CHAPTER 9

As the dawn chorus got in to full swing Frodo awoke again. At his bedside, Bilbo had been listening to the breathing becoming more and more laboured and knew it would not be long before the difficulty in catching his breath forced him awake once more. He had not been able to take enough of the nettle tea to have much effect and the older hobbit had not the heart to press another dose upon him.

Bilbo held him while Frodo coughed dryly; rubbing gentle, soothing, circles on his nephew's damp back. He would need to change and bathe him again. When the cough had subsided, Bilbo laid the tweenager back amongst the pillows and smoothed sweat soaked tendrils of hair off his brow.

"Let's try a little tea, Frodo." At his nephew's alarmed expression he added, "It's camomile, with a little honey." The tweenager nodded, in relief, and managed to drink all of the tea. He was desperately thirsty.

"Good, lad. You just rest for a moment and I'll go and fetch something to help with that breathing." With a pat on Frodo's wrist he left.

-0-

Frodo lay still, trying to subdue the strong urge to cough once more. The warm camomile tea had gone some way to easing the dry tickle in his throat but it was threatening to return and the thought of undergoing another coughing fit was terrifying. Somewhere on the bedside table was the small bag of pastilles. Perhaps one of those would help.

With infinite slowness the tweenager levered himself upward, so that he could reach the brown paper bag upon the table. The alteration in his position brought to light a new symptom, however. It seemed to Frodo that, just for a moment, his mind slipped away from his body and when he was next aware he was slumped over the edge of the bed. He blinked, his eyes coming confusedly into focus on the brightly coloured rug at his bedside.

"Frodo! What happened?" Bilbo's strong hands lifted his shoulders, laying him back and smoothing the wayward hair off his forehead once more. "What were you trying to do?" His uncle sounded very concerned.

"Wanted a pastille…….Think I fainted…...Not sure." The room seemed to be rocking from side to side and kept slipping in and out of focus. He tried closing his eyes but the rocking grew worse so he concentrated on trying to focus on Bilbo's face and lying as still as possible. Slowly, the movement ceased.

-0-

Noting that Frodo's eyes were beginning to focus again, Bilbo sighed in relief. "Do you still want that pastille?"

"Yes, please."

Bilbo slipped one of the soothing sweets into his nephew's mouth. "There, now. Let's see if we can't do something to help clear that breathing."

Frodo watched detachedly, as his uncle began to methodically clear the low bedside table and then set a folded towel upon it and a large bowl upon that. He turned to the hearth, where he had hurriedly set down his tray when he had entered the room. Bringing three small paper sachets, he broke their seals and poured the contents into the bowl. A student of nature, Frodo recognised the dried flowers of lime, along with camomile and peppermint. From the hearth, his uncle brought a kettle of hot water and filled the bowl. A fragrant steam filled the room.

"If I hold you, do you think you could put your head over the bowl? The steam will help to clear your chest."

"I'm not sure, Bilbo. I feel so odd when I try to move." He was sure that if he tried to sit up again the room would start moving.

"I know, lad. I just thought it would be better than the nettle tea." It was almost blackmail and Bilbo hated himself for it, but he had to do something to ease his nephew's breathing

"If you hold me, I'll try, Bilbo," came the small voice, hoarse with coughing.

It took several minutes to get Frodo arranged so that he could lean over the bowl. In the end, Bilbo sat on the edge of the bed with Frodo leaning against his shoulder and the older hobbit supporting his forehead over the fragrant steam. He draped a towel over Frodo's head and the bowl, tenting in the vapour. For some time they sat thus, Bilbo, several times, tensing and supporting his nephew when he felt him sag with dizziness. When he felt the water had grown too cool, Bilbo lifted the towel and settled Frodo back against his pillows, patting his face gently with the corner of a towel.

The tweenager was completely limp and spent, his eyes closed, with silent tears slipping down his face. As the pinkness caused by the steam subsided Bilbo could see that his nephew's face was ashen, but for the tell tale spots of colour on his cheeks; evidence, if there were need of any, that the fever still burned strongly.

