Even Without Apples

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It was a lovely spring morning, the kind of morning where the sky seems a bit more bluer than it did yesterday, and the birds sing songs of such loveliness that you have never heard before. The grass is little bit softer around your toes, and the sun beats down a little more than the previous day. The day seems a sign that winter is fast leaving – in fact has already left, and that the carefree days of summer are not far off.

Such were the thoughts that ran through Merry Brandybuck’s head as he rose from his bed and looked out the circular-shaped window. He saw the normal things that he always saw through his window – the green hills of Buckland, the newly tilled fields awaiting the yearly planting, and the dim blue line in the distance that was the Brandywine. The sights were like any other day, and yielded nothing special. But today – today was special. For it was his mother’s birthday, a day almost as important to him as his own birthday. For she was important to him, and shouldn’t a day that meant something to her mean something to him as well? He thought it should.

He turned away from the window, for even though it was spring there was still a bit of winter chill in the air, and he was dressed only in his trousers. “I wonder what Momma would like for her birthday,” he thought as he hunted for a shirt. He, being only eight years old, knew what he would have wanted – but what did girls want for their birthdays? The girls he knew liked dolls and flowers, and liked to put their hair up and be pretty. They often giggled amongst themselves, and would stop when he came over, and declared that he had things called cooties. But what would his mother, who was very different from his young, immature cousins, want? What was something she needed?

“She never seems to need anything – she’s always happy with mine and Papa’s company. She never asks for beautiful jewelry, or pretty clothes, or anything – other than flour and eggs from the market.” She usually needed flour and eggs to make a cake, and hers were the best cakes in the whole Shire, Merry thought.

“Of course! I’ll make her a cake! She loves cakes – she must if she makes them all the time, and if I do what she does, I’ll make the best cake she ever tasted!” And upon finding a white shirt and yellow vest to put on, he headed downstairs to make his mother a cake. But how does she make cakes? he wondered. He’d never really watched her prepare any sort of food. He only noticed her throwing things into a bowl – he couldn’t remember what things – mixing them up, and pouring them into a pan that would go in the oven. And the oven would get very hot – so hot that it hurt his fingers to touch the pan when it came out. And the cake was delicious when it cooled, but it was best if his mother spread icing on it – and he would hate to see his mother’s face if he presented her a cake without icing. It was the worst crime possible in his eyes. “A cake without icing is like a pipe without weed,” his father said, though Merry had no idea what it meant.

“I’ll ask her for help – even though it won’t be a surprise, it’ll still turn out good,” he said to himself, and rushed into the kitchen to find her. But she wasn’t there. His breakfast was there, and there were dirty dishes that indicated his mother and father had been in there eating, but there was no sign of her.

“Morning Meriadoc. You’d better eat your breakfast before it gets cold.” His Aunt Eglantine Took, whom he’d forgotten was visiting, came into the kitchen, carrying with her the five-year-old Pervinca Took. The child was wailing loudly, crying, “Mommy! Mommy! Let me down! Let me down!” Eglantine leveled with the child, but seemed slightly strained in doing so, and gripped her overly large stomach in the process. I wonder why her stomach is larger than usual, Merry thought.

“I’m getting too old for this Merry – three daughters and a husband to cook for! It’s quite tiring on an old woman’s body,” she said, sitting down in a carved oak chair.

“Oh, you’re not that old, Auntie Eglantine. Cooking for three daughters and a husband can’t be as hard as cooking for one son and a husband – surely my mother has it harder than you,” he grinned.

“Now don’t think I’ve got it easy. Girls can eat more than you know, Merry, so be thankful you’ve haven’t got any sisters to worry about. Or brothers, for that matter.”

“I’d really like to have a brother though. I sometimes don’t like being an only child, and I never like being outnumbered by girls here at Brandy Hall!”

“I wish you weren’t under that strain either, Merry, but your only option is to wish for your family to have more sons and less daughters – which hasn’t worked out for me, as you can well see.”

