4. The Haunted Smial
They were talking about you in the sitting room. About how they never thought you could be so miserable all these years, because you had hidden it so well, even from yourself. How you did not shed tears at your parents' funeral. How you seemed to bounce back to normal so fast, finding your appetite in a day or two and playing with your friends by the end of the week. How they never worried about you because you seemed so…capable. Strong.
If only they could see you the way I did just moments before, when I came to your room to see if you were up for tea. Your eyes and nose were swollen and red, your voice was hoarse and you looked very tired.
"I don't think I will come down for tea, Merry," you said. "I'll see you at dinner."
"You haven't eaten anything since morning."
"I'm fine, don't worry. Go along now."
"You don't look fine," I pointed out.
You smiled wearily. "Well, maybe I do look awful. But I'm all right. Funerals do this to me. It's just nobody has ever found out before. I'll be fine soon. I always am. Believe me."
"Why, Frodo? Why do funerals bother you so much? It wasn't your parents we buried this morning."
You winced.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"It's all right, Merry. You see, it seems to me that my parents died countless times. Every funeral is their funeral all over again, black veils, too many flowers, crying hobbits, the smell of freshly dug earth. I lose them over and over again, I mourn them with every death. They have died, but I don't think they've passed away."
"I'm sorry" was all I could say.
"I'm sorry you should see me like this," you said, smiling. "It's not a pretty picture, I know."
It was not. But I was secretly glad I saw you like that. I had seen you strong. I had seen you looking up at me, laughing, whirling me round and round in the air with your strong, wiry hands. I had seen you outlined in the firelight of my room, solid and reliable, when you bent over me, chasing away remnants of a jarring nightmare with your patient caress and soothing words. I had seen you swim, even on cold spring days, lap after lap after lap, in the rocky pool where you taught me to swim. I had seen you haul bullies by their collars and punch one or two of them squarely in the jaw. I had seen you strong, and I loved you for that.
But now I knew that the pillars that held your world up were ever so slightly wobbly and I wanted so much to help prop you up. I saw that your soul was chipped and scarred and I wanted so much to help you make it whole again. I loved you in a whole different way now, less selfishly, more deeply. I had seen you weak and fragile, and it was scary after the quietly strong, dependably wise you. But I really would not have it any other way.
I held your hand shyly and you pressed mine gently.
"Go now," you said, smiling. "Aren't you hungry?"
I went away worried and came into the sitting room still scowling.
"He said he didn't want tea," I said, taking my seat beside Mamma.
Bilbo looked at me closely, then at the others around the table. "Gilda dearest," he then said to Gramma, "if you'll excuse me, I would prefer to have my tea in Frodo's room. Just for today. The lad being in his current state and…. I want to see what his opinion is on the matter that we have just discussed."
I jumped from my seat, looking imploringly at Bilbo.
"And if you could spare Meriadoc, Esme dear, I would be very much grateful for his help. I could probably handle the pot and cups, but someone has to carry the plates."
"Of course, Bilbo," said Mamma. "Merry."
She helped me pile cakes and sandwiches on a tray and gave me a smile as I followed Bilbo out of the sitting room and down the hall to your bedroom.
"I thought I told you I don't want tea, Merry," you called out when Bilbo rapped at your door.
"Well, what about a tale then?" he said.
"Bilbo?"
You opened the door, a look of surprise in your face when Bilbo and I marched in and set the tea things on your bed.
"Well, Meriadoc here seems to think that since you don't want tea, a tale would probably cheer you up," said Bilbo.
I opened my mouth, but Bilbo had already continued. "And since I don't want to miss my tea, I decided to have it here. That is, if you don't mind, Frodo."
A smile broke on your lips. "I don't see that I have any say in this matter since you're already here and the cups and plates are on my bed."
"Very well, then," said Bilbo lightly, sitting on one corner, pouring tea. You looked at me with curious eyes, but I only smiled and took the cup Bilbo gave me.
"Well," you said, crossing your hands and leaning on the headboard. "I'm waiting for the tale."
