[piosenniel]

Buttercup

Buttercup was out in the yard, filling the water bucket from the pump. The dishes were piling up in the sink, and what with Cook being gone and she a Ruby having to fill in to make the meals, there was just not enough time in the day to get everything done in a timely manner. A voice hailed her from the road, and she looked up, shading her eyes against the sun. It was Halfred, waving at her with a slim envelope.

She dried her hands on her apron, and ran to meet him. Must be some important letter for one of the Inn’s guests, she thought. Halfred handed her the envelope, looking at her expectantly. ‘Well, lass, are you going to open it or not? It’s addressed to you, you know.’

No, she didn’t know, having not looked at the writing on the envelope as yet. ‘Oh my gracious!’ she squeaked, looking at the precise letters, neatly displayed in the middle of the vellum field.

~*~ To Buttercup, Ruby, and Miz Aman / From The Tower Hills ~*~

Halfred followed her into the Inn. She was grinning as she raced into the kitchen. ‘It’s a letter!’ she shouted. ‘For all of us! Ms. Bunce has written!’ The two women gathered round her, while Halfred stood at the back, craning his neck to hear.


My dear friends,

Sorry to have taken so long to send a note back to you. But, I have to tell you that I have simply been too busy to set pen to paper. It has been a leisurely trip, for all the rush there was in leaving. Both Mistress Piosenniel and her nanny, Gilly, were reluctant to say good-bye so quickly to the lands and folk of the Shire. And Mister Mithadan is hard put to say ‘no’ to his lady. (And I would not want to be there should such an occasion arise!)

We spent several days in Whitwell, where Gilly is from and had a delightful time. Plenty of hands to play with the twins. And Gilly’s mother, I must say, runs an admirable kitchen of her own. There is a certain, tart black currant sauce for lamb which I have managed to pry out of her with an exchange for my own mint sauce. I half suspect she has left something out of her recipe, but I believe I savored it long enough that I can guess all the ingredients and their quantities.

Our next stop was The Dusty Traveler Inn, just south of Michel Delving. Now the Cook there, one Calendula Bracegirdle, has her work cut out for her! For ‘Dusty’ is too kind a word for that area. We were covered in white chalk dust from head to toe by the time we reached the Inn. The wind blows in from the west and the chalky White Downs gives up itself particle by particle as the breezes scattered the fine white chalky dust in the air. They have devised an interesting covering for the windows – a very fine, tightly woven silk netting that screens out most of the dust when the windows are thrown open. Calendula believes that the distinctive flavor of the foods from her area comes from the inevitable spattering of dust that every thing acquires. I am inclined to agree with her; it gives the flavors a certain dry edge. And think also that it is an excellent prompt for selling the great amounts of ale and other spirits that they do. One cannot help but be thirsty when one is swallowing dust!

From there it was on to The Far Downs, which Gilly reminded me were oft times called the Fox Downs. Try as we might, we had no sightings of any foxes there except for the one on the sign at the small Inn at Greenholm – The Fox and Firkin. Rooms were scarce to be had there. A party of Hobbits from Longbottom were there, trading leaf for imports that had come in across the Westmarch from Harlindon. Master Derufin and Mister Mithadan bunked out in the stable’s loft, while Mistress Piosenniel and the babies, Gilly, I, and Zimzi shared two small adjoining rooms. The meals were good. Nothing fancy, just good Shire food, and plenty of it. Interesting note – they employ a male cook. Tomlin Took by name. His wife had been the Cook previous to him, but she passed on a number of years ago, took ill from some bad potted eel she’d put by one year, or so I heard. Anyway, he’s and interesting person, about my age, I’d say. I’ve told him we’ll stop in again on our way back to Bywater.

You are probably wondering how the two lovebirds are doing? Well, I must say, that Master Derufin has made my job quite easy so far. He’s been the complete gentlemen, treats her like she was his waking dream. Which isn’t hard to do, she’s such a sweet young woman. This is not to say I have not let them take a number of walks alone in the evenings after dinner. How else are they to get to know each other? Propriety is all very good, up to a point, though in my mind it need not squeeze out romance altogether.

Now we have crossed over the Westmarch and are camped in the Tower Hills. For all her Elvish ways, Mistress Piosenniel is not having as easy a time with this new baby as she did with the twins. This one has a more contentious spirit. We have spent several days here in the shade of the trees and the towers while she waits for her stomach to remain settled enough to travel on. Master Derufin and Zimzi, and I have taken the opportunity today to climb to the top of Elostirion – to look West. They linger above, while she points out the way to her home from the balcony.

I’m sitting at the base of the White Tower, my back propped against its sun warmed wall. A hummingbird has found me. That is it has found my white vest with the big red flowers woven on it! Try as it might it cannot draw honey from them!

Derufin and Zimzi are coming down the stairs; I can hear them laughing. I’ll send this to you when we reach the Grey Havens. Someone will be coming this way from the Gulf, and can leave this with one of the Shiriffs at the bounds to bring to the Dragon. Will write again when there is time.

* Remember to clean out the flue from the stove in the kitchen. It’s that time again. And we wouldn’t want a repeat of the fire we had several years ago.

~ V. Bunce