“Well, this is it,” said Pear Butter, setting her bag on the ground. In the distance, the whistle of a locomotive called out its long, mournful song, accompanied by the loud bang of railcars being jerked into motion. “Thanks for walking me to the train station, Daddy.”
“I’m happy to do it,” said Grand Pear. He peered around the platform, but there was nopony else there with them. A bit odd, given that this was usually such a bustling place. “But is there any way I could change your mind? Do you have to go away?”
“I wish I didn’t have to, but you know how it is.” Pear Butter turned and wrapped him in a tight hug, and he found his snout buried deep in her mane. He took a slow breath, filling his nostrils with the scent of lilac and sugar. They stood there for the better part of a minute, enjoying their last moment together before Pear Butter broke the embrace.
“Are you sure you have everything you need?” he asked.
Pear Butter nodded. “Yup, I’ve got it all right here. I got to say goodbye to Anjou, Bartlett, and Ma last night, so that’s it. I’m ready to—” The locomotive’s whistle echoed through the platform.
“All aboard!” shouted the conductor, somewhere further up the train.
“I better get on it,” said Pear Butter. She picked up her bag in her mouth and started towards the steps on the end of the railcar in front of them, but she stopped halfway there. She spat her bag out and quickly crossed over to Grand Pear, planted a quick kiss on his cheek, and ran back to the train. She climbed aboard just as the train slammed into life, jerking slightly as the engineer pulled out the slack in the train’s couplers. “I love you, Daddy!” she called, waving a hoof at him as she slowly began to slide out of view.
Even though his hooves felt like they were glued in place, Grand found the strength to return the wave. “Bye, sweetie!” he yelled over the growing cacophony of steel parts coming to life. “Have a good trip!” He watched as Pear Butter grew smaller and smaller in his view, and then vanished into the line of tall black passenger cars as they continued to accelerate away.
Finally, the end of the last car raced past him, the bright red lights of the rear markers disappearing into the mist that hung around in the predawn, their soft red glow fading away into the darkness. With the train gone, Grand Pear turned around and started his walk back towards home. Alone. He walked with his eyes downcast, tracing the patterns in the tile of the station platform as he shuffled towards the exit.
To his surprise, however, the station didn’t become silent so quickly. Mere seconds after the train carrying his daughter disappeared, another whistle echoed through the station, and a second train came barrelling in on the same track. Grand Pear glanced up at the locomotive, hissing and groaning as it fought to slow itself down.
But something wasn’t right. The midnight black locomotive groaned and shuddered, and then an earsplitting crack pierced through the wall of sound. A mare screamed from somewhere behind him, and in an instant, a boiling, angry cloud of hot steam exploded towards him so fast that he didn’t even have enough time to blink.
Grand Pear’s eyes shot open, and he stared at the ceiling over his bed, locking his gaze onto the large, faint stain that had been there since before he moved into the house. His heart was racing like a jackhammer in his chest, and his pajamas were drenched with cold sweat. For several minutes, all he could do was lie still and breathe, desperately trying to calm himself down. When he was calm enough to have at least some of his wits about him, he blinked hard and reached over to turn on the lamp on the nightstand. He winced as the sudden bright light overwhelmed and strained his eyes, and he squinted to read the hands on the alarm clock.
“4:37 in the morning. Oh, brother,” he mumbled to himself.
There was a stirring from the bed next to him, and his wife, Péra Rocha, sat up with a gasp, tearing her blinders from her eyes. She looked around in a daze before she fixed her gaze on her husband. “Grand, what’s going on? Is someone breaking in?” she asked.
“No, no. It’s alright,” said Grand. He kicked the covers off of himself and sat up on the edge of the bed, fumbling around for his slippers. “You can go back to sleep.”
“Did you have that dream again?” she asked.
Grand glowered and hopped down from the bed, grunting softly as his hooves hit the floor. There was a little bit of stiffness in his hooves, enough to make them complain about suddenly being brought to life so early in the morning. He clicked the lamp off and made his way for the door. “No, it’s alright. I’m just gonna get an early start today.”
