by Sally Gardens
PART THREE: SPRING
Chapter Twenty: So I Press On
Frodo knocked at the door of the small Hobbit hole. It was but a moment before Molly answered, as if he had been expected.
"I'm leaving for Buckland, now," he said to her. "I expect to be gone a fortnight, perhaps a little longer. I've an awful lot of catching up to do."
Molly smiled gently. "I understand."
"I'll stop by, just as soon as I am back."
"And I shall look forward to seeing you, and to hearing all about your visit." She reached up suddenly and tugged the hem of Frodo's hood so it better sheltered his face. "Now go, before you drown altogether."
Frodo laughed. "I'll be drenched, either way, whether I stand here or ride away."
"Well, if you're going to stand here, then you needn't stand outside getting drenched."
He shifted slightly, as if to step through the doorway.
But if I come inside, I'll never leave.
Resolutely he drew away from the door. "I'd best be going on my way."
"As I was saying." Molly raised one eyebrow.
"Yes, Miss Piper." His voice was contrite, but there was a twinkle in his eye.
With an effort Molly held back a smile. "Good day, Frodo."
Frodo nodded. "Good day, Molly," he said. He walked back to his pony and waved a last farewell to Molly as he rode eastward, back toward Hobbiton and Bywater and thence on the road to Buckland.
A day of riding, a night at an inn, and another half-day's ride brought him to Budgeford in Bridgefields, in the Eastfarthing, right on the banks of The Water. Frodo slipped off the pony and led it through the gate to the front door of the Bolger home. He gave the bell a ring.
Whatever he'd expected when the door opened, it wasn't this. The shock on Fredegar's face was, he knew, mirrored on his own.
Frodo forced himself to smile. "Freddy," he said.
He remembered how gaunt Fredegar had got, locked away long weeks by Sharkey's men. He had not expected that he would still be thin, nor that he would be so aged beyond his years.
"Hullo, Frodo," said Freddy, echoing Frodo's smile. "It's awfully good to see you, again."
Then again, Freddy likely hadn't expected Frodo to have put on thirty years in a seven-year absence.
"Likewise," said Frodo.
And suddenly Freddy was all cheer.
"Well, come in! Come in! I say, Frodo, but it's been a long time, and we have a lot of catching up to do! I do believe I've got some excellent leaf to fill your pipe, and from the smell of it, Estella's got some lovely biscuits baking for tea, and it's been an awfully long while since last I talked to Sam, and I should like to know how he's getting on, he and his family..."
Freddy's sister, Estella, poured the tea and served the biscuits. After a quick exchange of pleasantries, she made excuse and retreated from the parlor, leaving her brother and Frodo to their reunion.
Frodo wondered at how he had once enjoyed an easy cameraderie with the Hobbit who now sat across from him fidgeting with his tea cup and clearing his throat time and again until Frodo wished he had a cough lozenge to offer the fellow.
"Well, Frodo." Freddy gave a little laugh. "I never sought adventure, but it found me anyway."
"Hm." Frodo lifted his tea cup to his lips, sipped, and held the cup aloft as he replied, "I assure you, the adventure that found me wasn't quite what I should have wished for, either."
He could see Freddy's eyes fix upon the gap in the hand that held the cup. There was another long and awkward silence. Frodo filled it with tea and biscuits. Freddy had been right: The biscuits were awfully good.
Not that Freddy had any way of knowing, seemingly. He turned a biscuit round and round in his fingertips, agitating it slowly into a sprinkling of crumbs upon the plate.
"You asked about Sam and the children."
Freddy started, dropping the biscuit. Quickly he summoned forth a bright smile. "Why—yes. Yes. How is the old fellow?"
"Very well, thank you. He and Rose are doing quite well. They've four children, as you may know; all are thriving, and seem to have taken to me as their Uncle Frodo."
"Ah. Very good. Very good."
The biscuit was back in his fingers, spinning round and round and round.
Frodo distracted himself with another cup of tea.
"A pity you didn't have time to say goodbye before you left. I should have liked to have seen you one more time, knowing it was the last time I might expect ever to see you."
The confounded biscuit was going to drive him mad.
"I suppose," Freddy went on, wholly occupied with the crumbling biscuit, "I didn't have as much claim to it as your fellow Travellers, but I should think that my part in your adventure counted for something."
With great effort Frodo held back a sigh and strove to keep his voice light. "If I'd said goodbye to everyone I ought, I should never have left."
The biscuit stopped twirling.
"No," Fredegar softly agreed. "I suppose you shouldn't."
He'd meant to stay longer, but after only two days, Frodo could bear no more. So much had changed. He wished, suddenly, he'd been in the Shire all along, that he might have seen first hand, perhaps even averted, whatever had caused the transformation of Fredegar into the unfamiliar creature he barely recognized as the ghost of an old friend. A keen sense of emptiness stabbed through Frodo, an emptiness that even the best conversation could not have filled. All the conversations in the Shire could not restore the gap in his memory and his life.
Be grateful it was only seven years. Frodo planted his hands on his pony's back and prepared to hoist himself up. By rights, it should have been the rest of your life.
"Frodo!"
He turned. Estella ran up to him, cloak flapping behind her.
Frodo pulled away from the pony. He waited until Estella had caught her breath before he gently inquired, "Yes?"
Estella frowned. She glanced about, then glanced down at his hand. She looked back up into his eyes. "Was it hard?"
A dismissive gloss rose to his lips, but instead, Frodo heard himself saying, "It was horrible. Horrible to live through, worse to live after. I wished at times I'd died—but I don't feel that way now," he quickly added, seeing her eyes grow round. "I'm glad, now, to be here. But it's still hard, at times."
Estella nodded. "You're very brave," she said, all in a rush. "Not just for all you did, back then, but for telling the truth, just now, instead of all this confounded false cheer. It's driving me mad, watching Fredegar waste to skin and bones, and Merry—" She stopped, abruptly, and went very red.
She loves him, Frodo realized. The silly fool: He's already got the love of a woman who isn't fooled and doesn't care, because she does care.
Estella must have seen in his face that he understood, because the blush diminished and she smiled shyly. "I can't ever begin to understand, I am sure," she said, "but I can at least listen, if he would but give me the opportunity."
Frodo smiled and quickly pressed her hand. "I'll do my best," he said. "I'll have a talk with Merry, and see if I can at least get him to talk to you."
"I should appreciate that. Thank you." Then, before he could say anything, Estella quickly stood on her toes and brushed his cheek with a little kiss, and it was Frodo's turn to blush.