Crowns and Cowboy Hats

by The Masked Mare

Prologue: White Eagle

Prologue: White Eagle

“Ain’t it amazin’, Granny?” Applejack exclaimed merrily.

Granny Smith’s wrinkled face transformed into a disgusted, crinkled apple, as she observed the tragic, lost cause before her wizened, orange eyes. Her drooping muzzle twisted into an uncertain grimace as her rustic knees cracked with the effort of keeping herself upright.

“Er....”

If anypony knew Applejack as well as Granny Smith, Celestia might as well be a white balloon with paper wings and a false, plastic horn. Granny Smith’s venerable, unpracticed mind may not be the most gifted, but she knew one thing, and one thing only; that her granddaughter was a determined dreamer; a pony who would move mountains until she fainted from utmost exhaustion, especially if it were for the benefit of another pony. Heck, Granny Smith would be darned if Applejack weren’t the most selfless, staunch creature alive since the Celestial Year of Peace.

Granny Smith has seen her granddaughter raise an entire barn in an afternoon, using her exquisite and useful talents of optimism and resolution. If there was anypony who could renovate a space or complete a project with superlative effort and concentration, it was Applejack.

And that, Granny Smith was certain, was a frigid, firm fact.

Sweet Apple Acres was Applejack’s pride and joy, the very thought of it illuminating her golden, modest soul; the very mention causing her heart to pulse with jubilation. With the beloved orchard under Applejack’s careful supervision, the Apple family would thrive; generations of Apples, centuries after Applejack’s time, would continue to grow like healthy apple trees, sprouting radiant blossoms. Granny Smith trusted her granddaughter. Granny Smith relied on her granddaughter.

Now? This was just ridiculous.

There were many abandoned, withered buildings and foundations on the many-acred property of Sweet Apple Acres, built years ago by previous Apple family members that had owned the farm. Ancient shacks, storage barns, and underground cellars that had served a purpose for countless moons, storing leftover appliances, preserves, and cider; until the main barn had been expanded and the Declaration of Charity was registered in 1738 Celest, declaring that all Earth Ponies with a homestead in Equestria with the possession of an orchard, farm, or factory had to donate half of its crop or product to the Equestria Equality Organization, which prevented hunger throughout Equestria by donating to each family; a portion of food, the first day of each moon, was given out by deliverers all across Equestria.

When Granny Smith and her family first took control of the farm, they began to renovate or tear down most of the unwanted buildings on the property, to recreate their purposes as spare storage rooms, current cellars, or guest buildings, for company. Granny Smith and her family had created names for all the foundations to avoid confusion; for example, a particularly withered outhouse on the edge of the East Orchard had been named Edge...because of the obvious fact that it was the building that was farthest away from Main Camp.

Granny Smith’s beloved daughter, Apple Blossom, had given birth to Applejack in Sweet Apple; the prized barn of Sweet Apple Acres, the place that the current Apple family called home.

Nearly all undesired buildings on the property had been polished or destroyed by the time Applejack earned her cutiemark and Apple Bloom was born. The Apple family was clear, and they could finally focus their full attention on their tender crop.

That is, if it weren’t for White Eagle.

White Eagle was discovered precisely seven moons after Granny Smith and her family settled; Granny, being the curious, explorative filly she was, set out to complete her necessary chores early, so she could reconnoiter the space and perhaps discover new properties of the unexplored venue. She wandered for many hours, navigating her way through dense thickets and prickling meadows, until she stumbled upon a large, barn-like structure in the afternoon, the fiery sun beating down painfully on her neck, her coat sweating unstoppably. The oak-paneled structure was rotting, with varieties of rodents and bugs taking refuge in it’s walls. On the peak of the structure, which was a strongly tilted roof, there was an extremely enormous nest, crafted with thick twigs, leaves, and rotted straw. Granny marveled at the sight; it was a revolting, weak barn, that was true, but Granny’s naive soul saw nothing but raw potential.

Every morning after that miraculous afternoon, Granny returned to the rusted barn, studying every insignificant detail and creating ideas for architecture that she would present to her parents. She planned to turn the old barn into a magnificent relaxation area for orchard workers; a place where they could simply wind down after a lengthy day of Herculean work with a chilled glass of soothing cider.

She kept the new barn a secret from her family, giving the excuse that she took extended trips to the sizable swimming hole that was an hour’s commute away, instead of going to an unknown barn to sketch possible renovations.

