A Touch of Spring

Bilbo set the tea-cake in the warming oven and the kettle to boil, smiling in anticipation of a good meal in good company. Snowflakes had fallen in great sheets last night, no doubt to the satisfaction of people like Otto Bracegirdle and Ruby Underhill, who had predicted the storm of the century.

"You wait and see," old Bracegirdle had said to him. "These spring storms can be worse than the ones that come in the dead of winter. The world is warming up, the clouds are getting lower- add the two together and you get enough snow to bury a hobbit's hole right up to the windows."

Bilbo had nodded silently at the time, and chuckled to himself upon waking up that morning to find a mere two inches of snow dusting the valley of Hobbiton. Why, it wasn't even deep enough to cover the grass in some spots!

He wiped his hands upon a cloth and glanced out the kitchen window when a whoop of joy drifted across the garden. Frodo had been sorely disappointed that the storm had not, in fact, buried Bag End up to the windows- he predicted it would be a wonderful adventure; Bilbo merely thought of the work of shoveling away the snowdrifts- but he seemed happy enough to be outside, trotting here and there to see the different views of Hobbiton as it lay below them, sliding on the white-blanketed lawn only to fall down then leap up and try again.

He smiled to see Frodo pick up a handful of snow and throw it into the air, just to watch it drift down onto his face. So easily pleased by small things, Bilbo thought with satisfaction. I'm glad I took him away from Buckland; they were good to him, but it's only at Bag End that he's been able to thrive. He watched his little cousin play for a moment, then went back to his preparations for elevenses.

By the time Frodo came tramping through the door, the table in the parlor had a new cloth, plates and teacups with their saucers, spoons, and pots of jam and butter, and Bilbo was in the kitchen putting the final touches on their meal.

"Uncle, come and see!" Frodo said excitedly.

"What's that, my lad?" Bilbo said absently, concentrating on the hot kettle he was returning to the hob.

"Out in the garden," Frodo persisted. "Come along, please. Please?"

There was no chance of ignoring such a request, not when it was accompanied by big, pleading eyes. Frodo positively wriggled with excitement, and Bilbo laughed. "Very well; let me fetch my coat."

Frodo scampered down the hallway ahead of him and before Bilbo was halfway to the door, he came back with the coat in question. He'd even thought to bring a scarf.

"Now, lad, what's this all about?" Bilbo said as he fastened his last button and opened the door.

"Well, I was running and sliding, and I fell down right next to the herb beds, and I saw the most wonderful thing- and just when I thought winter would never end, too," Frodo said all in one breath.

Bilbo still had no idea what Frodo was talking of. "So, what did you see?"

"That." Frodo pointed at their feet. They were standing at the edge of the herb garden, and on the edge of the stone walkway, there were-

"Crocuses," Bilbo whispered. "The first flowers of spring."

"Aren't they lovely?" Frodo said, and promptly cast himself on the ground so he was at eye-level with the little flowers.

They were beautiful, shades of yellow and purple and white, some mere buds, others partially opened and suspending a delicate net of snowflakes above their petals. They nearly glowed in the brilliant sun, and after a long, gray winter, Bilbo's eyes longed for the sight of such deep, vibrant color. "They are lovely," he agreed as he knelt to the accompaniment of creaking old bones. "Well spotted, my lad. They're so small, I might never have seen them."

For a long moment, they simply watched, enthralled by the patch of green amid the white. A breeze drifted through the garden and one purple crocus trembled, dislodging its little hood of snow, which fell to the ground with a plop!

The breeze whispered again, and Bilbo realized that Frodo, though still engrossed by the sight before him, was shivering. "Up you get, lad," he said gently. "Wouldn't want you to catch cold. The flowers will still be here once you've had some tea."

Frodo obediently scrambled to his feet and, as they turned to go inside, said softly, "Mama and I used to hunt for the first crocuses every spring, but since she's not here, I wanted to share them with you."

Bilbo's eyes filled with tears of mingled sadness and gratitude. He put an arm around Frodo's shoulders and squeezed even as they walked. "Thank you, my lad," he said when he could speak again, "I'm very glad you came to find me. I wouldn't have missed seeing them for all the gold under the Mountain."

"All of it?"

He nodded. "Not all treasure is silver and gold."

Frodo opened the door and sniffed the air. "No, I think not. Some treasure looks more like-" he grinned- "your famous lemon cake. Are we to have a piece for elevenses?"

"Two pieces, if you can manage it," Bilbo said as he unbuttoned his coat, marveling at the resilience- and appetite- of hobbit children.

"I can always manage more lemon cake," Frodo said happily, and they both laughed.

Together, they went into the parlor for elevenses, and though only two hobbits sat at the table, they looked out over the garden, with its tiny patch of life among the snow, and felt the soft, gentle presence of another.

End.