[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger had never spoken with the Mayor before, or any of his family for that matter. But he was the Mayor and she’d heard stories about him and the Baggins fellow . . . Frodo, it was, that he’d gardened for . . . unsettling stories of monsters and swords and a great long journey they’d taken together. It made her shiver when she thought of it, bringing up darksome memories of those awful ruffians who’d tried to take over the Shire when she was younger. She’d never really seen him up close and she wondered if he looked grim and, well . . . sort of odd from all his adventuring.

She was lagging behind Cook as they walked along and almost ran into her when Cook stopped suddenly, saying to someone in front of her, ‘Well there you are! And pleased as ever am I to see you and your fine family.’ Ginger peeked round Cook’s ample girth and saw two rather ordinary looking Hobbits smiling and talking with her. The fellow, who must be the Mayor from the way Cook talked to him, was red cheeked, a bit stout, and his eyes often strayed to his brood of handsome children but mostly to the pretty lady who stood by his side, a babe in her arms. This must be Rose, she thought to herself. She looked so kindly and so full of life that Ginger was quite taken by her.

The baby was fussing a bit and some of the other children were roughhousing with each other, despite the reminders of their mother to be on their best behavior. Without a second thought, Ginger stepped forward and gave a little curtsy. ‘I’ve brothers and sisters of my own, m’am,’ she said to Rose. ‘If you like I can take them over on the greensward there where there’s more room for play and we can have some fun.’ Cook introduced Ginger to Rose and to Sam, saying she had come to help with the preparations for the handfasting and had proven herself a right treasure. Rose introduced Elanor and Frodo lad to Ginger, and together they made a plan to get a platter of food and a pitcher of cold cider and some cups and take it over to the place Ginger had first pointed to. Ginger knew some games and stories to keep them occupied, and they would all be in easy sight of Sam and Rose.

As they walked away slowly, the littlest ones slowing down the pace, Ginger could just hear Cook cooing a bit as she reached for the baby. ‘My, my, pretty as her mama,’ she heard Cook say . . .