One fateful afternoon, the forty-seventh afternoon that Granny had visited the barn, to be precise, Granny was sitting peacefully on the itchy tall grass around the sand that hosted the barn, sketching makeovers for the roof, and a possible idea of a dumbwaiter of another fashion, her tranquility was alarmingly interrupted by a majestic, illustrious screech, coming from the radiant throat of nature itself. Granny had glanced into the wild, blue sky in confusion, to catch sight of an elegant, soaring bird, cutting through the calm clouds with wings as sharp as a silver knife. Granny had gasped with wonder as the magnificent bird’s shadow passed over her widened, electrified eyes, and landed gracefully on the rim of the nest.

Granny Smith didn’t move a muscle for the horrifying fear that the bird would become frightened and fly away. She watched intently as the eagle-similar bird preened it’s gorgeous, white feathers and blinked it’s stunning, violet eyes with sophistication and elegance.

When she returned home, she named the withered building White Eagle.

The reservation plans were complete, and she had estimated the cost for the entire renovation. She was utterly prepared to introduce her tireless work that had included measurements, calculations, and three hour trips from Main Camp to White Eagle and back again. Carefully planning her presentation, she approached her parents after dinner one evening and explained that she had, in reality, not been hiking to the swimming hole every afternoon, but exploring and planning the renovation of White Eagle.

Her parents thought it was an extraordinary idea, minus the scoldings Granny Smith received about dangerously threatening her safety and keeping significant secrets from family members. They began to clear the obstacles that lay, lurking, in between Main Camp and White Eagle; mangled, dying trees, dense brush, and exceedingly large piles of rock.

Granny Smith and her parents, after five moons of diligent work, were ready to commit to the renovation of White Eagle. They even arranged for a professional bird-whisperer to persuade the gallant eagle to move it’s immense nest to a preserved, suitable location, along with it’s plump, speckled eggs.

Just before the grand beginning of the renovation, Granny Smith fell in love, muzzle over hooves. Her heartstring had found it’s match, destined by the wishful stars. She began pushing the start of the renovation farther away, so she could spend more, precious time with her lover.

Before long, the two ponies were happily united in marriage, (to the delight of Granny Smith’s parents) and they gave birth to shy, delightful baby filly; Apple Blossom. White Eagle slipped, unnoticed, away from the family’s white wisps of thought, until the Apple family ceased to remember the worn barn.

Countless moons went by, as Granny Smith and her husband watched their little filly bloom into a delicate flower, with an admirable personality. They tended the land as Granny Smith witnessed her parent’s leave from the earth, their souls entwining with the winds of time and change as she buried them into the fresh, healthy soil. Nopony remembered the forsaken tragedy that was White Eagle.

Granny couldn’t say she was melancholy that the place was forgotten. Granny may not have fulfilled her heart’s desire, but she had gained another definition of a heart’s desire in the process. She had found the blooming, crimson rose of love.

White Eagle was just a slim, pleasing memory; nothing but a tiny stream of thought in the back of Granny’s mind.

Until now, that is.

All thanks to Granny’s determined granddaughter, Applejack.

Granny Smith stood now, utterly stunned, as she observed her granddaughter gesturing excitedly to the interior of the rotted barn with two hooves, standing proudly on her back legs. The texture of the air was damp and sickly; a gust of wind passed over Granny’s spine, causing her to shiver unpleasantly. The fragile, wooden floor was irksomely covered in a dense layer of dust.

“Ah said, ain’t it amazin’?” Applejack repeated herself loudly, dropping her two front hooves to lightly touch the floor. The wooden panels creaked under her slim, yet sturdy weight, and they sounded as if Applejack twitched, they would give in. Applejack turned her freckled face to Granny Smith, her breathtaking jade eyes boring into Granny’s old soul.

Granny hesitated. The disgust faded quickly from her crinkled face as she took a moment to scan White Eagle with her observant eyes.

The wood that created the walls was sagging, as if it were being weighed down with a heavy load of fresh produce. Every wooden plank inside the musty building had corners that were gnawed off, moth-eaten, or rotted. The clever timber structure that supported the roof and had once made Granny Smith exhale loudly with delight was now completely mangled by time; some rectangular pieces of expertly cut wood had fallen onto the loft, some hanging limply feet below the plywood by stringy, evergreen vines. Half of the roof had fallen in, creating an utterly unattractive hole that caused sunlight to filter in; tremendous amounts of dust were swirling around one another in the gargantuan beam, drifting blissfully, unaware of the world.

