takes after her big sister."

Soon it was the eve of Yule, and for the first time in his life, Frodo Baggins knelt before the Yule log alone. Before him, on the cold hearth, were all the things he should need. There was flint and steel, a large, fat, beeswax candle, a couple of sprigs of wizened holly, and the bag containing some of the ashes and charred wood of last year's log.

He picked up the kindling bag, but could not seem to bring himself to loosen the ties. In the grate, the glossy leaves and bright red berries of the dressing on the Yule log were almost indistinguishable in the fading light of dusk. He smiled. At least the bag had been easy to find this year. Frodo had done some tidying since Bilbo left and now it was possible to traverse the hallways without bumping into a tottering pile of books, or dislodging a sheaf of papers. Of course, most of those books and papers now formed teetering heaps in one of the spare bedrooms instead, but it was a start. The new Master of Bag End was discovering that he did not have his uncle's love of disorder. He had uncovered the velvet bag of ashes stuffed behind some books in the parlour.

Frodo looked down at that bag again, his fingers still hesitating upon the drawstring. For twelve years he had knelt thus, with Bilbo at his side, and kindling the Yule flame alone seemed somehow wrong. Bag End was the highest smial in Hobbiton, and he knew the entire village waited to see the Yule light appear in the parlour window, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. It had always been Bilbo's task, as Master.

A quiet voice asked, "Mr Frodo?"

He looked up to see Bell Gamgee framed in the darkened parlour doorway. "Hello Mistress Bell." Frodo looked down at the bag in his hands and had to swallow a lump before speaking. He had thought himself beyond such grief. "Bilbo always used to do this."

"Oh, lad." Suddenly Bell's skirts pooled at his side, as she knelt upon the rug, and Frodo found himself enveloped in a motherly hug. "I wondered if that were the problem. I thought to send our Sam up the hill earlier, then forgot in all the fuss." She drew back, cupping his pale face in her hands, then bent to kiss his brow. "Of course ye miss him. He's not dead, but there must be times when it feels he's as good as." She used her thumb to tenderly brush a stealthy tear from his cheeks.

"But I'm supposed to be an adult. I should be able to cope on my own. Other people my age have married and had babies by now. And here I cannot even light the Yule log." He frowned at the offending object.

The lady smiled, softly. "There's more to being grown up than countin' birthdays. Ye're still a youngster and there's no law as says ye've got to grow up all at once." Now she fished in the pocket of her ever-present apron, and dabbed at his eyes with a clean hanky. "As I see it, tis the love that comes slow that goes deepest. Ye've lots of time to find the right lass for ye. Anyhow, until ye find out who ye are, ye can't share yerself with another. Ye'd hardly time to be a son when ye were somebody's nephew, whether it be yer Uncle Saradoc or yer Uncle Bilbo. Now tis time to find out who Frodo Baggins is. Tis the beginnin' of a new year and I can't think of a better time to start, can ye?"

Frodo drew a deep breath and essayed a watery smile. "You're right. Why are you always right about these things?"

Bell chuckled. "I'm not. Like most older folk, I've learned to hide it well when I'm not sure. Ye'll get the lay of it with time." She nudged his shoulder. "And I've raised enough of my own brood to have seen the story oft enough. Now let's get this fire lit, or Hobbiton is goin' to be stuck in the past and that won't do. Everythin' needs to move forward."

Frodo opened the little drawstring bag, scattering the ashes among the kindling beneath the log. "Will you stay to help?"

"Aye, lad. You lead this time, and I'll follow." Bell handed him the flint and steel.

Bending to the kindling, Frodo struck flint on steel and, as soon as a spark caught, blew gently to coax it into life. Pale wood shavings caught first, their edges turning first orange and then black as the tiny flames burned inward. Next came the small sticks, cracking and spitting beneath the holly bedecked log. Steam began to rise in a quiet whistle, as the last moisture was driven from the rough bark of the oak. When he was certain that the log was beginning to burn Frodo leaned back on his heels.

Bell handed him a sprig of dry holly, it's glossy leaves curled and brown, and took one for herself. "Time to say goodbye to the old year, lad."

Frodo's heart flopped queasily, for those were the precise words that Bilbo always used. For several moments both stared into the flames, then Frodo drew another deep breath and tossed his sprig into the growing flames. Bell followed suit, lifting the candle between them, and smiling reassuringly as she said, "Time to say hello to the new year, Mister Baggins."

Frodo took a spill from the pot on the hearth and kindled it from the Yule flame. As he touched flame to wick he and Bell Gamgee recited the Yule blessing together. "May we have hearth to comfort, fire to cook and candle to guide us home." Bell pushed to her feet to set the glowing light in a lantern upon the windowsill, but before she closed the glass door Frodo kindled another, smaller, candle from it. While he set this in another lantern and set a guard before the fire, Bell brought his cloak, draping it over his shoulders and fastening the button, as she had done on their very first meeting all those years ago. Frodo decided that, 'of age' as he was, he still cherished that motherly touch.