Slowly, steadily, Grand felt his way down the hallway and through the den to the kitchen. He was still acclimated to the darkness, so the bright lights in the kitchen forced him to squint as he made his way to the stove. He filled the tarnished old coffee percolator up with fresh grounds and water, spilling some of the water onto the stovetop. He flipped the burner on underneath it without bothering to clean up the mess and grumbled under his breath as he sauntered over and took a seat at the breakfast table.
And then he flinched. The old wooden chair groaned loudly as it assumed his weight, much like it usually did, but the sound was enough to startle him this time.
I need a distraction, he thought. Much like the morning before, he was still on edge from the nightmare. Well, come to think of it, it wasn’t really a nightmare. Maybe just a bad dream? He shook his head and pushed the thoughts from his mind. He looked around for something to occupy himself with, quickly settling on yesterday’s newspaper, sitting on the table where he’d left it the day before.
I didn’t get to read the financial section. Couldn’t hurt now. The paper crinkled quietly under his touch as he flipped through the pages. Financial news had been slow the day before; aside from a piece predicting a major crash on the Canterlot exchange in the coming weeks, there was nothing of value to him. Talk about a good way to go back to sleep.
The scuff of slippers on linoleum pricked his ears up, and he cocked his head barely enough to see the doorway in the corner of his eye. There stood Péra, her fluffy brown mane a disheveled mess that spilled around both sides of her head. One quick glance at her face, and that was all it took. She was worried, and if he knew anything about her, it was that she wouldn’t just let it go.
But the hesitance was a little different. From the look of it, she was having trouble figuring out what she was going to say.
“I told you, it’s alright. You need your sleep.”
“Don’t you?” Péra asked. Grand listened to her hoofsteps as she crossed the kitchen and took a seat beside him. “That’s the third night in a row that you’ve woken up at this hour. How are you not exhausted?”
“I’m fine,” Grand grumbled, keeping his eyes fixed on the newspaper
“You’re obviously not fine, Grand. Have you looked in the mirror? You’ve got bags under your eyes.” A dandelion-yellow hoof reached over the top of the paper and lowered it down, revealing her face. “Did you have that dream again? The one with the train?”
Grand Pear finally made eye contact with Péra, and his ears laid back on his head as he let out a sigh. “Yeah, it happened again.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“Not particularly,” he said. “But I don’t really have a choice in the matter, do I?”
Péra shook her head and scooted her chair closer. Sighing, Grand dropped the newspaper on the table.
“I just don’t know what to say about it,” he began. “I thought I was over all of that. I haven’t even spoken to Pear Butter in what, six or seven years?” He paused for a moment and cleared his throat. “But it shouldn’t matter. She has her new family back in Ponyville, and I have everypony else here in Vanhoover with me. It’s been long enough that we should both be over it. Right?”
“I’d think that if you’re having nightmares about it, then you might still have some things left to deal with.”
“Could be,” said Grand. “I don’t know. It’s probably just some weird coincidence.” The percolator began to whistle quietly, and Grand rose from his seat to tend to it. When he turned back to Péra, he could tell from her flat expression that she wasn’t too pleased with his appraisal of the significance of the dreams. “Okay, fine. If it happens again, I’ll schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist.”
Péra shook her head. “He’ll tell you the same thing I’m about to. Do you think that maybe it’s time to reconcile?”
“It’s too late for that, Péra,” said Grand. “She made her choices, and I made mine.”
“But she’s our daughter!” Péra shouted. “I still love her as much as I did before we left her behind, and even though you won’t admit it, I know you do too.”
Grand poured the contents of the percolator into his cup and took a sip. “There’s some things that I just can’t forgive. Marrying into that family?” He took another, larger sip of the coffee, this time burning his tongue with the bitter brew, but he ignored it. “Look, I love you, Péra. I really do. But I would really appreciate it if you'd not try to get me to go back on what I’ve done. I disowned my daughter, and I have to live with that.”
Péra sat there for a moment, mouth open like she meant to speak, but nothing came out. She simply stared at him with eyes full of some emotion he couldn’t quite place. Shock? Pity? Guilt? It was too early in the morning, and he was too tired to try and figure it out anyway.
