“Call them, with a mellow calf’s mouth,
Those folks, diligent and poor.
Tell them: If things were to go south,
Don’t be heroes, just look for a door.”- Attila József
Applejack, for instance, never quite imagined herself as the heroine sort either. She lived on a small farm on the edge of a sleepy little village, owning little more than a productive yet humble farm, and a trusty Stetson hat.
She also had an older brother and a little sister. They used to have a grandmother too, until she ran away with a Solar rebel shouting wildly about “that young whippersnapper having too much nerve trying to take over the kingdom.” Occasionally Applejack hoped the old mare would magically appear in her old rocking chair, but recently she had bigger things to worry about.
As usual she woke early before the Sun even finished properly rising, and set out with her trusty pup Winona to make sure her cherished apple orchard was still in order. There was nothing that brought as much joy to her heart as seeing her beloved trees grow taller and stronger each day. Some of them she even talked to, calling them names as if they were friends and family, and knowing their each whim and need by heart. She prided herself on the fact that during the years she’d run the farm, not a single one of them ever fell to illness or pests.
She slowly trotted between the orderly rows, gently looking left and right, while Winona yapped excitedly as she ran off to chase away a few squirrels looking for an easy snack. Applejack watched the spectacle with unmasked joy. She knew the dog was far too soft-hearted to ever hurt any of the critters, but also that the squirrels didn’t know that. She slowly continued her pilgrimage towards the other end of the orchard, coming across a small clearing where a set of stones were carefully arranged to spell out
LONG LIVE OUR GREAT PRINCESS!
As her eyes passed over the text, Applejack nodded to herself in satisfaction, happy with her own work. A second later a squirrel made its way through the piles, Winona following close behind and sending several stones clattering away.
“Darnit,” Applejack grumbled under her breath, as she rose a hoof to her face. With an annoyed sigh she trotted closer and began repairing the sentence. She placed a rock here, aligned another there, and with only a few minutes of work it was as good as new. Mere moments after she finished and cast one last long look of approval at the rocks, she heard yelling from nearby.
“Applejack! Applejack!” the voice cried. “They’re selling apple jam!”
Applejack immediately forgot the hardship she just went through. Even though her family was one of the greatest providers of apples in the region, they weren’t allowed to keep any of them. She had learned to get used to it by now. The joy of just tending to the trees was fulfilling enough to her, even if it had been a long while since her family last ate anything but hay and meagre vegetables. But the chance to finally experience that sweet delight again? It was too good to be true.
She took the time to bark a quick “thank you” to her courteous neighbour, then burst into a gallop, dodging trees and fences at full speed to reach the market before it was too late. By the time she’d arrived, there was already a great queue in front of the magical stall which promised apple-filled goodness. Ponies from all around town had gathered there, pushing and shoving each other trying to get a better spot.
Applejack joined the back of the queue and gave her bits a quick count. It seemed to be just enough. She gulped in anticipation, thinking of her options once she got her hooves on the coveted substance. Maybe she would bake Apple Bloom a proper apple pie for once, let her finally be reminded of what she was named after.
Hardly two minutes passed when a hoof suddenly reached out and slammed the stall’s front board shut with a loud bang, closing the shop in the face of the still sizable crowd, including Applejack herself.
“That’s it for now!” the shopkeep yelled from behind the board. “Come back next week.” The crowd sighed as a single pony, knowing in most cases “next week” really meant “maybe in several months”, then slowly dispersed.
Applejack remained in place like a statue for far longer, while desperation and anger welled between her emerald eyes. In silent fury, her mind concocted a great and terrible plan, and she made up her mind to execute it. Without a word, she spun around and stormed home.
There she gathered her family. Both little Apple Bloom and Big McIntosh stared at her with wide eyes, as their sister huffed and puffed, pacing around the room.
“I’ve had just about enough of hay and dry vegetables,” she barked, loud enough to show her rage, yet quiet enough not to be heard by anypony just so happening to be listening in. She slammed a hoof against the wooden floors of the house. “We’re harvestin’ Bloomberg tonight.”
“B-but Sis, do we have to?” Apple Bloom asked with a tear in the corner of her eye.
Applejack let out a sharp laugh at her emotional question, tossing her bits in front of her sister’s hooves. “Feel free to make jam out of these then, if ya can.”
“Poor Bloomberg,” droned Big Mac, while his impassive face turned a shade darker than usual.
“We have to do it,” the head of the family repeated her unquestionable judgment.
“Right now?”
“Tonight.”
The rest of the day passed in tense anticipation. Once Applejack heard the old clocktower ringing through the darkness of the early night and had made sure nopony else seemed to be nearby, she trotted inside the house, pushing a table to the side once she got into the kitchen.
A secret trapdoor revealed itself, which she opened and slowly descended into the basement, hiding the one family heirloom Applejack was always careful not to reveal to the authorities. Above ground, Big Mac hastily placed the table back where it belonged and sat down next to it with Bloom. He tried whistling a tune, horribly off in key, both to calm his frayed nerves and to hopefully mask any noises from down below, while Bloom kicked her hooves around, mostly out of boredom and—though she never would have admitted it—slight nervousness.
For a while their worries seemed to be unfounded, that was until out of the blue somepony loudly knocked on the door. Apple Bloom jumped off her chair and went over, carefully opened the door. Behind it two grim looking batponies peered into the house. The older one wore a small crescent-Moon pendant on his chest which gleamed in the lamplight, showing that he was part of the Night Guard. He eyed the two ponies inside with open suspicion, but remained silent for the time being. His younger partner was a petite mare, whose cheeks immediately began to burn upon spotting Big Mac, and she quickly slapped a wing in front of her face to hide her unprofessional behaviour.
