//------------------------------// // Mr. Maple Packs His Saddlebags // Story: Mr. Maple Takes A Holiday // by defender2222 //------------------------------// Mr. Maple Packs His Saddlebags There were many things the ponies of Quiet Meadows could rely upon. The sun rose in the east and set in the west. The mail came between 1pm to 4pm. Ol’ Doc Floss, the town dentist, would have the same three magazines in his office. Winter Wrap Up would be done by 2pm and everyone would arrive the center of town to have some of Cinnamon Stick’s famous donuts to celebrate. Mr. Maple. The last one didn’t need anything else said. For it wasn’t one single thing the stallion did that made him reliable… he himself seemed to radiate reliability. More so than even the other reliable things in their lives. Half a year ago the sun had decided to not merely rise in the east but spin about like mad. And before that it had been delayed in rising by about 6 hours. Both of these had been annoying and still led to the occasional debate about what times the clocks should be set. Sometimes the mail came a touch earlier if the post office two towns down was light on letters and packages. Doc Floss once got a new magazine but tossed it away when his patients complained that 4 magazines were simply too much. And one time Cinnamon Stick decided to serve cider along with his donuts which had led to such a commotion that it was put into the town bylaws never to do that again (cider could be had after but not WITH the donuts). Mr. Maple though was completely and utterly reliable. He stayed on his farm for the most part, making maple syrup (as would be expected of someone with his lineage, being the latest in a long line of Maples) and making sure his trees were cared for. That wasn’t to say he was antisocial… far from it. He came into town plenty of times, would have breakfast at The Little Blue Plate Diner once a week (always ordering two eggs, two pieces of toast, and a glass of apple juice), assist during the Running of the Leaves (setting a standard pace and having roughly the same finishing time 15 years straight), and attend the town council meetings (not to speak up but because it was his ‘civic duty’ to do so). Everyone knew him and were pleased to see him and if they came to visit him he would welcome them inside and share some maple sticks and a glass of lemonade and chat about the weather or the plans to add new packed dirt to Main Street. But Mr. Maple didn’t alter his schedule too much. He liked to keep his routine: care for the farm, make sure that his lawn was always cut, the shingles were in place on the barn, and in the winter the snow was plowed away so it was easy to get up the walk. He didn’t go traveling to the big city or anything like that… in fact everyone in Quiet Meadows was quite sure that Mr. Maple hadn’t gone more than a few miles from his home or the town in his entire life. He was a content pony, happy with his life and those around him. Thus it was that August 29th, 1001 CE (Celestia Eternal) was seen as merely yet another day by all the ponies of Quiet Meadows as they got up and started their days. Nothing special at all about it, save for the small fact that Dr. Stitch, the kindly unicorn physician from Bitchester, had come for his twice a year check-ups on the town folks. Some might have found it odd that Quiet Meadows had a dentist but not a doctor but such was life out in the quiet parts of Equestria; Dr. Stitch would travel around to all the neighboring towns, and Doc Floss would do the same for Quiet Meadows’ neighbor towns who didn’t have a dentist of their own. And the first patient scheduled that morning was Mr. Maple. “All set?” the farmer asked, brushing a few strands of his deep blue mane out of his eyes as Dr. Stitch placed the tongue depressor in the trash. Mr. Maple had taken the first appointment of the day, figuring that it would be nice for everyone else to get a bit extra sleep and he honestly didn’t mind getting up early. He commonly was up before even the roosters crowed, checking on his trees before making breakfast. “Absolutely,” the doctor told the maize-coated stallion, looking over his notes. “You’re my easiest patient, Mr. Maple. Always in great shape, no injuries that need to be taken care of… just last week I had to cancel two appointments because some daredevil flyer trying to get into the Wonderbolts injured her wing trying to do a Double Rain… something or other, I honestly stopped paying attention because she was going on a mile a minute. Plus she wanted to go see her doctor in Ponyville and just needed me to get her well enough that she could head out without too much pain.” “Right,” Mr. Maple said with a slight smile. “I can see that. If I got injured in a strange place I’d be leery of any doctor that wasn’t you. I wouldn’t take offense to it, if I were you.” Stitch chuckled at that thought. “That would be a rare thing to see… you in a strange place.” He turned, continuing to laugh at the absurd idea, not noticing the way Mr. Maple’s brow furrowed at how quickly the doctor dismissed the idea of him being in any place that wasn’t Quiet Meadows. “But like I was