“I’m gonna go wash up,” Grand said. He turned away from Péra and walked out of the kitchen before she had the chance to say anything else.
“That’ll be fourteen bits, ma’am,” said Grand Pear, pushing two jars of pear jam over the counter.
“There you go,” said the mare, passing her payment to Grand. She lifted the jars off the counter with her magic, tucking them neatly into her saddlebags. “Thanks so much, Mr. Pear!” she said, turning to leave.
“Thanks for stopping by, Tea Kettle. Tell the kids I said hello!” he called after her.
“Sure will!” she replied as she walked out the door and disappeared into the flow of pedestrians out on the sidewalk.
Grand Pear slid the money into the open drawer under the counter and eased back in his seat. It had been a slow day, even by Wednesday standards. Only a hoofful of ponies had come into the shop in the last hour, and he’d been left with little to do other than stare at the glass door and wait for the next customer to walk in.
And of course, that meant that he had plenty of time to sit and brood on what happened that morning. As much as he hated to admit it, Péra was right. The years away from the Apple family had softened his feelings towards them. Granted, he still didn’t necessarily like them, but all the same, now that he thought about it, the only thing keeping him from trying to reach out at this point was his pride. He wanted to get back in touch with her, but how would it look if he was the one who broke?
No, he couldn’t do that. He had an image to maintain, an example of tough fairness that kept the crazy antics of his family in check. No matter what they did, if he said something about it, it would stop. They respected him too much to disobey him, and that was exactly what he’d worked so hard to build in his years as the patriarch of the Pear family.
But that still couldn’t stop him from wanting to break down and do it anyway.
They’d understand, he thought. Everypony took it so hard when we left. They’d probably love getting to see her again.
The bell over the door rang, and Grand looked up to see the mail pony entering the shop, already rummaging through his bag.
“Howdy there, Glider,” said Grand Pear.
“Good morning, Mr. Pear,” Glider returned as he approached the front counter. “Business booming?”
“Oh no, it’s awful slow,” said Grand Pear, chuckling. “I think I've moved maybe twenty jars since we opened.”
“Wow, that's like six an hour. Sounds like a dream, getting to sit down once in a while.”
Grand Pear laughed again, shaking his head. “Look at this belly I've got growing, and tell me you still want my job. You gotta stay fit for all those mares you got after you, right?” he said with a sly wink.
It was Glider’s turn to laugh, which he did as he passed a small bundle of envelopes across the counter with an outstretched wing. “Not a lot of letters for you today. I guess things are slow on the mail-order side of things too.”
“Darn, had my hopes up,” said Grand Pear. He slid the mail down the counter to maintain a clear space near the cash register. “Thanks, Glider. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime, Mr. Pear. See you tomorrow!” Glider turned to leave, and when the bell over the door announced his departure, the store was quiet once again.
“Let’s see now…” Grand Pear pulled his reading glasses out of their case and perched them delicately on the bridge of his snout. He grabbed the small stack of envelopes and sorted through them. The monthly water bill was on top, followed by four or five letters with return addresses scattered from all across Equestria. Mail orders, just like he got every day. He sorted those into a pile separate from the bill, and the next envelope caught his attention. It was just like an ordinary letter, but it lacked the usual weight of a mail order, which would have some sort of payment inside of it. From the feel of it, it was just a couple of pieces of paper in the envelope. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the return address.
Ponyville Town Hall. It wasn’t exactly unusual to receive orders from Ponyville; after all, he’d spent most of his life gathering a following from there, and he usually expected at least a few loyal customers to place orders from there every week. But he’d never gotten an order from the mayor before. From what he remembered, she didn’t like pears all that much.
I guess you get first pick. He sliced the envelope open with a smooth, practiced flip of his fetlock, and he dumped the contents out of the envelope: a folded piece of paper—likely a letter—and a piece of thicker stock that appeared more like a pamphlet.. He unfolded the letter, revealing itself to not be on official stationery like he’d expected, but just an ordinary piece of paper. The writing was somewhat sloppy and constricted, not like he’d expect from the mayor or a secretary. He put on his glasses and began to read.
