[piosenniel]

‘Whoa up, Nobby! There’s a girl!’ The little brown pony turned off the path to the Inn’s front door, making for the stables at a quick pace. The sooner the stable was reached, he knew, and the cart unharnessed from him, the sooner he’d have a warm, cozy stall to stand in and a small rick of sweet hay to munch on, And perhaps, if he looked longingly enough, there would be a crisp little apple to crunch.

Zimzi guided him up to the double doors with a deft hand. Young master Meriadoc stepped out with a grin, and leaned his shovel against the doorframe. ‘Just cleaned out a stall for you, Nobby,’ he murmured confidentially to the nickering pony, scratching him affectionately between the ears. He grabbed hold the bridle, holding the pony and cart still as Zimzi got down. ‘Nice to see you back, Mistress,’ the Hobbit said, as they made quick work of freeing Nobby. ‘I’ve made room for your family’s horses, and their wagon . . . just waiting for them to show up.’

‘Thank you, my dear Merry,’ Zimzi returned, smiling. ‘I can hardly wait to see them. It was all I could do not to set out west to meet them on the road.’ She patted Nobby on the rump as Merry turned him into the stall. ‘Of course, this old fellow was bound and determined we were headed back to the Inn, and would have none of my indecision as to whether we should turn east or west!’ The two companions laughed at the image of the stubborn pony. Nobby flicked his ears at the two of them, and nodded his head up and down as if he had understood every word.

From the stable, Zimzi could see the light from the kitchen shining through the back door’s window. Cook would be up and about the Inn’s business she knew, and welcome order would be brought to bear on whatever series of unseen events fell upon the day. Gathering up her skirt and cloak to keep them from the damp dirt between the stable and the Inn, Zimzi hurried to the door, entering without knocking. ‘Hello!’ she called to those sitting about the table. ‘I’ve done with my choosing of flowers and making the arrangements for the party tables. Miz Amaranthas and one of Samwise’s boys will be bringing them in early tomorrow morning.’ She glanced round the kitchen, looking for Cook, and found her just coming out of the pantry. ‘My hands, and legs, and strong back, if needed, are at your service, my good Miz Bunce,’ she said, running to help Cook with the sacks of flour and sugar she was lugging into the kitchen proper. She plunked the sacks where Cook directed, then took a seat at the table.

‘Just have a cuppa tea,’ Cook said, pouring more hot water over fresh leaves in the pot on the table. ‘We’ll sort out what you can help with after another round of hot muffins with butter and jam.’ She eyed the woman in a considering manner as the basket of muffins was passed round. ‘I think I’ll set you to the slicing of the ham and cheese for the platters.’ Cook poured another round of tea once she’d determined it had brewed just so. ‘And once you’re done with that, then you can wash up the small pots in that cupboard over there, and get them filled with mustards and piccalilli from the larger crocks at the back of the pantry.’

Zimzi nodded her head ‘yes’ at Cook’s request as she piled her muffin with strawberry jam. Buttercup was just waiting for her turn to talk, and as soon as cook was done, she began asking the woman questions . . . what flowers had she chosen . . . and how was she going to wear her hair . . . what was her Ma like, and her brothers and her Da . . . was there anything special she would like done for them. The list went on and on, with others of the servers asking their own little questions as one would pause for breath. Zimzi answered as best she could, but she was hard put to keep up with them . . .

It was Cook who finally brought an end to the inquiries, saying there was work to be done. Zimzi mouthed a ‘thank-you’ toward her and stood to help clear the table. Ruby and Buttercup ran upstairs to get dressed for the day and were soon back down, joining the others in the tasks appointed them.