Marigold blinked her eyes at the sudden burst of light…followed by the sound of distant thunder. The spring rains had arrived in the Shire with a force...and the worst timing. Dark grey clouds completely covered the sky of the Tooklands as rain poured down upon the soft grasses. Marigold Cotton stood in the darkened window of the bride’s dressing room inside Great Smials overlooking the north garden. Here in this room, she helped to attend to her niece, Goldilocks, along with Rosie and Diamond, while the bride got dressed for her wedding. Young Goldilocks would soon be Mrs. Faramir Took; imagine that! A granddaughter of the old Gaffer will be wife to the Thain’s heir. Marigold smiled at the memories of her family’s humble life in Hobbiton.

The ceremony had been planned to take place outside in the north garden, but due to the heavy rain, the nuptials would be held indoors; inside the Great Hall, filled with guests and well-wishers alike to witness the exchange of vows and the final blessing. Everything was planned six months in advance, so rain or shine, the wedding ceremony would be held as scheduled.

In her hand, Marigold held a hair ribbon; not just any hair ribbon, mind you, but a very special one. It was a Yule gift from her father, inherited in a roundabout way from her late mother.

The rain slowly vanished, as did the north garden, while her mind and heart went back to a Gamgee Yule, 1399, S.R.

* * * * * * * *

“Oh, Dad!” exclaimed young Marigold, “Look at it!”

“I know--I see it,” said the Gaffer, gaping at the satiny ribbon, half afraid to touch it. “I have t’ say so myself--it’s fine-lookin’!”

Marigold stepped out of her reverie and came back to the present when she heard Goldilocks cry out, “Ma! I’m not going t’ stand in front of all of Great Smials and our guests looking like this! My hair is dreadful!”

Marigold smiled, the gazed once again over the hills and dales of the Tooklands, however, instead of her more mature reflection, Marigold saw the sixteen year old lass in the sweet memory. Let us go back even further…to when the story truly begins…

Blotmath 1399 was the month and year Bell Gamgee passed on. No one knew from where the illness came, but when it left, it took Bell with it. Sorrow and grief permeated the Gamgee hole for weeks…and then winter set in.

When the mourning period for his beloved was over, Hamfast would go to the small wardrobe that he shared with his late wife, but could not bring himself to pack up her things to give to less fortunate hobbits. However, two weeks before Yule, he decided that he wanted some sort of normalcy for his children--especially the youngest two, Sam and Marigold.

Finally, one day he went against his will, forcing himself to fold up the few dresses she owned and some oddments. He did keep some for himself in remembrance of Bell. He set the box in a small push cart, then ambled down the Hill toward Hobbiton. For reasons unknown to him, instead of staying in the lane, Hamfast veered off onto the pathway going toward the Cottons.

“What in the heavens am I doin’ here?” he muttered, his breath emitting vapours, yet he continued on his trek down the path. Before he set one foot upon the lowest stair leading up to the Cotton’s door, the elder Tom opened the door wide.

“Ham!” he shouted, “its good t’ see ye! Come inside ‘fore ye take a chill.” Tom waited for Ham to make his way up the stairs before shutting the cold air out. “Lily’s settin’ some hot tea on the table--will ye have a cup?”

“I think I will,” replied Ham, still not knowing what had led him here.

“Where ye headin’ t’ in this weather?” asked Tom. “Snows brewing in them clouds yonder.”

“Hullo, Ham,” Lily greeted her guest, “We’ve got some warm bread and soft cheese t’ go with the tea. Have a seat, have a seat!” She ushered Ham to the chair across from her husband.

“I saw’em,” muttered Ham, taking his seat at the table. “I, um…I boxed up Bell’s…things…” Tears rolled down Ham’s face while he faltered in his words.

Tom reached inside his breeches pocket for a handkerchief, handing it to his friend.

Ham took the offered handkerchief, thanking Tom for his kindness. “”Tis hard, it is,” he managed after a pause, wiping his eyes. “I miss her so.”

Lily finished setting the table for tea, “How’re the children, Ham?”

“They’er mopin’ about and cryin’,” said Ham. “Marigold is takin’ it the hardest. Ev’ry night ’fore she goes t’ bed, she opens Bell’s side o’ the wardrobe…says she can smell her ma.”

“Well, that’s understandable, Ham,” said Lily, “but ye said that ye boxed up Bell’s things?”

“I did,” he answered. “Knowin’ her things are still in there makes it hurt all the more for me--but I can’t bear t’ part with’em.” Ham took a long breath, “There’s the pale yellow dress she made herself for Marigold’s faunt blessin’, and the red skirt she favoured--the one she wore t’ yer Rosie’s tea party last year.”

