Highday - Friday
9. Highday, part 1: What Happens in the Kitchen...
"Miss Bracegird— Miss Belle? Would you mind terribly if I made supper tonight?"
Surprised, Belle looked up from the kitchen table where she sat writing out various packing lists. Frodo stood in the doorway, one hand resting lightly against the oak frame, waiting her answer. She gave him a smile and beckoned him closer to the table. The Baggins approached cautiously.
"What were you thinking of making?" Belle asked.
"Plain, wholesome Shire food," Frodo declared. "Hot soup, cold meats and cheeses, fresh bread, a proper pie, perhaps a salad."
Belle frowned, wondering if this was his way of saying that he didn't like her cooking. She had tried to be more careful of what she served since Hevensday, but perhaps it still wasn't agreeing with him. She didn't really want her guest to have a relapse—although she wasn't really sure what it was that had set him off in the first place. Frodo hadn't answered any of the questions that either sibling had posed, and frankly, Belle was getting a little annoyed with all of the secrecy surrounding her intended.
"Did the meal last night not agree with you?" she asked, trying to sound casual as well as concerned.
"Oh, no, no," Frodo protested hastily. "I didn't mean that at all. I..." he began rubbing nervously at the back of his neck, "I just haven't been able to cook in a long time, and I miss it." She nodded in understanding and he added with a tight, embarrassed smile, "And I have a terrible craving for my Aunt Amaranth's broccoli soup."
She had to laugh at his look. "Well, then I think I can help you," she said in a conspiratorial way. "You see, Largo adores broccoli soup, so I always keep a little on hand. If you're willing to cook it, I can certainly provide the ingredients."
She gave him a sly grin and his answering smile was as enthusiastic as that of any tween. He offered her a courtly bow, murmuring, "I do thank thee, fair lady." Glancing back up at her he added in a more jocular tone, "You may have just saved my sanity." With a grin he straightened back up and then began poking his nose into the cupboards. Belle, however, sat motionless, her mind reeling with the import of Frodo's words. He had called her 'fair lady!' Surely he didn't just give just anyone such a title. He was coming around. He was weakening! Soon he would stop being such a shy little bird and declare his love to her, and of course she would accept him. How could she not? It was all that she ever dreamed of, being the wife of the very rich Baggins, mistress of the loveliest little smial in the Shire, not to mention the Baggins's very handsome person. Of course the first thing to be done once she was established was to discover how far that impertinent servant had entwined himself throughout Frodo's life and, if possible, wean her husband away from the creature's influence. Just the thought of that—that Sam though was enough to bring her out of her daydreams and back to cold reality. She could almost hear the echo of Aunt Lobelia's voice in her ears. "You have to catch them before you can land them, Belle dear."
"Miss Brace—Miss Belle? Have you any thyme?"
"In the kitchen garden," she answered, still a bit dazedly.
"Yes, of course, thank you," Frodo mumbled, clearly preoccupied with his own thoughts. Behind her Belle heard some rummaging around and then watched as he left the kitchen with a gathering basket firmly tucked under one arm, leaving her to her notes.
It wasn't long before Frodo returned bearing his basket of greenery. He gave her a suspicious look.
"Do you usually let it be known that you're home on Highdays?" he queried.
Her eyebrows rose in a mildly mocking look of disbelief. "Certainly not, and particularly not today. I didn't think that you two would even be home this early." It was still mid-afternoon. The lads hadn't made it home before luncheon, but they had finished examining the Southfarthing smials and made it back to Green Hill by two. Tomorrow they were to leave for Bag End and there was still so much to prepare before they could leave. That was why she was sitting at the kitchen table writing notes, not to mention a large part of why she was so willing to leave the cooking tonight to Master Baggins. She was far too busy to think of food and had been going to let Largo do the cooking—a rather dangerous proposition if he was too deeply absorbed in his work.
He was still eyeing her warily. "Then you may wish to know that one of your neighbours is heading this way. In fact, she took me for the gardener." He stopped and a puckish gleam came into his eye.
"I'm so sorry," Belle said in chagrin. "I'll set them straight right away." She rose to leave but Frodo laid a restraining hand on her shoulder.
"Wait," he said. Startled, she looked down at the hand, and then up at him. He gave her a wicked grin. "Don't tell her anything."
Belle frowned. "I beg your pardon?"
