Tuckborough Fair
Rosie lay on her back, her head in Frodo's lap and her legs spreadeagled in the long grass so that it tickled the bare sunbrowned skin of her calves. Above her, the summer sky stretched lazily, an expanse of bright blue emptiness beyond her understanding. Frodo's fingers were raking sporadically through her hair, and she shifted a little, not quite knowing whether to lean into the tenderness of the gesture or tug away from the occasional sharp pain as strands of hair caught about his fingers.
"Frodo, what are you doing to my hair?"
"Plaiting it." Frodo's voice drifted absently down to her, carried on a breath of gentle, languid breeze.
"You're tangling it up," she complained half-heartedly. When he didn't respond, she pushed herself half-up on one elbow and peered into his face, squinting against the glare of the sun. "Frodo?"
"Listen." He breathed the word without moving, without looking at her, hands still tracing gentle patterns in her curls, and she closed her mouth obediently. A childish voice was singing softly at the end of the garden, singing familiar, reassuring words to an old tune.
"Have her make me a Cambric shirt, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme..."
Rosie smiled to herself. Tuckborough Fair.
"Dum, dee dum, dee, one who lives there..."
A shadow of a frown crossed Rosie's face, and she glanced up to see Frodo grinning down at her. "Those are new words to me," he said, laughing. Rosie grinned back and raised a hand to clutch his, fingers idly stroking the pad of his thumb.
Somewhere at the bottom of the garden another young voice was complaining petulantly, "...that's not right, Daisy; can't you sing the words?"
"Sammie obviously agrees with you," Rosie observed shrewdly. Frodo tapped her on the temple.
"Shhh." They listened.
Daisy's voice drifted to their ears, indignant now. "Well, what are the words, then?"
"It's just 'remember me to one who lives there' again," Sammy opined firmly.
"No, it's not. Don't be stupid. One who lives where? In a Cambric shirt?"
"In Tuckborough!" Sammie's voice was sharper now, exasperated, and Rosie had to muster all of her self-control not to laugh aloud. She could hear Frodo's breathing shortening to a series of tiny outward puffs as he chuckled under his breath, and just to be on the safe side she stuffed the fingers of one hand into her mouth to stifle any tell-tale giggles.
"But that verse doesn't say anything about Tuckborough!" Daisy was truly annoyed now, and her voice seemed to be getting closer. Any minute now...
"Mum!" Hastily removing her hand and raising herself to peer down the lawn, Rosie saw that, sure enough, Daisy was running up the gently sloping bank towards them, braids streaming behind her. "Mum, what comes after the bit about the Cambric shirt?"
Rosie laughed. "I don't know, sweeting." Attempting to be inconspicuous, she rubbed her fingers across the faint toothmarks on the back of her hand, and Frodo's breath caught tellingly on a chuckle above her.
"Oh." A pause. Then, a ring of curiosity once more pervading her voice, "What's a Cambric shirt, Mum?"
"I don't know, Daisy. Go and ask your Dad."
Daisy made to run off, then stopped. "Where is he?"
Rosie sighed. "I don't know. Probably tearing his shirt on something, as always, or getting mud on my clean floor." She glanced up into Frodo's face, and they both began to giggle again. Daisy clicked her tongue audibly and scampered off - in search of somebody else to pester, Rosie assumed. Her voice floated back to them.
"Remember me to one who lives there..."
"For she was once a true love of mine," Frodo finished, grinning at Rosie and tangling his fingers once more in her hair.
Rosie thwapped him hard on the thigh. "Once! That's nice."
"Once and always," Frodo corrected himself with a grin, and bent to kiss her.
*********End********
I wasn't going to post this here until I'd found an alternative word for 'Cambric', which is obviously from Cambrai, but none seemed to be forthcoming so I gave up.
~
Pretty Good Year