Lily smiled, fondly recalling Bell’s favourite clothes. “Do you remember the golden scarf she wore every spring t’ the fair? She’d wear it diff’rent ways t’ make it look new ev’ry year.”

“I gave’er that scarf on our first Yule t’gether,” said Ham, seeing his Bell once again in his mind, proudly walking down the lane wearing her gold coloured scarf.

“I have an idea,” Lily told Ham.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Yule traditions varied from family to family; some opened their gifts on 1 Yule, others on 2 Yule. Over the years, Ham, Bell and their children found joy in opening their gifts first thing in the morning on 2 Yule. This Yule, however, wasn’t a very happy one for the Gamgees.

This 2 Yule morning, Marigold sat upon the settee in the main room of No. 3 Bagshot Row staring at the Yule log burning in the hearth. Holly branches decorated the front of the mantelpiece; lining the bottom were six small sacks that hung from penny nails--each one bearing a name and holding gifts inside. Everything about her said it was Yuletide, yet Marigold’s heart was full of sorrow. What was so good about Yule anyway?

“Come on, Marigold!” her sisters and brothers called as they entered the main room. Everyone had eaten breakfast and was now ready to empty their respective sacks.

“I don’t want t’ celebrate Yule anymore,” Marigold answered glumly.

Hamson, her eldest brother, came over to sit beside his baby sister. “This isn’t a very merry Yule for any o’ us, Mari,” he said, lifting her chin. “This is my last Yule here ’fore I go off t’ Uncle Andy’s this spring. I’d like t’ at least see ye smile.”

With a very audible sigh, to let people know she was only doing this for Hamson, Marigold joined her siblings at the hearth.

Hamfast stood off to the side, knowing the surprise that awaited his children. He counted aloud, as family tradition held, “One…two…three!”

All at once, the youngsters pulled on sack that bore their name, taking it to the middle of the floor to empty it. What beheld their sight was nothing they could ever imagine on their own. Piled on the floor in front of each of Ham’s children was either a handkerchief or hair ribbons--made from their mother’s favourite dresses or apron.

With reverence, Marigold lifted before her eyes a thin, golden coloured hair ribbon, made from her mother’s soft, golden scarf. Someone had even taken the time to sew tiny glass beads that were gold in colour along the length of it amid embroidery decorating the edges with gold thread. “This was ma’s--wasn’t it, Dad?” she gaped in wonder, then held it under her nose in effort to ‘smell’ her ma.

Hamfast sat down beside his youngest daughter. “How d’ye like it?” he asked her.

“Oh, Dad!” exclaimed young Marigold, “Look at it!”

“I know--I see it,” said Ham, gaping at the satiny ribbon, half afraid to touch it. “I have t’ say so myself--it’s fine-lookin’. Now yer ma will always be with ye.” Ham then turned to kiss her head, crowned with long, almost golden tresses.

* * * *

Marigold found herself back in the present just as another clap of thunder rattled the window pane. And just as Goldilocks was about to have another rant. Marigold knew this was the right thing to do. “Wait,” she called out toward the other lasses. “I have somethin’ for ye, Goldi,” she said, walking toward the bride. Carefully, Marigold laid the strip of golden ribbon across Goldilocks’ lap.

Goldilocks blinked in surprise, recognising her aunt’s beloved frill. “What’s…? Aunt Mari, this is your own hair ribbon--you’ve had this for as long as I can remember!”

“It’s for ye,” said Marigold with a genuine smile. “A weddin’ gift.”

Even Rosie was amazed; after all, it was she and her mother who stayed up all hours making the ribbons and handkerchiefs for the Gamgee children that Yule long ago. Not that the time spent was important, but she also knew how much Marigold treasured the gift.

With a bewildered expression, Goldilocks shook her head, “I can’t take this from ye, Auntie--I know how much ye love it.”

“That’s why I’m givin’ it t’ ye,” Marigold replied. “It’s a part of my ma--yer grandma. I know she’d want ye t’ have it, and I do, too.”

Goldilocks looked to her mother for any objection; there was none. Goldilocks instantly knew how she wanted to fashion the ribbon and gave explicit instruction to her mother as how to plait the thin ribbon into her hair. Rosie next placed a crown of pale yellow and golden spring flowers upon her daughter’s head.

The young bride stood up to view her reflection in the convex mirror. There she stood wearing a long, pale yellow satin gown with a gold sash. Her head crowned with gold and yellow flowers tied together with narrow strips of yellow ribbons; a long plait of golden tresses hung down her back intermingled with a soft, golden hair-ribbon with glass beads. She smiled and embraced her favourite aunt in satisfaction, “Thank ye, Aunt Mari. It’s perfect.”

The End