"Don't tell her who I am," Frodo's eyes were dancing. "Pretend that I am the gardener. We wouldn't want her to be embarrassed if she sees me, would we?"
"If she's who I think she is, I might," Belle muttered.
Frodo shook his head. "No, that makes it even more amusing. How well can you act?"
Belle shrugged and then smiled. This was a side of Frodo that she hadn't seen before. The lad was positively reckless, and she was beginning to catch the spirit of things. "What would I call you?"
Frodo was hastily unbuttoning his waistcoat. "Odo," he grinned. "short for Odorf."
"Odorf?" Belle exclaimed. "What kind of name is that?"
Frodo merely shrugged. "It's more poetic in its original context," he said mischievously.
Anything else that Belle wished to say was interrupted by a loud knocking that seemed to be coming from the back of one of the pantries. Belle hastened through said pantry to where the back kitchen door stood, followed by Frodo's indignant cry of, "You couldn't be bothered to tell me that there was a door back there?"
Belle merely ignored him and carefully opened the door. Of course, she sighed mentally.
"Thrimidge, my dear, how are you today? I was just passing by on my home from the market and thought I'd stop in and see how you and Largo are doing after all of the horrible affairs of the past week! You don't mind, of course, do you, darling?" Lilla Overdale, with her dainty little nose, honey-coloured curls, wide skirted lilac taffeta, rose-trimmed bonnet, and all that was feminine and beautiful breezed through the door without so much as a by-your-leave as she spoke, bustling down the passage to the kitchen.
Belle followed slowly, suddenly keenly aware of her gingham apron, work-frazzled hair, and plain russet skirt. Just passing by, my foot! In that dress, you're out fishing!
She took a moment to tame her tresses until Lilla's voice floated lightly back down the passage to her.
"And who might this be?"
Belle hurried back to the kitchen as a quaint, rustic-accented voice answered, "Odorf Underhill, at your service an' that o' your family's, miss." Frodo?
She paused at the entrance and struggled to repress her surprise as the gentlehobbit straightened from his quick but proper bow, brushing his hands worriedly at the dish towel he had tied around his waist. Frodo's fine gold and brown waistcoat had vanished somewhere, replaced by his dish towel apron and smudges of flour which dusted his braces, nose, and jawline. His dusky curls were all standing on end and slightly floury as if he'd been running his hands through them and he had a slightly apprehensive look on his face, as if eager to please and afraid of a scolding at the same time. He still looked unmistakeably like Frodo Baggins, but if she hadn't known who he was she would have thought that he was of the lower class—as long as she didn't notice how fine the cloth of his tunic and breeches were. Thankfully, Lilla wasn't the type to notice that sort of thing once she saw stains or dirt.
Frodo—Odo turned to her with an anxious expression. "Beggin' your pardon, Miss Belle, but I didn't know as you were havin' comp'ny. I'll take m'self out t' th' garden, Mistress."
His voice was the crown of the act. Belle gave him a stern look, hoping that her own voice wasn't about to betray her and dissolve into a fit of giggles. "Did you start the bread yet?"
'Odo' nodded hastily. "Aye, Mistress, battered herb bread," he nodded toward a white-dusted bowl sitting on the farthest end of the table which Belle suspected was chiefly filled with flour, "just as Mister Largo likes, an' I can start th' soup oncet you're finished in here, beggin' your pardon, Mistress." He gave her a quick, apologetic bob of a bow that he had to have learned from S. Gamgee.
"Nonsense," Belle declared firmly, keeping her voice rigidly stern. She turned to her uninvited guest, who was in the process of removing her bonnet and primping her lovely hair into shape. "Lilla, would you prefer to visit here or in the parlour?"
"Oh, here would be fine, dear, but do let your gardener stay. I wouldn't want Largo's bread ruined on my account, poor dear. He does adore mine so." Lilla fluttered her eyelashes at the pair and seated herself at the kitchen table. Belle felt her teeth clench even tighter.
"Of course not, dear," she returned, forcing herself to smile. "Just let me put the kettle on."
"Beggin' your pardon, Miss Belle, but I can take care o' that," 'Odo' said hastily. "Jus' you enjoy thet visit o' yourn." Belle gave him a withering glare and he ducked his head in embarrassment. "Beggin' your pardon, Mistress," he added in a near-whisper.
"Very well," she said imperiously, and seated herself comfortably across from Lilla. If Frodo Baggins was going to play the servant then he'd best not try to get too familiar. Some hobbits might tolerate that sort of thing, but her family never had, and she simply couldn't, even if they were only acting.
