Bell Gamgee died the week before Frodo's birthday. She had helped in the birth of her first grandchild and held on until all of her family could make it home to say goodbye, but one fine late summer morning Frodo answered the door to a weeping Sam Gamgee. He had barely ushered in his friend when Sam blurted out, "Ma's gone, Mister Frodo."
Frodo's heart flopped in his chest, like a fish dragged onto the river bank on a hot summer day. "Oh Sam. Come in. Sit down." He ushered Sam into the warmth of Bag End's kitchen and sat him down at the table, setting a cup of tea in front of him before taking the next chair and draping an arm about his friend's trembling shoulders.
"Pa sent us all to bed last night. I wanted to stay but Ma said, 'No'."
"She was a proud lady. Perhaps she didn't want you to see her at such a private moment." Frodo swallowed back his own tears and offered his hanky, watching as Sam swiped tears from blotchy cheeks. "Did she go in her sleep, then?"
"Da says so. He's not sayin' much else, mind you; just sittin' there at her bedside. He won't even let our Daisy lay her out. Hamson's gone to tell Birki Bracegirdle, and he'll dig a grave next to Grandpa Holman, but Da won't let Tom Buckleby measure her for a coffin, so he's goin' to have to guess. He says he's seen our Ma enough times to know what he's doin'." Sam's hands shook as he lifted he cup to his lips.
Frodo considered the amount of weight lost by Bell in recent months. The coffin would be small. "Is all the family at Number Three?" Frodo asked. The previous week a summons had gone out to family far and wide, and so many had responded that Number Three could not accommodate them all. Hamson and his new wife were staying with Daisy and Bartimus in the village and one or two more distant relations had taken rooms at the Ivy Bush.
"They're all in the kitchen. It's awful tight and I needed to get away for a bit." Sam wiped away another flow of tears. "Am I bein' selfish?"
"No, Sam." Frodo suspected it was not the press of bodies, but of emotions, that were overwhelming his friend. So many grief-stricken people in such a small place could not be comfortable. "We all grieve in our own way and you know I'll always be here for you, or anyone else in your family. You were all there for me often enough over the years and I'm honoured that you chose Bag End as your refuge."
Sam looked aside at his friend. "I'm sorry to impose, Mister Frodo. You loved her too. I remember Ma once sayin' you were like family. I expect you miss her too."
Frodo sniffed back a tear. Now was not the time for him to let go. Sam and the rest of the Gamgee family needed practical help for the moment, even if it was just a shoulder to cry on. "I do miss her, but you can stay here for as long as you like, Sam. You will never be an imposition. Have you had any breakfast?"
"Thank you for the offer, Mister Frodo, but I don't think I could eat anythin'."
Standing, Frodo turned to the pantry. "I happen to know that Bell Gamgee would be horrified to think of her son going without at least one breakfast. I shall make you a fried egg sandwich and you will eat it, Samwise Gamgee." In his mind he could hear Bell Gamgee exhorting, 'Tis better to face trouble on a full stomach than an empty one'.
Once out of sight Frodo leaned against the pantry shelves and let his tears fall for a couple of minutes. Then he dried his eyes, blew his nose and got on with the business of caring for his friend.
Half an hour later he was walking, arm in arm with Sam, through the yellow door of Number Three. The kitchen was full of people and yet it seemed empty, without Bell Gamgee's presence. Nobody was speaking and, for the first time, Frodo felt a little out-of-place among the large clan. Still, it was proper to give his condolences.
"I am very sorry to hear about your Ma. She was like a mother to me and I shall miss her very much." The words felt too brief to describe how he would miss Bell's gentle advice, her wry humour, the arms that wrapped around him so warmly, her homely smell of baking and strong tea.
It was her eldest, Hamson, that spoke up. "Thank you, Mister Frodo. I know Ma loved you very much."
"If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know." When there was no immediate response Frodo turned to leave, then a surprisingly hesitant Daisy spoke.
"There's Da."
"I'm sure Mister Frodo don't want to get that caught up, Daisy," chided Hamson, her eldest brother.
"I'll help wherever I can, Ham, but if you'd rather be alone I understand. I don't want to intrude. I just wanted you to know that I'm here if you need me." Once more Frodo made for the door and once again he was stopped.
"I'm sorry, Frodo. Ma would rightly remind me you're as much family as any of us." Hamson offered a hand and Frodo shook it, a little self-consciously. Ham nodded toward the entrance to the bedrooms. "We've all tried, but Da won't let us move her. She's goin' to have to be moved soon. Daisy and May want to lay her out." He dropped his head. "Tis the last thing we can do for her and we want to do it right."