The loft, directly across from the entrance, that used to be Granny Smith’s favorite part of the crumbling barn was now broken, producing yet another ugly mess on the wooden floor ten feet below it of scattered planking, ripped and torn. Under the weight of the receded lumber, the feeble flooring had collapsed to reveal the cream-colored sand that surrounded the base of the dilapidated barn.

Workbenches, tables, and chairs that had been barely presentable when Granny Smith was Applejack’s age were now knocked over, splintered, or decayed. Granny Smith wrinkled her muzzle in objection to the vexatious sight in front of her drained eyes.

To add to the dreadful sight, cobwebs, nightmarish bugs, dust, and unidentifiable fungi (which was saying something, mind you, because Granny Smith had obtained enough knowledge of every element in Ponyville that could rival Celestia’s) covered the entire space. An unwelcome sensation crept menacingly through the rear of her throat as she caught a whiff of a scent that was a mixture of the dry smell of dust and the brain-numbing smell of rot.

The slim grimace returned.

“Er...it sure is somethin’,” Granny Smith assured Applejack, not wanting to displease her enthusiastic granddaughter. Something indeed, Granny Smith thought sorrowfully after she said it, it’s the biggest disaster I’ve darn seen since the Griffin Plague of 1998 Celest!

Applejack grinned satisfyingly, lifting her hoof to her tattered cowboy hat out of habit. Obviously oblivious to Granny’s distaste, she pushed it forward an inch so it covered a minuscule fraction of her exhilarated, jade eyes.

“Ah’m so glad ya think so,” Applejack explained breathlessly, trotting over to Granny Smith as the floorboards creaked dangerously under her constantly shifting weight, “because Ah’ve got an idea that could boost business and change Sweet Apple Acres fur the better!”

Granny Smith gulped, raising a concerned eyebrow at Applejack’s highly expressed enthusiasm. Granny could sense, deep in her stiff, experienced body, what was approaching. It lurked in the shadows of doubt...a monster, stalking it’s prey. The very idea made the back of her brain tingle with dissatisfaction.

Granny Smith tilted her head to the side, pretending without flaw to be intrigued. “What would that be, youngun?” she inquired, falsely clueless. She raised her right hoof and bent it slightly, as a sign of interest.

Applejack took a long breath, fluttering her eyes shut before she answered.

“Well, yah see, Granny,” Applejack began, pacing across the uneasy flooring, “ever since the insurance stallion payed us a visit, tellin’ us that we needed ta get 25,000 bits ta the bank to continue our ownership fur Sweet Apple Acres, Ah’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout new ways ta make profit.”

Granny Smith’s insides writhed like an infuriated snake when she recalled the charismatic stallion, with a tattered, dark cloak, who had sauntered up the dirt path to Sweet Apple Acres two weeks ago, his disapproving eyes silently criticizing everything in the humble orchard. She furrowed her eyebrows darkly as she remember him barging in on their privacy, demanding a bottle of beer and inviting himself to sit. He had called Granny Smith and Applejack into the room, as if it were his home, not theirs, and explained why he was there.

Times had grown tense for the Apple family’s business. Profit had dropped continuously for the last six moons; ponies didn’t crave country-grown, fresh produce anymore; they craved high-society meals, with smoked basil and other unnecessary accents, with sauteed potatoes and a side of marinated hay fries. Rarely anypony, not even Ponyvillians, would come to Sweet Apple Acres for a delicious apple pie or any other apple product. The Apple family had grown used to the fact that they were extremely lucky to receive one customer a week, let alone a day. Applejack and the rest of her family (except for Apple Bloom, of course; nopony wanted to trouble the little filly with the burden) had begun wondering if they would be able to stay in control of their payments for the farm for much longer.

The annoying, arrogant stallion said that the moonly pay for the farm was long since overdue. The Apple family had postponed several payments, and in order for the bank not to tear down their barn and orchard for a new Barnyard Bargains premises, they would have to give the bank 22,678 bits by the end of the year (which was only nine moons away) to cover the missed payments and the previous loans they had taken out. The stallion had advised, with a cold sneer, that they earn 25,000 bits, so they will have enough money to reboot their falling business.

The stallion had then drained his beer, licked his lips maliciously, wished a false, “Good luck,” and strutted out the door, not even thanking the Apple family for their generous hospitality.

