The Pilgrimage

            The lock clicked, and Pippin entered the parlor that had housed the Old Took.  He peered through the dust--saw the painting over the mantel of boats with baggage roped to a foreign wharf, by a figure of the Haradri monkey god holding a crescent moon.  A dusty violin, bow, and tuning fork lay on the round table by Gerontius’s chair with an empty bottle and crystal goblet.  Over the sofa hung a still life of a pomegranate, a cookie, a peach split to show its seed, and a slice of bread on a snowy cloth.

            A sunbeam slipped through a hole in the curtains, illuminating a desk on which lay some money, a pendant, and a vase of feathers from a pheasant’s tail.  On the blotter lay a faded sheet of vellum, an ancient letter.

            Dear Father, it began.

            It ended, Please forgive me!  Hildifons.

            “Thain Gerontius, I understand.”