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Widow Rosebank woke up suddenly, disoriented. Sounds of chatter, laughter and music drifted into her darkened room upstairs in the Green Dragon through the window she’d left slightly ajar. She must have dozed off and slept well past the start of the party tonight! Groggily, she sat up on the bed and lit the candle on the table by her bed. After a few more moments of collecting her thoughts, she stood up and stretched. Then, going to the window, she peeked out and got a partial view of the crowd below, dancing and talking. Despite her alarm at the reports of a live Orc in the vicinity of the Dragon, the Widow’s foot starting tapping along to the merry tune being played below. What finally decided her was the faint odor of the feast laid out for the inn’s guests. She guessed if she wanted to eat dinner tonight, she’d better gather her courage and join the party.
Closing and firmly latching the window (what had she been thinking to leave it open?!), Widow Rosebank pulled the curtains closed and washed up. She had thought to bring one party dress with her, impractical as it had seemed at the time, and she pulled it on happily. One of the best things about owning a dry goods business was first call on the prettiest cloth and notions that came in, and she was well-pleased with her appearance when she finished. Her long-sleeved dress was a plain shade of gray, but of such a soft, rich velvet that she felt almost like a grand lady wearing it. She had embellished it herself at the cuffs with a thick pattern of glass beads made to glitter like silver. They wound about her wrists and up to her elbows in a pattern of vines and flowers. She had sewn a matching beaded pattern around the V-shaped neckline of her dress and around the hem of the full skirt. She decided, after some thought, to leave her hair down. It wouldn’t have been quite proper for a respectable shopkeeper in Bree, but she wasn’t known in Bywater. Besides, the gray velvet somehow brought out copper lights in her brown hair.
Examining her appearance in the small mirror over the washstand, the Widow nodded firmly. “Not bad for a woman your age,” she said to her reflection. Then, checking the latch on the window and locking her door behind her, (she hadn’t forgotten that Orc), she went downstairs.
The common room was nearly deserted as she went through. She stepped out the door into a flood of light and sound. Before her a crowd of Hobbits, Men and Elves whirled in a dance to the tune played by a trio of musicians on the verandah off to one side. Across the green lawn, tables were still laden with plenty of food and several casks dispensing frothy ales. The night was cooling enough to make her thankful for her long-sleeved dress, but not so much as to make her want her cloak.
Heeding her rumbling stomach, the Widow skirted the dancing couples and made her way to the tables. Filling a plate and getting a tankard of what looked to be a fine brown ale, she found a seat at one of the tables and sat down to enjoy her dinner. She’d looked around for one of her new acquaintances, but didn’t see anyone she knew. However, if she sat long enough, someone would likely come up and talk to her. Hopefully she’d have time to eat a bit first. She started on her roast chicken, all the while tapping her foot in time to the music. Pity there wasn’t a fellow her own age to dance with, she thought. Still, it was fun to watch the crowd, especially the young folks. There was a fair amount of flirtation going on between several couples. The widow smiled to herself as she watched a hobbit lad join a pretty young woman near the ale casks. They reminded her of her own courtship so many years ago.
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