Author's Note: For anyone who was confused, the main
action of this story is set in a later time than the first chapter. The first
chapter is set four days after Bell first comes to take care of Frodo. The
second chapter takes you back to that first day that Bell visited Bag End.
This chapter contains some medical unpleasantness. Once
again, none of the treatments described in this story are meant to be any kind
of medical recommendation. We have penicillin for this sort of thing now!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Frodo had
improved slightly by morning; he was awake and alert, at least, but his
breathing and cough were no better, nor was his appetite. Bell made him tea and
toast for breakfast; he drank the tea, but he tore the toast into bits with
anxious fingers, and ate only the smaller pieces.
The physician came just after breakfast. He looked in Frodo's eyes, and down
Frodo's throat; he knocked on his back and listened to him breathe, he knocked
on his chest and listened to him breathe again; he examined the thick clots of
phlegm that Frodo coughed up at his request.
It was considered impolite to discuss a diagnosis in front of the patient, so
the physician took Bell by the arm and steered her out of the room, as Frodo
followed them with his eyes.
"The lad has pneumonia, and he's probably had it for a while without knowing
it."
Bell had expected this diagnosis, although she had hoped she was wrong. Her
stomach turned when she heard the word, for she knew how little could be done.
"Yesterday, he said he'd been sick for four days already."
"Aye, and I suspect he wasn't telling Mr. Bilbo how sick he was. It's a good
thing Mr. Bilbo didn't take the boy off tramping with him…being out in the cold
and wet with his lungs like this would have been the death of him."
"He's looking very poorly," Bell said.
The physician nodded. "If he's only been sick for four days, or five now, he's
declined faster than he ought. But he's young, and in good health otherwise."
He patted Bell on the shoulder. "He'll pull through. I'll bring some ointment
over this afternoon…you should rub it on his back and chest three times a day
to help him breathe, more if he needs it. Have him sit over boiling water with
a towel on his head…that'll help clear the phlegm out of his chest. Don't give
him anything to stop the cough. He needs to bring up that nasty business in his
lungs. Do you still have the cups I gave you when May had scarlet fever last
year?"
"Yes, they're at home."
"If his fever goes up this afternoon, do a cupping on him, just about half a
dozen to start. That should bring it down. You can sponge him off with cool
water if his fever goes high, but make sure the room is warm before you do it,
so he won't catch a chill. Keep enough liquids in him so the fever doesn't dry
him out, and give him light things to eat…broth, apple sauce, toast." The
physician smiled reassuringly. "There's not much you can't handle, Mrs. Gamgee.
I know he's in good hands."
Bell thanked the physician and walked him to the door. "I'll come back this
afternoon with that ointment, and I'll stop by tomorrow morning to check on the
boy. He might be feeling a bit better by then."
Bell returned to Frodo's room. He looked at her anxiously, his blue eyes wide
and fever-bright in his pale face.
"What does he say it is?" Frodo asked.
"It's pneumonia, Frodo."
Frodo considered this for a moment. "Am I going to be all right?"
Bell smiled. "Of course you are! You just need to stay in bed and rest for a
while."
"When will I feel better?" he asked, then added, "I feel much better than I did
last night."
"Most folk who are sick like you are feel a bit better in the mornings," Bell
said, and reached behind Frodo to straighten his pillows. "Something about the
morning air, I suppose. But you've got a little ways to go. We'll have to bring
that fever down, and clear your lungs up." Bell patted Frodo on the arm and
smiled at him. "Don't worry, Frodo. We'll take good care of you."
Frodo smiled back at her faintly. "I'm almost glad Bilbo isn't here," he said.
"I'm sure he would think it was something he had done, or didn't do, or that
the air on this side of the river isn't good for me or some nonsense."
Bell had to smile at the image that came to her mind of Bilbo as a nervous
father. She had to admit, it was admirable for the old bachelor to take on such
a responsibility, after so many years of looking only after himself, although
Bell suspected he still didn't know quite what he had gotten himself into.
"Now that you mention Mr. Bilbo, Frodo, I was thinking of asking the Gaffer to
run up and fetch him. I think he'd want to be with you…I think t'would be good
for you too."
Frodo shook his head. "Up to the North Farthing? I wouldn't send the poor
Gaffer all the way up there on my account. Bilbo will be home by Sunday, unless
he's delayed somehow…that's just five days from now. I'll probably be hale and
hearty by then."
"All right, Frodo. But do let me know if you change your mind. 'Tis no
trouble."
"I will."
"Why don't you try to get some sleep now? You were up half the night with that
cough."
"And you were, too," Frodo said with a smile.
"But I'm not the patient. You need your rest more than I do."
"All right, Mrs. Gamgee."
