[piosenniel]

Zimzi had just entered the door to the kitchen from the common room, when Cook called her over. ‘Sit down, sit down, and have some lunch with me.’ The younger woman demurred, saying she would like to take her meal with Derufin, but Cook was insistent, saying that there were matters that needed to be spoken about and taken care of before her family arrived. ‘And besides, said Cook, the workmen are all eating together at a table we’ve set up in the yard. They’ll be done soon, I’m sure, then be back to their business. Mustn’t delay the, you know,’ she said nodding her head at Zimzi. ‘Time is short to get everything done.’

With an indulgent smile, Zimzi acquiesced to Cook’s request. And Buttercup served them both before taking second helpings out to the crew. From behind Zimzi’s back, out of the young woman’s view, Buttercup winked conspiratorially at Cook.

They were well past the buttering of bread and the spooning up of the fragrant stew before Cook got round to her agenda. She knew that Zimzi was quite fond of flowers, she began, and so she had arranged for her to spend a few days with a good friend of hers who lived up in Overhill. ‘And a friend of Mistress Piosenniel’s, too, when she lived here. Name of Amaranthas.’

‘Why, I remember her!’ cried Zimzi, her eyes glinting mischievously. ‘The Old Dragon – or so Pio called her sometimes, though always in a fond way.’

‘Dragon or no,’ continued Cook, ‘she’s a right treasure for flower lore. Has a lovely flower garden and can tell you what each one of them means.’ Zimzi looked at Cook perplexedly. What is she getting at? she wondered. ‘Yes, well,’ she said aloud, ‘I’m just a bit confused about this talk of flowers and their meanings. I think we do not have such a custom where I grew up.’

Cook took a deep breath before she began her explanation. ‘In the Shire, it’s customary to celebrate occasions with food and drink, dancing and song and speeches of all sorts . . . and flowers. Every sort of flower has its own meaning that goes with it. It’s rather like sending someone a message, but without using words. Sunflowers, for example, say “I adore you”. And flowering almond speaks of “Hope”. Those are but two of many.’ She got up from the table to dish them up a generous helping of blackberry tart. ‘Now this will be a large party – your handfasting. All of Bywater and Hobbiton have heard the news and will come in to make a day and night of it. The Inn yard will be set up within and without with many trestle tables to hold the food, and cakes, and drinks and of course, the mathoms.’

Zimzi’s face had gone quite pale at the scope that Cook had envisioned, and protested that surely this would be too much for Cook and the Inn staff to see to. No worry about that, Cook had assured her, the goodwives of the two towns would see that things got done up right for the special day. ‘And they’ll be expecting the same from you, once you and your Mister have settled in, with their sons’ and daughters’ weddings.’ ‘We like to do for each other in these parts,’ she went on. ‘Many hands make light work.’

So what had all this to do with flowers, Zimzi asked after taking in the enormity of the enterprise. Cook explained that it was customary to make small bouquets for each of the tables for the party, expressing the sentiments of the day. ‘And since you are quite fond of flowers, as I have noted, you and Miz Amaranthas can set yourselves to work getting them ready. She’s an old hand at that sort of thing and can give you all the pointers you’ll need.’

‘And here’s your bag, just now . . .’ smiled Cook, as Ruby came bustling through the door with a tapestry traveling bag packed with a few changes of clothes and other essentials.

‘My bag?’ croaked the young woman, as Cook and Ruby ushered her to the front door of the Inn and into a waiting cart, driven by the stableboy. ‘He’ll come fetch you in a few days . . . you and Miz Amaranthas . . . and the bouquets. We’ll see to the rest of the cleaning here at the Inn and get everything set up for the arrival of your parents and brothers.’

‘Enjoy yourself . . .’ cried Buttercup, waving wildly at the retreating cart. ‘We’ll see to Derufin while you’re away. Don’t you worry about him.’