As Frodo began searching for the kettle Lilla leaned across the table and smiled in a supposedly comforting and encouraging manner. "So, how have you been, darling?" she asked. "It's been such a dreadful time for you over the last few months, and then you couldn't even grieve properly this week because you've had to put up with a guest; why, it must be perfectly trying."
Belle's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How did you know that I had a guest?"
Lilla flung a hand up as if brushing off the question. "Oh, everyone knows, Thrim dear. I heard it in the market, of course, but Matt Brockhouse saw them at the Stuffed Goose on Monday. Is it true that Lobelia left everything to him?"
Belle gave her another look and Lilla added, "Oh, don't look at me like that, darling. Mungo's been talking all week, claiming that she cut him off completely in favour of Frodo Baggins. You must tell me, darling. I've been dying to know. Is it true?"
Belle bristled up. "He actually said that?"
"Of course, darling. How would you feel if your aunt had passed you up? Did she?"
"No, of course not!"
"What did you get?"
Belle gave her a frosty look. "I don't believe that's any of your business." Where have I heard that before, she wondered.
"Oh, darling, don't be like that. It's only friendly enquiry. Did she cut off Mungo?"
"No, of course not!" Belle was more than indignant. "He's only saying that because he didn't get any coin. She left him several books and her best table and chairs."
Lilla appeared unimpressed. "Well, darling, that's hardly anything compared to a pipe-weed field or two."
Belle began fingering a stray curl, unsure of how much Lilla would even understand. "Well, Aunt Beila didn't exactly leave any of us any money or land. She," Belle hesitated. "She changed when she was in the Lockholes. She left all of that to Frodo, but only because he's the deputy-mayor. Everything else was distributed to the family as her last gifts.
Lilla's eyes were wide. "Whyever did she pass her family over like that?"
Belle nervously traded her hair for tugging at her right earlobe. "Well, she feels—felt responsible for the mess that the Shire was in, so in her will she charged Frodo to use all of the coin and the profit from the sale or letting of the properties to restore the Shire. I think that she was trying to make amends."
Lilla was shaking her head. "Poor dear, to learn that your beloved son—"
"Yes, Lilla, we've been over this before." And she certainly did not want to go through it again.
"Well, I can't say that I blame her, then," Lilla declared, surprising Belle. For a moment she felt gratitude to her old rival.
"Tell me, is the Master of Bag End as strange as they say? Mungo claims that he had a fit over nothing and threw everyone out the night of - the burial." Lilla's voice dropped to a whisper at the last words as if she feared to offend.
"Mungo's also a jealous fool," Belle returned with some heat.
"Maybe so, darling, but Alda Toesy said the same thing, and you can't deny that she has no reason to be jealous. What happened?"
"Not your business, Lillith."
"Temper, Thrimidge, temper." The two lasses sat back and looked at each other for a minute. Slowly a wicked smile spread across Lilla's face. "Do you like him?"
"What?" Belle tried to feign innocence.
"Mr Baggins, of course darling. I've heard he's remarkably handsome, with eyes like forget-me-nots and hair as dark as coffee; he sounds like quite the catch."
Behind them the gardener suddenly sneezed. Belle turned to frown at him, but he was diligently cutting up a head of broccoli and had his back to them.
She turned back to Lilla and shrugged. "That sounds like an accurate description, I suppose."
Lilla smirked. "Accurate description?" she mocked. "Has our dear little Thrimidge finally found herself a lad? From what I've heard you're even going up there."
"Up where?" Who has Largo been talking to?
Lilla almost pouted. "Oh, darling, don't you keep up with the gossip? Everyone knows you're going. And I must say it simply isn't fair of you to be keeping secrets from me. How long have we been friends?"
Never.
"So," Lilla gave her a sly look. "Tell me all about it."
Belle shook her head, feeling a little desperate. He was right in the room, for goodness sake! "He really isn't like that at all. He's very...very secretive. Very quiet."
Lilla leaned even closer. "But you like him."
Belle snorted. "Please. He barely knows my name."
"Ohhh?" Lilla purred. "So, there's really nothing?"
"Absolutely not," Belle snapped. "He may be handsome and polite, but he's precious little else. He truly can't remember my name. It's always 'Miss Bracegirdle' this and 'Miss Bracegirdle' that."