Merry grinned and nodded. “I know Uncle Paladin would like a son to pass his duties on to – do you think you’ll ever have a son, Auntie?”

She sighed. “Maybe one day, Merry,” she said, placing a hand on her stomach, “Maybe one day soon.”

Merry left the kitchen, and went to seek out his mother in some other part of Brandy Hall. It was quite a large hobbit hole – one of the largest in the Shire – and he checked all over before even finding his father. “Hello, Merry-lad. What might you be looking for?”

“Hello Papa. It’s Momma’s birthday today. I’m going to make her a cake, and I was looking for her so she could help me make a good one.”

“Her birthday? Good thing I have you around, I completely forgot! But you’ll have to make do on your own, because she just left the house to go to market a few minutes ago!”

“What?” Merry said, and ran to the door. He flung it open and saw a cart on the distant road heading towards town. He didn’t bother running after it – he would never catch it, and she wouldn’t hear no matter how loud he shouted. “Guess I’ll have to make it by myself then,” he said to himself miserably. He trumped back into the kitchen, almost considering not making a cake at all. He ignored Pervinca sticking her tongue out at him as he entered the room, only dismissing her with a wave of his hand, and sat down at the table.

“Merry, Merry, his hair is scary! He picks his nose…and he smells bad!” Pervinca chanted gleefully.

“That’s doesn’t even rhyme!”

“So? It’s still true!”

“Oh – leave me alone!”

“Well, what’s you in such a bad mood? Did your cooties get even worse? Or did you finally realize how bad you smell?”

“No! For your information, I was going to make a cake for my Momma’s birthday, but she’s not around to help me make a good one!” he said angrily.

“Well, too bad for her. I guess she won’t get one, since boys don’t know how to make good cakes on their own!”

“Take that back!”

“Boys can’t cook! They can’t read a book! They only like to pick their nose and shove it in their mouth!”

“That still doesn’t rhyme!” he yelled at the retreating Pervinca, who was by this time shouting for her mother, saying that she had gotten one of Merry’s cooties.

I can make a good enough cake on my own – I don’t need my mother’s help anyway! he thought. And she has no one else to make a cake for her – I have to do it! So he set to work making his mother’s birthday cake. He had no idea what to put in it, but a small detail like that wasn’t going to stop Merry Brandybuck.

“Well, she always has a bowl out, so I’d better get that – and she always uses flour and eggs, so I’ll need those – and I think she puts water in there – and beyond that I really have no idea,” he said, realizing the ingredients he had were short of a good cake, “Well, surely good things must go into cakes to make them taste good, so I’ll put things Momma likes into it!”

He looked into the pantry, and gathered out things he deemed delicious – cherries were good, and he knew his mother liked those – he always saw her putting salt on everything, so some of that couldn’t hurt – and of course lots and lots of chocolate! He’d already decided he wanted this to be a chocolate cake, so he collected the big container of unsweetened chocolate from the back of the pantry. “I’ll need a lot of chocolate if I want to make a good enough cake, so the more the merrier!” he said as he grabbed the box of cocoa. But what else do I need? he thought as he looked out the window.

“Momma always says she likes the way grass feels around her toes! Some of that will be great!” And he gathered two handfuls of grass from outside.

“What else?” he thought, standing in the kitchen thinking. What other things were good that his mother liked? Maple syrup, peaches, oranges, apples – lots and lots of fruit, he knew his mother liked that! “Apples, apple sauce, apple juice, apple cider – if only I had some apple butter!” And he threw all of these things into the large bowl, which was beginning to get full, so he decided it was time to mix it all up in preparation of cooking it.

It was a hard task though, what with all the ingredients present. Merry wondered whether or not he had put too many things – it was hard to mix them all up! But to make the best cake ever, he had to take chances, didn’t he?

