Dimly Frodo recalled Bilbo padding into his room during the night and checking his temperature before tucking the blankets more securely about him and stealing back out. After that Frodo had slept fitfully, finding it hard to get comfortable. By the time sunlight filtered into his room the next morning his bedclothes were twisted and drooping on the floor.
Groaning at how miserable he felt, the hobbit opened his eyes slowly---yes, his injured eye was apparently quite swollen by the feel of it. Hopefully Lotho was feeling the same. Somehow, however, Frodo doubted it. Bullies never seemed to feel pain. Or perhaps they just hid it well.
He sat up gingerly, surprised at how weary and achy he felt---the blow to the head must have affected him more than he realized. On top of that, his throat hurt abominably. Should he get up or lay back down? Best to get up---he'd had enough of tossing and turning. Craning his neck, Frodo managed to view himself in his looking glass and nearly jumped at his own appearance. He seemed paler than normal, his bangs sticking up like a haystack, and the side of his face was purpled and swollen. No, Freesia definitely wouldn't look twice at him now---not that she would anyway, he considered---he wasn't hearty and hale like most of the hobbit boys who circled around her like flies to honey.
His distressed reverie was broken when the doorbell rang. It had to be Lobelia, ready to give Bilbo and himself a "proper" dressing down. That was a reason to stay put in his room. Easing himself off the bed, Frodo stole shakily to the door and opened it a crack, listening. Soon enough he heard Bilbo's voice.
"I know what you're here for, Lobelia, and you might as well turn right back around now. You know Lotho threw the first punch. A simple argument over a lass---boys will be boys, you know---"
"Ha! My Lotho has a broken tooth. And if that Brandybuck of yours has brought that horrible palsy back from that hotbed of infection called Brandy Hall and my boy comes down with it I'm telling you I'll---"
At once Bilbo quieted and became serious. "What in Middle-earth are you talking about? What's this about a palsy and Brandy Hall?"
Lobelia's eyebrows rose haughtily as she anticipated delivering bad news Bilbo was not yet privy to. Which wasn't unusual--Lobelia was always in the thick of any gossip. "Well, I can't believe you haven't heard, Bilbo Baggins. Apparently those Brandybucks have been traipsing all over creation and brought the Bree palsy to our Shire. And your orphan has just come back from there to infect everybody."
Listening at the door, Frodo shivered and swallowed hard. Bree palsy. One of the most dreaded of diseases, it was not endemic to the Shire but struck hobbits of all ages with a vicious intensity every few years or so, usually after travelers from Brandy Hall brought it back unwittingly from Bree. Most cases were mild, but a very few left young hobbits crippled for weeks or even for life. Rarely, a victim was unable to draw breath and suffocated---a terrible thing to watch.
Apparently Bilbo was surprised as well from the sound of his voice. "The Bree palsy? Lobelia, if this is one of your gross exaggerations---"
"Quite the contrary. You'll be hearing about it soon enough, I suspect. Now see to it that your Brandybuck stays away from my Lotho!"
Frodo jumped as he heard the door slam and, still wearing his nightshirt, crept down the hall until he found Bilbo, raising wide blue eyes to meet his uncle's. "Bilbo . . . do you think Merry is all right?"
The older hobbit started at Frodo's appearance. The boy was pale and his cheeks were slightly flushed in addition to his badly bruised face. And he'd not had much of an appetite, which did not bode well . . . . But immediately the older hobbit put such negative thoughts aside and adopted a cheerful countenance for his nephew's sake.
"I'm sure Merry is fine, my boy---Esmeralda will send us word soon. My, you're sporting quite a shiner, aren't you?" Bilbo laid a hand on Frodo's brow, frowning. "I suppose you heard everything Lobelia said
then? Pay no attention to that woman. And we don't even know if she's correct about the palsy. It could be anything."
Neither said what the other was surely thinking---that if Lobelia was indeed correct, Frodo could have been exposed. But the illness came in many mild forms, which seemed to give protection against the more virulent. Perhaps Frodo was immune, Bilbo thought to himself, seeking that ray of hope.
"You've a bit of a fever, lad. How are you feeling?"
"I'm all right," the younger hobbit responded, typically downplaying his symptoms. "Just tired. Really, Bilbo, my head is only hurting a bit from the blow. I'm not sick with the . . . Bree palsy."
"I know you aren't, but I think you may be coming down with a simple summer cold. And growing up in Brandy Hall you probably had a mild bout of the palsy and can't catch it again anyway. So let's not fret
about it, shall we? Now why don't you go lie back down and sleep a bit longer? I'll bring you some tea and a compress for that eye and can make you a bit of breakfast if you like."
At the mention of food Frodo's face paled. This morning his stomach was churning a bit and even the thought of eggs and bacon---he shuddered---made him want to throw up. "No thank you---perhaps I'll
wander outside and get some fresh air."
"Frodo . . . I think that you should stay indoors."
"But . . ."
"Humor an old hobbit, will you? You don't need to be catching pneumonia or worse out in the open air with that fever, minor as it is."
"All right."