"So there's no love lost between the two of you?" Lilla sat back up, cocking her head to one side.
"None." Oh, was she ever going to pay for these lies later.
"So you wouldn't mind if I met him?"
Belle's eyes narrowed. Perhaps sooner than I thought. "I thought that you were after Largo," she said bluntly.
Lilla smirked. "What does it matter to you, darling? One's your brother, and you can't stand the other."
Trapped by her own words Belle could only shrug and try to school her expression to anything other than, 'I will kill you, Lilla Overdale.' "You'll have to catch them first," she pointed out.
Lilla shrugged back, just a slight ladylike lift of her shoulders, so unlike Belle's own rather masculine, blunt shrug. Sometimes Belle wished that she'd had even one sister to teach her these things.
"Oh, trust me, Thrim, catching them isn't the problem." Lilla smirked at her like a cat who'd gotten into the cream.
Belle leaned back and quirked a sceptical eyebrow at her rival. "So, why hasn't Largo ever bit?" she asked pointedly. Lilla's smile slipped for a moment and Belle's grew. That's one for the long-nosed wallflower.
"I'm only forty," Lilla snapped. "Unlike you."
The gardener sneezed again and the two lasses turned and glared at him.
"Are you laughing at us, Odo Underhill?" Belle demanded frostily
The hobbit turned toward them, ducking his head in that apologetic way. "Jus' a bit o' cold, Mistress. Your tea's nigh ready."
Belle inclined her head in approval. "Thank you."
As 'Odo' turned back to his cooking Lilla gave a slight sigh and said, "Now, he's a fair piece. Just a touch on the thin side, but those cheekbones! Whenever did you hire him, darling?"
Belle's mind flew. "Oh, not that long ago," she hedged. "Just this week. He's still recovering from the Time of Troubles, and then he took ill and is only now getting over that too. Largo offered him a place to help him get his strength back." As if overhearing her the gardener gave his broccoli a rather vicious chop.
Lilla never took her eyes off him. "Well, I must say," she murmured, and let the words fall away.
Belle gave her a look of disgust. "Lilla, he's a gardener."
"Still," Lilla purred.
"That's disgusting," Belle muttered.
At those words Lilla looked at her, seeming to take in every unfeminine flaw that Belle had in that one disdainful glance, from her too-long nose to the ink stains on her apron. "And that is why no hobbit will even look at you, darling," she retorted. Returning her attention to the gardener she added in an undertone, "Any time you want help with that, just let me know. I'd be more than willing to help."
"I'm sure you would," Belle muttered under her breath. Lilla sent her another quick smirk and then drew in a sharp breath. 'Odo' was approaching with the tea-tray.
"Your tea, Mistress Belle," he mumbled.
"Just put it here on the table," Belle said, brushing a hand lightly across the space between her and Lilla. The hobbit bowed and silently placed the tray where she had indicated (pausing just long enough to send Belle a pleading look) and turned to leave—just as Lilla purposely dropped her handkerchief.
"Get that for me, will you, Odo," she commanded.
For a moment the Baggins froze where he stood, and Belle wondered if he would refuse. Then, slowly, he swung back toward them with an unreadable expression on his face and said in a monotone, "Aye, miss." He knelt to pick up the handkerchief, and then stilled again, his eyes growing wide and his face paling.
The two hobbitesses watched him impatiently. "Maybe he isn't," Lilla muttered.
"Odo!" Belle snapped, afraid that he was about to betray them. "What are you looking at?"
Frodo started and looked up at her in shock. He stumbled around for a moment, searching for words, and then said in a flustered manner, "Beggin' your pardon, Mistress. I were jus', thet is, I jus' rec'nised sommat 'bout this table."
"Well, tell me about it later," Belle said hastily. "Go see to the soup."
That seemed to bring him out of it. "Aye, Mistress," he said hastily, bobbing and scrambling to his feet. Beggin' your pardon, Mistress. Your han'kerchif, miss," handing the cloth back to Lilla. He quickly returned to his cooking area, where he began briskly mixing ingredients together, as if to work out some extra energy. The two watched him go.
"Strange fellow," Belle observed.
"Quite," Lilla agreed in a tone stating that she had clearly written the gardener off completely. Then she turned to Belle. "So," she began, drawing out the 'o', "tell me about Frodo Baggins. Does he really have only nine fingers?"
Belle stiffened, her mind racing. "Where in the Shire did you hear that?" she demanded, trying to buy time.