Frodo swallowed, his gaze drawn to the bedroom shared by Bell and Hamfast Gamgee. For all his offering, he had not expected this, and he was not sure that he was up to the challenge. It was all very well seeing the bodies of people you knew only tangentially, but Bell Gamgee was family to Frodo in all the ways that really mattered. The prospect of entering that room revived in him the uncomfortable memory of a distant river bank, and two sodden bundles in the mud.
Bell's words of not so long ago drew him back at last. He had once asked why she always knew the right thing to say and she had replied that she did not. Then she added, "I've learned to hide it well when I don't". Time for Frodo to apply one of the many lessons Bell Gamgee had taught him over the years. With a nod to Hamson, he straightened his shoulders and rounded the crowded table, to knock upon the time-smoothed planks of the bedroom door.
When there was no reply to a second knock Frodo opened the door a crack to murmur, "It's Frodo, Mister Gamgee. May I come in?"
The voice that replied was so rough with weeping that it was hardly recognisable as Hamfast Gamgee. "Aye, lad. If you must."
Must he? Frodo wanted to turn about and walk away, but when he glanced aside it was to see every face willing him on. Taking a deep breath he stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Bell Gamgee's husband sat in her old rocking chair. Not yet able to bring himself to look at the bed, Frodo laid a had upon Hamfast's shoulder. "I'm sorry Hamfast." 'Mister' seemed far too formal for the occasion.
"Aye. My Bell was fond of you. She told me not to send until she'd…until she'd gone." Hamfast's voice sounded flat, holding none of its usual robust humour.
"That sounds like Bell. She wouldn't want a fuss." Thinning his lips, Frodo steeled himself to look. He hardly recognised the figure in the bed. The face was drawn, where illness had melted away round cheeks, the skin waxy and yellow, and the eyes closed and sunken. This was not Bell Gamgee.
It wasn't just the physical changes that had been wrought by months of illness. It was the spark that was Bell Gamgee that was missing. Had the body shown no outward change he would still not have recognised Bell in the figure. Bell was gone, leaving only a husk and, somehow, that knowledge, gave Frodo the strength he needed.
"Daisy and May want to lay her out. It's one last thing that they can do to show their love for their mother. Will you let them come in?"
Hamfast shook his head and now his voice rose in panic. "I can't. I can't put my Bell in the ground. It's not right! She should have been here to see all her lasses wed and our Sam settled."
Frodo knelt at Ham's side, placing a hand upon his where it lay, curled like an autumn leaf, in his lap. "No. It's not. But you won't be putting Bell in the ground. Bell has already gone somewhere else. This is just her body." He squeezed that hand gently. "The Bell we know is still here. She's in you, and in all of your children in the next room. She's in me and the many other folk she's touched with her love over the years. You can't bury that. We'll carry her with us always and she'll see all those events through our hearts."
For some moments Frodo wondered if Hamfast had heard him, or, if he had, whether he understood what Frodo was trying to say. Then Ham took a deep breath and met Frodo's eyes. "That's just the kind of thing my Bell would say."
Frodo gave a faint smile. "I'd like to hope so. Shall I fetch the girls, then?"
"Aye. And there's other things to arrange I suppose."
And so it was that Bell Gamgee was laid out by her two eldest daughters that morning. There would be no simple shroud for Bell. Frodo and several others in Hobbiton made sure that she had a coffin of fine but simply dressed oak, with a wake held at the Ivy Bush. Nearly everyone from Hobbiton and many from the villages around about attended. Even the Sandyman family were not turned away by Bordon Brewer on this occasion.
Frodo had no doubt that Bell would have called it too much fuss, but it was what everyone else needed to start the healing process.
On the evening after the wake Frodo sat in Bag End's kitchen and poured himself a cup of tea. The pot was brewed half an hour ago and, although the cosy had kept it warm, it was now rather strong. About to tip it out and brew another pot, he sat down instead, cradling the mug as he stared into the dark and cloudy brew.
He preferred his tea brighter, but Bell Gamgee had always served a brew that Bilbo used to say would strip paint. He could hear Bilbo's good-natured grumbling and Bell's answering snort.
The two people who had been his teachers and support throughout the tumultuous tweenage years were now both gone. He liked to think that Bilbo was still out there, somewhere, having some grand adventure and Bell… where was she, he wondered? Was there another life beyond this? He liked to think there was. Was Bell having her own adventure?
No. Not Bell Gamgee. Adventures were not for her. She would be sitting in a kitchen somewhere, dispensing tea, comfort and advice. It gave Frodo little comfort to think of her being the rock of some other orphan tween, wherever she was. He wanted her here. In his efforts to ensure that he was there for everyone else, Frodo had set aside his own pain and now it bubbled to the surface like porridge left to boil. That's when he realised that grief was a very selfish emotion, and that he didn't care that it was, because he hurt, damn it!