Harmindon's Finest

Chapter 6 - Newcomers in Harmindon

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My sweet mother, the talented, creative, gentle woman she was, lingered for a long time before her imminent death. I had to watch her suffer for nearly three years, and every second of it was torture and anxiety to the utmost degree, but one positive thing came out of it - I had time to become resigned to it. I cried very little because we all knew it was going to happen some time - it was inevitable.

On the other hand, for those poor families who lost husbands, sons, and brothers during the battle of the Sea of Rhûn, it was an entirely different matter. The light of their loved ones' lives were extinguished in such a short time it came as an awful shock. Those families pulled their shutters over their windows and when they went out, only when absolutely necessary, they wore black shawls and headwraps, the colour of death.

For everyone else, however, life continued as normal. Not nearly as many soldiers had lost their lives as the time of the Tragedy of Pelennor, and therefore a good portion of Harmindon was greatly relieved, Grandmother included. She had tried to hide it, for my sake as well as Miarka's, but I could tell she was worried - no, outright afraid - that this battle would have similar results. But as it hadn't, she was satisfied.

And so the weeks went by. I spent the mornings at my stall in the marketplace, growing increasingly more frustrated at the lack of customers, then working my frustration into painstaking stitches in the evening with brightly coloured wool and silk. Miarka, seven years old, childish and energetic as ever, pulled pranks and went playing with her friends in the streets of the city when Grandmother wasn't teaching her to cook - this was a new idea, and she was bad at it, so my temper was not much improved by either burned or barely cooked breakfasts and dinners. But she gamely tried, and was gradually - too gradually for my liking - improving. Grandmother was also often to be seen at the marketplace, haggling and pulling favours to get material for my sewing - and more importantly, food- for cheaper prices. I have no idea what I would do without her.

As our routine showed no sign of stopping, I was glad of the monotony of it. No news is good news, as Grandmother said. Things changed, though, since that peaceful morning where Thekla and I had enjoyed a little relaxation in the grassy meadow. My friend and her family shut themselves off from outside society altogether. My speech had not gone down well with the rest of her family, and I had not seen her at all since the men had returned without her father's Mûmak and she had fallen to absolute pieces.

The night after that, I had answered a knock on the door to find a brown paper package on the doorstep. I opened it to find a familiar red silk shawl, with careful beadwork. I nearly cried, I was so worried for my friend, but I placed it in my storage chest - set it aside for her again, until she recovered. I heartily missed Thekla's company.

One morning in early autumn, however, something new happened, and nobody but the Ramyah was expecting such an astonishing thing to happen. And it just so happened that, although I did not know it yet, these newcomers would change my life forever.

That particular morning, I stayed home from the market to clear out my many storage chests and do some much needed thorough cleaning. Unused material went in one, finished products in the other, and materials such as thread, my vast collection of needles, and the one tiny battered loom that I owned in the third. I settled myself to sorting out the gigantic mess that was my bag of embroidery threads, and was picking my way through two particular shades of blue and green when Miarka burst through the door. Annoyed at the interruption, I rolled my eyes.

"Why are you back so soon, Miarka? Ifyou want some food you will have to wait. I haven't cooked yet." I began to reprimand her about the state of her dress, which I had made only some weeks ago and was thoroughly dusty from her sojourn outside, but she wasn't listening.