Heralded By Storms

C4: A Touch of Sun Among Clouds

Whitwell, October 1374




“It seems to me that you get very little done on rainy days anymore…”

Eglantine’s teasing voice was light at her shoulder, but it startled Esmeralda from her daydream nonetheless, and she withdrew her hands from the cooling wash water.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing… I just wondered whether you intended to finish the breakfast dishes before we sat down to elevenses is all,” her friend said with a smile, reaching past her to pluck a chopping knife from those already cleaned.

“Don’t be silly! I am simply having a time getting rid of the mess you made of the skillet this morning,” the tall hobbitess replied with a touch of irritation. With a last swipe, she set the offending object onto the counter to drip dry and turned firmly away from the window. “There. Done. Now will you stop your needling?” she announced, drying her hands on the dishcloth and dropping it carelessly atop the drying tableware. Her grand gesture of defiance knocked the utensil cup into the basin with a splash, splattering her with dirty wash water, and she leaped lightly aside with a surprised squawk.

Recovering quickly, Esmeralda started to protest her friend’s merry laughter, when with sudden inspiration, she turned and smacked the wavering water, sending a spray of oily droplets at Eglantine instead. Dropping knife and potatoes upon the counter, the little hobbitess returned the wet volley with a mischievous grin. The exchange degenerated somewhat, until soaked and giggling, they both sat down upon a bench and wiped their dripping faces.

Eglantine reached up to swipe a missed dribble upon Esmeralda’s cheek and smiled.

“Oh, sister-mine… Whatever shall I do with you now?”

“Buy me ribbons and bows to soothe my offended wardrobe?” Esmeralda joked, untying the apron that had done its humble best to protect her dress from their drenching play.

“I should think you have someone better than me about to do that now, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Esmeralda asked, trying to pretend she didn’t understand her friend’s words, though the blush she could feel rushing to her cheeks revealed all it needed to.

“I would have to be blind not to see how you wait on rainy days, my dear, and after all these years of watching you look down your nose at the lads that happen by, I would be a fool to mistake why.”

The tall hobbitess fought herself a long moment, then looked to Eglantine with a brilliant smile.

“He came to me before he left, right outside my workroom window, and said he would like to visit again,” she admitted. “I told him Da would not turn away any traveler in ill weather, so…” She shrugged and grinned. “I’ve had a few letters from him since. He is… interesting. And dashing and charming…”

“And handsome and brave! And not the least bit likely to be impressed with names and reputations and all that silly nonsense, right?” Eglantine interrupted.

“I do hope so!” Esmeralda added fervently. “It would be such a nice change! Although…” Her mood fell at the thought that had just entered her mind. “Buckland is a bit far…” she said, staring down at their hands, entwined, between them. “That does put a snarl in the thread, doesn’t it…”

“Not at all,” Eglantine said, giving her fingers a firm squeeze, and Esmeralda looked up into her eyes. Her friend’s gentle features were set in an expression she had come to recognize as determination as unyielding as granite. If Tooks were stubborn, this Banks had well learned to match her hard-headed new family when her gentler nature did not suffice. “Don’t you trouble yourself about that sort of thing, Esmie. Every chick leaves the nest, if they know what’s good for them, and it is long past time you followed your path to whatever life is holding for you. I’m here now; you are free to fly where you will.”

“But, I… Da…”

“Is in fine hands and wants you happy quite as much as I do. Or don’t you trust me to handle these two on my own?”

“I suppose that depends on how much honey you have on hand…” Esmeralda quipped, trying to steer clear of the suddenly very earnest discussion of the repercussions of her possible marriage. Her duty and her life were here, with her father, and to a lesser extent with her brother, and Esmeralda had never given anything else serious thought because she simply had never seen it as an option.

“I’m just glad you are not waiting on a daft stranger with no thought of returning,” Eglantine said softly.

“Oh, I’m not yet that foolish! Saradoc is still a stranger, really, and a little bit daft, if you ask me…” Esmeralda replied, enjoying the shape of his name on the air, spoken aloud at last.

“He may well be daft, but at the least he has a sense of the proper way a thing should be done,” Paladin announced, striding into the kitchen. He pulled an envelope from the shelter of his coat pocket with a small smile.

“Whatever do you mean?” Esmeralda asked, repressing her curiosity, though she could scarce take her eyes from the letter.

Her brother gave her one of his rare smiles and sat down on the other side of the kitchen table. She could now see that the letter was addressed to her father.

“Don’t be coy, Esmie, it doesn’t suit you,” he replied before seemingly turning his whole attention to readying his pipe, the envelope still neatly pinned beneath one elbow.

“Paladin, dear, don’t be so cruel to your sister and tell us what this is about,” Eglantine commanded softly, settling her hands upon his shoulders.

He reached up to clasp one of her hands and laid his cheek against it. “Oh, alright…” His gaze held a pleased and mischievous sparkle that Eglantine knew Esmie could not see from where she sat. He turned back to his sister, straight-faced as he could manage.

“You’ve a proper suitor at last, little sister, and one clever enough to go about things the right way. I bumped into Saradoc yesterday at Great Smials, and we talked a while.” He pushed the envelope to the middle of the table with a smile. “He’s written to request conference with Father on some obscure matter of tradition. Assuming he has the patience to weather such a winding discourse with some grace, you may not have to send any more secret letters through little Buttercup Hornblower.”

“What letters…?” Esmeralda asked, feigning innocence.

