Anniversary
Peachy Sweet yawned, stretched, pushed the covers back, and then slid out of bed.
Red continued snoring.
She stretched her legs, arched her back, and swished her tail, getting the worst of the night-tangles out.
Red slept on.
Today was a special day. Today was their anniversary. Five years since they’d tied the knot. Peachy looked back at the bed and her somnambulant husband. Did Red remember?
Probably not. Stallions never remembered stuff like that.
Whatever. Five years, a sapphire anniversary if you asked a unicorn; a daisy anniversary if you asked an earth pony. A . . . . She frowned. What did pegasi celebrate with?
She didn’t have any sapphires, but she did have daisies, fresh from the market. Breakfast was usually a simple affair, oatmeal and black coffee. Today she was going to put some extra effort in—but first her coat needed attention, her mane needed attention, her tail needed attention. Her tail needed lots of attention, it gathered tangles in the night like the south field gathered rocks.
Peachy happily hummed The Magic Inside as she brushed her coat. The coffee percolator was percolating, filling the house with its scent—she was already perking up, and from the bedroom she heard Red shifting around in bed.
•••
“Oatmeal and daisies?” Red sniffed at the oatmeal. “Are you trying to butter me up? Convince me that you need a new dress that Miss Rarity has for sale?”
“Nope,” Peachy said, and nuzzled his cheek. “Daisy had ‘em on sale, and it’s a nice change from just plain oatmeal.”
Red narrowed his eyes, and then turned his attention back to the oatmeal. A small frown crossed Peachy’s lips before she tucked in to her own oatmeal. A dress? She hardly ever wore them. Was that a hint? Were they going to go somewhere special for dinner?
She pushed aside the daisies as she ate—she’d never liked their taste.
•••
After Red had cleared the table, the two of them went out to the barn. Peachy helped Red strap on his harness—special day or no, the weeds weren’t going to take a day off. As much as she wished for it, the field wouldn’t cultivate itself. Every day of inattention was another day for weeds to grow, for pests to nibble on leaves, for rot to spread on stalks. Any days that the field couldn’t be worked were maintenance days—all their equipment always wanted attention, and it seemed that the more they worked, the longer the list grew.
Once he was harnessed, Red backed up to the cultivator. Peachy attached the shafts and tugs to his harness, did a quick once-over to make sure that everything was in place, and then strapped on her own panniers. The south field especially grew an abundant crop of rocks.
•••
By lunchtime, the rock pile by the border fence had grown a few hooves taller. On a day when it wasn’t raining and there was nothing else to to, or when Red could work by himself, she’d stack more rocks on the wall. Just like the crops, it grew every season, but the wall never needed to be harvested.
The two of them sat in the shade of an oak tree for their lunch break.
Some days they just grazed for food. They didn’t work the very edges of their land, but on a few rainy days in the spring, Peachy scattered seeds. Alfalfa, clover, oats, rye, all cheap, low-maintenance, and all good to snack on. It grew where it liked the soil, clumps here and there interspersed with the feral plants—some which were good in their own right. Wild raspberries grew along the fence rows, and they’d discovered that the edge of the north field was prime ground for grapevines.
Today she’d made them sandwiches. Red took a bite then lifted the top bread to examine the sandwich. “Chrysanthemum?”
“And daisy,” Peachy added. “And the bread’s made from that herb flour that the miller makes, I bought a loaf yesterday.”
“You don’t even like daisies,” Red observed.
“Sure I do.”
“To sniff, to look at, not to eat.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “You’re up to something.”
“No I’m not.”
“I heard you singing a Countess Coloratura song earlier—were you going to ask me to go to a concert?”
“I wasn’t.”
“She’s got one coming up.” He grinned as she took another bite of her sandwich and scrunched her muzzle. “You want me to eat your daisies?”
Peachy nodded and opened her sandwich so Red coud pick them off.
•••
The afternoon was a repeat of the morning. Red towed the cultivator and Peachy walked behind, using her scuffle hoe on the weeds it couldn’t get, and putting the turned-up rocks in her pannier. When it got full, she trotted off to the fenceline and dumped them in a rock pile, then returned to her place.
