The carriage rumbled down the Stock Road, pulled by a pair of docile ponies trotting down the lane at an easy pace. Twitch watched the road closely from his high perch, looking for branches or holes that might jilt the carriage or harm the gentle beasts - no easy task in the pale morning light. The Thain was in haste, that much was obvious, but Twitch was reluctant to drive too swiftly. So far, the Thain hadn’t complained about their lack of speed.

Tuckborough was well behind them by the time they reached the forest’s edge. Once they were a fair distance inside the woods, Twitch heard a knock on the carriage roof behind his seat. He pulled the ponies to a stop, frowning in confusion. They were in the middle of the road, with naught but trees and filtered rays of pink sunlight surrounding them. Surely, the Thain did not wish to stop here, he thought, even as his stomach grumbled hopefully. They were in danger of missing first breakfast.

He opened the screen behind his seat to the carriage below. “Aye, Thain Ferumbras?” he asked. “Did you wish to stretch your legs some, sir?”

Ferumbras chuckled, knowing what was on the lad’s mind, or rather, his belly. “Aye, lad, it is time for a meal, don’t you think? There’s food aplenty for the both of us. Pull over at the first likely place and we shall eat.”

Twitch looked around the empty road. “Here’s as likely a place as we’re to find, sir.”

“Then let’s eat!” The Thain didn’t wait for him to jump down from his perch. He was out of the carriage and stretching his back and arms before Twitch could even stand. “Hand down the basket with the blue cloth. That’ll be our breakfast.”

“Aye, sir.” Twitch grabbed the mentioned picnic basket and hopped down. He left the ponies grazing in the grass and followed the Thain to a nearby tree, where they sat on the exposed roots. Twitch watched the Thain curiously, wondering even more where they were going and why, but he said nothing more than thank you for the food and tea that was provided for him. 

The Thain ate in silence, munching on the muffins and scones and drinking the cold tea in the water bottle, lost in thought. When they finished eating and were on their way back to the carriage, the Thain surprised him.

“I woke you untimely from your slumber, lad. How would you feel about a few winks before we continue on our way?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Twitch answered automatically, though honestly he wouldn’t mind another half-hour of sleep.

“Well I’m not, and I can’t sleep while the carriage is rumbling about. I’m just going to close my eyes for a bit. I’ll fetch you when it’s time to leave,” Ferumbras said, then surprised Twitch further by heading back to the soft grass and laying down. 

Twitch stood there, wondering if perhaps the Thain was ill or simply more adventurous than folk gave him credit for. In the end, his own tiredness won through. He picked a patch of grass not far from the Thain and was soon fast asleep.

~*~

Chapter 5: Tea and Conversation

Rumbi escorted Ami to Laburnum’s Teahouse next to the Falcon, where she was to have tea with Lalia. Lalia had sent the invitation after luncheon, and the messenger lad had found Ami while Rumbi was still helping her direct traffic. The wording of the invitation had been cordial enough, but Ami had been hesitant to arrive alone. Rumbi had offered to accompany her, though he warned that he could not stay indefinitely; the mayoral interviews ended at tea, but his father wanted him to return to the Town Hole so they could discuss the candidates together. 

They entered the teahouse and immediately spotted Lalia at a table near the center of the room. Gardenia and Dora were with her, flanking her on either side. Lalia sat between them, attempting to look sincere despite her pinched face. It was obvious to Ferumbras that Gardenia and Dora were as concerned for Ami as he was. That Lalia had allowed them to attend meant she was just as interested in seeing this situation resolved to everyone’s satisfaction, which relaxed Rumbi more than anything else. She was making the effort, if only for him.

Beside him, Ami relaxed considerably, even sighed under her breath. She would not be alone, and glancing over at the counter, she saw Esme there speaking with Alchemilla Took. Gardenia and Dora had brought reinforcements, should the need arise. Esme locked eyes with Ami and winked. Ami smiled back in response.

Rumbi saw Ami to her seat and patted her hand before pushing in her chair. He greeted Gardenia and Dora with a grateful kiss on the cheek, shot his mother a warning glance before kissing her cheek as well, then took his leave. He would thank Esme later; he felt it best not to call too much attention to the fact that Ami had so many supporters in the teahouse. Nonetheless, Esme caught his eyes as well and rolled her own, though she didn’t stop her animated conversation with Alchemilla. 