It was a lumpy mixture that he poured into the large pan several minutes later, and it looked nothing like any of his mother’s cakes before they went into the oven. “But that’s because none of those cakes were the best cake ever!” But for how long will I need to cook it? He tried to remember his mother’s words while she was in the kitchen. “What did she say? Light a fire and cook for – two hours? Well, that sounds good enough!” But to do that he would need the hourglass – his mother’s cut crystal and polished oak hourglass – and she kept that on the very top shelf of the pantry!  He was far too short for that. But, not one to be discouraged, Merry had an idea. “Hey! Pervinca!” he shouted.

“What do you want now, Donkey-Face?” she chattered once she came into the kitchen.

“I need your help in baking this cake,” he said, “And don’t come up with any rhyme that doesn’t really rhyme while you’re here, either!”

“Ooh! Your mommy’s gonna be mad, once she finds out you were using the oven!”

“She’s not gonna be mad if no one tells her!” he said threateningly, “Now help me out, or I’ll tell your mother that you were in the library alone with cousin Berilac!”

“I was just talking to him! Nothing happened!”

“Oh please. Everyone in Buckland knows you’ve got eyes for him! And I thought you didn’t like boys!”

“It’s not that! I just don’t like boys who smell – boys like you!”

“Whatever. Just grab the hourglass from the very top shelf. Here, I’ll give you a lift up,” he said, and crouched down. She climbed onto his back, and reached up for the hourglass. “I can’t get it! It’s too far back on the shelf!” she yelled down.

“Grab something to push it towards the edge!” Pervinca found a half-empty cracker box, and used it to push the hourglass nearer to her hand. Merry feared it might fall off, but Pervinca caught it just in time.

Once he had that, Merry set to work stoking the fire underneath the oven that would heat the cake. Soon he had a steady flame going.

“What do we do now?” Pervinca asked.

“We put the cake in, and set the time for two hours.”

Being careful not to burn himself, Merry nudged the pan with the cake into the oven. He could already feel the heat emitting from the oven – the cake would be done in no time! He flipped over the hourglass, and dismissed Pervinca from the room. She left, rhyme-less, and he sat there, thinking of how good the cake would taste once it was ready. Oh, Momma’s going to love it, I just know she will! She has to, and it has to taste grand, for I worked so hard on it! He must have been thinking so long on this that he didn’t notice the foul smell coming from the oven – a smell composed of burnt grass and putrid cherries. But the most pungent smell was that of the apples – all the various apples that Merry had put in the cake. And he wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Merry!” he heard a female voice shout, and turned around to see his mother standing in the doorway, “What are you doing? And what is that smell?” She rushed to check the oven, and found inside Merry’s cake. “What were you cooking in here? You know you shouldn’t be using the oven without supervision!” She continued to fuss over the bubbly mess, scorning Merry throughout it all. Once she had the oven off and the cake out, she turned to Merry, who was by this time in tears.

“Merry, what were you doing?” she asked with a serious tone.

“I was only trying to make you a birthday cake,” he whimpered, and ran for his room. He threw himself on his bed, and laid there for what seemed like hours. Why did his mother have to be so hard on him? He was only trying to make her a birthday cake – so what if he didn’t now how to make a really good cake? Shouldn’t it be the thought that counted?

Some time later, Merry heard a soft knock on his door. “Merry dear, may I come in?” he heard his mother ask.

He sniffled, and rubbed his nose. “I suppose,” he said in a small voice.

He was considering being cold and distant with his mother, as a result of the way she’d treated him – it was only fair, wasn’t it? But when he saw her look of sadness, all thoughts of anger rushed from his mind. He also noticed her carrying two plates with slices of cake on them.

“Merry, I’m very sorry I was so harsh on you before. I’m not mad that you might have messed up – and I’m very grateful that you put forth the effort to make me a cake,” she said.

“So – so you’re not mad?” he hiccoughed.

“Of course not, my dear,” she said, and handed him one of the slices of cake.

“Is this my cake? Why does it not look horrible?”

“After you left, I made us a cake – just for my little Merry and me,” she said smiling.

Merry eagerly took a bite of it, and he had to admit, it was the best cake he’d ever tasted. Even without any apples.