[piosenniel]

‘Who are all these ladies?’ Zimzi whispered her question to Buttercup as they entered the kitchen through the back door. Gathered about Cook were fourteen or perhaps it was fifteen young ladies, all looking like freshly picked flowers in their bright yellows and greens and reds and blues. And every one of them had a freshly pressed apron pinned on along with a bright scarf to tie back their curls.

‘Miz Bunce has called upon their mama’s for help in getting the Inn in order for the arrival of your family and the hand-fasting. Most of them will be helping with the cleaning of rooms and the polishing of the best silver. The fancy linen tablecloths and napkins will all be washed and ironed. And at the end of the week they’ll be the ones to weave the festoons of evergreens and gather the flowers for the arrangements from the garden.’ She nudged Zimzi’s attention toward the group of four older ladies who stood apart from the group, looking on. ‘And those over there will assist cook with the making of the meal . . . Miz Bunce, of course will put the cake together herself . . .’

‘So much work! It’s wonderful! Their generosity leaves me speechless.’ Zimzi beamed at the group and at Cook.

‘Well,’ said Buttercup, ‘Cook is quite fond of Mister Derufin . . . and of you, too. And the lasses are more than willing to help, if truth be told. Tomorrow, many of the single lads will come in to help with the hauling in of the supplies that Cook has ordered and to get the yard in order for the grand party afterwards. There’ll be much eyeing of one another as the week progresses and comments traded in a flirty manner. And by the time the party and the dance is here, there’ll be pairs of dancers ready for it, if you catch my meaning.’ Buttercup nodded her head sagely. ‘Yes . . . I would bet, despite the lasses’ ages, their mothers all saw to their dresses and aprons and scarves for the head before they left the burrows. And all are hoping that in a year or perhaps less, they will be calling on other goodwives of the town to assist in their daughter’s wedding . . .’ Buttercup grinned up at Zimzi. ‘There’s far more to the whole thing than just you and Mister Derufin, you see . . .’

Zimzi laughed delightedly, thinking how much the Hobbits were like the good people of her own little town. ‘Yes,’ she said, grinning back at Buttercup. ‘I do indeed see.’