By the end of the day, both of them were covered in dirt and sweat. Red got hosed down first while still in his tack, then she helped him strip it off and hang it up on a peg. It wasn’t as good as properly washing the harness, but good enough.
They had a shower beside the barn, and Red had spent a few afternoons last fall arranging pipes on the barn roof into a solar water heater. She’d thought that was dumb, a waste of time and money, until the first time she’d used it. Farmponies who swore by rinsing off in cold water didn’t know what they were missing.
The path back to the house was flagstones, gravel, and mud—like so many things on the farm, the path was a work in progress. Five years sometimes felt like a long time, and sometimes felt like it had passed in the blink of an eye.
What would the next five years bring? That was a complicated question, difficult for her to imagine. The past went by in a flash, the future approached a day at a time. Tomorrow it was supposed to rain; the crops needed it. They’d gotten a head start on the weeds and tomorrow they could sleep in; tomorrow Red would be in the barn maintaining their equipment, laying a few more flagstones on the path—maybe it’d be done by their tenth anniversary.
It was supposed to clear in the afternoon. The fields would be too muddy to work, but she and Red could re-thatch the roof of the chicken coop. That was almost ready to go, they’d have chickens by next moon. Eggs to eat, eggs to sell or trade, very little effort for a big reward.
•••
What would the next five years bring? What would the evening bring? Red hauled in some split wood—their pile was getting low. If she had some time in the morning she could split some more. She wasn’t as good at it as Ginger Gold, but it was good enough to put in the stove.
Peachy danced around the kitchen, the counterspace a mess of bowls and pots and pans. A proper work in progress, just like the fancy restaurants in Manehattan. A salad to knock the edge of hunger off, and then a casserole, hot and bubbling. For dessert, a peach cobbler. Enough to fill their bellies and plenty of leftovers for later in the week.
“You’re too good to me,” Red said as he finished the last bite of peach cobbler. “And don’t think I haven’t been seeing that little glint in your eyes all day long, you’ve got something on your mind, what is it?”
CHOICE:
>Today’s our anniversary! Did you forget? (chaos)
>Oh, it’s nothing. (hero)
[CHOICE A: Chaos]
“Today’s our anniversary! Did you forget?”
A flurry of expressions crossed Red’s face in an instant. “No, of course I didn’t. I got you something special . . . some flowers and stuff.” He glanced out the window and looked back at her. “Still in town, I was gonna go right after dinner and—”
Peachy grinned. “Go on, then, I’ll be here.”
Red nuzzled her cheek and quickly trotted out the door. Peachy got up to close it, watching as he broke into a gallop halfway down their front walkway.
It was anypony’s guess what he’d be able to find last-minute. A hastily-picked bouquet of flowers, perhaps. Some treats from Sugarcube Corner if they had any left. A card from Cards, Candles, and Curios.
She snorted and turned her attention to the kitchen. Stallions were silly and stupid.
[CHOICE B: Hero]
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” Red booped her nose. “Today’s our five-year anniversary, and maybe we don’t have enough bits to go to Las Pegasus or Vanhoofer, but you deserve something nice. Close your eyes.”
Peachy closed her eyes and listened as Red walked off. Not far, he only went to his little stallion cave—which was half his and half hers and one day would be a nursery and then a foal’s bedroom.
She kept her eyes closed as he returned, as he leaned over and nibbled on her ears. “It ain’t much, but the unicorns swear by sapphires for five years, and I reckon you’ve put up with me for this long.”
He held up a hoof mirror and she gasped at her reflection. Sapphire earrings, set in fine silver filigree, a beautiful compliment to her coat.
“And since it’s gonna rain tomorrow, I figured instead of spending time on the farm, you could spend the day getting fitted for a dress to match instead,” he said. “I already talked to Miss Rarity and made you an appointment for the morning, you can—”
He never finished his sentence; Peachy wrapped him in a tight hug. “How’d you afford it?”
“Well, I admit I kind of lied to you. Those days I said I was going to the pub with the boys, I was actually working odd jobs to earn a few bits.” He grinned and nuzzled her mane. “That herb flour that made our lunchtime bread? I carried those sacks to the bakery.”