The next day, Frodo returned to Bag End - but Sam was not there. The fine clothes that Frodo had bought for Sam were neatly folded in a pile on his front doorstep. Sam had gone back to his house, but with not a word, or a note. No. There was a note - Sam's resignation as gardener. Frodo felt hurt, confused - was it because Sam had found a lass? Or was it something else? Nothing about this made any sense to Frodo.
Frodo walked down the lane to Sam's house. He was met at the door by the Gaffer, but the greeting was unwelcoming and gruff. When Sam had returned home and told the Gaffer he was resigning his post at Bag End, the Gaffer refused to let him - until Sam told him the whole story. After a great deal of resistance, Sam finally had.
What did Frodo think trying to put ideas into his son's head like that, trying to make him into something he's not, the Gaffer demanded. And on a bet, no less! He's a Gamgee, and proud of it - no need to be trying to be somebody else. No call to disrespect his son like that; nobody had a right to do that!
Frodo became indignant, despite himself, and embarassed. "Disrespect Sam?" he retorted, " I was trying to help him improve himself! Trying to help him be the best he could be! And if this is the thanks I get for trying to help, for spending all of that time with Sam.." Frodo paused, confused and angry ".. teaching Sam, that is - than I'm better off without him!" Frodo turned on his heel and marched off, back up the hill to Bag End, blood pounding in his head furiously, slowly cooling off only as he approached home.
Returning to the echoing emptiness of BagEnd, the Gaffer's words and his own reverberated through his head. Was he really trying to help Sam out? Was that why he'd done this? Then - why had it pained him to know that Sam had found out about the bet? Or to realize Sam had done so well at the party - so well, that he'd surely marry and leave Bag End. And why did Frodo miss... yes, miss - the old Sam. The Sam that told stories, and laughed, and passed along the local gossip. Who worked in the garden, and brought Frodo his tea. And more - all the time they'd spent together the last 3 months, more time together than they'd spent in the 20 years before - talking, laughing, arguing, failing, succeeding... Bag End seemed empty without him. Indeed, suddenly Frodo's life seemed empty - without Sam. Not Sam the Gentleman, that he'd tried to create - but Sam of the shy smile, the ready laugh, the long stories, the thoughtful puffing on his pipe... and just - Sam.
(Frodo sings softly to himself, almost speaking the words rather than singing them):
I've grown accustomed to his face
He almost makes the day begin.
I've grown accustomed to the tune
He whistles night and noon.
His smiles. His frowns.
His ups, his downs,
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I was serenely independent and content before the bet.
Surely I can always be that way again-
And yet
I've grown accustomed to his looks,
Accustomed to his voice;
Accustomed to his face.
But I'm so used to hear him say "Good morning" ev'ry day.
His joys, his woes,
His highs, his lows,
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I'm very grateful he's a person
who's so easy to forget (ironic laugh)
Rather like a habit
One can always break and yet,
I've grown accustomed to the trace
Of something in the air;
Accustomed to his face.
Frodo paused, standing behind his desk, hand on the back of his chair, looking out of his window, to the garden.
"I washed my face and 'ands before I came in, I did..."
Frodo whirled around, "Sam!?"
Sam was at the doorstep, looking through the open door that Frodo had absently left ajar. Sam pushed the door open wider and softly stepped in, closing it behind him, then looking over again at Frodo.
Frodo's eyes filled with tears, head falling down. "I'm surprised... I didn't think you'd want to come back here again, after..."
Sam's face was filled with sadness, and hurt - but with calmness as well. "After what, sir?"
Frodo was silent for a long while, collecting himself. "You heard.... about the bet." It was said as a statement, more than a question.
"Aye, sir - I did." Sam spoke with his old voice, warm and relaxed, the feel of it like a well-worn sweater on a chilly day to Frodo's ears. Strange - it should have been grating, after all the time spent working against it, but instead, it was welcoming. Frodo felt himself releasing the breath he'd been holding tightly inside of him.
Frodo raised his eyes, looking at Sam as steadily as he could manage. "I'm sorry, Sam." When Sam quietly nodded for him to continue, Frodo went on. "I just want you to know, it wasn't... I didn't do it for the...bet. I never did it for that." Frodo walked slowly over to Sam, standing before him, his hands folded nervously in front of him. "I did it for you, because - I thought you wanted it." Sam tilted hhis head, a small look of skepticism on his face. "For Rosie - don't you remember? You said you wanted to be more of a gentleman, for Rosie." Sam let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "You mean - you didn't?" Frodo asked, puzzled. Sam replied, "Well, aye - I guess I did for a while. But I meant a gentleman of the Hobbiton variety - not one of them fancies what lives over in Buckland, sir!" Frodo shook his head ruefully, with a lopsided grin. "I guess you're right, Sam - that was a bit much, wasn't it?" Frodo was relieved to hear another chuckle from Sam, and smiled briefly, before his face went solemn again. Sam noted the change with concern, waiting.
"I guess the truth is, Sam - that I really did it for me," Frodo confessed, woefully, turning away from Sam, pacing the front room slowly. Sam watched him, brow furrowed.