“Ya have?” Granny questioned Applejack in the present, her false manner disintegrating by the intense, blue flame of wonder, kindling in the brick fireplace of her thoughts.

Applejack paused her constant river of words to utter a simple “Mm-hm” and insert a quick, certain nod of her head. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, and Granny Smith knew immediately that her granddaughter was thinking effortfully; that she was a barreling train, never wavering off of the intended tracks.

“Ya see, Granny, today Ah went to transfer the apple-collectin’ buckets from the North Orchard ta the South Orchard, and Ah came upon this here barn. Ah was confused, ‘cuz I sure thought that every last buildin’ that was unneeded was destroyed or torn down by yur family, Granny,” Applejack babbled effortlessly. Granny Smith began to lose sight of where this conversation was heading.

“As ya’ll know, tommora mornin’ Ah’m headin’ ta Neigh Orleans.”

Immediately after the proud, drawling stallion had left the property, Applejack had called an Emergency Family Meeting, consisting of the eldest members of the family: Granny Smith, Big Macintosh, and herself. The three ponies had gathered in the kitchen, Granny sitting in her withered rocking chair, Applejack pacing impatiently back and forth at the head, and Big Macintosh standing firmly by Granny Smith’s side.

“Ya’ll know why Ah’ve called ya’ll here today,” Applejack had started, her radiant, jade eyes miserably disrupted by the excessive weight of despair.

Big Mac uttered a furious, “Eeyup,” and Granny Smith scowled at the floor and slapped her arthritic knee, hollering, “Darn tootin’!”

“Our worst fears have darn been confirmed,” Applejack mumbled, her voice wavering with heated, emotional tears that were threatening to spill down her freckled cheeks. “We migh’ lose the farm if we don’ get the money ta the bank in time.”

Silence had seeped through the kitchen, wrapping it’s tense fingers around the necks of the three ponies, with the horrid intention to choke them all with the power of their worries. The only sound was Applejack’s hoofsteps, quietly pounding the floorboards as she continued her distressed pacing.

“Darn those high-society ponies!” Granny Smith exploded after a moment, scorching, crimson fury weaved through her words. “Back in my day, everypony would come from miles ‘round just ta get a taste of my family’s food! It’s the quality and heart ya put inta the dishes ya make that counts, not the appearance!” She slammed a choleric hoof on the left arm of her rocking chair, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pursed.

“Ah know, Granny. It’s ridiculous,” Applejack confirmed lightly, “but in order ta stay in charge of the place that holds so many wonderful memories, we haveta take charge.” Applejack abruptly halted her pacing and stomped her hoof on the floor resolutely, causing the table to vibrate and uncomfortable tingling to crawl up each individual knot of the three ponies’ spines.

“What are ya’ll suggestin’, sis?” Big Macintosh rumbled, his low-toned voice relaxing and serene, echoing through the kitchen. “What more can we do?” He said the last sentence not as a desperate whine, but as a helpful inquiry.

Applejack rotated her head towards her strong-hearted brother and blinked gradually, her eyes steadily narrowing as she felt the kindled fire of certainty raging in her pulsing heart. Her decision and plan were darting around in her mind, checking that her evidence and arguments were all in line. She licked her lips steadfastly, coming to a verdict, and slammed her hoof pointedly on the wooden flooring once more.

“Ah’ve decided that the only solution is fur me to....” Applejack’s eyebrows upturned slightly as she hesitated, carefully scanning her family’s anxious faces. Every detail was taut, anxious, and agitated; waiting for her approval, her relaxation, her example. Deciding that she had no other choice, she reluctantly continued, willing her voice not to grow weak with the emotional blow that her words would cause. “...is fur me ta leave the farm.”

Silence. Sticky, uncomfortable silence.

Before any of her family members could retaliate, she interjected with a hoof in the air, “Don’ ya’ll worry none! It’ll only be a short time,” Applejack assured her wavering family members, as elusive as a flickering flame of a wax candle. Her voice broke with nervousness and anxiety; just as she willed it wouldn’t.

“Ah’ve been thinkin’,” Applejack continued, taking advantage of her family’s paralyzed state, “that if Ah left Ponyville fur a while and took a coupla jobs with high-pay, Ah could save up enough money ta come back to Ponyville in nine moons with 25,000 bits...the amount we need.”

Granny Smith whinnied, unbelieving, her temper no longer contained. Tepid steam seemed to pour relentlessly from the elder pony’s ears, causing Applejack and her brother’s throats to clench with tensity.