saying, you are my easiest patient. You watch your diet, don’t try out new dishes that can upset your stomach, not into dangerous hobbies… heck, you were smart in your youth and that has helped you now.” “What do you mean?” Mr. Maple asked as the doctor put his paperwork in his briefcase to be filed at his home office later. The doctor gave a mild shrug. “A lot of times injuries and sicknesses from childhood can affect one in adulthood. But you never played any sports so you have no broken bones that didn’t heal properly. Never got the pony pox or any other strange disease one might get from traveling abroad, and you know how some of those diseases can cause other ones when you reach adulthood. Things like that.” He laughed to himself as he went over to a cabinet to put some things away; just minor medical equipment he wouldn’t need for the next patient. “You’ve lived a quiet life and will be able to live a long one as well. You know what they say… live fast, die young.” Mr. Maple though wasn’t chuckling or laughing at that. He wasn’t actually angry either, or depressed. Just… thoughtful. A quiet life. That’s all he’d ever wanted, ever since he’d been a foal. But to have it laid out to him so bluntly… “Oops!” Stitch exclaimed, Mr. Maple turning just as a jar of white powder fell to the ground, producing a thick cloud that spread over their coats and burned both their eyes. “Oh, I am so sorry! That is powdered Weeping Willow bark.” “It’s okay,” Mr. Maple said, blinking back tears. His eyes stung something fierce and he couldn’t stop himself from crying as his eyes desperately tried to rid themselves of the grit. “Is it harmful?” “Not… not at all,” Stitch got out. The powder had gotten on his coat, making him look rather pale, and Mr. Maple knew he must look the same way. “Just causes brief irritation. Just takes a bit to clear out, though a shower helps. I think I’ll have to postpone my next appointment to wash this off.” He gestured at himself, flooding his eyes. “Think I’ll skip breakfast at The Little Blue Plate and do the same. Thanks Doctor.” Mr. Maple walked out of the office and down a hall towards the lobby, pausing when he noticed the schoolmare, Sweetgrass, sitting there reading one of Doc Floss’ three magazines. “Sorry, Miss Grass, but I think you’re going to have a longer wait.” He blinked his eyes, reaching up to wipe some tears away only to get more of the powder all over his face. “That’s fine-oh, are you okay, Mr. Maple?” she asked, setting down her magazine. “Just fine. Got something in my eye.” He sniffed and trotted out, his mind still going over everything the doctor had told him. He waved to a few townsfolk as he passed them but he wasn’t in the mood to chitchat, focused on how he had lived his life. His quiet, steady, predictable life. He passed by The Little Blue Plate and then by Dotted Line’s office; he had a meeting with her at 9am but he was going to have to cancel as he couldn’t show up to a meeting with her covered in powder and blinking his eyes so rapidly he could barely focus. No, best to get back to the farm and clean up. An hour later Mr. Maple was sitting on his bed, freshly washed and scrubbed, his eyes no longer burning, and his coat clean as a whistle. He knew he should get down to the orchard and check the maple trees, make sure they were doing okay… but he just didn’t have it in him. He looked around his bedroom, so plain and ordinary that it could have belonged to anyone, and suddenly felt an urge he’d never felt before. At first he thought it was hunger and went to get a snack (he had skipped breakfast, after all), but when that did nothing he wandered about his house, looking at the empty curio cabinet and barren shelves and bare walls and felt the hunger burning all the greater. Many of the great ponies in history had stated at some point in their lives that there was a moment where inspiration just struck them. Go climb that mountain. Swim that lake. Paint that painting. Build that house. Write that novel. One moment they were happy and content with their lives and the next they wanted so much more. They HUNGERED for it… and Mr. Maple found he hungered now for something new. Something exciting. To have an adventure! It didn’t have to be a big one, nothing too fancy… he wanted a change of pace but he was still himself and nothing would change that… but an adventure all the same. To see new things, to taste different foods, to experience something beyond his routine! The thought of doing what he always did suddenly filled him with a terrible dread while the mere possibly of exploring the world beyond his home made his heart beat faster. And as he thought about it Mr. Maple realized that there was nothing actually preventing him from going on a trip. It was the off season for maple syrup so there really wasn’t any real work that needed to be done. No repairs, no issues that needed his attention. He had plenty of bits that he could afford to take a trip. And there were no pressing appointments or obligations that would keep him home. He wasn’t even really looking for an excuse not to go! “So… why not?” he asked himself quietly before rushing back up to his