Bilbo picked up the bowl and headed for the kitchen. Sam or the Gaffer would be arriving for work soon. Bilbo watched the window intently as he emptied the bowl and then set too, filling the copper with water to wash the sheets. Sure enough, half an hour later, young Sam arrived to tie up the runner beans in the vegetable plot.

Bilbo called him over and asked him to get his Gaffer to fetch the doctor. Bilbo knew that it may be several hours before help came, though, and was afraid that with the speed this illness was progressing, a few hours may be too long. He realised that Frodo was at least, suffering from influenza, but had also managed to half convince himself that it could be something much more serious; some strange and rare, possibly lethal, childhood disease.

At about lunch time, just as Bilbo was thinking of bathing and changing his patient again, there was a knock at the door. Abandoning the kettle, he almost ran to open it, hoping it was the doctor, but it was Bel Gamgee, who stood, waiting.

"Sam came with your message, Mr Bilbo, and Gaffer went to fetch Dr Bolger but the Doctor's missus said that he had gone out on his rounds already so it may be some time before he gets here. I've set Daisy to look after my lot and come round as fast as I could to see if I can help." She surveyed his steam damp hair and disarrayed clothing. "If you don't mind me sayin' so, you look a mite frazzled, sir."

Bilbo laughed, with relief. "I'm not surprised, Bel. I am a mite frazzled, as you put it. Please, come in. Your help is gratefully accepted." He took her shawl and set in on the bench by the door. "I was just about to change the bedding. I'm not sure whether Frodo will want a lady present, though."

Bell smiled, "If he's as sick as you make out I don't think he'll care, anyway my Halfred and Hamson are of his age and I've looked after them often enough. The job will be easier with two of us."

Bilbo acquiesced and led her down the hall, to Frodo's room. The young hobbit's eyes opened slowly and focussed on the new face with difficulty. "Mrs Gamgee?"

"That's right, Frodo. Mrs Gamgee has come along to help. We're going to get you out of that damp shirt and change the sheets so that you're comfortable again. Is that alright?" Bilbo hoped that his nephew wasn't going to be stubborn and was relieved when Frodo just nodded and closed his eyes again.

Bel smiled, brightly. "Well then, that's settled. I'll bring some fresh water,"

The two busied themselves with the task of changing and bathing Frodo once more and arranging him in dry linen. Throughout it all, Frodo lay, unprotesting, even when Bel sponged him down; unable to summon the energy to help or hinder. Once done, Bilbo drew a chair up to the bedside and Bel sat in the chair by the fire, darning socks from the mending basket she had brought with her. She had seen enough of such illnesses to know that there was a lot of waiting involved.

Bel smiled as she recalled the first time her eldest, Hamson, had been ill. He had been but a year old and contracted a summer cold, which had given her two sleepless nights. Those nights were two of the longest in her life; walking up and down the parlour, trying to comfort a wailing child, who simply could not understand that he would feel better in a few hours and only knew that he hurt now. By two o'clock in the morning on the second night, Bel had convinced herself that Hamson was going to die and insisted that Gaffer send for the doctor. The doctor had been very kind but she had felt so silly when he announced that it was only a cold.

As before, all through the afternoon, after only a couple of hours sleep, Frodo was awakened by violent coughing. This time, however, it was not as dry and Bilbo held a hanky to his mouth and gave him a little water afterwards. When he had the tweenager settled quietly again, Bilbo added a few drops of peppermint oil to a bowl of water and wrung out a cloth to bathe Frodo's pale face.

"Well, Bel Gamgee, you are a ninny hammer! Is that peppermint oil, Mr Bilbo?"

Surprised at Bel's outburst, Bilbo drew back. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

Bel began rummaging in her work basket. "Because I packed in such a hurry I forgot that I'd brought my oil burner." She waved the small pot, triumphantly. "If you can just get me a small stump of candle, I'll put some water in here with a few drops of oil and we'll set it by his bed. It will ease the poor little mite's breathing."

Bilbo shook his head. "Bel, you're a marvel."

And so it was that, two hours later, Dr Bolger entered to the pleasant smell of peppermint oil.

Bel left the room to make the doctor a cup of tea, while he examined Frodo.