Bell went ahead to open the front door for him, as Frodo concentrated upon not dropping his precious first light. As he passed, and she closed the door behind them, Bell whispered. "Ye don't have to do it alone, lad. We're all here when ye need us."

Down the lane, the rest of the Gamgee household stood ready at the gate, with their own candles. Frodo found his smile coming more easily now. "Yuletide greetings to you, Mister Hamfast."

Hamfast glanced to his wife, whose slight nod and smile let him know that all was well with Mister Frodo. "And to you, Mister Frodo." Hamfast kindled his light from Frodo's, intoning, "May we have hearth to comfort, fire to cook and candle to guide us home," before passing it to all the others and carrying it indoors. When their own Yule log was kindled and a light set in the window of Number Three, Frodo joined the family as they stepped down the lane to Daddy Twofoot's gate. There, it was Bell who passed the light from her lantern to Alver's and in this way the Yule light was slowly spread through all of Hobbiton.

Little ribbons of light spread outward, down each lane, and then drew in again, as everyone began to converge upon the party field, where Bilbo had made his abrupt departure just a few months before. Frodo joined hands with his friends and neighbours about the huge bonfire, his voice raised in joy with theirs.

"Tis the time of endings.

Tis the time of beginnings.

Health, Hope and Happiness.

Light, Love and Laughter.

Prosperity and Peace to all!"

The next day Frodo joined the Gamgee family for a Yule feast that, although humble, was one he would remember for many years.

There followed a series of firsts for Frodo Baggins, the new master of Bag End. After his first Yule came the May Day celebration, where he joined his contemporaries circling the Pole and took his place with the Hobbiton Prancers. He won a prize for his fruit scones at the Lithe Fair and danced until he was breathless at the Harvest Reel.

Frodo's thirty-fourth birthday was smaller but no less lively than his thirty-third. Sam and Marigold Gamgee helped with the preparations, moving furniture and rolling carpets, to accommodate over twenty guests from all across the Shire. Even Bag End's many guest rooms could not accommodate them all, and some had to take rooms at the Ivy Bush. Nonetheless, Frodo organised all, and Saradoc Brandybuck was heard to remark to his lady wife that his nephew appeared to be growing into a responsible gentlehobbit, despite his Uncle Bilbo's influence. It became known as the One Hundredweight Feast at which it was said that it snowed food and rained drink. Whatever the truth of that, there were certainly a lot of very replete hobbits who staggered to their beds, well after the clock had struck midnight.

Frodo called goodnight to Bartimus and Daisy Brockbank and watched as they strolled, a little unsteadily, down the lane to Hobbiton and their own cosy little smial. Daisy paused to wave to her mother as they passed Number Three Bagshot Row, and Bell Gamgee called goodnight, before closing her door.

Frodo sat upon the bench by the garden gate and placed his wine glass upon the ground while he set flint and steel to his pipe. He had yet to develop a taste for the stronger pipeweeds, but he was fond of the milder Southern Star, and it was this that he had packed into his pipe before leaving the smial. As the leaf caught he dropped steel and flint into his pocket, surprised to hear them clink against something, and drew out the chain that he always kept attached to his belt, to gaze down at the pale gold circle in his palm. Bilbo had warned him that the ring had a disconcerting habit of changing size and that it was safest to keep it upon a chain.

Frodo had originally intended to follow Gandalf's injunction to leave the ring in its envelope, but he became worried about losing it during all the tidying done since Bilbo's departure. It would have been awful if the envelope had got mixed up with some of Bilbo's old notes and thrown on the bonfire. It was such a beautiful thing, after all.

An owl called from the ancient oak atop Bag End's green roof, breaking Frodo's reverie, and he dropped the ring back in his pocket.

In the valley below there were now few lights in cottage and smial. Hobbiton was predominantly a farming village, after all, and folks kept farming hours, rising with the cockerels and going to bed with the cows. He watched the small lantern carried by his friend, Bartimus as it bobbed down the lane and turned to cross the bridge, before disappearing behind the clump of willow trees that shaded the wooden bridge across the river Water.

Ithil hid behind a stray cloud and the surrounding stars shone brighter. Frodo could remember clearly Bilbo's soft voice murmuring, "That group which we call the Burning Briar, the elves call Otselen or Edegil, and in the high speech it is Valacirca, which means, Sickle of the Valar." So many grand names for a half a dozen twinkling points of light. Frodo wondered if Bilbo was looking at the same sky, wherever he was, and lifted his glass in salute to the stars, so clear upon this night. "Happy Birthday, Bilbo dear."