Lilla chuckled, a lilting sound that grated on Belle's nerves. "Oh, darling, you really haven't been keeping up, have you? Simply everyone's been talking about it. Some say that it's nine, some that it's only eight, and a few do say that he lost a whole hand altogether because Mr Baggins always seems to be hiding the right one in his pocket, but the general agreement is that he only has four fingers on the right hand. Oh, darling, it's been perfectly thrilling. When was the last time you heard any news?"
Belle had reached her limit. There were only so many taunts that a lass could be expected to take. "I don't know, Lillith, you tell me," she retorted heatedly. "I've been a bit busy this week with my guest; last week I was preparing for a burial; and before that I was taking care of my aunt! I think that the last time I "heard" anything was Foreyule!"
Lilla shook her head sympathetically. "You poor dear," she crooned. "Shall I catch you up on everything?"
"That really isn't necessary," Belle said stiffly.
Lilla simpered a bit. "Well, you must let me tell you that they say the entire restoration has been funded by him, until now, of course."
Belle gave her a bewildered glare. "Who?" she asked pointedly.
"Frodo Baggins, of course, darling." Lilla smirked at her hostess. "I trust he never mentioned that?"
"He doesn't discuss his personal business with me," Belle retorted, "and if you really think that you could get anything out of him you have my full blessing. The very little that I do know I have practically had to pry out of him! I swear he's closer than an oyster!"
"Thank the Valar for that," Frodo murmured faintly in his own voice. Belle shot him a quick glance, but the tone was apparently soft enough that Lilla didn't hear him.
"Temper, Thrim," she chided, selecting some small cakes and sandwiches from the tray. Belle rose and carefully poured two cups of tea, handing one to Lilla, and for several minutes they devoted themselves to the food.
It was as they were finishing their fourth cakes that Lilla said, "Oh! I just remembered why I popped over! I was wondering if you, Largo, and Mr Baggins would be interested in coming to supper. Mum's been meaning to invite the three of you all week, but she would keep forgetting. You could come at seven and we'd eat at eight, or you could come earlier and we could visit." She gave Belle a meaningful smile and selected another cake.
In answer Belle gave her a very odd look and then turned to observe her busy 'gardener,' who couldn't possibly have missed the invitation. He stood at the far worktable carving a chicken which she had cooked earlier and placed in the cold room. Beside him sat two lovely looking pie crusts just waiting to be filled. A pot was cheerfully simmering on the stove, sending delicious-smelling odours throughout the kitchen, and Frodo was softly humming a tune that she'd never heard before. She turned back to Lilla.
"I'm sorry, dear, but we couldn't possibly impose, and certainly not after Odo's been working so hard. Perhaps another day, hm?" Inside she smiled wickedly as Lilla's face fell.
"Oh, darling, couldn't you just put it away for tomorrow? It's only some soup."
Belle shook her head sympathetically. "I'm afraid not. You see, the rumours are quite true. Largo and I have been invited to Bag End, and we're leaving first thing in the morning." She smiled demurely. "I'm afraid that it would go bad while we're gone."
Lilla gave her a look of dismay. "But, but, but that means that he'll be leaving tomorrow!" she stuttered.
Belle bit back her grin. "I'm so sorry, Lilla," she murmured. "Perhaps you could invite him another time?"
"When will there be another time?" Lilla wailed.
Belle patted the hand of the younger lass gently. "I'm sure you'll come up with something," she comforted.
"Belle, what in Middle Earth do you have planned for—" Largo stopped dead as he stepped through the kitchen doorway and caught sight of the inhabitants. "Miss Overdale."
His bow was stiff, but polite, and Lilla immediately brightened up. "Oh, Largo darling, there you are. I've been wondering." She simpered at him.
Largo peeled his horrified eyes away from her and turned to his sister. "Forgive the intrusion, ladies. I just wondered what was for supper."
"Broccoli soup and cold chicken," Belle answered cheerfully before Lilla could say a word. "Odo's cooking," she stressed 'Odo' slightly in hopes that her brother would understand.
Largo's eyes goggled. "Odo?!" he exclaimed.
The hobbit in question turned toward them with a questioning look. "Aye, sir?" Belle absent-mindedly noticed that he was clutching the handle of carving knife tightly in his right hand.
Clever. That should keep Lillith from noticing the finger.
Lilla's gaze shifted rapidly between the two hobbits. "Largo, dear, is something wrong?"