Rumbi could guess well enough what they were talking about. Alchemilla was to be married on Mid-year’s Day, postponed from Yule due to their uncle Isemond’s untimely departure. There had been very little cheer for many of the Tooks this past Yule, but summer was brining much needed warmth to the clan, thawing away the last of winter’s frigid grasp from their hearts. Alchemilla’s wedding and Ami’s birthday celebration will be the final strokes, he hoped, that would banish the ghosts of winter once and for all.

He was nearly at the door when he spotted Pally in the corner, also watching Ami. He had Saradoc and Merimac with him; the younger lads were not yet of age to drink ale, so they wouldn’t protest coming to the teahouse rather than the inn next door. Rumbi caught Pally’s gaze and gave him an appreciative smile, which was returned instantly. 

Rumbi caught a few snatches of their conversation as he passed them on the way to the door.

“You should come to the fair in Tuckborough next year,” Pally was saying. “It’ll be Darling’s coming of age. Mum’s already started planning it, and we haven’t even had her birthday for this year yet.”

“We’ll have to ask our parents,” Mac said.

“Then you can come to Buckland the year after that,” Sara said. “Aunt Primula makes the most amazing raspberry tarts you’ve ever tasted.”

Rumbi stepped outside in the mid-afternoon sun, the mild summer heat washing over his skin like a cloak, and headed for the Town Hole.

“Ami Darling,” Gardenia said after Rumbi left. “I trust you’ve had an enjoyable day. You’re practically glowing.”

“I have, thank you Aunt Gardenia,” Ami replied cordially, doing her best to ignore the unwavering regard of Lalia across from her. She was still rather shaken from their earlier encounter, but her day spent busily showing lost hobbits where to go had kept her from dwelling on it until now. “I trust your day was productive at the Town Hole.”

“Indeed it was,” Dora said. “We were quite impressed with the mayoral candidates. With Mayor Lightfoot retiring this year, there were more candidates than usual. The chap named Goodbeck from Nobottle shows the most promise, I think. I believe Bilbo agrees; we’ve yet to talk about it.”

“I rather prefer Mr. Diggle from Whitwell,” Lalia said. “He’s most impressive in his presentation and manner.”

“It is rather easy to imagine him conducting the wedding ceremonies on Mid-year,” Gardenia agreed. “Then again, it is another matter to imagine him running the Post Service or overseeing the Shirriffs and Bounders. He is not well-traveled.”

“No, but he does have all those shops in Whitwell and Whitfurrows that he manages,” Ami said, coming to Mr. Diggle’s defense as she stirred honey into her tea. “He’s not just a landlord, interested in nothing more than collecting his rents every quarter. He’s learned every aspect of the businesses run in those shops, and he never hesitates to step in and lend a hand for a day or two to give the proprietors a much-deserved holiday. I think he would make a fine Mayor.”

“Indeed,” Lalia said, her previous enthusiasm now somewhat lacking. She was of the opinion that the whole point of renting out property was so that one would not have to soil their hands with the lowly occupation of labor. 

“Well, then, I believe Mr. Diggle has my vote,” Gardenia said with a conspiratorial smile. “All fellows should be so willing to help those who provide them with their means of comfort.”

“Quite,” Dora agreed. “I may have to reexamine my own conclusions.”

“Mphh,” Lalia harrumphed but wisely said no more until, that is, Gardenia pointedly cleared her throat. They had more important things to discuss and it was time to get started. 

Lalia took a sip of her tea. “Amaryllis,” she said. It was not a promising beginning, which she quickly amended. “Darling, I fear I was most uncouth in my treatment of you this morning. It was not justified and I apologize. You’re a sweet and endearing lass, and a treasure to the Tooks beyond all worth. You did not deserve to bear the brunt of my overreaction. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course, I can, Cousin Lalia,” Ami said cordially, smiling sweetly, but Dora felt the slight jump of the lass’s hand under her own. “I should not have been so careless in my possession of your shawl. It will not happen again.”

Lalia rather had to agree with this, as she would never lend the lass so much as a handkerchief again. “You are most gracious to apologize when I was the one in error.”

Ami appeared placated at this. She relaxed visibly, settling back in her chair to enjoy the remaining conversation.

