It's now the year TA 2941 and that means I shall soon be eighteen. I can't believe I have had this book almost three years, but it is so. Tilda and I are such good friends now that she is old enough to be my confidante in most everything (but not quite, which is why I have taken up writing again). Bain is taller than I am. I can see time in the gray that now streaks the sides of Da's hair, and in my own face when I look into the glass. I am starting to feel as old as I am, and look it too. For so long I imagined I looked like such a girl, but now I feel my age – almost eighteen, and still not married. I wear my hair back always now, and Bain says it makes me look old. That's his way of saying it looks fine, I suppose.

Da has been talking to me about that. Marriage, that is. A good many girls my age are married already, and he tells me that I should be ready at any time although I don't really know what that means. It's not as if things could happen without my knowing, could it? Besides, what does 'be ready' mean? If he means ready in my skills, I feel that there's not a lot I can't do at the moment, unless it's discipline the children properly (I worry that I'm not strict enough, but I know I'm not Mam so I try not to be too harsh) or to know how to care for a young baby (since I was too little to have done much of the caring for Tilda). As for the other 'being ready' – my heart – I have no idea what I am supposed to do. Does that mean I should foster romantic thoughts so I'm eagerer to be wed? Should I spend more time with the young men of the town to see if I like any of them? (No.) Should I ask Da questions about men so I am not so surprised when one day I go to live with one? I thought that part of growing up was feeling less foolish, but I am finding myself as foolish as ever.

Anyhow, today I cut everyone's hair. We have a pair of shears that I use for almost everything, and they work on hair as well, much better than a blunt knife or dagger. I cleaned them and had Bain sharpen them for me (he now has a whetstone business, interest in the charred sticks flaggering a long time ago) and I paid him accordingly (a few pennies – he said I didn't have to, but I insisted). I set everyone down by turns, even Da. His hair does not grow terribly quickly, but he does not like it much past his shoulders. He must be able to tie it back to work on the barge, but he does not want it in his way. So I trimmed it as neatly as I could and was repaid with a kiss.

Next was Bain, who gives me the most trouble, both with his squirming and with my trying to get it to look decent. The first time I cut it far too short and he looked like a baby with nearly no hair at all. He was angry and wouldn't take off his hat for weeks until it grew around his ears again. Now I know better and just have to do a lot of turning him around and around making sure it looks right. He jumps when the cold metal rests against his forehead or neck and once I nicked his ear so that it bled, but today I did a fairly good job. It looks just like it did before, only neater and not in his eyes.

Tilda doesn't want me to cut her hair at all, complaining the whole time, and twisting around to see if I am cutting too much. She wants her hair to be long down her back like elven maids (she has been hearing tales, I'm sure – neither of us know that elves have hair like that. Da said the men's hair is long but he does not know about the women). But I told her I have to trim the ends so that they do not look ragged, and snipped only the barest of the fine silky curls at the end. Her hair is still down to the middle of her back, but I think she envies mine, which is the same length, but much thicker. I told her that hers will look the same when she is my age, and that seemed to cheer her up a bit.

Da left as soon as I finished with the shears to deliver a load of barrels up the river to the elves. The wine is from Dorwinian, and it seems the elves want a great deal of it, so that keeps winter trade flowing. The casks are enormous – I have seen them – and what with loading them and then going all the way upstream, Da won't be back tonight. He suspects he'll come in in the early hours of the morning, if all goes well. I intend to put the kettle on to give him something hot when he comes in. I saw him take his bow and quiver – a precaution he often takes when he goes out on the barge these days. I have not seen him shoot often, but he is skilled, and has a sure eye and a steady hand.

"Is your coat needing mending?" I called after him as I saw a gap under the sleeve when he strung his quiver over his shoulders.

"When I return," he smiled, and giving a little wave to Tilda who appeared in the doorway at my side, Da clattered down the stairs and picked his way through the rubbish and other refuse that lines the boardwalk. There's an awful lot to do before Bain returns from the market, and I want him to have a decent supper, so I had better go for now. More tomorrow, perhaps.

Hello, again. I am actually writing like I promised. Usually the writing of "more tomorrow" is bad luck enough to prevent my writing again for nearly a week. But not this time. Da has still not returned. I am worried, because though he often spends the night out on the barge, he has never spent two. He was supposed to return this morning, but now it is getting dark and he is still not back.

I was working on sewing a new pinafore for Tilda all day today out of the blue wovens, as I finished a new waist for myself yesterday (it is much warmer than my old one). I also made a jerkin the day before for Bain, cut down from one of Da's old ones. By turning the leather it looks almost new, and now it's just Da who will look shabby until I can make him a few new things. But I have used all the woolens I spun and buying material at market is so expensive, so I am still thinking on that one.

Food also, is going up in cost, so I am trying to conserve. Tilda sometimes tells me she is still hungry after we eat, and that makes me feel sorry, but I am trying not to worry Da by telling him how much things are costing. I think he knows. I just hope no harm has befallen him. He may very well have run into someone he knows or simply decided to wait and pick up the barrels once they are emptied (King Thranduil and his elves are known for drinking copious amounts of Dorwinion wine, so their emptying all how-ever-many-barrels for their feasts would not be unheard of). But I wish he would have told us, or some such.

Each passing hour convinces me that is not the case. I am trying not to worry, but I went ahead and decided to cook supper for everyone else. The soup can always be rewarmed, though it is not as good. I made quite a mess, chopping and stirring things too hurriedly. I needed to slow down, but worry made my motions quick and clumsy, my mind thinking hundreds of half-finished thoughts each minute, even while I was trying to tell myself I was calm. What to go with the soup... at least there is a fresh loaf of bread today (I made it yesterday, actually) and dried fruit (a treat Bain brought home from market). He just walked in, cold air with him.

"Any word of Da?" he asked. I shook my head. "The house is being watched," he said. My eyes must have been wide.

"Why?"

He shook his head in turn. "I don't know. I wonder what could have happened."

It was starting to get dark, and Tilda was standing before the window, looking out.

"Come away, Tilda," I told her. "He'll be coming in anytime."

"Aye," she murmured, but didn't sound so convinced, and there was a little line between her brows. I'm stopping for now, so we can eat, but I will write as soon as I can again. Da, come home.