Bell drew the curtains halfway so the light would not disturb Frodo, and stoked
the fire. Before she left, she laid her hand on the boy's forehead. He was
still far warmer than he should be, and she hoped the fever would come down
soon. There was nothing worse than fever to wear out a body.
Bell ran a comforting hand through the boy's dark hair, and a smile crossed his
face.
"Thank you, Mrs. Gamgee," he said sleepily.
"You're welcome, lad," she whispered, and then left him to his rest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hamfast came in the early evening to bring a load of firewood, and found Bell
at the kitchen table, drinking a hurried cup of tea. Her face was drawn with
fatigue.
"You'd best be taking that pony up to Greenfields tomorrow," she said, as soon
as Hamfast came through the door.
"What's happened? When you stopped by for the cups this afternoon, you said the
boy was sleeping."
"Aye, and he was. But he woke up in a frightful state. Fever gone so high he
was half out of his wits. Asked me where Mr. Bilbo was, at least three times."
"Shall I fetch the physician?"
"I don't see what he can do that I can't. He'll be back tomorrow morning, at
any rate."
Hamfast ran his hand through his hair in worry. "Should I start for the North Farthing
now, do you think?"
Bell shook her head. "You won't get far in the middle of the night, with no
moon, and those clouds over the stars. But tomorrow, Ham, at first light."
"I only hope I can find Mr. Bilbo, and that he hasn't wandered off somewhere
else."
Hamfast and Bell went to Frodo's room. Only fire lit the room, for the fever
had made Frodo's eyes ache. Frodo lay against his pillows, a compress over his
eyes and forehead, breathing heavily through his mouth. His arms lay limply
over his lap.
"Gracious, Bell, he sounds like he's under water!" Ham whispered.
"It's his lungs…his lungs are full of liquid."
Bell leaned over Frodo and lifted the compress. She smoothed the wet curls back
from his forehead. His eyes opened and he stared up at her.
"How are you feeling, Frodo dear?"
He did not answer, but his eyes roved about the room, landing on Hamfast. "Who
is this?" he asked, and then lifted his head and stared at Hamfast. "Who are
you?"
Hamfast looked confounded, and Bell answered soothingly, "That's the Gaffer,
you know him, dear. He's your Mr. Bilbo's servant. Little Samwise's father."
"Where is Bilbo?" Frodo asked anxiously, and Bell's eyes met her husband's.
Hamfast shook his head in dismay.
Bell sat on the edge of the bed and took Frodo's hand. "Bilbo's gone away dear,
remember? The Gaffer will bring him home soon. You'll be all right."
"But it's so dark…" Frodo said and then a harsh round of coughing stopped his
words. Bell raised the boy and held a cloth to his mouth while rubbing his
back.
"Spit it out, Frodo," she said softly, and Frodo obediently coughed a wad of
mucus into Bell's hand.
Hamfast looked in the cloth for a moment before Bell folded it. "That's pus in
his lungs," he said. "At least he's clearing it out."
"Aye," said Bell. "But there's always more, and the cough is only draining him,
and not letting him sleep."
The coughing had exhausted Frodo. Dazed, he laid his head against Bell's
shoulder and closed his eyes, fighting to regain his breath.
"Bilbo?" he said, and Bell shushed him gently.
"I'll set out at first light," Hamfast said.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At six in the morning, Bell heard the front door open, and footsteps come down
the hall. She recognized her husband's step, and went to the door of Frodo's bedroom
to meet him.
A steady, freezing drizzle was falling, and Hamfast was dressed for it, wearing
his oiled raincoat over layers of woolens. Bell took him by the arm and led him
away from Frodo's room so they wouldn't disturb the boy.
"Is he any better?"
"No, but he's no worse. He slept a little, I think, but I couldn't tell if he
slept or if t'was his mind wandering. The fever's just as bad."
"This is a fine thing to have happen to the poor lad, when he just moved here.
Mr. Bilbo was so happy about it, too. T'was all he talked about."
"Let's hope he's just at the worst part of it, and he'll turn the corner soon.
He's young enough to fight this yet, although I don't know how much more of
that fever he can take."
Hamfast sighed. "I don't know what Mr. Bilbo will do if…"
"Let's not think of that yet."
"Aye," he said, and buttoned his coat. "I'll be riding straight through today,
so I should get to the North Farthing tomorrow afternoon. With luck, I'll find
Mr. Bilbo straight away, and we'll be back Friday afternoon, or evening at the
latest. I've asked Hamson to come and check on you, make sure you have
everything you need."
"What about Sam and the girls?"
"Hamson and Daisy should be able to tend to things for a few days. Sam is right
upset about Mr. Frodo. He was begging me last night to bring him up here."
"Thank goodness you didn't. I don't know what Sam would do if he saw Frodo in
such a state. He's awful fond of the lad."