“So Darling,” Gardenia said, “did you enjoy your lessons while at the Smials this year? Bergenia was most impressed with your enthusiasm for carpentry.” Bergenia was Gardenia and Isengar’s second-born and the Smials’ resident carpenter. “She said you made that rocking chair that sits in the east parlor now. It’s a stunning piece of work and so comfortable! I fall asleep nearly every time I sit in it.”

Ami beamed at the praise, blushing prettily. “I don’t know how to explain it really. It’s as though the wood just speaks to me, tells me what it wants to be.”

“You have a gift, my dear,” Dora said. 

“I enjoy working with my hands,” Ami said. “There’s so little to do at the farm; the servants and farmhands take care of everything. It will give me something to occupy my time, and Bergenia was such a patient instructor. I made many mistakes making that chair.”

“She has nothing but praise for your efforts. You’re her best pupil. She’s told me many times,” Gardenia said. “We will be needing another instructor, once she retires. She’s rather keen on the idea of apprenticing another lass.”

“Is she?” Ami asked. “That is something I must consider then.”

“What else did you do this summer, Darling?” Dora asked, and they went on to talk of Ami’s many adventures whilst visiting her kin. 

“Clem?” Adalgrim stuck his head into their room at the Pheasant but could see no sign of his wife. He’d had a job of it getting away from the Town Hole without inviting anyone back to tea with him, but he had managed to slip away when Mayor Lightfoot stood up to dismiss everyone for the day.

Adalgrim washed quickly while he waited and was just bending down to brush the dirt out of his foot hair when the door opened again. He looked up and grinned. His wife too had managed to get away alone. She returned his smile and locked the door for good measure; they didn’t want to be interrupted.

“Where’s the tea?” Adalgrim asked accusatorially.

“Oh, is that what you were wanting?” Clematis asked, looking crestfallen and very kissable.

“I suppose we can get it later,” Adalgrim said and held out his hand. “Come here.”

She took his hand and stepped into his embrace for a lingering kiss. 

It was much later that they went into the common room to sit for their tea. They had changed their clothes and been obliged to wash again, which had delayed them even longer. They now sat in a booth, their stomachs grumbling. They gave their order to the barmaid when she breezed by, just tea and crumpets as dinner was not far off and they were expected to dine with the Tooks at their camp circle.

“I had an interesting conversation with Rumbi this morning,” Adalgrim said as they waited for their meal. “It seems he is planning to ask for Darling’s hand on Overlithe.”

Clematis pursed her lips, the only response she could think to make.

“Do you not approve of Rumbi?” Adalgrim asked at her silence.

“Rumbi’s a dear, and he would make any lass a fine husband. He does, however, have the misfortune of his parentage,” Clematis replied.

“We spoke of that also,” Adalgrim said. “Rumbi is willing to move out of the Smials and closer to home, until the time should come that he must take his position as Thain and Took. Ami will need some instruction, but he doesn’t see why she can’t learn her duties as Lady during visits.”

“That does ease my mind somewhat,” Clematis said. “However, Lalia won’t like it if Ami steals away her precious son.”

“Rumbi said she could learn to live with the disappointment,” Adalgrim said. “Still, she will want to dote upon any grandchildren Ami gives her. She may just become a regular visitor at Whitwell.”

“That is what I am worried about,” Clematis said. “It’s Ami’s decision of course. If she feels she can withstand Lalia as a mother-in-law, we can only support her in that decision and make the best of it that we can. She may well decide on someone else, of course.”

“Do you think so? She’s rather fond of Ferumbras,” Adalgrim said just as the barmaid returned with their order. He waited until she was gone before continuing. “He was somewhat nervous she might turn him away. Do you think it’s a possibility? I assured him it was unlikely.”

“Darling’s as flighty as a hummingbird. Fond of him she may be, but she’s so free with her affections,” Clematis said. “She certainly has no lack of potential suitors. She draws the eyes of nearly every lad everywhere we go. Still, so long as she doesn’t meet some dashing stranger to capture her attention between now and Overlithe, I think Rumbi can be fairly certain of her response. It will help matters if Lalia can behave herself as well. I only saw Ami briefly after Lalia’s little tirade, but I could tell she was upset. She isn’t accustomed to be treated in that manner, and it could sway her in her decision. She wouldn’t be the first lass to give Rumbi a wide berth because of his mother.”

