[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger put on her most serious, concentrated face as she turned back to decorating her stack of cookies. From beneath her long lashes, she glanced up now and then, checking to see what Cook was doing. At first, Cook’s eye was often on the Hobbit and Elf. But then, as she got to watching her cake pans and fussing with the frosting she intended to use on the tiered confection, her attention wandered from the two cookie makers.

Beneath the table, Ginger poked Gwenneth lightly with her foot. She crossed her eyes as soon as the Elf looked up and stuck her tongue out, then flipped a small amount of red frosting at her from the end of her mixing spoon. Gwenneth stifled a gasp as Ginger put her finger to her lips, nodding toward Cook. The Elf smiled slyly, wiping the blob of frosting from her cheek. A small, soft yellow missile was quickly flipped from Gwenneth’s own spoon, making a sticky landing amidst Ginger’s curls. Another round of silent laughter and face-making was brought up short with one clearly enunciated word by Cook.

‘Ladies!’

The two turned toward her, expecting to see her giving them both a critical look and a wag of her finger. But her back was turned still toward them, as she sliced the layers of cake in two and put on a thick layer of raspberry jam. Their brows went up as they looked at each other, wondering how she had known what they were doing.

‘Eyes in the back of her head,’ whispered Ginger, leaning toward Gwenneth. ‘Just like my own Ma!’

The two stood up and apologized, saying that they really were done frosting the cookies and perhaps they should go and find something ‘constructive’ to do. It was a word Ginger threw in, her Ma often using that when she wanted her children’s shenanigans to take a different direction. ‘We’ll just go down to the cellar and find the little strings of party lanterns,’ said Ginger. ‘And the little candles that go in them,’ added Gwenneth. Ginger nodded, grabbing her friend’s hand and heading toward the cellar steps. ‘We’ll need the ladder from the stable . . . oh, and the hammer and nails, too.’ The two started down the stairs.

‘Hobbits have eyes in the backs of their heads?’ whispered Gwenneth, a questioning look on her face. ‘Just the ones that are mothers,’ answered Ginger. ‘And it must be so . . . never could figure out how else they could see what they saw . . .’ From above, Cook chuckled softly at the chatter of the two lasses. She scooped up a generous portion of icing on her frosting knife and applied it to the first layer. Humming to herself as she did so, she glanced up checking on who had just come into the kitchen, though her back was to the door.

There, reflected in the polished copper bottoms of her good pots and skillets that hung along the wall, was a full view of her domain . . .