Characters: Eglantine, Pearl-17, Pimpernel-still 12, Merry-still 9, Pervinca-6, and our beloved Pippin-2.

Beta: The wonderful Marigold.  Written for her Challenge 29.

Stories From the Blue Book
Forelithe, 1392

A quarter past eight; Eglantine glanced at the clock on the wall and noted the time. Pimpernel was either in her room preparing for bed or in Pervinca’s bedroom helping her little sister don her nightdress. Paladin was in the nursery changing and dressing Pippin for bed and then would see to Merry’s needs when finished. Eglantine decided she had a bit of time to herself before tucking in her young children for the night. She quickly finished combing her brown tresses without even plaiting them afterward as she usually did. Instead, she went to the chest that she and Paladin shared, opening the upper left drawer, revealing her heart’s desire.

There inside it lay nestled among her old love letters and mementos from years past; the Blue Book, as Paladin good-naturedly referred to her journal. And that it was--a journal, not a diary. It was not a means to keep secrets from her husband or family, but a collection of memoirs--of sweet moments in the lives of her children and sometimes moments that belonged to her and Paladin. These would be fond memories for her to read over and over again in her later years after her brood had grown and flown the coop, raising their own families.

Gingerly, she uncorked the ink jar and laid the blotter beside it. Opening the Blue Book to the next blank leaf, Eglantine took her favourite quill in her hand. She dipped it into the dark liquid, blotted the excess ink, closed her hazel eyes to relive the day’s events, and then opened them again.

She set the quill to the page...

“22 Forelithe, 1392, S.R. ‘The Good Neighbour’

Today began beautifully with the sun shining Her rays upon the Shire from Her perch in the sky. I helped Dahlia with second breakfast, although Pearl normally likes to help with this endeavour. However, my eldest had been invited to spend the day and night with her friend Irma Wicket yesterday, who lives on the other side of the village. Paladin drove Pearl to the Wicket house yesterday morning, and I had arranged to meet her at the market in Whitwell round noon today to do a bit of shopping and then walk back to the farm.

Once second breakfast was over, Dahlia cleared up while I got the baby changed and presentable for our excursion. I had Pimpernel help Pervinca, while Merry, who is visiting us, is old enough to get himself dressed and ready for our journey to the market.

I certainly was the proud mother hen walking through the gate and down the lane with all four of my chicks surrounding me. (Merry may be a transitory chick, but as he is a part of this family, he is one of my chicks, nonetheless.) All looked prim and proper in their spotless clothes that shone brightly in the summer sun. Both of my lasses wore crisp, white pinnies over their pale yellow frocks; Pim with a green ribbon in her hair and Pervinca wearing her bonnet to match her frock. Merry, who was pulling the handcart behind him, wore the new white shirt his mum had packed in his luggage. My own darling little laddie was dressed in his pale green playsuit, sitting upright in his pram in order to watch his siblings (Merry is as dear to him as any brother) gaily prance about the lane as they talked and laughed.

It was so amusing to watch Pippin try to join in with his sisters and cousin. He’d laugh when the older children laughed, gasped in surprise when they did, and then he would strive to keep up with their chatter--although only one or two words would actually be intelligible. Merry would drop back every now and then to keep his little cousin company, and I could see that Pippin relished Merry’s attention.

About halfway there, Pervinca complained of being tired so I put her in the handcart. By the time we reached the bustling square, we all needed a bit of a rest--especially young Merry who had pulled his six-year-old cousin the past half-mile. Knowing the Baker has a bench in front of his shop, I led the children there and let them sit for a while as I perused my shopping list and gazed about for the whereabouts of my eldest daughter. I spied her standing beside her friend in front of the butcher’s shop. The children also saw her; with renewed energy, they rose from the seat to run and greet Pearl. Following behind them at a leisurely pace, I saw Pearl hug her friend in farewell and then turn to hug her sisters and cousin enthusiastically.

Once Pippin and I received our own hugs from Pearl, I gave the children a few moments to regroup and then announced that we would take elevenses at the Whitwell Inn. The younger ones cheered happily as I ushered them in the direction of the eating-house. Pippin cheered and clapped his hands right along with them.

As Pearl fell into step beside me, I observed two ladies standing across the market square; one, a tall hobbit matron, grey haired, with an expression of discontent written across her features. To be blunt, it was Mrs. Camellia Dingle and her Ladies’ Council assistant, Potentilla Clayhanger, both appearing as if they had eaten a sour apple. They gaped at my children and I. I know these ladies carry a lot of weight (and not just their own) in the community, so I wondered why they were gawping. I am proud of my children and don’t mind showing them off a tad, so I merely went about my merry way to the inn. However, before I could get the wheels of Pippin’s pram over the edge of the inn’s porch, I was hindered by the two chief council members.

