At Whim Wharf

Meanwhile, back by the reeds

Maeve, who knew the reeds needed time to forget last year’s heartbreak and this week’s argument, had baked the pie to draw out the silence and keep it safely contained until the village was ready for it again. Now the silence was loose. Which meant the memories might come with it.

She sighed, stood, and fetched her long wooden spoon--the one with the knot near the handle.

“Oh dear,"she said softly, “the pie’s been pinched."

And with that, she set off toward Brighton Bothan, gooseberry justice in her eyes.

To the Purrport

Tie One On and the AA

The villagers always said that Tie One On had the name of a man fated for trouble. He was the linesman who never came down from his pole sober, or so Maudie O’Byrne would mutter when the wires crackled mid-rosary.

When he announced he was joining the AA, the whole parish perked up their ears.

“Which AA?" asked Sam Murh Aye, his gaffer.
“The one with the cars?" suggested Apple Beth.
“No, the one with the stars!" said Orla, who claimed she’d seen him stringing fairy lights between Orion’s Belt and the roof of The Echo Shelf.

In truth, Tie One On wasn’t sure himself. He signed his name under a poster pinned crooked on the pub wall. By the time he realised it was for the Amateur Astronomers, he’d already promised Maudie he was turning over a new leaf, and Sam he was volunteering for roadside rescues, and the Snake Sisters that he’d sworn off whiskey.

So now, every Thursday, the man has to juggle all three. One week he’s fixing a broken axle in the ditch, the next he’s peering through a telescope at Saturn, and always, always insisting he hasn’t touched a drop.

Yet, as the village tells it, the wires have never hummed sweeter, the night sky has never glimmered brighter, and the pints at the Whim Whar have never been poured faster.

The Echo Shelf

PIE RECONCILIATION LOG

Filed under: Food Crimes & Forgiveness
Location: Brighton Bothan
Date: Friday, Just Before the Crickets Began
Purrporter: Inkwell Tabbins, Esq. (for the local Rag )

Headline:
Wharf to Table: A Gooseberry Affair Ends in Crumbs and Camaraderie

Transcript of the Day’s Events:

At precisely the stroke of “late afternoon-ish,--a gathering of fairyfolk convened in the warm belly of Brighton BothanPurpose: pie justice.

Maeve (the baker, not the badger) entered with calm fury and her long wooden spoon, its knot worn smooth by decades of stirrings both culinary and moral.

The accused--Brighton’s own Sib & Rilla Dripwing--stood nervously beside a display of apology custards and a sign reading:
“No Spells, Just Forks."

Witnesses circled. Tansy Bitterwhistle raised her brow like a verdict. The Callagain Sisters arrived separately, still refusing to sit on the same toadstool.

The Fowler Orchestra, led by the newly introduced Kristo/a String, began a tune titled “An Oversweet Misunderstanding in G Minor.

After a tense moment, Maeve tasted the custard. She tapped her spoon thrice on the hearthstone, nodded solemnly, and declared:
"Let there be peace--and may next time you knock before thieving."

A single napkin was raised in truce. Applause broke out. The pie, or what remained of it, was ceremoniously shared.

Conclusion:
The first-ever Reconciliation Tea at Brighton Bothan ended not in banishment or bewitchment--but in burps and second helpings.

Addendum:
Rumors now swirl of a “Forks of Intention" baking contest next quarter moon. Official entries to be left in the Wishing Line postbox, tied with yellow ribbon.

Filed in good faith, crumb-dusted, and entirely legible,
Inkwell Tabbins, Local Purrporter
(“Where there's pie, there's a paper trail."

The Gooseberry Incident

A Three-Part Culinary Chronicle

Monday: The Theft

Wednesday: The Hush & The Hearsay

Friday: The Reckoning at Brighton Bothan

Spillover