Frodo's face was white as he watched the trio. Belle cast an anxious glance at her brother.
After a moment Largo seemed to recover. "I had no idea that Odo could cook," he answered.
'Odo' seemed relieved and indignant at once. "Aye, sir," he said, puffing out his chest a bit. "My mum taught me when I were jus' a lit'le lad—"
"I don't doubt it," Largo interrupted dryly. "However, this does explain where you've been for the past hour. Been looking for you. I need you in the parlour. Now."
Frodo gave him a look of surprise, but hastily turned away to put down the knife. "Aye, sir," he said briskly, wiping his hands off and thrusting them into his pockets.
"Wait, Largo," Lilla cut in hastily. "Is Frodo Baggins here?"
Largo gave her an amused look. "Yes, he is," he replied with a smirk. "He's a bit busy at the moment though. Why do you ask?"
"Well, I was wondering if you three would be interested coming over for supper. Mum's making your favourite." She batted her eyelashes at him.
Largo's smile became tight. "My apologies, Miss Lilla, but I think we'll be a little too busy tonight." He glanced at Belle and added, "Got a lot of packing to do. Come on, Odo." The pair quit the room.
Belle just shook her head at her companion's crestfallen look. "Lads," she sympathised. Lilla made no answer and Belle rose, shaking a very few crumbs out of her skirt. "I do thank you for coming, Lilla," she said, "but I'm afraid that I have things that I need to get back to work now. As Largo said, we do have a lot of work ahead of us yet tonight, so maybe I'll see you when we get back." As she spoke she picked up Lilla's bonnet and held it out to her. Startled, Lilla took it.
"Oh, but darling— Lilla began, but Belle shook her head.
"I'm sorry Lilla, but do come around some other time." Like when I'm Mistress of Bag End. She gathered the cups and plates together on the tray and carried it to the worktable. Lilla watched her for a moment and then shook herself.
"Well, I'm sure you're right, Thrimidge darling, so I'll just take my leave." Lilla rose and offered her hostess a curtsey of thanks, saying as she did so, "I do thank you for the tea and the time spent here. Your gift has made my day worthwhile." This was a courtesy that all hobbits were taught from faunthood; today it was little more than a polite nothing. Still Belle nodded in acceptance and answered correctly, "You were most welcome here, dear Lilla." She quietly saw her guest to the road.
When she returned Frodo was frantically using his fingers to comb the flour out of his hair and Largo was leaning over the table, laughing hysterically.
"I can't b-believe you, Baggins," he gasped. "That has to be the greatest prank ever pulled on Lilla! What possessed you?"
Frodo offered him a small smile as he straightened. "She called me the gardener," he answered quietly.
"Odorf Underhill!" Largo chortled. "Odorf!" He eyed his companion. "Wasn't that a bit risky?"
Frodo shrugged. "Neither of them ever noticed, and that was the point."
"Alright," Belle demanded. "What's significant about 'Odorf'?"
Largo clutched his side, still laughing. "Frodo!" he shrieked. "It's F-Frodo b-b-backwards!"
Belle gaped at the pair and Frodo grinned back. "It's more poetic in its original context," he said, repeating his earlier statement.
Belle began laughing then. "Tell me you jest," she giggled.
Frodo shook his head. "Nope, write it down and see for yourself."
"You're terrible," she snickered. He made her a sweeping bow in return.
"Wherever did 'Underhill' come from?" Largo grinned.
Frodo's smile faltered for a moment, but then was back again. "It was the name that I used when I left the Shire. In fact, they still can't keep me straight in Bree."
"Really?" Belle smirked. "Odorf Underhill?"
"Frodo, actually. Odorf is," he paused and then smirked back, "much older than that."
"Oh? How old?" Belle wondered.
Frodo mused on that for a minute. "I'm not sure," he finally said, "It happened sometime during my Buckland days as a way to amuse Yrrem."
"Eerim?"
"Merry," Frodo explained.
Largo was still chuckling over the trick. "I can't believe how long you kept her going! How long were you in here?"
"Too long. Far too long," Frodo answered, slumping dramatically against the table. The siblings roared and Frodo rubbed his head as if in weariness. "I thought they'd never stop." His voice took on a high-pitched female quality. "Oh, my sainted aunt, did you know that he was funding the recovery? That he has ten toes and nine fingers? That he keeps fourteen cats and his gardener at Bag End? That his bedroom is full of squirrels and he sleeps with a pet rat? Well, I never heard anything so ridiculous in all my days! Something ought to be done about it!"
