It was evening when I rode to Waymeet and there turned south, onto the road to the South Farthing Homesteads. I was grieving the loss of my real mother, Yola Plumblossom. O, how I wished I could have known her! But that was not going to happen. All I had gained was the certainty that she was dead now and that she really was my “real” mother. Mayor Wil Withfoot had even drawn up an official document stating that. I kept it with Yola’s note now. I rubbed the stone she had given to her baby, me, in my hand and held it against my cheek. It felt smooth and warm. I closed my eyes and tried to picture Yola before me. I had cried so much and so long.. I had gone looking for someone who I did not know, had never met, but who is connected to my very existence, who has given me the gift of life. All the time during my search I had gotten closer to her, not in the sense of getting closer in distance, but closer to the realisation that this was my mother and not Ma. More and more, I realised this hobbit Yola Plumblossom was important to me. Very important. I could not actually meet her or find her anymore, but I wanted to find out all about her: who she had been, how she had lived, who she had loved... My father, I thought, I can now concentrate on finding my father. But even the military did not have his name in their big file. If Yola had mentioned her child to them, then why did she not also state it’s father’s name? Surely she must have known.
I sighed and noticed I had reached the gates of the Homesteads. A friendly hobbit, the local house-broker, gave me further directions to Bramblebury and with my heart beating fast and breath held, I stepped through the entrance. “Here goes nothing, Rubellita, be brave now.”, I said to myself.
By the light of the lanterns, I read the signs with the street-names. It was getting dark now and I felt uncomfortable and scared too. I had neglected to bring my spear and shield, but regretted it now. The hoot of an owl made me jump and the creaking of a nearby windmill’s blades made me shiver. But this was Bramblebury! From what I’d read in the Gazette with it’s name, this was a friendly neighbourhood, not some dangerous slum, like that part of Bree where I almost got mugged. I took a deep breath again and walked in the direction indicated by the street-sign that said “Wending Way”.
The address mentioned in the Bramblebury Gazette was 3 Wending Way and it did not take me long to get there. Another deep breath, while I looked at the well-tended garden en the windmill next to a nice small burrow, all surrounded by a wooden fence. “This must be it”, I told myself and walked up the gardenpath.
Just before I knocked on the green round door, I noticed the name plate attached to the mailbox. It was not Yola’s name!! But what had I been thinking?! Yola was not alive anymore. Ofcourse she did not live her anymore. Her burrow must have been sold to another hobbit. But it meant another disappointment for me and another dead end in my search. I cried without tears now.. Had I used them all up? All the accumulated bad news had made me numb, it seemed.
I had lost the will and the courage to continue my searches. They would only lead to more dead ends, more disappointments. Nothing positive had come from my search so far and nothing would come from it in the future. I sat down, leaning back against the fence, for a while. Back to Buckland, I told myself. Back to Buckland and to Pa and Ma. Forget the search for my real father, it would only lead to more disappointments.
I heard something! Someone was approaching, whistling a merry tune. I started running away but then stopped myself. Don’t be silly, Rubellita, it’s just one of the inhabitants on an evening stroll. A hobbit came closer and closer and noticed me ofcourse. With a bow and a friendly smile, he greeted me and asked if I needed any help.
Right, I thought, no need to distrust this friendly lad. But he looked at me in a peculiar way, as if studying me. I felt a bit uncomfortable, but decided to ask him about the burrow and why Yola's name was not on it. He explained that the burrow had been sold after it was clear that the former inhabitant, Yola, was not going to come back.. ever. Did he know the story of the betrayal and her demise? Was it common knowledge here in Bramblebury? I thought everyone here was led to believe that she was imprisoned by enemy forces. Again that odd look in his eyes and he stepped a bit closer.
“Why do you want to know this, Miss?”, he asked, “What is your name, if I may ask? Are you related to Yola?”. Now I really felt uncomfortable and wanted to go away as quickly as I could. How could this hobbit know or guess that I was related to Yola Plumblossom? I slowly started to walk away from him, backwards, our eyes fixed at one another. The stories and emotions of Yola being betrayed rushed through my mind again. I was so scared and confused: A complete stranger was asking me if I was related to Yola..
I started to leg it, but then he shouted after me: “I am! I'm her brother!”
Next: a relative!
