Denston:
I'm afraid I have to make a difficult request of you.
When I chose to move away from the farm to Bree, it was mostly because I felt that you and Amelia had no need to have me underfoot; it was your time to set your own direction. When your father died, it was clear you had made yourselves ready to take the farm over in your turn; you took the reins and kept things working with admirable grace. I was, and am, proud of you.
But I also began to feel like a fifth wheel. The two of you had everything in hand, and there was little for me to do but be in the way. A woman feels at home in her kitchen, and I wanted Amelia to feel that the kitchen was hers, and hers alone; but as long as I puttered around in it, she had to be cautious. Not move things to where she wanted them, if I had always kept them in a different place. Feel like she was a visitor in her own kitchen. And the same with everything else about the farm. I thought it would be best if I took some time away. I told you that the sight of your father's home, without him in it, was too painful for me, and that was true. It simply wasn't the whole reason, not even the main reason.
I should have written more often, I know. As I told you in my last letter, I have rented rooms in town, and a soap, candle, and fragrance business. I told you it was thriving, and at the time, it was. However, things have taken a turn. The market has been almost devoid of people more often than not for several months now. I cannot say the reasons why. Some speak of criminal activity running rampant in Bree. I find this hard to believe because it would require that the Watch be totally inept, or perhaps corrupt, and that doesn't sound like Bree to me, nor the good people I know who serve in it, like the Appledore girls. Perhaps the tales are overblown. If that's not the reason, something else must be. I can well imagine there is only so much call for scented soaps in a town as small as Bree, but customers have been scarce in the market generally, even for other merchants selling things in perennial demand, like sausage. Whatever the reason, I have barely sold enough to make rent this month. Today, the Three Farrows Merchant's League cancelled the weekly Craft Fair at which I was doing most of my sales, and that ensures I won't be able to make my rent next month.
Which brings me to the difficult request. I am afraid that I must ask to move back to the Oatmiller farm. It is my hope that, after a half year without me, when I return, you will still both firmly feel that the farm is yours, and I am just a guest, and a helping hand. I need nothing but the small room in the northeast, though if Amelia has put it to some other use, I will get by in whatever room can be made. I am making arrangements to sell the remaining stock I have, at deep discounts, to a traveling merchant, so I will arrive with enough coin to help with other expenses, or if needed, to build on another room, or more. I know you worry about my health, but I still do not use the walking stick, and am sure I will have no difficulties with working in the fields. (After all, Dennison was working in them two summers ago and he was ten years older than I am now.) Whatever help you and Amelia need, I will be able to contribute.
Bramble will be glad to have more room to run, I'm certain, now that he's nearly full grown. I also have a pony now, named Jeremy, who served to carry my goods with me to market. He is too small to pull a plough, but he may be able to help pull a cart and do other work, and if not, we can sell him.
I will begin making arrangements and will set out within a week, unless I hear back from you to the contrary.
With love,
your mother