Belle was rolling from side to side from laughing so hard. "Oh, oh," she gasped. "You sound just like her. But did you see those cheekbones? My, my, my," she giggled.
Frodo gave her a wry smirk. "Well, I'm glad you find it so funny," he said, sounding mildly reproving.
Largo's eyebrows rose. "You don't?"
Frodo gave him a disbelieving look. "I invite you to sit in a room where two lasses are discussing your upcoming wedding in detail, and you can't say a word about it."
Largo gave Belle his own look of disbelief. "Belle, you didn't."
"That was Lilla's doing, not my idea," Belle said hastily.
Largo gave a whistle of surprise. "Baggins, you really are a hero."
Frodo smirked. "No, I was just hiding."
"Hiding in plain sight," Largo mused. "I might have to try that next time."
"Sorry," Frodo returned, grinning. "You have to be a stranger for that to work."
"Well, I'll be one next week." He smirked at the Baggins. "In fact, I'll be one tomorrow."
"Very true," Frodo granted. The smile that the pair gave each other was almost one of friendship. Belle felt herself tense when she saw it and had to fight down the smile that kept threatening to pop out.
Frodo noticed though. "You seem awfully happy, Miss Belle," he observed.
She let her smile slip out. "I'm just glad to see you two finally getting along," she returned.
"Yes, we'll just see how long it lasts, won't we," Largo returned, but even he smiled as he spoke.
"Stars above!" Frodo suddenly exclaimed. "The bread!" He rushed to the oven to check on his creation.
"Don't tell me you ruined perfectly good bread, Baggins," Largo protested.
"It wouldn't be the first time," grumbled Frodo from where he was peering anxiously into the oven.
"Call me for supper," Largo told Belle, and then left the kitchen.
Belle sat back down at the table to resume her neglected list. "What happened the last time?" she wondered.
"I was doing some research and didn't watch it," Frodo mumbled. "Burnt to a crisp."
Belle chuckled. "What were you researching?"
"I haven't the faintest." Frodo was now fishing for his loaf and appeared to have most of his attention bent on the task. "Doubtless it was some Elvish word or an event in history or—" he froze suddenly.
"Do you do a lot of research?" Belle queried.
"The bill of sale," Frodo mumbled.
"What?"
"For Bag End. I was writing it up and lost track of time..." Frodo's voice drifted off and he stared blankly at the wall for a few minutes, and then shook himself. "That was so long ago," he mumbled to himself.
"And you're going to have a nasty burn in a few more minutes," Belle said, raising her voice in an attempt to break through his thoughts.
Frodo made no answer, but he did finish removing his bread and eyed it critically. "Mmm, maybe half done," he mumbled. "I thought it had been longer than that..." He shrugged and put the loaf back into the oven.
Belle gave him a shrewd look. "Do you regret selling now?"
"I regretted it the moment that I thought of it," he mumbled, fumbling at his necklace.
"Why did you sell it, then? You weren't running out of money, everyone in the Shire knows that." Belle was genuinely curious this time, and not just trying to pry.
"I needed to," was the quiet, but closed answer. Belle shook her head in frustration.
Why won't you just talk to me? she screamed silently. You did on Trewsday.
"You know, that's really not an answer," she tried.
He gave her a wary sideways glance. "Perhaps I do not wish to discuss it, Miss Bracegirdle," he said with finality, and then turned back to his work. "Tell me, do you prefer gooseberry or bilberry preserves in your pie? I found a jar of each."
He was changing the subject again. Wonderful. "I prefer bilberries, but Largo can't stand them. That's why you only found one jar."
He turned back to her with a smirk, but Belle noticed that it didn't reach his eyes, which remained wary.
"I should like to teach him differently," he teased. "There's no fruit in the world like bilberries, although I do prefer apples. You don't have any, though."
In spite of her concerns she found herself grinning. "Of course not. That's the first fruit out of the hole! Other than strawberries," she amended.
Frodo's face became thoughtful. "Wasn't that a strawberry-rhubarb pie that we enjoyed on Sunday?"
"I hide a few jars in my wardrobe," she confessed in an undertone.
Frodo chuckled. "And enjoy them in private?"
Belle laughed back. "No, I really do save them for special occasions. You have to do that with Largo around. He'll eat strawberry jam plain if you give him a spoon."
