[piosenniel]

Cook returns . . .

Buttercup had just poured herself and Ruby another cup of hot, strong tea and was just passing the honey across the table when the backdoor to the kitchen flew open with a decided thump. ‘I told you to latch the door properly,’ said Ruby, her back to the entrance. ‘It’s a bit windy out this evening.’ She glanced up at her friend who stood looking toward the door, eyes wide and mouth gawping like a fish out of water. ‘Well, what’s the matter? Go shut the door, then come drink your tea. They’ll be wanting desert soon enough out there – rest your legs a bit.’

Unable to quite form the words, Buttercup stood stock still and stammered, pointing her finger. ‘It’s not the wind,’ she finally gasped out. ‘It’s Cook!’ Ruby jumped up, knocking her chair over, and whipped about. There standing in the doorway, canvas traveling bag in hand, was indeed Ms. Vinca Bunce.

‘Cook!’ they cried as one, and ran to see to her. Buttercup took her bag and Ruby righted the fallen chair, dusting it off with her apron as she invited Ms. Bunce to sit down. A cup of fresh tea was fetched, with a dollop of fireweed honey, and a sugar biscuit, crisp and tasty to eat with it.

Vinca sat down and looked about her kitchen. It was not what she expected from the calamity-filled letter she had received from Buttercup at the time of the fire. True, things were not quite in the same places as when she had left, but everything was neat and tidy and new, and with a few minor adjustments things would be back to normal in her kitchen in no time. Ruby and Buttercup sat beaming across the table at her, bursting at the seams as they waited patiently for her to make some sort of comment before they filled her in on the news and gossip she’d missed. All thoughts of their tidings fled as Cook finished the last of her tea and made her pronouncement.

‘You girls have done a good job, despite the problems I heard that you had.’ Buttercup flushed pink, wishing she’d never sent that note along. ‘Things look neat and tidy . . . but . . .’ Frowns appeared on both the servers, wondering what could be the matter. ‘Now wipe those dismal looks from your faces,’ continued Cook. ‘It’s just that we have some extra work to do in the next few days.’

‘Already!’ cried Buttercup, ‘but you just got here!’

‘Yes,’ returned Cook, untying her bonnet and laying it carefully on the table, ‘and I should have been home weeks ago and all this should have been done.’

‘All what done?’ chorused the two Hobbits, wondering what was so urgent.

‘The little house near the stable will need to be thoroughly cleaned – yes, that will do, he can bunk there; and the Stablemaster’s quarters be cleaned, too, for the brothers to stay in. Those nice little rooms at the top of the stairs have got to be made ready – her parents will stay there, and of course it’s only proper that she should be up there also.’ Cook rose to her feet and went to the pantry to take quick inventory. ‘And I’ll need you two to help out with the baking . . .’

‘Baking? Cleaning? Brothers?’ Buttercup stamped her foot and hands on hips demanded that Cook explain herself.

‘It’s perfectly clear you little goose . . .’

Cook’s explanation was sidetracked by the low chuckle that came from the still open door. Derufin grinned at the befuddled Hobbits as he drew Zimzi in beside him. ‘My parents quite approved of him,’ she laughed, ‘as did my two brothers.’ ‘They’ll be here within the week,’ Derufin added, winking at Cook, who had popped her head out of the pantry.

‘Be here? For a visit?’ asked Buttercup plopping down on a chair. Her thoughts were spinning trying to take all of it in.

‘A visit!’ snorted Cook. ‘Not likely!’ She opened the sugar bin to see that the level was adequate to her needs.

‘They’re coming for the handfasting . . .’