Daisy carefully put away the rose quartz crystal wind chime and took off her dancing bodice. She folded them and put them back inside their satin carrying case, tying each compartment and then rolling the whole kit up. But she left the ankle bracelets on. Faramir smiled at his sister-in-law and winked at Goldilocks.

Primrose got off the chest and went over to the writing desk. Bilbo handed her the next letter in the ever-shrinking pile.

Dearest Primrose,

You may think your name is only a that of a simple, common flower, but it is not. Your name is a combining of your mother’s and my own mother’s name, doing honor to both grand ladies of the Shire. And you shall bring more honor to your family’s name, as well as to the Shire in general.

For such is your character, much as it was, or is, of your father’s. You value steadfastness, honor, and loyalty, above all else. They are as much as part of your being as they are, or were, of your father’s. Are. Let me set that straight. For he has not died, nor has he lost any of the fierce bright loyalty which you share.

Some people mistake your steadfastness for sternness, which is not so. You are more complex than others, and suffer self-doubt and second thoughts when alone. This need not be so. For you hold true while others around you waver. Your strength is inside, yet can be suddenly brought to the surface when the need arises. You also hold fast your inner joy. You fear to share the depth of the emotions within you, afraid that to release such qualities may be off-putting to others. But do not be afraid. There is a way to express your wellspring of emotions without jeopardizing the control you so desire.

Some things which can’t be spoken can be given voice in other ways. Your gift is in the chest at the foot of my bed. It will allow you to sing without breath. To speak without tongue. To communicate without writing. It will become your best, most dearest friend, and a blessing to all who hear its message. Do not be disturbed that it does not look finished. This was done deliberately. Your brother will complete the gift.

Love,
Uncle Frodo

Primrose folded the letter and placed it into the little handbag dangling from her belt. Daisy scooted out of the way to let her sister open the chest. Against the far right side was another cloth bag. This one was of maroon felt tied up with a drawstring, holding an odd-shaped gift. Primrose carefully picked it up and tears of gratitude welled into her eyes.

“What is it? I can’t see.” Tom asked.

Primrose undid the knot in the silver satin drawstring and let the felt bag fall away from the object. “It’s a harp,” she whispered, running her hands over the crest of smooth wood.

An exquisitely made harp. The rosewood body fairly glowed with an inner light. It was a small harp which could easily fit into a person’s lap. There were two octaves of strings; each string having a small metal lever attached to its top mechanism. The strings were loosened for long-term storage so that the wood would not warp whilst the harp awaited its mistress. Around the base of the column was a maroon ribbon, holding the tuning key.

Bilbo brought the high-backed chair into the center of the rug, and Primrose sat in it, cradling the harp against her left cheek. She closed her eyes and sighed.

The wood was a high satin finish. An intricate inlay of darker cherry and walnut woods formed a scene of a rambling rose bush set against a trellis. But some of the inlay was missing. None of the rose blossoms were present. The wood had been carved out, ready to receive the inlays, but had never been completed.

Pippin got off the bed and came over to examine the harp in great deal. He sighed as he stood up. “It’s from the master craftsmen in Dale.” He fingered a small mark in the base. “I don’t know, Penny. I really don’t know if I can do that sort of intricate work. I mean, I’ve never tried anything that small before. And I never worked on a musical instrument.”

“You never had the right tools before,” Elanor said.

“Could you finish it, Pip?” Goldilocks asked.

“Well,” he turned to Primrose, “I could try. Or we could send it to Jamison Underhill over in Micheldelving.”

“No,” Primrose suddenly said. “It’s you or no one. If anyone else works on it, it won’t sound. I just know it. Please, Pippin, would you finish it like Uncle Frodo said?”

“I’ll try my best,” Pippin replied, “but give me a little time to get used to the new tools. I want to try them out first on something not as nice as that harp. All right?”

Primrose slipped the harp back into its felt case and drew up the drawstring. “I’ll keep it until you’re ready. Just let me know.”