"Are you hungry, Sam?"
"And how did you know it was me coming in?"
Rose hmphed at the pot of porridge she was stirring with a steady hand; the porridge hmphed right back at her with a gentle gloop. "As if I wouldn't know my own husband's footsteps." Sliding the pot away from the fire--scorched porridge never did anyone's disposition any good, even one so naturally sunny as her Samâ€"she turned round and smiled at him. Oh, my, she thought as she watched him leaning against the doorway drying his face from his morning wash. What'd he do, bring a little of the sun inside with him?
"Set yourself down. Breakfast is almost ready. Hungry?"
"That I am." On his way to the table, Sam bent over Elanor's cradle, a wide smile splitting his face as he stroked his sleeping daughter's cheek with the backs of his scrubbed fingers. His chair squeaked on the flagstone floor when he drew it up to the table and dug into the steaming bowl Rose placed in front of him. Of course, it wasn't just a plain bowl of bland oatmeal, no indeed--not with the brown sugar carving little gorges, a thick pat of butter melting into the pool of yellow cream floating around the bowl's edge, the dried currants winking up at him. Oh, it was as fine a bowl of oatmeal as you could want, and the first bite proved it.
Only one thing made it less than perfect.
"Should I go get him?" Sam asked. Rose put down her spoon and looked at it thoughtfully for a minute.
"No ...not today. Let him sleep." She shook her head and picked up the spoon again, scooping up a mound of the warm sweet cereal. "He's earned his rest, I'd say."
Sam nodded. "Aye, he did. I don't think I've seen him sleep so easy in months ...nor so long and hard. It was a good thing you did yesterday." Reaching across the table, Sam squeezed Rose's hand. "Thank you. I couldn't do it myself."
A bright flush crept up Rose's neck, and she pushed Sam's hand away though not without an extra tight squeeze before she let go. "You did what you needed to do when it counted the most." When Sam said nothing--just stared at Rose with the steady look that always made her feel like she was a tweenager again watching him out of the corner of her eye as she walked along Bagshot Row--Rose backed away from the table and turned toward the stove. While she was waiting for the cast iron skillet to heat, she pulled out eggs and bacon, cut thick slices of bread for toasting.
The clink of spoon against bowl was the only sound in the room until the bacon hit the hot pan with a hiss and a sizzle. As the salty sweet aroma filled the kitchen, Rose asked, "How do you want your eggs today ...fried?"
"Scrambled," came the answer but not from Sam.
Rose didn't turn around; she didn't have to and didn't want to, not with the sudden tears stinging her eyes. "Scrambled it is ...and you, Sam?"
"That'll do me as well ...hey!"
A fierce struggle over the remnants of Sam's oatmeal met Rose's eyes when she turned around to see what the commotion was. Smiling broadly, she dipped her ladle into the pot and plopped more porridge into what was now Frodo's bowl. Passing him the sugar and cream, currants and butter, she said with her mouth quirked to one side, "Are you sure you can eat all this? Not that I'm complaining, you know ..."
If Rose thought Sam had brought a bit of the sun inside, when Frodo looked her in the eye, she knew that the sky had come in as well. The clear blue untroubled sky of the Shire on a warm spring morning such as this.
It was a good thing that Rose didn't mind Frodo devouring the oatmeal, for she got nary an answer from him but for a sort of muffled "mmm ...". And that was the best answer she could have hoped for.
"Rose-lass ...the bacon?"
"Right, Sam!" She turned back to the stove and rescued the curling rashers just moments before smoking incineration. "Will you toast the bread for me, Sam?"
Joining Rose at the stove, Sam took the thick slices of bread and loaded them into the hearth toaster before kneeling at the cheerful blaze and grilling his face as well as the bread. He and Rose took turns studiously keeping track of toasting bread and frying bacon and scrambling eggs--weaving around each other as they set the table--and giving each other little glances of delighted surprise. For when Frodo had finished his bowl of porridge (only licking it would have cleaned it out more completely), he wandered over to Elanor's crib while he waited for his bacon and eggs.
Frodo picked up Elanor and held her against his cheek, the bright gold of her curly head nestled against his pale skin which, Rose was sure, wasn't quite so pasty white as it had been yesterday. Surely there was a rosy tint in his cheeks that wasn't just due to the heat of the kitchen.
When Rose felt the telltale prickles at the backs of her eyes again, she shook herself and said, "Are you planning on feeding her if she wakes? Because I'm going to be enjoying my breakfast."
Frodo smiled, and not only with his lips. After a quick nuzzle on top of Elly's sleeping head, he laid her down gently in her cradle and tucked the covers around her.
A minute or two later--it seemed like half an hour according to Frodo's growling stomach--the three sat down to the main course. The honey-cured bacon was fried to a perfectly caramelized crispness, which made the scrambled eggs seem that much more velvety and buttery as they melted on eager tongues. The tall stack of toasted bread which had seemed way too much to Sam when he had been grilling it was in fair danger of disappearing in a matter of minutes. A round pitcher of new milk sat in the center of the table, condensation beading on its exterior.
Seeing as these were three hobbits breaking their fast, there wasn't much in the way of talk except for "pass the salt, please" and such things. After a few minutes of concentrated eating, Frodo raised his head and asked, "Is there any jam?"
Rose jumped up. "Of course ...I just forgot. What kind?"
"Oh, strawberry ...why would I want any other kind?" Frodo and Sam exchanged a quick look and rolled their eyes. Rose's strawberry jam was acknowledged to be the finest in the Shire, being that it had won the blue ribbon at last summer's Free Fair on the White Downs. Even Marigold didn't disagree with that assessment, though it sorely tried Rose to give up even one jar of the precious stuff to her.
Before Rose even had the chance to sit herself back down at the table, Frodo asked, "Are there more eggs?" Sure enough, a quick scan of his plate showed a distinct lack.
"My goodness, that was quick work. Where are you putting it?" Rose exchanged another quick look with Sam, both of them grinning now like the happy fools they were. "You'd think he'd been out checking on saplings with you along the Bywater road instead of lurking inside with me yesterday." She tipped the rest of the eggs onto Frodo's plate and added another rasher of bacon to keep them company.
Frodo took a bite. "Talking is hungry work ...thirsty, too."
"Was it worth it?" Sam asked, his voice grown gruff for fear that it wouldn't come out at all.
"It is today."
Neither Rose nor Sam could argue with that, not that they were of a mind to do so. Not even when Frodo loaded his fork with another bite of sunny yellow eggs and dipped them into the glistening pool of sweet strawberry jam, an outlandish combination that somehow seemed just the right thing this fine spring morning at Bag End.
End
~