[Primrose Bolger]

‘Oh, Miz Bunce,’ sniffed Ginger, twisting the wet hanky in her hands. ‘Me mum’s too busy to sort out my problems! There’s another little one on the way and my two younger sisters to see to. And Lily, my older sister, is expecting her fifth little one, too.’ Ginger took a gulp of her water before going on. ‘I’m in half a mind that she sent me here to help you to get me out of her hair for a while . . . and in hopes that I’ll meet someone at the dance who’ll take me on in a permanent manner, if you catch my drift.’ Ginger heaved a sigh, letting her shoulders slump in a hopeless manner at the end of it.

It was not that she was a bad girl, or that her mother disliked her. If anything her mother was simply indifferent . . . overwhelmed and indifferent. Peony Gamwich, originally a Millbank from Pincup, had always been of ‘delicate’ temperament. Ten children and another on the way had simply pushed her over the edge. She had barely enough energy to deal with the demands of Ginger’s younger sisters and once the new baby was here, Ginger would be beyond her scope of reckoning altogether. There was no point in turning to her older sister, Lily, for advice and help – she’d enough on her plate with little ones of her own. And the others of her older siblings had moved away from Hobbiton and Bywater and were busy with their own lives. Ginger, it seemed, was odd man out, and overlooked for the most part.

In a way it had made her a fairly self-sufficient lass, one who took things in stride as they came up, but on the other it left her no one to fall back on for those times when she had not the experience to sort out what was happening to her. And this was one of those times.

Cook looked on expectantly.

Taking a deep breath to clear her thoughts, Ginger looked over at the older Hobbit. The old Shire adage, “Make hay while the sun shines” surfaced; here was someone willing to lend an ear, and a word of advice . . . and if she were very lucky, a helping hand. ‘Well,’ she began, ‘it really all started when I was quite a young girl . . .’

Master Banks’ wife, Lily, had died, leaving Andwise to raise his only son, Ferdibrand – or Ferdy, as he was better known. Andwise’s mother had come to live with them, her own children all grown and her dear Hamlin had passed on as a result of an unfortunate incident with a neighbor’s fractious pony he’d been trying to shoe. Ginger’s ma had been friends with Lily and had wanted to ‘help out’ as she could. Thus had begun the weekly deliveries of little things to tide the Banks over, as her mother put it. And now with Gammer Banks getting older, these had been deliveries of braided loaves for the week’s end and small pots of fruit conserve – Gammer Banks has quite the sweet-tooth, Ginger confided.

‘And where does Ferdy – for, I suppose it is young Banks who’s got you into this state – where does Ferdy fit in?’ Ginger colored at Cook’s none too subtle urging to keep on track. ‘He’s about your age, as I remember – or a few years older, but not by much.’

Ginger shook her head ‘yes’. Ferdy was a bit older than she, and those early years she’d followed him about like a puppy when her mother and she had gone to the Banks' for their brief weekly visits. ‘It was easier back then,’ she told Cook. ‘Ferdy looked forward to seeing me and we’d play some little game or he’d show me the new carving he’d been trying his hand at. He was good with wood even back then – just like his Da.’ Ginger smiled remembering a small, painted carving of a bluebird he’d given her. He’d seen one hopping about on a small branch outside his window . . . the color, he’d said, reminded him of the ribbons she liked to wear in her hair.’

‘But all that’s changed now,’ she told Cook. ‘Seems somehow we lost our easy time together as we grew up. Leastways Ferdy seemed to. Got shyer, I think, and more tongue-tied than ever. Hardly says a word to me when I make the weekly deliveries to his Gammer now. And when I catch him sneaking looks my way he just turns all red and acts as if he’d run if he could.’

‘Hang it all, Miz Bunce, I miss my old friend and I just can’t figure out how to get him back! What would you do if you were me?’

Ginger looked hopefully across the table . . .