bedroom and pulling out a set of dust-covered saddle backs, the tags still attached to them. He grinned and began to throw in all the things he would need for a short trip: his toothbrush, a comb, a cap, his umbrella, his Bank of Equestria card, and a few other odds and ends. Settling the bags onto his back he looked at his reflection and grinned. “I’m going on vacation!” the stallion said with a grin, sounding nearly 20 years younger as he hurried down the stairs. He was only a few feet from the door when he realized that the milkpony would be by soon and it would be a waste if the mare left his bottles on the doorstep to spoil in the sun. Thus Mr. Maple hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a piece of paper, scribbling a quick note explaining that they could halt his deliveries for a while. Tacking it onto his door he locked up and nodded to himself before, with a grin splitting his face, he rushed off to find the train station. He was going on an adventure! ~*~*~*~*~ In town, unbeknownst to Mr. Maple, several ponies were gathered at The Little Blue Plate Diner. This in itself wasn’t that strange, as the diner was always busy during the breakfast rush. What was odd was that the patrons weren’t focusing on their meals but instead were listening to Miss Sweetgrass as she spoke to them, tugging on her mane as her nerves got the better of her. “You didn’t see him, Greasey,” she told the diner’s shortorder cook while Honeyblossom refilled her coffee cup. “Mr. Maple was pale as a sheet when he stepped out of the exam room and he couldn’t stop crying. No, that’s not right… he was sobbing. And I heard Dr. Stitch crying too and he had to delay my appointment by nearly thirty minutes to get a hold of himself! His eyes were still red when he finally saw me. I asked him what was wrong but he wouldn’t tell me…” “He never did come in for breakfast,” Hon said quietly to herself. “He always comes in on Tuesday for breakfast.” A few patrons murmured at that, knowing Mr. Maple’s routine well. One could find him every Tuesday enjoying his two eggs, two slices of toast, and glass of juice. “He got bad news, I just know it,” Sweetgrass moaned in despair. “We can’t go assuming anything,” Greasey said, pushing up his bandana. He didn’t mean that in a mean or rude way… he was as worried as the rest of them. Mr. Maple was always nice to him, making sure to peak his head in and thank him for a wonderful meal and tipping him and Honeyblossom beyond what the meal cost. “Why else would he be crying though?” Sweetgrass asked. Fresh Fruit, the town grocer, shuffled in his seat. “I was originally going to take the first appointment but Mr. Maple said he didn’t mind. I just thought he was being polite… but maybe he was in a hurry to see Stitch and find out the news.” “What news?” Lily Petal asked, chewing on her lip. “Something bad. Something with his health,” Sweetgrass whispered. “That’s why he was crying and so pale. It must be horrible to shake Stitch like that. He refused to even admit anything was wrong-“ “He’d never tell us. He’s a professional,” Honeyblossom stated as the bell over the door rang and Dotted Line ambled in, looking about the diner, searching. “What is it, sweetie?” the old waitress asked. “Anypony seen Mr. Maple? He was supposed to meet with me half an hour ago but he never showed. I thought maybe he got delayed eating breakfast… it is Tuesday.” “He’s not here,” Lily Petal stated. “What was your meeting about?” “He needs to renew his life insurance-” Sweetgrass let out a gasp of horror. “Now now,” Greasey said, trying to argue the point but quickly losing the strength in his conviction that everything was okay. “We can’t jump to conclusions…” “Something is wrong, something is very wrong with Mr. Maple and we need to find out! He’s… he’s a part of Quiet Meadows! We can’t just sit here while he’s suffering.” Honeyblossom nodded. “I’m closing the diner for an hour. If anyone wants to join me in walking down to Mr. Maple’s farm they are welcome too-“ As one every patron in the diner stood up and made for the door. And as they walked ponies asked what was going on and one of them would pause to give the facts to them, quickly gaining another member of their party. By the time they reached the edge of town half of the populous had joined them. It was a short trip to Mr. Maple’s farm but the hope that they would find him working the orchard or sitting on his porch were dashed when they found the land completely empty… save for the milkmare, Full Glass, who was staring at the door in frozen shock, eyes never leaving the note that remained tacked to the door: ‘Dear Miss Glass. No need for any more deliveries. Where I’m going I won’t need them. One day I’ll see you all again. –Mr. Maple.’ Sweetgrass and many of the other townponies began to cry as they realized that Mr. Maple was dying and had clearly decided to leave and spare them the burden of watching him pass on. They wept for their dear friend, thinking of how terrified and scared he must be to face such a fate all by himself. ~*~*~*~*~ “I’m going on a vacation!” Mr. Maple said once more to himself as he excitedly raced to the train station.