“That isn’t very fair to Rumbi, though I can’t say I blame them,” Adalgrim said, spooning sugar into his tea. “If Ami does turn him down, I doubt he would have very many other prospects.”

“Which is something Lalia should keep in mind next time she decides to berate my daughter,” Clematis said. Her hand clenched her teacup involuntarily.

“Perhaps we should have tea with Lalia and Peanut, so we can discuss that with them,” Adalgrim said. “Oh, I thought also of inviting Delphi to tea at some point.”

“It’s going to have to be soon,” Clematis said. “I’ll make the arrangements. Now, tell me of the candidates. Wasn’t Mr. Diggle included among the hopefuls?”

“He was and I believe he impressed a good many of the Heads, though he has a lot of competition, most notably Master Goodbeck,” Adalgrim said and launched into a discussion of the many candidates and their prospects.

Arlo sneezed loudly but did not stop his pursuit of his older cousin, who was holding the ball he wanted to play with. “My ball!” he protested.

“No, it’s mine! It’s pink!” Nora Bolger argued. She squealed and ran away as he pounced towards her. “Mama!”

Prisca plucked the ball from her daughter’s hand. “If you can’t learn to share, neither of you will get to play with it,” she said sternly and waited for her daughter to nod obediently. She handed the ball back and watched to make sure the two were playing quietly together before turning back to Amber and Heather. “Be glad you only have one,” she said, then immediately cringed, realizing her crassness. “Oh, dearest, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s all right, Prissy,” Amber said, watching her son with wistful fondness. “You’re right of course. Raising one is hard enough. I don’t know how you manage with three!”

Prisca looked over her shoulder and across the cooking circle to where her sons, Wilimar and Heribald, were wrestling with Hugo Bracegirdle and Ponto and Porto Baggins under the watchful eyes of Odovacar Bolger. “I don’t know how I do it either!” she said with a laugh. “Those lads near make me mad sometimes. They’re always competing, trying to outdo each other. They’re sweet as sugar with Nora though.”

“That’s good. They should protect their little sister,” Heather said. “Not, say, throw her out the room in nothing but her nightshirt with a crying faunt to contend with.”

“You wanted Pally out. I got him out,” Amber said tartly. 

“What is this?” Prisca asked, eager for what sounded like a most amusing story. She could always count on her friends for engaging tales of domestic squabbles, and they didn’t disappoint her now. She was laughing to the point of tears by the time Amber finished her account, with a full and detailed report of Paladin’s astonished face as she slammed the door on him.

“It was rather humorous,” Heather admitted, allowing herself to smile at the memory. Her frown returned though when Arlo sneezed again, rewarding his cousins with a spray of spit and snot that made them jump back and wipe their faces with the tails of their shirts. “You should have waited to dress Arlo properly though. Or at least thrown out some clothes for Pally to change him into.”

“It’s just a bit of summer fever,” Amber said, looking over her son with a motherly eye. Aside from the sneezing, Arlo looked healthy as ever. He had survived the winter with nothing more than a sore throat, despite everyone else around him running fevers and coughing up phlegm. His colds tended to come during the spring thaws and early warming of summer, so she was not concerned at the rare sneeze or two now.

“Still, maybe you should see a healer,” Heather said. 

“It’s just all the dust and pollen being blown about by the wind,” Amber said. “He’ll be fine once he adjusts. So, Prissy, how are things in Hobbiton?” 

“They’re doing well,” Prisca said. “We finally got that sewing room of Auntie Linda’s cleared out; you can actually fit the spinning wheel in there again. Odo and his family have moved into the hole to help Uncle Bodo. Young Olo is such a gift to him. Bodo has got his second wind, as they say. He’s determined to teach that lad to fish and hunt and how to properly cure and work the hides for good trading. Odo couldn’t be happier. It’s keeping Olo out of the usual tween silliness, and Olo just adores his grandpa. Now they’re settled, Will and I will be going back to Budgeford after the fair.

