[piosenniel]

Buttercup

‘Well, I don’t know about you, Ruby Brown, but if I never see another grimy, sooty cooking spoon I’ll die a happy Hobbit.’

Buttercup rubbed the back of her hand on her cheek leaving a grimy smudge from nose to eyebrow. With a sigh, she returned to the task at hand. In her left hand she grasped a long metal spoon, silver it was supposed to be. But now it bore an ugly patina of sooty grime. Buttercup rubbed and rubbed, wiping the bowl of it clean then working her way up the curved handle. Up to the leaf and acorn embossing on the handle’s end. It was one of Cook’s serving spoons, one of her special, ‘good’ spoons she used for those special occasions when she was serving something at a party for friends. Her mother had given it to her, Cook had said.

‘Best get that clean as a new silver penny,’ Ruby said, working on the intricately etched, shell handled silver serving tray that had also belonged to Cook. She handled the tray fondly as she rubbed at the grime in the lines of etching. She had carried the fluted crystal goblets of sparkling wine on this very tray when Mistress Piosenniel and her Mister had had the twins’ naming day party. The two pieces were cleaned and stored safely away, and the Hobbits picked up another piece each and began the slow process of restoring it.

A shadow fell across Buttercup’s view as she bent to the cleaning of one of the big roasting pans. Shading her eyes against the sun, she looked up. It was Halfred. Not as the Shiriff, this time, but acting in his capacity as district postman. ‘A rider brought this in for you, Buttercup Brownlock. Come all the way from Forlond, he said. Said one of the Little Folk, older lady by his description, had given him a gold coin to ride straight away to Bywater as fast as he could.’ Halfred arched his eye brow at Buttercup, and waited expectantly for an explanation.

It was not forthcoming. Buttercup turned the letter round to see the writing on the front. A smile creased her face as she recognized the determined script that spelled out her name. ‘Thank you, Master Halfred,’ she said politely. ‘I’ll let you know if I have a reply for you to send out.’

‘Reply to what?’ asked Ruby, wiping her hands on her soot streaked apron as she drew near her friend. Buttercup broke the wax seal and opened the missive, letting Ruby read along with her.

‘You didn’t!’ Ruby said as she read down the page.

‘I did,’ replied Buttercup, ‘She told us to take care of the kitchen and we promised her we would.’ Ruby nodded her head, ‘We did, indeed,’ she murmured, looking about at the stacks of cookware and other utensils that needed to be cleaned.

‘Well, I wrote to her – told her all that’s gone on. She’d want to know.’ Ruby nodded again at the truth of Buttercup’s words.

They read quickly to the bottom of the page where the neatly written name was signed. And there, at the bottom was a hastily scrawled post script, a quick afterthought written just before the letter's writer had sent it off.

I’ve changed my mind, it read. Your news has put me quite on edge, though I’m sure Miz Aman has things well in hand. I’ll not be waiting another day to leave for the Shire. Expect me back in a fortnight, or sooner.

One last postscript ended the note. And you two, make sure my silver service is secured.

Buttercup folded the letter and stuffed it into her apron pocket. ‘Best we get busy, then,’ Ruby admonished her. ‘We’ve only found half the silver . . .’

‘. . . and cleaned less,’ returned Buttercup, sorting through one of the small piles near her for something recognizable.

The two of them worked with renewed determination. Cook was coming home . . .