Rochelle L. Sharpe

Chapter Six: The Pieman.

Hemlin is a man in love. I can tell by the way he looks at Lyndaria. The way he smiles the moment he sees her. The way his eyes glisten.

He isn’t tall and intimidating like I imagined he would be, but stocky, the top of his head coming to Lyndaria’s chin. He looks to be younger than her as well, maybe late thirties. His short beard matches the curling brown hair sticking out from under his hat.

Lyndaria takes the large basket Hemlin is carrying and places it on the table. Sliding her arm through his, she leads him over to us.

“Hemlin, this is my niece, Ashlyn.” She indicates Ashlyn with a flourish of her hand. “And her friend, Samuel.”

Ashlyn holds out her hand and Hemlin cups it with both of his.

“I am honoured to meet you,” he says.

“Thank you. I am excited to meet the man who has captured my aunt’s heart.”

Hemlin smiles at Lyndaria before turning to me. I hold out my hand and he shakes it, thankfully with just one hand.

“A friend of Ashlyn’s is a friend of mine.”

I nod, appreciating the sentiment.

“Pie man!” The shriek has us all turning to the doorway. Poplyn stands there with a big grin on his face, jumping from foot to foot. “Is pie time?”

Hemlin laughs. “I am a little early, but if everyone is hungry, we can certainly eat.”

“Woohoo!” The elf bounds over to the table, climbing up onto a chair and standing on it. He wiggles from side to side in front of the basket like an excited toddler.

And here I was thinking he was just a grumpy little elf. Who knew he could actually be happy? Maybe I can use his love of pies to my advantage.

Lyndaria moves to stand beside Poplyn’s chair. “Are you all washed up?”

Poplyn holds out his hands, palms facing up, and nods his head eagerly.

“Very good.”

Hemlin stands on the opposite side of the table to Poplyn, pulling the basket toward him. “We need to wait for Olen.”

“I’ll get the plates,” Ashlyn offers. “Grab a seat,” she adds to me before heading to the kitchen.

I want to be next to Ashlyn, and hopefully nowhere near Poplyn. There are six chairs, probably all assigned, so I stand awkwardly at the end of the table waiting to be directed.

“Poplyn, sit in your regular seat,” Lyndaria tells him.

Poplyn jumps off the chair he is currently on and scrambles onto the chair at the end of the table. It has a tall cushion, so when he sits his head is above the table.

Lyndaria gestures to the seat Poplyn just vacated. “You may sit here.”

“Thanks.” Though it is closer to Poplyn than I would like, he is too busy staring at the basket to take any notice of me.

As Ashlyn places the plates down, Olen joins us.

Lyndaria sits at the head of the table, Hemlin to her left. Olen takes the seat beside Hemlin, and Ashlyn sits beside me.

We all bow our heads as Lyndaria says a prayer of thanks for the food. When she is done, Hemlin lifts the cloth off the basket, causing Poplyn to squeal with delight.

Hemlin gives each of us a round pie the size of half the plate, and then places mash potatoes, peas and gravy in the middle of the table. The pie smells so good that my mouth waters instantly. The ladies take their servings first, I’m told to take mine second, followed by Olen and Hemlin last. Poplyn doesn’t have any sides, diving right into the pie.

I love a good mash and take a generous helping since there seems to be plenty, smothering it with the gravy. Peas aren’t for me, so I skip them.

Ashlyn brought over cutlery with the plates, so I grab mine and cut into the pie since the ladies are already eating. I take a bite. Man, this is a good pie. I can see why Poplyn is so excited for it.

“Wow!” Ashlyn says. “This is really good.”

“So good,” I agree.

Hemlin’s face lights up with delight. “Thank you. It means a lot you think so.”

Lyndaria reaches over and squeezes Hemlin’s hand, her face beaming with pride. “Hemlin is a very successful baker. There is a high demand for his pies. People come from the surrounding villages to buy them. In fact, everything he bakes is highly prized. Just wait until you taste his sweet pies.”

“Sweet pieeeesssss!” Poplyn croons.

A chuckle breaks out around the table, including from me.

Poplyn gets a second pie while the rest of us finish our first. He can eat a lot for such a little creature.

After everyone is finished, I help Ashlyn do the dishes, which wins me a look of approval from Lyndaria. We have to do them by hand, but I don’t mind as it gives us a chance to talk semi privately.  

Lyndaria and Hemlin snuggle by the fire while Poplyn and Olen play some sort of game at the table.

“She looks so happy,” Ashlyn whispers, sneaking glances at the couple over her shoulder. “I hated leaving her when I did. I’m glad she won’t be alone anymore.”

“How does Olen fit into everything?” I’ve been wondering since I met him.

“He was a street urchin. He had been on the streets for a year when he tried to steal something from Lyndaria. He was only nine, so instead of turning him over to the authorities, she gave him work. She also got him a tutor to teach him to read and write. When he was ten, she officially adopted him. That was just before I left.”

“That was kind of her.”

“My aunt can seem tough at times, but she has a good, generous heart. She protects fiercely the ones she loves.”

“You are a lot like her then.”

Ashlyn blushes, focusing her attention on the dish she is washing.

When we are done, Lyndaria stands, and Hemlin with her. “My seamstress will be here shortly.”

Hemlin comes over and claps me on the shoulder. “I am told I am to help you get a suit for the ceremony. Let’s leave the ladies to it and head to the market.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Olen jumps up. “I’ll ready the sleigh.”

Poplyn follows him out.

 I go to put my snow jacket on, but Hemlin stops me.

“You will need to wear one of mine to blend in.” He pulls a grey fur coat out of the trunk beneath the coatrack.

I put it on. It’s a little short, but it will do.

We say our goodbyes and head out, excitement about seeing more of the world pulsing through me.   

(Stay tuned for chapter seven!)

© Rochelle L. Sharpe, 2025.