4. bath
The kitchen floor had an interesting pattern of muddy tracks and little pools of dirty water. A grubby sleeve of my shirt dangled from the bucket near the door. Steam rose from the water in the bucket you had placed near the washtub, and in the fire, the kettle gurgled with the promise of more boiling water. I stood shivering in the tub, even as the heat from the nearby fire licked the damp skin of my belly. You began to pour hot water over my head and I spluttered.
"I can bathe myself," I protested, pushing your hand away. "I'm almost twelve!"
"And very dirty," you returned, heedless of my objection. "You'll never get all the mud out yourself, especially from your hair and toes. Believe me. I was twelve once and my aunt used to bathe me as a punishment so I would know better next time than to wallow in the mud." You poured more water and ran your fingers through the muddy tangles of my hair.
"What did you wallow in the mud for?" I asked, deciding that I would let you bathe me just this once, because it was so nice and I was too chilled.
"How else can you play mud fight?" you said reasonably, lathering my hair and wincing as the water ran brown down my chest.
"We never bathe in the kitchen at home," I told you, closing my eyes as soapy water snaked its way down my face.
"The bathroom is cold. I just lit the fire there when I picked up the tub," you said, massaging my scalp. "Besides I have no wish to see your muddy footprints from here to the bathroom."
"You have bigger feet," I pointed out. "More mud sticks to them."
"My… Pippin!" Though you sounded gruff, there was a hint of smile in your voice. "I would not have mud all over me, not to mention all the way up the corridor and here in the kitchen if you had not dragged me out into the rain, pounced me into puddles and wrestled me on the ground."
You rinsed the soap out of my hair with a few scoops of water and pushed back the dripping curls from my face. "There," you smiled, "I thought it was you under all that mud."
I scowled at you, but was secretly glad to see you smile.
You ran the washcloth over my ears and laughed when I said, "Stop it! That tickles!" You pretended to be mad when I trailed my soapy fingers across your nose, but your eyes twinkled. I put my hand on your shoulder when you knelt to wash my feet, giggling as you chided me, saying that the Gaffer could grow potatoes in the dirt trapped in my foot hair. You looked up, hearing my laughter, and I caught that familiar smirk on your lips.
Who would keep that smile on your face when you were alone?
You toweled me dry and bundled me in the quilt that you snatched from the rocking chair near the window. Armed with a mug of tea and a heap of biscuits, I sat on the rocking chair and watched you warm my clothes and yours near the fire, clean the kitchen and finally go for a wash in the bathroom. When we were all dressed up and warm again, I helped you set the table for dinner.
"Are you all right, Pip?" you asked, after I finished my second helping of meat and potatoes. "You haven't said anything since after the bath."
I toyed with my peas before I could look you in the eye and answer, "Will you leave too?"
Your fork stopped mid-air and you stared at me with your lips pressed together. "Leave where?" you asked, your tone careful.
"Wherever Bilbo went to," I said, rather sulkily. "I miss him too, you know. I miss his tales, and I miss his songs, and I miss the way he laughs. But if … but if you leave, who will be my friend here in Hobbiton? And what if Merry decides to go too? What if…"
You reached and seized my wrist. "Pip," you said firmly. "I am staying here."
"But you don't look happy. You frown and look sad all the time," I argued. I knew it was unseemly for a lad of nearly twelve summers to weep like a baby, but I almost could not fight back the tears anymore. "You miss him, don't you? You want to be with him."
You let go of my wrist and clasped my hand in yours. "I do," you admitted slowly. "But I am not going to leave, Pip. Do you know why?"
I shook my head.
"I love it here. I love Bag End. I love Hobbiton," you answered, your voice steady and reassuring. "I love my friends and my cousins. I am not going to leave them. I am not leaving you."
"Is that why Cousin Bilbo left?" I asked in a small voice. "Has he stopped liking us? Did we do something that angered him and made him go away?"
I immediately wished I had not asked the questions. A sudden burst of sorrow came into your eyes and you tightened your grip around my hand. You looked down at the table for a while but when your eyes met mine again, they were clear and untroubled.
"No," you said. "He still loves us deeply. He will miss us too, I think, even more than we miss him. But he will be happy."
You stopped, gazing at me. Your eyes glowed and a sudden light bloomed in your face. The lines of worry and sadness vanished from your face at a single smile that suddenly touched your lips.
"He will be happy," you repeated. But not for me, I thought, even as your eyes were fixed on mine. Then you blinked and when you spoke again, I knew you meant every word for me. "As happy as I will be, Pip, staying here."
I slid from my chair and stood before you, holding your eyes with my gaze.
"Will you promise me one thing, Frodo?" I said, more seriously than I had ever been in my life. "If you want to leave like Cousin Bilbo, you will tell me. And you will let me go with you."
"O I'm trembling with fright," you smirked. "You look terrible when you frown, Pip."
"Promise me, Frodo," I demanded, more fiercely. "Friends don't leave each other behind. Promise me."
You nodded, still smiling. "I promise," you said. And with that you framed my face in your hands and kissed my brow.
==