“Esmie…” he warned, frowning.

“Oh, alright!” she snapped. “So I’ve had a few letters.”

“And…”

“And I answered them.”

“And…”

“And what!?”

“Good, so you’re partial to the match as well then. He’s a fine gentlehobbit, with a good reputation, and he looks to be making a good living for himself rather than waiting upon his inheritance.”

“And just how many brood hens and sheep shall I fetch you for bride price, brother-dear!?” she demanded sourly, picking a fight to hide her soaring hopes.

“Oh, for all that’s good, what have I said wrong this time?” Paladin grumbled, looking to the ceiling in bewildered frustration.

“You’re both being silly. Have some tea and be happy,” Eglantine interrupted, setting the teapot down between them, just as Esmie wound up for a scathing retort. “Our Esmie has found herself a caller, and you’ve found a likely business partner; everybody wins. If your father can be brought round, that is.”

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October 1374

“And that, you see, was the crux of the problem and the reason for that particular convention,” Adalgrim finished, gruff tones softened by the warm smile he directed towards Esmeralda as she entered the parlor with a laden platter. “Thank you, my dear, your timing is exquisite, as always!”

Saradoc shared a quick grin with her while the old hobbit’s attention was taken by the selection of a generous number of pastries. The sweet aroma of the fruity fillings rose warmly from the golden tidbits to tempt his appetite, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to turn his eyes from her where she stood. The buttery light of late afternoon that blazed behind her from the airy kitchen across the hallway haloed her dark curls with copper fire and added a sultry glow to her skin that recalled summer sun on ripening peaches.

A faint blush and quirk of a smile as she moved to the other side of the table to pour him tea reminded him gentle manners and he fumbled for the sugar bowl to cover his embarrassment. Daring a quick glance, he thought she looked discretely pleased rather than offended, an impression somewhat confirmed by her next words.

“Would you give us the pleasure of your company at supper, Master Saradoc?” she asked.

“I would not want to be any trouble, Miss…”

“Oh, no, no trouble at all. A table is as easily set for five as it is for four,” she replied, and they both looked to Adalgrim, who was stirring his tea with an air of distracted absence.

“Da?”

The old hobbit looked up, seeming to notice them for the first time, and dismissed them with a vague glance and a wave.

“Go on off to the kitchen, lad, lesson’s over for today,” he said to Saradoc, mind and heart already a hundred miles away. “Meribell will surely need your help with supper.”

The young Bucklander started to question the old hobbit, puzzled by the strange words of his host, but Esmeralda shook her head, silently urging him to follow her from the room. He noticed that she had scooped up his teacup and plate, leaving behind no trace that he had sat to tea in that parlor for the past three hours.

Wordlessly settling a wrap about her shoulders, she beckoned him out into the courtyard, to the bench beneath the broad branches of the peach tree that stood sentinel over the gate. She swept aside the fallen leaves that had gathered upon its painted surface and sat down with a deep sigh.

“New faces confuse him,” she said bluntly, as Saradoc sat gingerly beside her. Her blue-gray eyes glinted in steely challenge in what remained of the afternoon’s light, daring him to deny the mortifying truth, in some ways worse than well-known rumor.

“I daresay strangers can be disconcerting to most of us, under some circumstances.”

“That is hardly comparable to this situation,” she snapped back, frank gaze searching his face for malice or mockery. “Will you really pretend you have not heard what is said about my father?”

“I have heard them, but I never put much stock in gossip.”

“Then you must at least believe the evidence of your own eyes,” she insisted.

“Yes.”

Her gaze dropped to the dusty ground, mouth drawn in the tight line of a bitter smile.

“You are free to leave when you please, he will not remember to expect you for supper,” she said, rising to stand with straight-backed dignity.

“Then I shall have to stay a month, at the least, unless you show me the door any sooner.”

“What?”

“I am not easily parted from friends, Esmeralda, regardless of loose tongues or misfortune’s mark. While it may be true that your father’s uncertain state of mind is known, so is the tragedy that caused it… And it is his gift for song that is most remembered, at least among those whose opinions have any weight. If others have failed to see that, it is no fault of yours. Indeed, I would count myself unworthy and no true gentlehobbit if such a small thing turned me from my chosen path.”

“Small thing? My father lives in a time and place of his own imagining, forgetting even my name, and this is a small thing?” she asked angrily.

“No,” he replied with quiet force, getting to his feet to face her. “No, that is no small thing but a great burden for you and your family. What is small is the courage of those who would turn their backs on you because of it. Let me be a friend to you, Esmeralda…” he finished softly, offering his hand.

She stared long into his face, uncertain frown slowly smoothing away to reluctant smile, until she nodded, though she did not reach for his extended hand.

“You are daft,” Esmeralda said, lips quirking up in a one sided smile. “But I suppose that can be a good thing sometimes, especially in a friend.”

He gave her a small bow and gestured towards the kitchen, whose curtained window now glowed with an early candle.

“Daft I may be, but I would in addition be dry tonight, if you please. A rainstorm is approaching.”

In fact, the darkening sky had lowered while they spoke, clouds scudding across the reddening sunset, and they ran to the door, even as the first gusting winds ruffled their clothes. As Saradoc opened the door for her, she smiled up at him, cheeks glowing and eyes a-spark with merriment once more, and he felt his heart skip a little. What a fair tempest of a lass she was, he thought; what fools forgo such a smile for the sake of appearances?


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