“Otho and Lobelia though, they’ve made a right nuisance of themselves as usual. As you may know, Lobelia’s expecting her first bairn in a month or so, and thankfully couldn’t make the journey to the fair, but she is persistent that everything be perfect for her darling-to-be. She’s been coming over to everyone’s homes and not even bothering to be discreet about the fact that she’s only there so as to discover what they can give her in the way of furniture, toys or clothes! Why, after she left Bodo’s, can you believe we found one of Nora’s dolls missing! Will had to march over the Bywater just to fetch it back, and she had the gall to act like she didn’t know how it came to be sitting on the hearth mantle in the room she set aside for the bairn!”

“I believe it,” Amber and Heather said in unison. It had always been Bilbo’s firm belief that Lobelia had stolen away a number of his good silver spoons, and Lobelia had always protested it too much for them to think her innocent of the crime.

They gossiped through the rest of tea, allowing the children to play as they wished so long as they didn’t bicker or fight. Heather kept one hear tuned to Arlo all the while, however, and she was pleased that Amber appeared to be right. While Arlo continued to sneeze occasionally, and would now and then wipe a dirt-covered hand across a watery eye, he was otherwise his normal self, cheerful and with boundless energy, more than capable of keeping up with his older cousins.

“Will you be coming to dinner at the Took camp?” Amber asked after tea, as they were preparing to leave.

“No, we’ll be meeting the Will’s family at the teahouse,” Prisca said. 

Odovacar, pricked his ears at this statement and abandoned his game of pennies with Vigo Boffin. “Mother said I could go,” he announced. “Will Paladin be there?”

“I would imagine so,” Amber replied. “So will Rosamunda.”

Odovacar pinked at this statement but answered in the most flippant tone he could manage, “Oh, that’s nice.” He went back to his game, to discover that Vigo had won five of his pennies while he was distracted. “That is not nice.”

“You snooze,” Vigo said and flipped another penny from his growing hoard. 

“Smials!” Odovacar exclaimed, triumphant, and picked up the penny. “My turn.”

Amber and Heather took their leave, Arlo coming with much reluctance. “But I want to play!” he whined, dragging his feet through the dirt and pouting for all he was worth.

“You can play with your other cousins tonight at dinner,” Amber said, unmoved by this display. “For now, you are coming with us back to the inn so we can change and wash.”

“But I want to plaaaaaay!” Arlo cried, working up a few tears for good measure.

Amber lifted her eyebrows at this act. “Then you better behave yourself. Keep up like this, you won’t get to play with any of your cousins and you won’t get dessert either.”

Arlo narrowed his eyes at his mother, trying to figure out how serious she was with her threat. Amber crossed her arms. Arlo crossed his. “Dad would let me play.”

The tent grew still at this declaration and for several moments Amber did not even appear to breathe. Then she swallowed audibly, reached down and pulled Arlo into her arms. “That is not how you behave yourself.” She kissed Prisca on the cheek. “Good night, love. See you in the morrow?”

Prisca nodded and cleared her throat. “I’ll come looking for you,” she said, somewhat hoarsely. “Good night, dears.”

Amber and Heather left quickly. They were halfway across the emptying fairground when Amber suddenly stopped, shoulders slouched, and put Arlo on the ground. She lifted his head until their eyes met and squeezed firmly on his jaw.

“Don’t you ever embarrass me like that again,” she hissed. “Don’t you ever insult your father like that again. Do you understand?”

Arlo nodded, genuine tears forming. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Too late,” Amber said, releasing him as abruptly as she had seized him. She turned away and took several deep breaths in an effort to calm herself. When that failed, she turned her head halfway. “Heather?”

“I’ll take him,” Heather said, placing a comforting hand to her sister’s shoulder. “Go calm yourself.”

Amber stalked off, head raised, towards the far end of the fairgrounds. There the open fields stretched westward, and the gathering dusk blazed golden beyond the distant downs. Heather took Arlo’s hand and led him to the inn. He came quietly, glancing over his shoulders in the direction his mother had gone. 

“Is she coming back?” he asked.

“She’ll be back,” Heather soothed. “And when she comes back, you are going to be a clean and respectable young lad again. You misbehaved horribly though, so no playing with your cousins after dinner and no dessert.”

“Yes, Auntie Heather,” Arlo agreed, quelled for now, and followed his aunt into the inn.