"Aye, almost too fond, I think." He pulled his collar up. "I'll see you Friday,
then. Take care of that boy."
Bell put her arms around Hamfast in a quick embrace. "Be careful, Ham," she
said. "And be quick."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The physician arrived several hours later and frowned when he saw Frodo's
condition. Frodo was awake now, but lethargic, and shivering from fever in
spite of the blankets draped over his shoulders and lap. He unfolded the boy's
blankets and listened to his chest.
"It's worse than yesterday," he said. "He's not coughing as much as he was, is
he?"
"No, but I was hoping that meant he'd improved some."
The physician stood up briskly. "No, it means his body is getting to weak to
fight. We will have to try to clear his lungs. Have you done this before?"
"No," Bell answered, not sure what he meant.
"We must force him to clear his lungs. Otherwise, he'll drown in them. Let me
show you."
The physician unwound Frodo's blankets. Frodo shivered at being exposed, and
his eyes looked up beseechingly to Bell. "What is he doing? What does he want?"
"It's all right, dear. He's trying to help you."
The physician turned Frodo onto his stomach, laying his head near the edge of
the bed. Frodo was now wide awake, and his brows were drawn together in
anxiety.
"Mrs. Gamgee!" Frodo cried, and Bell's heart was filled with pity. She knelt
down by the bed and placed her palm against his cheek. "Don't worry, Frodo.
You'll feel better after this," she assured him, though she was not sure of it
herself.
"Mrs. Gamgee," the physician said, and Bell looked up at him. "When you do this
yourself, you should hold your hands like this." He held his hands up, the
palms flat. "And then strike him hard and quick, right between the shoulder
blades, like this."
Before Bell could say anything, the physician began to pound on Frodo's back
with a fast, rhythmic stroke. Frodo's eyes flew open even wider and then he
squeezed them shut in pain. His breath escaped him in wounded gasps. He
clenched his teeth and clutched at the bedsheet beneath him.
"Stop, stop!" Bell cried. The physician stopped, and for a moment the only
sound in the room was Frodo's harsh panting. Bell looked at Frodo. Sweat and
tears were running down his face.
"Mrs. Gamgee, please…that hurts…don't let him…"
Bell looked up at the physician. "Is this really necessary?" she asked. "You
can see how it pains him."
"It's the best way to clear fluid from the lungs, when the patient cannot do it
for himself. I know it's unpleasant for the lad, but he must endure it."
Bell looked back to Frodo. His eyes were open, and filled with tears. "Mrs.
Gamgee…" he sobbed.
"I'm sorry, Frodo-dear. I know it hurts. But t'will only hurt for a little
while, and then you'll be able to breathe a bit easier. T'will be all right,
dear. I'll hold your hand."
Frodo looked at her miserably, then closed his eyes and nodded. Bell eased
Frodo's hand from the bedsheet and laced her stout fingers through his slender
ones. She placed her other hand on his forehead.
"Are you ready, Frodo?" she asked quietly, and the boy nodded without opening
his eyes.
Bell tightened her grip on Frodo's hand. She looked up at the physician and
nodded, and then looked away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Frodo was so spent following this treatment that he fell into an exhausted
sleep. The physician's efforts had yielded a moderate amount of dark phlegm,
which in Bell's opinion, was hardly worth the suffering the boy had had to
endure.
"You will need to do that for him every two hours," the physician said as she
walked him to the door.
"Every two hours! He cannot bear that! You've seen him!"
"Mrs. Gamgee, the only chance now is to keep his lungs as clear as we can, and
hope that the fever will break. You must make sure he drinks…tea, if he can
hold it, hot water and honey if he can't. Keep using the ointment on him, too,
for it will keep his chest and back warm, and help him breathe a little. I'll
come back this afternoon and check on him again."
Bell was too tired and distressed to thank the physician. She merely closed the
door upon his back as soon as his feet had stepped onto the porch.
Bell walked back to Frodo's room and stood in the doorway. The boy was still
asleep, and for this at least, Bell was grateful. She dreaded having to wake
him for another painful treatment.
She went to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Her hands were shaking, whether
from fatigue or fear she could not tell. She had nursed her six children
through a vast array of illnesses, everything from measles to toothaches, but
never once had any of them been as sick as this lad. Never once had she feared
for any of their lives.
She thought of her husband, out on the road, and of Bilbo, so far away from
home, oblivious to his young ward's peril. It was a dreadful, dreadful
situation: the worst she had ever known.
Bell sat at the kitchen table while the water boiled. Suddenly, she recalled
her strange dream from two nights before, and it filled her with foreboding.
