Walking in the Gardens by Raiyana

Chapter 6

6

The pumpkin, at least, enjoys the rain; even though there are tasks to be done, I take less joy in them than usual, and the rain keeps me from feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. Lasselanta will soon be here; they say it is harsher in Endorë, but we see our share of chill winds and darkening days, even though the storms near Alqualondë are worse than anything I have experienced in Vanyamar.

I almost want to go see one, though I don’t quite dare. Altorno is going to winter in Alqualondë with a friend, and he has offered me an invitation to come along.

I want to go; perhaps I shall forget about honey-hair and blue eyes.

I don’t want to go; perhaps Findis will return, and I can give her the pumpkin I have so carefully tended.

Stupid pumpkin. I scowl at it, sitting there, bright and orange in the middle of my helini – many still bloom, though not so many as before – taunting me with its mere existence.

I should know better, I know, I’m not so young and naïve as I once was.

And still…

I do not go to Alqualondë.

Findis is not coming back, and the pumpkin keeps growing. Its bright colour mocks me when I walk by; a promise unfulfilled.

I don’t like it, feeling this way, angry at a vegetable of all things. Carastindo would have laughed, and ruffled my hair, and told me to stop moping, but Carastindo isn’t here and somehow the thought of him only make me angrier.

And yet… I can’t make myself hack it to pieces, destroy the pumpkin and tear out the vine. Standing over it with a shovel, the anger that felt like a fiery coil in my gut fails me and I let the cursed plant live another day, haranguing myself for my foolishness as I walk through my day. It’s not like Findis will care whether it’s still here if she returns. When she returns… She will return… right?

I miss her, her songs and her odd questions, the way she would smile at my rambling.

Lasselanta is busy; there are plenty of things to harvest and store for winter, and more than enough work to keep me from spending every waking minute thinking about Findis – or there should be, and still she creeps into my thoughts whenever she pleases, just like her pumpkin invaded my helini.

Iorthon and I spend an entire day digging up these things that Finwë Arafinwë’s Host brought back – the Edain apparently call them po-ta-to, which is peculiar and amusing to say – carting them to the root cellar by the barrowful. I don’t know what to make of this food; it doesn’t look particularly tasty, but apparently they are edible, and Ecetindë claims they can be tasty.

In the kitchens, Cormo runs a tight schedule, trying to get everything pickled and stored – Lady Indis’ handmaidens offered help at first, but truthfully most of them were more of a hindrance – and poor Coimasiel looks increasingly frazzled; sometimes, she will even forget to point out that my boots are tracking mud in from the gardens. Ecetindë is a blessing, however, happy to help with the harvest and more than capable of bossing around idle workers.

I wish I had her confidence.

“Are you always mopey this time of year?” Ecetindë asks one foggy morning, nearly startling me into spilling my tea. I scowl at her over the rim of the ceramic, but my blackest glare really isn’t very discouraging, it seems. She doesn’t even flinch.

“I like Lassalanta just fine,” I snap back, feeling guilty as soon as the words leave my mouth. I really am out of sorts, it’s not like me to snap at people.

“So you’re sad because you miss your love?” Ecetindë says, breezing past my small display of temper as though it means nothing. Perhaps it doesn’t. I gape at her. How did she know?

“It doesn’t matter,” I mumble, staring into my cup to hide my blush, “she doesn’t love me – even though I hoped – and then there’s the stupid pumpkin!” I babble, and I know it, but somehow I can’t stop the words tumbling past the guard of my teeth. “And why would she? I’m just the nissë who looks after her mother’s gardens, I’m nothing special! Just a… silly girl.”

“What… she?” Ecetindë asks, grabbing my elbow to stop me fleeing into the drizzle to cool my flaming cheeks. “Oh, Varda’s Stars!” she breathes, “You’re in love with Findis!” She stares at me, her eyes wide in her face. I shake myself loose.

“It doesn’t matter.” I want to slink away, but I force myself to stand straight while Ecetindë continues to stare at me. I seek refuge in my tea. Findis is gone, and she didn’t speak to me at all for the moon’s turn beforehand – clearly, I was seeing things that weren’t really there, fooling myself that she felt it too, that fluttery flip in my heart, my fëa reaching for hers.

“But… everyone thinks Altorno is your lover; Coimassiel heard him ask you to go away to Alqualondë with him!” Ecetindë exclaims.

“No!!” I splutter, the sip of tea I’d just taken dripping down my chin with my surprise. “What…?”

“Your face!” Ecetindë laughs, and I know my cheeks resemble Findis’ blasted pumpkin as I try to wipe tea off my shirt. Not hat it matters much, I think, glumly looking out at the rain falling in sheets; the shirt will be soaked through in minutes once I leave the warmth of the kitchen, but we need to get the last of the beets sorted today.

“Altorno was my Master,” I inform her, trying for haughty and falling short. “Now he’s a good friend – almost like an extra atto, maybe, but,” I falter, blushing wildly. “How would you even – why?” I am flabbergasted, to say the least, and Ecetindë blushes lightly – harder to see with her golden skin, but still visible.

“Well, he looks at you like you’re precious to him,” she says, defensive now, “everyone saw it.” I try not to laugh. I fail at that too.

“I am the child he will not have,” I reply, a sudden wave of sadness killing my incredulous laughter before it gets going. “Altorno’s lover perished in Beleriand. With my family.” Ecetindë makes that face so common to those who came back from Endorë: equal parts relief, sorrow, and guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and I believe her. I try to smile, but I know my face gives away my grief. Carastindo’s smile flashes before my eyes, bright and excited like it was the last time I saw him, boarding the ship in Alqualondë.

Handing her my empty cup to take back to the kitchen, I move into the light drizzle, feeling the water settle on my hair like pearls, wetting my clothes as I turn all my attention to the day’s work, trying not to think about Findis’ smile.

Ecetindë does not mention my revelation, for which I am grateful – I tell myself this crush will dissipate, even though I know it won’t, but ignoring it means I can continue with my life.

Lassalanta moves inexorably towards Hrivë, and Findis does not return.