Dear Grand Pear,
Last week, something terrible happened. Your daughter, Pear Butter, and my son, Bright Mac, were involved in an accident, and both of them passed away Friday afternoon. By the time you get this letter, we’ll have already held a service for the two of them. I’m awful sorry that you won’t be able to make it in time, but you know how slow the mail runs. Because they’re both gone, I’ll be taking custody of the foals.
I know we don’t like each other one bit, but she’s your kin, and you have a right to know. For Buttercup Pear Butter’s sake, I hope you and your family can make it down to pay her a visit. I didn’t figure you’d read what I had to say if I sent this myself, so I asked a favor of the mayor and she sent it direct to your store.
Even though you probably stopped caring about her, she never gave up. She was just too stubborn to quit loving you.
-Granny Smith.
Grand Pear barely finished reading the letter before it fell out of his hooves, floating lightly down to the countertop like a leaf carried on the breeze. His mouth fell open, and he sat there staring at his hooves, unable to muster even the bare presence of mind to blink. The world faded away from the edges of his vision, focusing in on his hooves like the edges of a tunnel. His ears buzzed dully, all other sound fading into white noise. Half a minute passed, and only then did he regain enough of his faculties to think to close his eyes.
She’s lying.
Grand took a breath that ended up as more of a gasp. He’d been so dumbfounded that he forgot to breathe, and now that the burn in his lungs was strong enough, it was one of the first things that snapped him back towards reality. Of course! How could I let that get to me? Granny Smith is an Apple. Of course she’d send me a fake letter to try and undermine my business! It just made too much sense. Apples were treacherous ponies, and he couldn’t trust a single word they said.
Suddenly, the shock didn’t seem so bad. He cracked his eyes open and glanced around the store. From what he could tell, nopony had seen him in the midst of his episode. He breathed a sigh of relief and eased himself back in his seat. He stared up at the ceiling, smirking to himself. It would take a lot more than some silly prank letter to get Grand Pear to break.
But what if they aren’t lying? His smirk was snuffed out in an instant, and his eyes darted back to the letter sitting on the countertop. There was still the other item that came in the envelope that he hadn’t seen, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat as he stared at it. It stood open slightly because of the thicker paper it was made of. With trepidation, he picked the pamphlet up. It had been lying face down, but when he flipped it over, his chest immediately tightened back up.
In the center of the page was a picture of Pear Butter and Bright Macintosh sitting next to each other, a moment of laughter between the two of them frozen in time by the camera. Above that were three simple words:
Celebration of Life.
“A funeral program,” he whispered to himself. An empty pit in his gut opened, pulling his chest into his belly. He blinked hard, his head growing progressively lighter and lighter, and he grabbed onto the counter for support.
“Keep it together.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to look away from the two pieces of paper that glared back at him from their places on the countertop. It felt like an anaconda was wrapped around his neck, squeezing his throat closed.
Not again, he thought. I’ve spent too many years of my life crying and feeling sorry for myself. I nearly lost everything because of it last time. I’ll be damned to Tartarus if I let that happen again.
He closed his eyes tightly, steeling himself, and then he felt something shift. The pressure to cry eased, and the tightness that he felt throughout his body began to relax. He opened his eyes and looked around the store. The shelves were there, fully stocked with jars of jam ready for sale. The faint sound of Anjou working in the back room disrupted the stifling silence on the sales floor. Ponies passed by on the street, and it wouldn’t be long before another one found their way in.
This is what’s important. Not what happened a thousand miles from here.
He glanced down at the letter and program sitting on the counter before him, and with a casual flick of his hoof, he brushed them aside. They fell to the floor next to his stool, and with them out of his sight, he snorted. “She’s gone. So what? She hasn't been my daughter for seven years.”
He grabbed one of the other envelopes and ripped it open without a second thought, and he began the next part of his daily routine. He pulled out the contents of the mailer, a letter with the customer’s order, and the payment method—in this case, a money order. He repeated the process, separating orders from payments until he had finished out the day’s mail pile.