Bell's mother had believed in the prophetic nature of dreams, and had been well
respected and sought after by the neighbors for her skill at interpreting their
nighttime visions. Bell had never thought that she had inherited her mother's
gift, and indeed, she had always suspected that her mother's "gift" had been
nothing more than an observant eye and a perceptive mind. But now she thought
of her dream, of Frodo's slight figure against a wall of flame in a place of
terrible menace, and she wondered if she had not received a vision, a
foretelling of his imminent death. She remembered the puzzling ending of the
dream, how she had tried to call to Frodo, but had called for Sam instead, and
wondered why her son should have been in the dream. Perhaps because he was so
attached to Frodo, and she knew how greatly he would be saddened by Frodo's
death.
Bell tried to shake such grim thoughts from her mind. She rose and took the
kettle from the hob.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was almost midnight. Bell walked down the dark hall from Bag End's kitchen,
with her only light the faint glow of candles in Frodo's room. She walked
slowly, holding a wide basin of cool water in her arms.
She set the basin down on the bedside table. Frodo's eyes opened and he watched
her as she wrung a cloth out in the basin. The cool sound of falling water
filled the room.
She leaned over and brushed the boy's curls back and wiped the cloth over his
face. He closed his eyes gratefully.
Four times this day she had beaten on Frodo's back, as the physician had taught
her. Each time, he had produced a little phlegm, but the last time, he had
vomited the little bit of tea and broth he had managed to swallow for dinner,
and Bell had resolved that Frodo had borne enough for one day.
She gently rolled up Frodo's sleeves and washed the insides of his arms, his
wrists and his palms, the slender white fingers that had so struck her the other
day.
The physician had returned in the afternoon, and had been disappointed in the
boy's state. He had suggested that if Frodo did not begin to show signs of
improvement, they should attempt to drain his lungs by puncturing them with a
needle. Bell had been appalled. She could not stomach the idea of anyone
sticking pins into this poor boy, no doubt causing him to die of a festering
wound before the pneumonia could take him. Upon her questioning, the physician
had finally admitted that this remedy had worked only once, in his knowledge.
Bell had decided that the physician did not need to make any more calls at Bag
End.
Bell unbuttoned Frodo's nightshirt and washed his throat and chest. He opened
his eyes halfway and Bell looked into them. He was still desperately feverish,
but for the moment, he seemed lucid.
"Mrs. Gamgee," he said softly.
"Yes, dear?"
"When is Bilbo coming?"
"As soon as he can, Frodo. Friday, the Gaffer said."
"And what day is today?"
"It is early Thursday morning."
Frodo blinked wearily, and his mind seemed to drift. Bell wished that she could
hold him to the present, could keep him from slipping into delirium, at least
for a little while.
"Frodo," she said, "How long have you known Bilbo?"
Frodo looked at her and smiled weakly. "All my life. I remember him…always.
Even before my parents died."
"You must care for him a great deal."
"Mmm…I do. When my parents died, he came to see me, and stayed with me for a
long time. I don't think I would have…I wouldn't have gotten out of bed again,
if he hadn't come."
"Did he tell you then, that he wanted to adopt you?"
Frodo smiled again. "Yes…I thought he was joking. Or trying to cheer me up. But
now…here I am."
Bell sat Frodo up and lifted his nightshirt so that she could wash his back.
Even in the candlelight, she could see the bruises from the day's treatment,
and she touched him very gently.
Frodo continued to speak in his soft, sleepy voice. "Bilbo said…'Now we can
celebrate our birthdays together, my lad.' He was so excited, even more than I
was, I think."
"But you were happy to come?"
"Oh, of course."
"And do you miss Brandy Hall? And all your relations?"
"I miss my Aunt Esmeralda sometimes. Her son, Meriadoc…Merry. He was sad when I
left. But I've been very happy to be here. Bilbo is…" He trailed off for a
moment, then said simply, "I love him dearly."
Bell settled Frodo back against the pillows and buttoned his nightshirt. She
drew the blankets up around him.
"It will be hard on him," Frodo said quietly. "If he comes home, and I am…gone.
When I have only just gotten here, after all."
Bell stroked his cheek. "Don't worry, Frodo. Bilbo will come home tomorrow. You
will not be gone. This is your home. You will get better. You will be master of
Bag End, and you'll marry and you'll fill all these rooms with children. And
you'll live here a long, long time, and be very happy."
Frodo closed his eyes. "That would be nice," he said, and fell asleep.
Bell held Frodo's hand for a little while, until she was certain he was truly asleep.
Then she picked up the basin and brought it to the kitchen. She sat down at the
kitchen table, and gazed into the fire. Bell was not one to question the
workings of fate, but it seemed wrong, terribly wrong, that this child, this
orphaned boy, should have to leave the world when he was so close to finding a
place in it.
Bell put her head in her hands and wept.