"A very sensible hobbit," Frodo approved, giving the soup a good stir.
"Not really," Belle returned, although she was laughing as she did so.
Frodo just shrugged and started humming an old comic harvest song under his breath about picking bushes clean of their fruit and coming home with full tummies and empty baskets.
Belle shook her head fondly at him. Cheeky! she thought, and then remembered.
"What's wrong with this table?" she asked.
Frodo looked at her in surprise and then gave the table a searching look. "Nothing that I can see," he answered.
"What did it remind you of?" Belle persisted. "You said that it reminded you of something."
"Forgive me if I correct you," Frodo answered quietly, "but I said that I recognised something about it, and I do." He drew in a breath and said, "My father made it."
Belle felt her eyes widen and her lips part slightly as if to say something, but she could think of nothing.
"I remember him carving the legs with flowers and vines," Frodo continued, remembering. "In fact, he allowed me to help him." He left the soup for a minute and moved to the table. Kneeling on the floor he carefully touched one of the legs. Belle knelt beside him. The table leg was decoratively carved with morning-glory and sweet pea blossoms.
"It was this one," Frodo murmured, his long white fingers tracing the vines. "I wanted to be a wright, just like my father. I hadn't begun any training yet; I only watched him, but he let me hold the chisel and he wrapped his hands around mine and guided them." His voice trailed away as if in memory, but then he chuckled. "I was constantly asking questions while we worked. Sometimes I wonder how they ever put up with me. He even let me come with him when he delivered it, so that I would feel as if I were part of the entire process. We were living in Woodhall and it was the furthest that he ever had to drive to deliver anything. The drive seemed to last forever, but I learned so much during it. When we arrived there was a little lass hanging by her knees from the front gate on a dare." He turned to smile at her. "You tumbled off just as we pulled up to the gate, and your ears were bright red." Belle felt her ears burning again. Curse these tell-tale ears!
"You ran inside to announce the visitors, and your brothers all came running, peppering Da with questions and demanding to see the table; your father was close behind. I don't remember negotiations or delivery, except that I helped carry the table inside and thought that the leg that I was lifting was heavier than the rest of the table.
The lads reminded me of a pack of baying dogs, and I was quite shy of them at first, but we played together until I hid in a tree during hide-and-seek. They said that wasn't fair and wouldn't play when I suggested that we just climb because, 'Bracegirdles don't climb trees'." He curled his lip as he spoke, imitating a much younger Elbin perfectly. Belle gave him a sharp look, but he seemed unaware that he'd done anything. "We all had the blessing dinner together at the table and I must have done something that impressed Mr Bracegirdle, for he told Da that he'd like to see how I turned out when I came of age, and Da promised him an invitation to the coming-of-age party."
He paused again. "That was the last time that I helped him. There was a chest that he finished by himself when we returned, and we delivered it two weeks later as we travelled to Buckland to greet my new cousin Berilac, but they never came home." He stroked the leg gently, lost in memory. Belle hardly dared to breathe, she was that afraid to interrupt him. "I don't even know who told Mr Bracegirdle that Papa was -dead. He wanted a cabinet done, with trailing sprays of wisteria carved as if hanging from the top. Papa was working on his sketches in the library that morning because he had to get away from all of his relations for a while. I was with him and he let me see. They were beautiful. He let me try my hand at it, and said that they were good, but they weren't, not really. Then we had the welcoming picnic that afternoon for Beri and they went boating with various aunts and uncles. Everyone else came back, but they went a little further on their own..." His voice trailed off again and they sat on the floor in motionless silence.
Papa. It sounded so tender, so childish, as if behind the façade of aloof dignity and politeness stretched to the breaking point there still lurked a little lad, barely more than a faunt, who missed his parents. Hesitantly she reached out a hand and gently began rubbing his back in a comforting manner. For once he didn't shy away, but allowed the touch, his head bent. She stroked his dark curls very gently and a shudder ran through his body. He lifted his head and turned to look at her.
"Thank you, Miss Belle," he murmured, and she smiled back.
-o-o-o-
A/N: The idea of Odorf and the line, "It's more poetic in its original context," is borrowed with much love from Primsong's story, Rivendell International Airport.
I do know about the Hebrew tale of Lilith, but Belle doesn't. She just calls Lilla that to spite her, much as Lilla calls her Thrimidge. There is no inference here whatsoever.