“There ain’t no way we’re lettin’ ya leave the farm,” Granny contradicted, waving her hooves unnecessarily. “This may be more of a problem then a munchin’ caterpillar swarm in the middle of Applebuck Season, but that sure as hay don’ mean that we can’t solve it as a family. There’s no reason why ya’ll should,” Granny Smith nodded firmly, her authority crashing over Applejack in an electric wave, jolting her bones and filling her dry throat with protests.

“Eeyup,” Big Mac snorted, his powerful stance resumed as his enormous, brawny heart wished that Applejack would stay his little, curious sister forevermore. He desired more than anything that he could take the fat, complaining body of the world off of his sister’s sagging, committed shoulders. He longed for his sister to be an unexperienced filly again, so he could comfort her...so he could change her mind. “Granny’s right.”

Countless objections blurred the air, both ponies speaking at the same moment, their words rattling her brain unpleasantly as she gritted her teeth. They had reasons to oppose, but they failed to grasp the true brilliance of the idea.

Applejack fluttered her eyes shut, placing a mental glass shield against the walls of her brain, protecting her single-minded train of thought from their never-ending protests. She focused on letting her family’s comments become nothing more but an insignificant buzz of a whisper in her mind.

“Ya’ll, Ah know this is difficult ta understand,” Applejack explained patiently, her voice relaxed and blissful, “but Ah can explain why if ya’ll will let me.” The forbearing mare straightened her back as she opened her eyes delicately.

Granny’s and Big Mac’s words floated in midair like hovering daggers as they halted their stream of disapproval. Biting their lips, they looked at each other uncertainly, and they let their muscles recede. They nodded warily in unison, eager to see why their beloved apple seed needed to make such a drastic change.

Applejack resumed her pacing; although this time, it was more measured and thoughtful.

“Ponyville is a great place ta live,” Applejack began, her words steady and sure, “but it’s such a small town, that the work here doesn’t pay much, not unless ya’ll er in the farm business.”

Granny Smith and Big Mac nodded in agreement, evermore assuring Applejack’s racing heart that she had made the most reasonable choice. She paused for a moment, reinserting her mind onto her mental, unwavering, dirt path.

“A while back, when our poverty problem was growin’ as successfully as a healthy apple tree, Ah began ta think about ways ta boost the customer herd. O’ course, it wasn’t really a problem back then, but still, Ah was determined to be prepared if worst came ta worst.

“Ah started researchin’ high-payin’ waitress jobs in other cities, like Manehatten and Saddle Arabia, but most of them were downright impossible ta do, ‘cuz the jobs were bein’ taken as Ah read. So, after readin’ the newspaper constantly fur five moons, keepin’ updated, Ah finally found a few cafe’s that were very short-staffed and needed help fur high-pay.

"The two cafe’s that Ah found were in Neigh Orleans, so Ah sent a coupla quick telegram ta them, with my resume and a note tellin’ them ta hold a spot fur me if they chose me, ‘cuz like Ah said, Ah wasn’t sure. So, we kept in touch.”

Applejack’s tail bounced gently as she paced, touching the floor with the softness of a butterfly wing. It was the only sound, other than Granny’s creaking rocking chair, that was heard in the normally lively kitchen, against the utter awe and suspicion that hung soundlessly in the air.

“Finally, when Ah saw the bank stallion approachin‘ on the path, as silent as a garden-snake, Ah sent two telegrams ta Neigh Orleans sayin’ that Ah’d take the job, and Ah’d be there next Monday.

“Granny? Big Mac?” Applejack froze in her tracks, her hoof suspended in midair as she rotated slowly to face their knowing, desperate faces, their wise, loving eyes filled with understanding tears. She placed her hoof down softly on the floor, the prickle of her family’s emotion stabbing her coat. The two ponies acknowledged her question with the sharp upturn of their flattened ears, and they both extended their necks to show respect and clarify that they were listening to their little apple seed.

“Ah have ta go. It’s the only way,” she said.

Applejack’s ears flattened as she glanced at the ground, pawing the peeling floorboards with her hoof. Her magnificent jade eyes that danced when she was excited were now gleaming with diamond tears, icy and freezing to the touch. Her tattered cowboy hat slid over her eyes as she sniffed, snot clouding her muzzle.