Rumbi had managed to get away from the tea crowd early. He strolled casually about the fairgrounds, saying hello and good day to whomever he passed but not stopping for fear of being drawn into a prolonged conversation. In this manner, he eventually came to the rear of the grounds where the livestock were penned. He walked with as carefree an air as he could manage, reminding himself that he was not the only one taking an early account of the livestock on offer. He stopped here and there to chinwag with the shepherds and farmers in charge, just a few quick questions which was the norm for such inspections. Finally, he came to the pen that held the docile black-faced sheep that had made such a spectacle that morning. 

He paused outside the pen, pretending to evaluate the sheep while taking quick, furtive glances at the shepherd who was clearly their master. The sheep paid Rumbi no mind, their eyes following their master’s movements around the pen as he scattered fresh cut grass and clover and filled the water-troughs. The lad was young, no more than thirty-five, and he carried out his chores with the practiced ease that came from years of repetition. Now and then, he cooed to the sheep, imitating their language with such startling accuracy that it took Rumbi a few minutes to realize that it was the lad, not the sheep, making the bleating noises. 

“You’re quite competent with them,” Rumbi said at last, making his presence known.

He had expected the lad to spring to his feet and twirl around in surprise. Instead, the lad stayed in his squatting position and nodded. “We talk to each other. Keeps them happy,” he said. He scratched an ewe under her ear, patted another on her head, then stood and came to the low fence. He stuck out a dirt-covered hand. “Perry Nettleburr at your service.”

Rumbi shook his hand firmly. “Ferumbras Took at yours and your family’s,” he introduced himself, taking in the lad’s thin frame and bedraggled appearance with one quick glance. No wonder Ami had wanted to see the lad fed.

“Took?” Perry said, letting the hand go and stepping back as though to get a better look at him also. He squinted in the setting sun, and Rumbi realized then why the lad had not been surprised when he spoke. Their shadows stretched across the ground most deceivingly. Perry nodded at something. “‘Ye must be kin to Ami then. Ye’ve the same eyes.”

Rumbi paused, taken aback to hear Ami’s name used so casually by one so clearly destitute. Had the lad never learned his Rules, or did he believe himself above them somehow? “Miss Amaryllis is my second cousin,” he replied, cordially but firmly, with emphasis on ‘Miss’. He smiled kindly and pointed to the slumbering sheep. “She told me of your sheep, and I was curious to get a look at them. You don’t see many of this kind in the Shire. So far as I know, the only other farmer to have such sheep lives in Willowbottom. Did you acquire them from him?”

“No,” Perry answered, purposefully uninformative. 

“From where then?” Rumbi pressed, curiosity growing.

“Their grandsires came to us,” Perry said with a shrug. “They decided to stay on for a bit, and no one came to claim ‘em.”

A ram came up to the gate and rested his head on the rail. He bleated inquisitively. Rumbi reached down to pet it and in doing so managed a closer look at the ear, hoping for a telltale brand mark. There was none.

“You don’t brand your sheep?” he asked next.

“No need to. They ain’t common as ye say,” the lad said. “‘Sides, no point branding something you ain’t figuring on keeping.”

“How much are you selling them for?” Rumbi asked, thinking he would mention the lad to his father if the price was reasonable enough.

“Not selling. Trading,” Perry answered. “Two or three ewes for a cow, a ram for a bull.”

“I can’t imagine anyone turning that down,” Rumbi said, which seemed to relax the lad a great deal. So, he hadn’t been sure if such a trade would be viable or not. Interesting. “I’ll see if I can send some business your way, though many of my relations remained behind in Tookland. If you still have an ewe or two after the fair, I could carry word home with me and send whoever is interested out to see you. Where do you live?”

“No point making such plans as yet,” the lad answered, tension returned. “I don’t reckon on having any left after, see?”

“Yes, of course not,” Rumbi said. He patted the ram’s head again and shoved off the fence. “Well, nice to meet you, Perry.”

“Nice to meet you also, Ferumbras,” Perry replied, casual as sunshine.

Rumbi paused but decided to let the slight go without comment. He didn’t plan on seeing the lad again anyway.

He returned down the rows of pens to the path that led back to the fairgrounds. As he reached the end of the row, he noticed a hobbitess walking stiffly off the grounds to the fields beyond. He squinted into the sun, following her with his eyes. He was almost certain the hobbitess was Amber Lightfoot. 