With that done, he worked on the next order of business, writing down an exact list of what each customer wanted. With that in hoof, he could start assembling the orders when there weren’t any customers present, and then he’d be ready to send them out with a hoof-written thank you note like he always did.
But that would have to wait just a moment. The doorbell rang, heralding the arrival of the next customer into the shop.
“Howdy there, Fossil,” said Grand Pear, smiling the same warm smile he always did. Fossil Brush, a slate grey unicorn with thick framed glasses perched on her muzzle, smiled as she approached the counter.
“Hey Grand, how are things?” she asked in her familiar, slightly nasal voice that was a bit louder than Grand expected. She was a loud talker.
“Oh, I feel like a sharecropper in a dry year. Kind of the usual,” he said, chuckling to himself. Fossil did the same.
“Ha, don’t we all?” she said. “So, you know that jar of pear jam I bought last week?” she asked, and she included a pause for him to answer.
“Yeah, did you find the bugs I put in it?” he replied.
“You put bugs in it?” she asked, her eyes widening.
“No, of course not. Just joking.” Grand rolled his eyes. He usually liked to joke around with his customers, but sometimes they didn’t land, especially with bookish ponies like Fossil. They weren’t always the sharpest when it came to small talk.
“Oh, well anyway, I took that jar in with me to share with some of my coworkers at the archaeology institute, and it was a hit! Those ponies from out of town practically drank the stuff.”
“So that’s why you’re back so soon. Needing another jar?” he asked.
Fossil smiled. “Yep! I’m gonna need two jars of jam, and do you have anything else that I could try bringing in? Maybe some candied pears or pear butter?”
Grand’s pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks. Why did she have to mention pear butter? He felt renewed weight on his chest, and it was a struggle to keep the smile on his face up.
“Yeah, it’s on the middle row of shelves. Can’t miss it.”
“Awesome, I’ll be right back up here with that stuff!” Fossil turned around and disappeared into one of the aisles, and Grand Pear took the opportunity to shut his eyes as hard as he could.
Stop thinking about it. There’s nothing to be done. She isn’t your daughter anymore, and that’s it! He shouted it to himself over and over in his head, but it did nothing to slow his heart rate.
“Mr. Pear? Are you okay?”
Grand Pear opened his eyes, and it took him a second to focus on Fossil, who had placed all of her merchandise on the countertop. He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Oh, yes. Of course. Two jars of jam and a jar of pear b-butter. That’ll be twenty bits.”
Fossil silently placed a single twenty-bit coin on the counter while Grand stuffed her items in a box and slid them across the counter to her.
Fossil cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t look so good all of a sudden. Is something wrong?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Just about ready for my lunch break,” said Grand, forcing himself to smile. She didn’t seem convinced, cocking her head slightly and keeping her brow raised. She eyed him closely for a moment before she took a step back.
“Maybe try taking a nap. You look like you could use it,” she said, a definite hint of question in her voice. Convinced or not, she’d decided not to push the issue, and Grand breathed an internal sigh of relief. She levitated the box off the counter and started on her way out. “Have a good day, Mr. Pear!” she called.
“Yeah, yeah. You too,” he muttered. The emptiness and pressure in his chest was continuing to build, and he didn’t even notice her leave.
I can’t do this. Grand pushed his stool out and slid to his hooves, which were beginning to feel more like bricks on the ends of his legs, and sauntered over towards the doorway that led to the back room.
“Anjou?” he called to his son, who was standing hunched over a work table, peeling the skin off of a pear.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Finish up what you’re doing there, and then wash your hooves. You’re on the front counter for the afternoon.”
“...Sure. What’s going on? Something come up?” asked Anjou.
“Yeah.” Grand Pear stepped back from the doorway and scooped up Granny Smith’s letter, along with the pamphlet and envelope. “I’ll see you later, Anjou.” He grabbed his hat from the hook on the back wall and made his way to the front door.
There was only one thing he knew that could erase the pain in his chest.