"Oh, yes," said Bilbo. "The tale. A really good one, this. I bet you anything you have never heard of this one yet. This is the story of the old hobbit and a haunted smial."
"What's haunted?" I said, munching on a cake.
"Full of ghosts," you said. "Napkin, Merry. There are crumbs on my pillow."
Bilbo sipped his tea and sat back contentedly. "Well, you see, there was this very old hobbit, living in a smial under a tall, green hill. He lived alone, because the smial was haunted, and no one wanted to stay there."
"Well, why did the old hobbit live there then?" I asked.
"Because he loved the place, Meriadoc. It was a very lovely smial…. Well, except for the ghosts, that is."
"Didn't he get lonely?" I asked again.
"Well, yes, now that you mention it, he was lonely. He often wrote to his many relatives, asking them to come and stay with him. But none of them would, because of the ghosts."
"Wasn't the old hobbit afraid of the ghost?"
"Merry," you groaned. I looked at you, and you frowned at me. I stuck my tongue out.
"That's all right, Meriadoc. Questions mean that the audience is listening. And to answer yours, no, he wasn't afraid of the ghosts. He had seen worse things than ghosts and personally he couldn't care less about them except that they made his life terribly lonely. So lonely, that he sometimes invited the ghosts to tea."
"What?" I yelled.
"Merry!"
"Yes, you heard me correctly, Meriadoc. He asked the ghosts to come to tea."
"But…but…what do you serve ghosts when you ask them to tea?"
You laughed, and Bilbo, glancing at you, chuckled. "You'll know soon enough, Meriadoc. Because one day, this old gentlehobbit invited a second cousin thrice removed from his mother's side to come to tea. Said cousin was a strappling lad, brave and strong and fair. Very much like you, I should say, Meriadoc."
"Oh," I breathed out. I heard you chortling and I glanced at you and made a face.
"Well, but when the gentlehobbit was setting the table for tea, the first ghosts arrived. And the old hobbit was dismayed. He had clean forgotten that it was the very same day that he had invited the ghosts out of sheer loneliness. The old hobbit was afraid that his young cousin was going to leave before even sitting down to a cup of tea."
Bilbo sipped his tea slowly, then sighed with exaggerated satisfaction. I could have sworn the old hobbit gave you a conspiratorial wink. "But there was no other way for it. The old hobbit laid the table ready. There was fruitcake, spongecake, spicecake, cheesecake and cupcakes; blueberry, blackberry, raspberry, strawberry pies. There was the softest bread that would melt in your mouth, the smoothest butter that would spread itself out, the richest cheese that you wouldn't get tired of eating, the fluffiest biscuits that …."
"Ooohhh," I groaned, reaching for another slice of cake and hastily stuffing it into my mouth to staunch the onslaught of saliva. From the corner of my eyes, I saw with satisfaction that your throat bobbed as you swallowed.
"…tasted like honeyed air dusted with nuts…"
"Ooohhh!"
"Merry, kindly stop drooling on my blanket," you chided.
"And tea, of course. Tea that smelled faintly of roses and apple blossoms…"
"Ooohhh!"
"…golden honey that made you feel full just by smelling it, fresh milk that smelled of summer flowers…"
"Ooohhh," I groaned, collapsing on the mattress. "How long is there to go before dinner?"
You laughed as you ruffled my hair, your eyes fixed on cousin Bilbo. "Did the second cousin thrice removed come?" you asked quietly.
"He did, lad, he did," said Bilbo, staring at you. "But the question is, would he stay?"
There was a small flame, flickering, uncertain, in your eyes.
"The old hobbit invited him in, asked all the usual polite questions, got all the usual polite answers, then they went to the dining room. When they were both seated, the ghosts started coming in from the walls, seeping into the room like fog. The lad looked at them…"
"Was he scared?" I asked hurriedly.
"No," said Bilbo emphatically. "He was not the least afraid of the ghosts."
"Why?"
"Yes, why?" Your voice sounded odd.
