Chapter one: My early years in Buckland

I was born and raised in Buckland. That’s what I always thought anyway. I am quite sure that I was raised there, but where I was born is not clear to me right now. But let me start at the beginning:
The burrow of my parents is in lovely Buckland. You know that big hill there? We call it Brandy Hill and on top and inside of it is Brandy Hall, a huge smial. You could get lost in there! But Pa and Ma live in a smaller burrow, it’s door facing the Toad Marsh. It has a lovely vegetable garden in front and a round, bright red door. As a young lass I sometimes tried to tame a toad, but they are not very suitable as pets, I found out. They just don’t like a clean dwelling and prefer to stay in the mud and mire of the Marsh. In other words: they kept running away.
On many a bright day, me and my friends would climb Brandy Hill and enjoy the magnificent view you can have there: looking over the Brandywine up to Girdly Island on a good day, looking all the way to Stock and Newbury and in the other direction right at the Old Forest. My parents told me: Never, EVER go inside the Old Forest! It is not save for young lasses like yourself. Being an obedient child, I never did venture there, although I kept telling myself: when I am old enough, I will take a look there.
Ofcourse my youth was not all playtime and fancy free. I had to learn my letters and numbers and at a certain age I started helping Ma with her cooking and found I had quite a joy from that.
One happy day I was given a flute, one of my dearest wishes. I was quite pleased with it when I had it, but did not really know how to play it right. But I persevered and kept trying to get tunes out of the instrument, with not always a pleasing result! One day Pa thought it was enough, but in stead of taking the flute away from me again, he arranged for a tutor. Master Wilbert Brockhouse did his best and made a fluteplayer out of me yet. Even more, as he also introduced me to the clarinet and the lute. Pa thought it was well worth the spent  coins and his complaints of headaches became much less frequent too.
All in all, my youth spent in Buckland was a wonderful time. I had cares nor sorrows and the sweetest parents a child can wish. But then I came of age, as they say. It was a lovely twentyfirst birthday party with many friends and  neighbours and marvelous music to dance to. Afterwards I went to bed and Ma came to wish me goodnight. “Tomorrow we must talk, Rubellita, but rest first.” I was so tired that sleep came without delay.
The following morning we sat at breakfast and Pa and Ma looked at one another and then at me with a stern expression on their face. “What is it?”, I asked innocently smiling. Ma held my hand in hers and a tear appeared in the corner of her eye.
“Rubellita, dearest, we are not your real parents..”

Next chapter: I don’t know who I am anymore!