He followed her around the nearest hill, where there was thankfully some shade beneath an oak for him to see her clearly. It was Amber, and she appeared to be crying. Hard. Rumbi debated leaving or staying, but he couldn’t turn away when she so clearly needed consoling. He looked about the ground and found a sturdy branch that could double as a walking stick. He picked it up and approached Amber.

“Amber?” he said, when he was close enough.

Immediately, Amber straightened, her hands batting away her tears in vain. “Rumbi,” she greeted, her voice strained. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking a walk,” Rumbi answered and brandished his walking stick as proof. It was close enough to the truth to not be a complete lie. “Is something the matter?”

“No, of course not,” Amber replied, sniffling loudly.

“Quite,” Ferumbras replied. 

Amber let out a deep breath and sniffed again. She looked away from him, and he wondered if he should just leave. His feet refused to comply with this impulse though, and he continued to stand there. All was quiet for several minutes, during which time Amber seemed to finally calm into a sort of numb stupor. Rumbi was beginning to think she meant to ignore him entirely until she finally spoke.

“I shouldn’t still be missing them,” she whispered so that he barely heard her. “It’s been four months, but I still wake expecting him to be there. This morning, waking up so crowded in that bed… Most of the time, I’m perfectly fine, but then I smell something or hear someone laugh, or someone just mentions him and I… It’s like it just happened, all over again. And the bairn, I never even knew her. She was a lass, you know? My arms ache to hold her. Does that sound silly to you?”

“Of course not,” Rumbi said. He dared to approach closer and put a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t inch away from the touch, so he sat next to her on the boulder. “Sometimes, I still think I can smell Grandda smoking his pipe in the parlor. I know he’s not there, but I can smell it. Sometimes I’ll be walking over the hills and see a patch of flowers like he used to pick for Grandmum, and I’ll choke up all of a sudden from missing him. But it’s only sometimes. It will get easier, Amber.”

“When? Everyone’s been saying that for months, and I’m still waiting for it to happen,” Amber said, looking at him at last. She wasn’t crying anymore, but her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks blotched from the tear tracks. “I keep expecting it to happen, but it doesn’t, and I just…”

“Just what?”

“Want to scream and cry and laugh all at the same time. Am I going mad?” Amber asked. 

“You’re grieving,” Rumbi said. “No room for sense in that.”

“I suppose not,” Amber said. She folded her arms about herself and looked off into the distant sky. They were silent for a long time, Amber’s thoughts wandering as far away as the horizon. Ferumbras sat next to her, waiting patiently as he ran through his list of things that needed doing tomorrow. Finally, Amber sighed and shook her head. “I suppose there’s no sense in asking why either. Why Mallard or Chaco? Why any of them? I can’t help but wonder sometimes why some folk get better and others don’t. Not that I want anyone else to get sick, of course, or feel envy for those who did recover from the ague, but why didn’t he? Why did I, just to lose her?”

“Because he didn’t and you did,” Rumbi said. “I wish I could give you a better answer than that, but that’s how it is. You couldn’t have done anything to change it. You need to find a way to let this go, lass. You said you wanted to scream. Maybe you should.”

Amber sniffed and pulled out her handkerchief to discreetly wipe her nose. “That’s not dignified.”

“No room for that in grief either,” Rumbi said. “There’s no one around to hear, and I promise I won’t tell. Or would you rather I leave?”

Amber laughed, a small huff of amusement. “I’m not going to scream, Rumbi, but thank you for offering to stay. I just need some time alone. Go on to dinner, tell them I’ll be along shortly.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She nodded, a smile gracing her lips. “I’m sure. I just need to be alone for a while, and I need to wash. There’s a streamlet nearby.”

“Don’t keep us waiting too long,” he said. He kissed her brow and stood up. “Take care then, lass.” He placed the walking stick next to her and left.

Amber waited until he was gone before returning her gaze to the horizon. The sun was beginning to set, blazing in her eyes. She closed her eyes and felt the warm breeze of the mid-summer evening upon her flushed skin. “Oh, Mallard,” she whispered wistfully. “I do love you, for all you broke my heart. Take care of her for me.” She lay down in the grass and let night fall around her.

To be continued…

GF 7/13/11