Her clenched words wrapped around the eyes of everypony like a blindfold, their tears blurring shocking reality and the task that Applejack was to take on. Silence seeped into the room again, weaving around rusted pots and pans, circling around the table’s four, wooden legs, slithering into everypony’s mind like a malicious python, waiting to strike.

The silence broke like glass when Granny Smith finally spoke.

“Youngun, we love ya ta pieces, and we’d hate more than anything ta see ya go, but we know, in our jealous, desperate hearts, that ya gotta. Ya have ta go. Its the only way ta save the farm.”

Big Mac’s eyelids closed as he leaned into Granny Smith, abruptly stopping her rocking chair’s annoying squeak. He craned his neck around hers as a sign of comfort, as a sign of trust; as a sign of true family. Granny Smith sighed heavily as she embraced her grandson’s welcoming hug.

Applejack looked up from under the brim of her cowboy hat to see her family embracing one another, like the caring ponies they were. A welcoming smile poured from her heart, filling her muscles and brain with pulsing adrenaline, causing her back to straighten and her hooves to act without her permission. She practically galloped towards the two, throwing her hooves around them without hesitation, muzzling them with all of the love in her pure, golden heart.

The embrace was a blur of hugs, laughing, and crying; blending the three ponies together on that terrible day. They sang songs of leaving, of coming home, then they laughed and cried and hugged once more. They drank bottled apple cider as they told jokes and stories, their hearts and minds becoming one.

Finally, well past midnight, when the three ponies were gathered around the weathered table, Granny’s mind snapped back into reality and she turned to her overachieving granddaughter, her mind whirling with new disapproval.

“But Applejack, are ya’ll sure that Neigh Orleans is the best place fur it? Ah mean, that ol’ city is crawlin’ with charlatans, just waitin’ ta reel ya inta a horrible bargain with a heapin’ lot o’ voodoo!” Granny Smith’s eyes shook and her hooves shivered as she made a gaunt gesture.

Applejack only chuckled and took another gulp of her cider as she replied, “Granny, Ah’m pretty darn sure that if Ah ever met one o’ those voodoo stallion’s that ya’ll are talkin’ ‘bout, Ah’d run away as fast as Ah could in the other direction.”

The three ponies looked at each other.

They laughed all the harder.

“Uh-uh,” Granny Smith halfheartedly conceded the Emergency Family Meeting roughly a week ago, after the traumatic visit of that awful stallion, with a pensive, yet dubious expression carved expertly on her wrinkled muzzle.

Applejack discontinued her pacing to push a dangling vine, hanging flaccidly from the treacherous timber that supported the weak structure of the ceiling. She made a retching sound from the front of her stomach, similar to a growl of a ravenous wolf, as a thorn nicked the tip of her ear as she trotted around it. Granny Smith winced, covering her eyes with her nearly deaf ears, as if to shield herself from her granddaughter’s minor pain.

“Well,” Applejack resumed her trek, seemingly unfazed by the hazardous vine, “when Ah was just a little filly, my dad...” Applejack paused, readjusting her hoofing as she delightedly gestured to the reeking building (and all it’s glory, NOT), her voice filled with jeweled emotion. Her jade eyes glinted in the sunlight filtering from the sunken ceiling as she turned slightly, her back to Granny, and breathed heavily, replicating her grandmother’s reaction to the disaster when she was a filly.

“...my dad and Ah dreamed that we started a restaurant on Sweet Apple Acres,” Applejack’s voice was full of hopeful, glittering mist that fogged Granny’s mind with the undeniable passion that her granddaughter expressed, so openly.

Granny vividly remembered her son-in-law. He was a sanguine, promising stallion; no doubt the origin of his daughter’s unbreakable optimism and trust. He was bursting with creativity, ideas, and experiments, and his contribute to the farm was unforgettable...endless shifts of washing dishes and cooking at restaurants more than three hours away from home, just so he could keep his family on their hooves.

“We dreamed that ponies came from all over Equestria, just ta get a taste of our food.” Applejack’s voice had dropped to a contemplative whisper, her breathless expression turned away from Granny as she stared into the glorious sunlight. “We dreamed that we made Appleseed Soup, Green Apple Salad, Crispy Apple-Flavored Fries...and so many other delicacies that Ah can’t remember them all.”

The direction of this conversation was growing lucid and obvious to Granny Smith, like the way storm clouds part like a rumbling, black sea to reveal a stunning azure sky. Applejack’s hoof descended leisurely, lingering in the air for a few moments, then dropped it gently.

