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Jinniver had found herself urged to join Derufin and Andwise for lunch under the shade of the ancient Oak. Her head was spinning a little, whether this was the sun or the hospitality, she could not tell, but she gratefully took a large draft of a mug of cool cider before helping herself to a warm bread roll from the basket.
“A week? Oh yes, I am sure I could plant you a fine little garden in a week.” she said, answering Derufin’s questions. “But….” she took another draft of the cider. “I wouldn’t call it magic.”
Derufin raised his eyebrows and Jinniver laughed a little nervously. “Well, what I mean to say is, I wasn’t being rude, but spending all these years with plants, you get to know what they like. And this Shire soil is supposed to be most rich, what with how all those trees grew back so fast after the trouble. This is a happy place for plant to be, and a happy plant grows true and strong.” None of the hobbits looked at her oddly for this statement. Such odd things were often said in The Shire by the many gardeners. Some hobbits, it was said, even spoke to their plants. Jinniver would not have found this strange, she had spent many lonely hours in the fields and often found herself chattering away though there was nobody to listen.
There was quiet for a moment as the company all started to tuck into the bread. The only sounds were the odd mumbled “Umm” and “Mmm”, and the scraping of butter knives. The sharp but sweet smell of blackberry tart filled the air, mingling with the aroma of lamb stew. Jinniver thought of fragrant herbs and night-scented stock and the smell of lavender. These would be lovely in the garden. She would have to send a message back to the farm this very afternoon.
The silence was broken by one of the hobbits cheering as Buttercup brought the stew. Plates and spoons rattled as the meal was served up and there was a lot of excited chattering. “I’ll make a start today,” said Jinniver, reaching for more bread. “After I’ve delivered Mr Proudfoot’s order, I’ll send word to my father and what plants I don’t already have with me, will be here by the day after tomorrow at the very latest.”
Yes, colourful and fragrant, that was the garden a young bride might like. It was the same kind of garden she had helped to make for her brother’s wife, when they had set up in Bree just before the southerners came. One day, she might have made herself a garden like that, but now she had the whole farm and no need for her own garden, and certainly no time to be getting married. Not that she wanted to, she had thought of getting married once, but he had turned out to betray her and her family.
“I’ll make sure you get as fine a garden as any in The Shire. After all, you did provide my horse with the finest hay in The Shire,” she laughed, thinking about how sentimental she could be about her old horse. “Is all of The Shire as fine as here?”
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