"Oh, allow me to go on for a bit, then you will know the answer. You see, as soon as the ghosts came and settled themselves around the table, the old hobbit expected the lad to bolt out of the door. But instead he looked at the ghosts, and then at his host. 'Are they invited?' he asked. The old hobbit stared at him in surprise and said 'Yes, they are, as a matter of fact. You don't mind, do you?' 'No' said the young hobbit. 'But I think it would be proper if you could introduce me to them.'"
He stopped! He stopped to take another long pull on his tea! Cruel, cruel cousin Bilbo! I gave you a sidelong glance and found you gaping too.
"Ah, your Gramma Gilda always makes the nicest tea, Meriadoc. Very good for an old hobbit like me," Bilbo said, wiping his mouth. "Where was I?"
"Bilbo!" we groaned in unison.
"Oh, yes," he said with eyes twinkling. "So the old hobbit began to introduce the young lad to the ghosts. They were mostly his long dead relations, aunts, uncles, cousins. They spent some time tracing family history until the young hobbit understood how he was related to each of the ghosts, while they learned about what became of their descendants…."
"What's descendants?"
"Children," you said shortly.
"Yes. And then they ate," Bilbo went on.
"The ghosts too?" I said.
"Of course. But they didn't eat the food laid out by the old hobbit. They brought their own. Chicken that looked like clotted fog. Sausages that looked like frozen shadows. Eggs that looked like curdled smoke."
I grimaced.
"After tea and a bit of a small talk, the ghosts left. Only then could the old hobbit ask why the young one didn't fear the ghosts. It's quite impolite to talk about such matters when the ghosts in question are still around, don't you agree? They might take offence and we wouldn't want that to happen, would we? So the old hobbit said 'You're the only hobbit I know who doesn't fear those ghosts. Why aren't you afraid of them, lad?' And the young hobbit said 'What's to fear, cousin? They are of the past, I am of the present. They can't touch me, they can't hurt me. And think of the tales they can tell! Why should I fear them?'"
"Oh!" I squealed excitedly.
"Clever, wasn't he?" said cousin Bilbo, smiling at me.
"Yes," you said quietly. "Clever."
"The old hobbit was so happy to find someone who wasn't afraid of the ghosts. So he asked the young hobbit 'Would you like to stay here and keep an old hobbit company?'"
And he stopped …AGAIN! He took his time pouring himself another cup of tea, adding some honey, stirring the tea, sipping it, adding another spoonful of honey, stirring again.
"Did he say yes?" I suddenly heard you asking.
"What's that, Frodo?" Bilbo looked up from his cup.
"I said did he say yes?" you repeated slowly.
"What do you think?" asked Bilbo in return, his eyes flashing.
"Of course he would say yes," I said. "It made sense for both of them, didn't it? The old hobbit was lonely and he made such good tea."
To my surprise, Bilbo burst out laughing. And I heard you chuckling too, though a little stiffly.
"Too wise you are, Meriadoc," said Bilbo, smiling broadly, but his eyes, staring at you, were solemn. "That was exactly what happened. The young hobbit said yes, and he moved in to the old hobbit's smial. He shared a bedroom with a ghost who died crushed under a fallen tree. And everybody, hobbits and ghosts alike, lived, and died, happily ever after."
"Oh, it's such a wonderful story, Bilbo!" I cried, jumping up to hug the old hobbit while you jumped to rescue the tea things that were in danger of toppling from the bed. "I'm glad the young hobbit came to stay."
"So am I, Merry," said Bilbo, stroking my hair. You stood up and put the tea tray on your writing desk. When you turned, I saw your eyes glowing, shining, cold and bright.
"You like the story too, don't you, Frodo?" I asked.
"Yes, Merry." Your voice sounded a little odd. "I like it too."
You sat in front of Bilbo, and the old hobbit reached out to touch your cheek with his finger.
"Thank you, Bilbo," you whispered.
"It was a pleasure, dear boy," said Bilbo. His voice was odd too.
"Do we still have cake?" I asked, uncomfortable with what was happening.
"We do," you turned your eyes to me. "But it's mine."
"But Frodo, you said you didn't want any tea!" I protested.
"Cousin Bilbo changed my mind," you said, grabbing a slice from the plate. "I think I'm quite hungry now."