"I did it - because... Oh, Sam, this is not easy for me to say. I did it because - I wanted a friend. It gets lonely here at Bag End, with only my books to keep me company, and Bilbo gone... Merry and Pippin come to visit, yes, but when they're gone, it's only empty again - except when we talked together in the garden, or you came and listen to me read Elvish. But you'd always go back to the gardening. I figured you thought it wasn't right for you and I to be on the level of friends."
"I guess I thought - if I showed you how to talk, and act, and such - we wouldn't feel so different. And you'd feel more at ease with me, and... and we could chat - and have a smoke or a drink - and you wouldn't stand there looking like you were at the entrance of a dragon's cave every time you came to the front door! And - it worked!", Frodo said, finally looking back at Sam. "For three short months, you came into Bag End - not as the gardener, or somebody who worked for me, but - as a friend, working with a friend. And I'll not forget that, Sam. I know it was wrong. I know it was selfish. And I know I should have told you about the bet. But the longer I put it off, the harder it became to talk about it, without being afraid you'd get angry and leave." Sam was looking back at Frodo with astonishment. Frodo looked away again. "And now you know. And now you don't want to work here anymore. I understand, Sam. I wanted you as a friend, and here I've gone and treated you as no friend should ever treat another. It wasn 't right." Frodo stopped, leaning on his desk, and looking out of the window, a look of resignation on his face.
"No, sir, it wasn't," Sam said, after a long stretch of silence, "but I reckon you weren't the only one who wasn't completely honest." Frodo's head turned quickly to look at Sam, a look of confused surprise on his face. "Truth is, I didn't do this for to become a gentleman, sir, or to get out of the house or out of doin' odd jobs for the Gaffer all winter," Sam said, smiling at the last few words. "I did it - for the friendliness of it, sir - for the pleasantness between us." Sam stopped, feeling the color rise in his face. "Sure, it got a little rough there for a bit, and I nearly quit - but I couldn't. I couldn't because I knew you were expecting great things of me, sir - and ain't nobody ever done that before - well, you know what I mean..." Sam looked up, smiling wryly at his own double negative and wrong verb tense - only to meet Frodo's eyes, open with surprise and dawning understanding. "See, I guess you weren't the only one who - who needed a friend - and went along with a bit of a stretch of truth to get one. I guess I were right angry back at the party - when I heard your other friends laughing and such." Frodo closed his eyes and winced, shaking his head. "But it wasn't until I heard my Gaffer saying all of those awful things at you that I realized - you never once joined them in making fun of me - either then, or any time before."
"You know Merry and Pippin didn't mean to make fun of you, Sam - I'm afraid they'd had a bit more mulled wine than was good for them and got carried away. It seems you've quite won them over in the past few months. But - but I didn't defend you as much as I should have either, Sam - that wasn't right of me. I should have - but the truth is, I was feeling sorry for myself," Frodo said, turning around to face Sam, leaning against the desk.
"Sorry for yourself, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, puzzled.
Frodo nodded. "Sorry for myself, Sam. Because it was over. Because - I was afraid that things would go back to the way they were before, as soon as we got home, now that I didn't have an excuse to have you over. And now that you could speak with the best of them, why - why would you bother spending time with me, when you could be out there, wooing the ladies, sweeping them off their feet, and meeting all of the best folk. I could see it at the party - you could have had the pick of any of the ladies, your choice of any of the gents as your friend. So I let them say what they would, pretended it was all just a bet to me, nothing else. But all the time, I just felt sorry for myself."
"Mr. Frodo!", cried out Sam, "You don't have no reason to be feeling that way about yourself! Why, I didn't care for none of them ladies, anyway -they couldn't hold a candle to the lasses of Hobbiton! And it's years and years before I come of age and have to worry about that, thank the Shire! As to the lads - well, there was only one lad there that I cared about calling my friend, sir - and that was you."
Frodo looked up, eyes hesitant. "You don't - hate me - Sam?"
Sam set his jaw, eyes filled with determination, arms crossed across his chest. "Ain't no reason that I can think of to do so, Mr. Frodo, if you follow me. Can't say as I could get angry at anything you've done - if it was all out of friendship. That is - if we are... still friends?" Sam's look suddenly faltered, as he bit his lip.
"Sam," said Frodo, "I would be pleased and honored to be your friend, if you will be mine."
"Mr. Frodo," replied Sam, sniffling a bit, despite himself, "I always have been, even if you didn't know it... and I always will be, too." And soon Sam was crushing Frodo in a big hug as Frodo stepped forward into his embrace, laughing and smiling and crying all at once, in relief and gladness. Many "I'm sorry"s and "That's all right" were said, over and over between the two, until at last they released each other, red-eyed but smiling. Then Sam's eyebrows went up and he took a step or two back, looking at Frodo skeptically, as Frodo looked on with apprehension.
"Just one thing, sir...", Sam said slowly.
"Yes, Sam?" Frodo said nervously.
Sam thought for a bit.
"If I don't never hear about that ruddy Hermione Hardbottle and her horrible honeypies again - it'll be too soon!", Sam said firmly.
Frodo threw back his head and laughed, and it felt as if he was truly laughing for the first time in days, as Sam sooned joined him, and they went off into the kitchen to make tea.
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