“I see you have your children with you today, or I should like to invite you to our Ladies Tea,” said Camellia.

“Thank you, but not today, I think,” I replied in kind.

“Of course not today,” said Camellia, “if you were to come to one of our teas, I am afraid that you would have to leave the children at home.” I noted that Camellia spoke as if the children were not even present. I also took note that the older children were silent after Mrs. Dingle’s remark. My face reddened with anger...

“Mother!” I heard Pearl calling me.

Still stunned at what my ears had just heard, I simply gawped at the ladies until I saw Potentilla wrinkle her nose in disgust.

“What is that I smell?” she asked.

The aroma was familiar to me--after all, I have been through this stage of babyhood four times. My eyes turned to my two-year-old now stretching his spindly legs on the ground while Pearl held his hands as he toddled about. I stared as brown “stuff” oozed from between his leg and nappy. Pippin looked up at me and gave me his sweetest grin. I swept him into my arms (but not too close) and quickly gave Pearl instructions as to getting the younger children seated inside the inn and what meal to order for them. Suddenly, the snooty ladies were the furthest thing from my mind.

As I headed toward the back garden of the inn where I was sure that there must be a water pump, I heard Mara call my name.

“Come this way, Mrs. Took!” said Mara, the Baker’s wife, waving me in her direction.

I’ve known Mara ever since Paladin and I married and removed to Whitwell Farm. I recall her then two teen-aged children working round the shop to help out their parents. Now they are older tweens about to embark on their own adventures in life, though they still help from time to time. I deduced that Mara was probably standing in her doorway when Camellia and Potentilla approached me; that is the way of folks in the village. I suppose that they are nosy to a degree, but on the whole, there is a caring that goes beyond just being neighbours.

Mara took me inside her shop, showed me to their convenience room in the back and told me where the bathing room was, then disappeared. I was able to get my baby out of his soiled garments and clean him up enough to take him into the bathing room. There, I made use of the boiling water by the hearth, the cold water in the tub, and bathed my son. Just as I was drying Pippin in a large towel, Mara reappeared, laying a clean nappy on the dressing table.

“I fetched his pram,” she said, “it’s out front by the benches now. I figured bein’ a young mum with little ones o’ yer own, ye’d have a handy supply o’ clean nappies inside it. I washed his playsuit while ye was in the convenience, but it’ll be a while b’fore it’s dry.”

I saw his little green suit hanging up to dry near the fireplace. Mara must have recognised the look of utter relief upon my face, because she smiled at me.

She winked at me and Pippin, “It happened t’ me once or twice when my children were babes. His thin’s ought t’ be dry by the time ye’re done with eatin’ and shoppin’.”

Mara’s wonderful compassion enabled me to take my freshly washed baby back to the inn and feed my children elevenses. Afterward, we completed our shopping with minimal mishap, and then stopped by the bakeshop last to purchase some baking items.

With the last of the shopping finished, Mara brought out an oatcake for each of us to nibble on and a cup of fresh water for all. I reflected on the neighbourliness of Camellia Dingle and Portentilla Clayhanger...and came up empty-handed. I considered Mara’s incomparable kindness and found that I have the finest neighbour in the world.

In addition, I had the Shire’s five finest children clamouring to hug and kiss me before we left the village and headed for home, thanking me for a lovely day at the market. None of them looked pristine any longer. Pervinca had given chase after a feral kitten, tripped over a tree root, and bore a tear and grass stains on the front of her once-clean pinnie. Merry ran after Pervinca to watch over her and ended up the same way. Fortunately, Esmeralda shrugs her shoulders when she sees his ruined shirts, chalking it up to childhood. Pimpernel had a wee accident at elevenses when a bite of her blackberry tart fell down the front of her pinnie. Pearl’s clothes were still somewhat clean, except for her hair, which was a bit rumpled.

She helped me extract a multitude of apples that Pippin had let “stray” into his pram while my attention was elsewhere. We had to inspect them all before giving them back to the merchant, as Pippin’s teeth marks were in many of them. The last thing I needed to be doing was purchasing a dozen of apples--we have an orchard full of them at home.

I have concluded that I feel sorry for Camellia--Portentilla has one grown daughter, but Camellia is alone. Her sheep-farmer husband passed away a few years ago without ever producing an heir. I suppose her sad life must revolve around making herself feel important, however, she will have to learn to not insult my children--especially in their presence, before I will ever give her an ear at a Ladies’ Tea.’

The End