The sparkling mist that surrounded Applejack faded as she revolved around to face Granny. Unspoken memories, painful memories that pinched the back of their minds like vermilion crabs, sharp and unpleasant. Memories of the dreadful letter, explaining her darling son-in-law’s death, shortly after he joined the Defensive Pony Military.

“Every nigh’, before Ah went ta bed, my dad would come inta my room and we’d talk fur an hour straight about the restaurant that we would start. We’d call it...The Apple Palace. It would be the biggest attraction in Equestria since Canterlot! We dreamed together fur many moons, my dad an’ Ah...until...well, ya’ll know what happened.

“So when Ah found this place,” Applejack looked to the caving ceiling with heavy thoughts swirling in her mind like a tornado, “Ah thought, ‘This is it. Ah’m gonna make sure that all my daddy’s hard work means somethin’.

“‘Ah’m gonna start a restaurant,’ Ah thought. ‘Ah’m gonna start a restaurant and make my daddy proud.’” Her voice cracked from the desperate, mourning, boiling tears she felt behind the curtain of her eyelashes as she glanced to the heavens, hoping with all her heart that her father was listening with his knowing, intelligent eyes, identical to her own.

Granny Smith recalled the elation she had felt welling in her heart and veins as she traveled to White Eagle every single afternoon for forty-seven days, and realized that Applejack’s vision was spectacular. Her commitment was impossible to brush away. Once the Apple Family had enough money to rebuild their base and continue the business, a restaurant would be an excellent addition to the farm’s ever-growing orchard. The dark, unfamiliar idea seemed to suddenly be overtaken by a positive sunbeam, highlighting the pros and quickly solving the cons.

Granny Smith’s enthusiasm built gradually, like a brick building; brick by brick by brick. An ardent grin began to turn the corners of her wilting muzzle turn up as her attentive eyes gleamed, despite the shadow undoubtedly covering the space where she stood. She could see no flaws!

But then, her positivity was suddenly deflated, as if somepony had jabbed a sharp needle into a bright yellow balloon.

“But youngun, if ya’ll start this business, ya’ll won’t have any time ta enjoy life. Ya won’t have time fur dancin’, relaxin’, or startin’ a family of yur own!” Granny’s perked ears fell as she observed her ebullient granddaughter, shining radiantly in the raw astute of her idea, her eyes glossy with the delightful ghosts of dreams and bittersweet tears.

Applejack’s pupils grew alarmingly fast as she was snapped back to reality by her grandmother’s meaningful, yet ridiculous (in her opinion) words. The fog that obscured her jade eyes cleared, revealing a skeptical expression.

“Granny,” Applejack explained, her tone transformed from distant to sharp as she trotted to stand in front of her grandmother, “Ah don’t have time fur dancin’. That’s just gonna haveta wait a while.” Applejack paused, her face inches from Granny’s own. Her expression radiated her fair spirit, her beautiful soul, as she scanned her grandmother’s cherished face from under the brim of her musty, memory-filled cowboy hat.

“C’mon, Granny. We’re almost there.”

As the dust particles swirled and collided in the beam that escaped through the fallen ceiling of White Eagle, her granddaughter’s words echoed sincerely in Granny’s contemplative, wizened mind, as she stared into two considerate, jade jewels.

Almost there, she repeated in her mind.

Almost there.

Comments

[Sea_Swirl]

cool I like it

[The Masked Mare]

4727758
Why thank you. I try my best to please.

[Thresha8]

I see a strong resemblance to The Princess and The Frog. In fact, I'm 100% positive it is. Especially with that last line.

[The Masked Mare]

4728980
Eh-he-heh.....maybe... Yes, yes it is. Sorry about that! Are you mad? It's a stupid concept, I know, but there were no stories like this on here. Do you hate that movie? You probably do! OH NOOOOO!

[Thresha8]

4728990 I'm not mad. I just hope you take a different path than basically rewriting The Princess and The Frog with ponies. It's okay to base something off of something else, just make sure to put your own original work into it.

[The Masked Mare]

4729053
Don't worry. I have something entirely different planned for these two.
Something entirely different.

[Thresha8]

4729099 Can't Wait.

[Honest Wisdom]

I approve this! I too enjoyed princess and the frog.

[The Masked Mare]

4740902
Why thank you! I'll try as hard as I can to please.

[Dragon3ye321]

GRAWHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I love it