"Blast this weather!"

The kitchen was a disaster area, shelves and cupboards all emptied out, the contents strewn all over the floor in a jumble of pots, pans, jars, knives and ladles. Elanor was dozing in her basket while Rosie, Frodo and Sam attempted to sort out what utensils they actually used out of the mess. The rain outside, alternating between drizzle and downpour throughout the day, did nothing to help with the general mood.

"What about this?" Frodo held up a colander. Rosie shook her head.

"We do need it, but not often. It can go somewhere out of the way."

"And these?" a pair of ridiculously bent tongs this time.

"You've got eyes, don't you? Don't ask me about every single thing you pick up!" Rosie snapped, then softened. "I'm sorry. I just hate having to throw so much aside, it feels wasteful."

"Everything is garbage eventually." Frodo pointed out philosophically. Rosie just glared in reply.

"Here's that broken water pitcher," Sam held it up. "I see what you mean, it'll never hold liquid with that big crack down the side."

"Onto the junk pile with it then." Rosie said with a sigh.

With a sudden smile, clutching the jug in one hand, Sam ran from the room.

"What's he up to now?" Rosie followed him down the hall. He'd run outside, around the corner and out of sight. She stood in the doorway, hesitant to go out into the grey weather.

"Sam! Samwise! You come back in here!" she shouted. Frodo came to stand beside her, he never moved anywhere fast anymore. A gust of wind made them both step back into the relative warmth of the entryway.

"What's he doing?" Frodo asked.

"I don't have the slightest clue, but whenever he's finished with whatever it is I'll give him an earful. This is not the weather for ridiculous behaviour."

Frodo didn't respond, smiling at her exasperated face and then dodging the smack she aimed at him. After a few minutes Sam became visible again, coming back from where he'd been still holding the broken jug, now filled to the brim with rich black soil, a cluster of bright yellow and red flowers planted neatly in the centre. He put it down beside the front gate, along the edge of the newly-neatened path. It looked as if it had belonged there forever.

"There, see? There's life in it yet. Things can still have another round left in them, even when they look done for, in my experience." Sam said, looking extremely proud of himself and also extremely drenched.

With a laugh of delight Frodo ran out of the front door, launching himself into Sam's arms. Sam spun him joyfully, and if their faces weren't covered in raindrops Rosie might have thought they were crying.

"All right," she called. "That's very nice, now come inside! You'll catch your death if you stay out there!"

They ignored her warnings for a long time, kissing happily in the wet garden, the little jug of flowers soaking up the rain hungrily and growing stronger for it. When Frodo finally sneezed from the cold, Rosie dashed down and pulled them both inside, scolding with about as much threat in her voice as a small fluffy kitten could muster.

"You're as bad as each other, the pair of you. I hope you're happy with your foolishness, because you'll pay for it with sniffles and red eyes tomorrow." she sat them down in front of the fire and made them strip off their clothes, wrapping a blanket around their shoulders and rubbing their hair until it dried in damp curls. Frodo pressed a chilly kiss against her cheek, and Rosie couldn't help but smile.

"I hope I only ever have girl-children, that's all I can say. Boys never have any sense at all."


~

Pretty Good Year | email Mary