“Is there an Applejack here?” the stallion asked.
“Naaw, sis is away tonight,” Bloom replied, blinking innocently.
“What is she doing?”
“Visitin’ friends.”
“In the dead of night?”
“Yup,” this time the answer came from Big Mac, who wanted to take his own share of the action.
“Why?”
“She’s too busy working in the orchard during the day.”
While they talked, the two officers looked around the room for anything suspicious. When everything seemed to be in order, the stallion turned back to Bloom.
“And what were you two just doing?”
“We were sittin’.”
“Don’t joke around with me, filly,” the older bat growled. He flashed his fangs, but Bloom remained unfazed, looking at him with the same childish innocence. “Tell me, do you have apples here?”
“Yup, the whole family,” she answered with pride.
The constable groaned in exasperation. “No, I mean actual apples.”
“Course not, mister!” Apple Bloom’s sweet tone and golden smile were disarming. Her words could have struck doubt into anypony’s heart. “Sis weren’t able to buy any at the market today.”
The bat-stallion looked at his partner, who was still visibly flustered, and rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. Well, don’t get too comfortable, we’ll be back soon!” With that, the two left as quickly as they came.
Meanwhile, down below and not knowing anything of the situation above, Applejack got to work, even if it brought her little joy. Bloomberg was the Apple family’s most cherished secret. He was a tree, perhaps a bit less well-endowed than his cousins outside, yet unlike them what he received in terms of service was truly the cream of the crop. Each of his ripe, gigantic apples were positively shining from the wavy flame of the lamp hanging above him.
For fifteen years she and her family pampered Bloomberg, protecting him from wind and Sun, pests and rain. Each of his little twigs were cut and shaped with special care, to minimise discomfort and maximise yield. The great pot he stood in was mixed with all manners of fertilisers and minerals, providing a potent environment for him to grow in.
Applejack quickly ran a few calculations in her head as she stepped closer. It would have taken about five more years until the apples were truly grown to their greatest and best potential. She couldn’t even imagine what an apple of such supernatural quality could taste like, but she was sure it was the closest thing a mortal pony could get to alicornhood. But, like always, need was a great source of incentive, so with a heavy sigh Applejack placed a basket under Bloomberg and slowly plucked the first apple from his branches.
It felt to her like her own mane was being torn out lock by lock, but she gritted her teeth and continued, slowly filling the basket with the most glorious harvest Sweet Apple Acres had seen in decades. Occasionally a few weird noises hit her ears from above, and gave her pause, but she trusted her siblings to handle whatever was going on topside and fully devoted herself to the gruesome task at hoof.
Soon the deed was done. Applejack cast one final look at Bloomberg, now mutilated, and took off her hat, holding it close to her chest. She allowed herself the weakness of a few tears. With a heaving sigh, she wiped her eyes and climbed the ladder leading back to the kitchen, before rapping on the trapdoor. Scraping could be heard from above before it opened, revealing the anxious stares of her siblings.
Their anxiety didn’t last long once the two laid eyes on the basket behind Applejack, and it was replaced by sheer awe. They too climbed down and, once they paid their respects to Bloomberg, the rest of the night was spent with diligent work. The family cleaned the apples, removed their cores, ground them, baked them, put them into dough, and created twenty different dishes, each more mouthwatering than the last.
Deep into the work, Winona’s loud barking suddenly filled the air, and all three ponies froze in place while the seconds ticked by in almost painful slowness. For a minute or so silence reigned, then Applejack slowly regained her smile and the work continued. Finally, they stashed all of the hot pastries on shelves next to the freshly barren Bloomberg and headed off to bed.
It was the earliest moments of dawn when Applejack awoke to the sound of impatient knocking at her door. She begrudgingly blinked the sleep out of her eyes and slowly trotted downstairs to look outside, coming face to face with the two bats from the previous night as she opened up.
“Howdy, officers,” she greeted them with a yawn. “You two having trouble sleepin’ or somethin’?”
The old stallion gave no answer, he merely shoved the farmpony to the side and barged into the kitchen. He sniffed around, his nostrils expanding and contracting rapidly, when suddenly his wings fluttered in triumph.
“A-ha! I smell apple fritters.”
“What a coincidence, that’s what I’ve been dreamin’ of too,” replied the mare groggily. The noise woke the rest of the family, who slowly clambered down from the attic and joined the scene.
The two bats continued to search—the mare showing visibly more interest in catching glimpses of Big Mac—but nothing turned up. The stallion wasn’t even trying to hide his impatience anymore. “Okay, playtime’s over, hand over those apples,” he demanded while his tail flicked, kicking up dust.
“Let’s look for them together!” Applejack offered eagerly. “This much talk about apples could make the fullest pony hungry, an’ I’m pretty far from that, myself.”
“Are you trying to make a fool of me?”
Those emerald eyes stared back at him in utter bafflement. “Me? A fool of you? Stars forbid! I only agree with ya, let’s get them secret apples together!”
The stallion groaned in frustration and turned to his partner, who had completely given up on any false pretences of apple hunting and was instead only hunting one particular Apple. “Hey, do you smell any apple musk here?”
The grey coat of the younger officer’s cheeks turned a fiery red. “I, uhm, yes, Sir. Forgive me, Sir.”
It took a moment for the words to have their impact, causing the old bat to hiss in contempt. “Mindless fruit-muncher,” he admonished her, before turning back towards the family one last time. “Don’t get too comfortable, we’ll be back!”