"Good. Now, if you don't want to go back to bed just now, let me bundle you up here in the chair by the fireplace and make you some hot tea. I think I've some tansy and sarsaparilla in the cabinet . . ."
To be continued
Groaning at how miserable he felt, the hobbit opened his eyes slowly---yes, his injured eye was apparently quite swollen by the feel of it. Hopefully Lotho was feeling the same. Somehow, however, Frodo doubted it. Bullies never seemed to feel pain. Or perhaps they just hid it well.
He sat up gingerly, surprised at how weary and achy he felt---the blow to the head must have affected him more than he realized. On top of that, his throat hurt abominably. Should he get up or lay back down? Best to get up---he'd had enough of tossing and turning. Craning his neck, Frodo managed to view himself in his looking glass and nearly jumped at his own appearance. He seemed paler than normal, his bangs sticking up like a haystack, and the side of his face was purpled and swollen. No, Freesia definitely wouldn't look twice at him now---not that she would anyway, he considered---he wasn't hearty and hale like most of the hobbit boys who circled around her like flies to honey.
His distressed reverie was broken when the doorbell rang. It had to be Lobelia, ready to give Bilbo and himself a "proper" dressing down. That was a reason to stay put in his room. Easing himself off the bed, Frodo stole shakily to the door and opened it a crack, listening. Soon enough he heard Bilbo's voice.
"I know what you're here for, Lobelia, and you might as well turn right back around now. You know Lotho threw the first punch. A simple argument over a lass---boys will be boys, you know---"
"Ha! My Lotho has a broken tooth. And if that Brandybuck of yours has brought that horrible palsy back from that hotbed of infection called Brandy Hall and my boy comes down with it I'm telling you I'll---"
At once Bilbo quieted and became serious. "What in Middle-earth are you talking about? What's this about a palsy and Brandy Hall?"
Lobelia's eyebrows rose haughtily as she anticipated delivering bad news Bilbo was not yet privy to. Which wasn't unusual--Lobelia was always in the thick of any gossip. "Well, I can't believe you haven't heard, Bilbo Baggins. Apparently those Brandybucks have been traipsing all over creation and brought the Bree palsy to our Shire. And your orphan has just come back from there to infect everybody."
Listening at the door, Frodo shivered and swallowed hard. Bree palsy. One of the most dreaded of diseases, it was not endemic to the Shire but struck hobbits of all ages with a vicious intensity every few years or so, usually after travelers from Brandy Hall brought it back unwittingly from Bree. Most cases were mild, but a very few left young hobbits crippled for weeks or even for life. Rarely, a victim was unable to draw breath and suffocated---a terrible thing to watch.
Apparently Bilbo was surprised as well from the sound of his voice. "The Bree palsy? Lobelia, if this is one of your gross exaggerations---"
"Quite the contrary. You'll be hearing about it soon enough, I suspect. Now see to it that your Brandybuck stays away from my Lotho!"
Frodo jumped as he heard the door slam and, still wearing his nightshirt, crept down the hall until he found Bilbo, raising wide blue eyes to meet his uncle's. "Bilbo . . . do you think Merry is all right?"
The older hobbit started at Frodo's appearance. The boy was pale and his cheeks were slightly flushed in addition to his badly bruised face. And he'd not had much of an appetite, which did not bode well . . . . But immediately the older hobbit put such negative thoughts aside and adopted a cheerful countenance for his nephew's sake.
"I'm sure Merry is fine, my boy---Esmeralda will send us word soon. My, you're sporting quite a shiner, aren't you?" Bilbo laid a hand on Frodo's brow, frowning. "I suppose you heard everything Lobelia said
then? Pay no attention to that woman. And we don't even know if she's correct about the palsy. It could be anything."
Neither said what the other was surely thinking---that if Lobelia was indeed correct, Frodo could have been exposed. But the illness came in many mild forms, which seemed to give protection against the more virulent. Perhaps Frodo was immune, Bilbo thought to himself, seeking that ray of hope.
"You've a bit of a fever, lad. How are you feeling?"
"I'm all right," the younger hobbit responded, typically downplaying his symptoms. "Just tired. Really, Bilbo, my head is only hurting a bit from the blow. I'm not sick with the . . . Bree palsy."
"I know you aren't, but I think you may be coming down with a simple summer cold. And growing up in Brandy Hall you probably had a mild bout of the palsy and can't catch it again anyway. So let's not fret
about it, shall we? Now why don't you go lie back down and sleep a bit longer? I'll bring you some tea and a compress for that eye and can make you a bit of breakfast if you like."
At the mention of food Frodo's face paled. This morning his stomach was churning a bit and even the thought of eggs and bacon---he shuddered---made him want to throw up. "No thank you---perhaps I'll
wander outside and get some fresh air."
"Frodo . . . I think that you should stay indoors."
"But . . ."
"Humor an old hobbit, will you? You don't need to be catching pneumonia or worse out in the open air with that fever, minor as it is."
"All right."
"Good. Now, if you don't want to go back to bed just now, let me bundle you up here in the chair by the fireplace and make you some hot tea. I think I've some tansy and sarsaparilla in the cabinet . . ."
To be continued