[piosenniel]

Cook goes to see Miz Bella

Three large pans of apple cobbler, their pastry toppings dusted with sugar, stood side by side on the kitchen table. Cook plied her sharp little paring knife over each of them, making small cuts in the topping to vent the steam and soon to be bubbling liquid. In no time at all, she had them done and popped into the big oven. She turned the smaller of her hourglasses over, the one that would measure out a half hour’s time, then began to tidy up her workplace. Tabletop scrubbed, utensils and bowls cleaned, hands washed and dried, and towels hung neatly . . . Cook stood ready for her next task.

‘Miz Bella, m’am,’ Ginger reminded her, lining up the little baskets of bread she’d cut neatly along the counter, a clean white napkin covering each one.

‘Yes, of course,’ Cook said in a decisive manner, not wanting Ginger to know her mind had been on the location of her Gran’s mushroom pie recipe and that she had completely forgotten the girl’s earlier prompt.

It had been a while since breakfast, and she was feeling a bit puckish. ‘Brew a nice pot of that eastern tea the trader brought in just last week, won’t you Ginger. You know . . .the one that has those dried flowers in it that are so fragrant. Jaz . . . mine. that’s what he called it. I’ll just set a few slices of bread to toasting while you’re doing that.’

Cook propped the toasting forks near the hearth fire, turning them once as each side turned a golden brown. She loaded a tray with a pot of sweet cream butter, a pot of thick gooseberry jam, and a little jar of honey for the tea. Two small plates, knives and spoons, the teapot with a cozy she’d knitted herself and two good sized mugs were fit onto the tray and off she went to pay a call on Miz Bella.

She’d balanced the tray carefully on one hand as she knocked at the door. It seemed a silly thing to do, the knocking that is, as this was her own parlour. Perhaps that was one of the things they could discuss . . . just where Miz Bella could stay while she visited. Plenty of rooms in the Inn for the Hobbit folk, Cook thought, wondering how long the woman was planning on staying.

The door opened, and a pleasant voice said, ‘Do come in!’