Applejack lay in her bed, hooves still stained earth-brown and dull ache throbbing through every muscle. Her mane tangled and unkempt, she breathed deeply, inhaling familiar scents of dusty and sweat-stained sheets, the tartness of apples in the evening’s meal, and crackling pine in the downstairs fireplace. Floral scents also invaded her nose, too sweet and out-of season to be anything other than a certain snow-white mare busying herself about the room with a feather duster.
Eyes closed, Applejack mumbled, her muzzle half-buried in her pillow. “Rares, y’all can save the dustin’ till tomorrow. I ain’t even had a shower yet, and I ain’t plannin’ on one tonight. Just let me get some sleep and y’all can come over in the mornin’ and we’ll clean up together.”
Rarity sniffed, a cloud of dust erupting from atop a high wardrobe as she ran the duster down its length in a magical grip. “Nonsense, my dear! I’m almost finished dusting, and after a little more tidying, we’ll have your quaint little abode positively sparkling. Well, presentable, at least.” Pausing to admire her work, she continued, “Besides, it’s something of a New Year’s Eve tradition in my family. Sweeping out the old year, cleaning to make room for the new year, and so forth. A bit passé, but charming in its own way.”
The farmer snorted and turned to face her nightstand and the wall beyond. “Call it off, sugar. It’s been a long day. Long month, if’n you want the truth. Mac bein’ gone to Appleloosa, all the trouble we had gettin’ good hired help for the Autumn harvest, and the late winter weather them featherbrained pegasus-types sprung on us, mean I ain’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.” She yawned into a hoof and licked her parched lips. “Just cause it’s New Year’s Eve don’t mean I cain’t rest a little. I earned it now, if’n I ever did. Go on home, Rare. Come by for breakfast and we’ll sweep in the new year or whatever y’all want.”
The seamstress’ nose twitched at the annoyance creeping into Applejack’s voice, and she sighed. “As you wish, love.” She crossed the few steps to the bed and leaned down to kiss an orange ear when a rough hoof stopped her inches away.
Applejack’s jaw was hard set and her eyes shot open, focusing on an empty spot on her nightstand, a rough rectangle clear of dust. “Where’s my calendar, Rarity?”
The unicorn stepped back, nonplussed by the question, confusion in her tone. “This is New Year’s eve, my dear AJ. The calendar ends tonight. I can bring you another tomorrow, it’s certainly no trouble.”
Sitting up abruptly, her forehooves on the nightstand, Applejack turned to Rarity and glared sharp holes through her. “That calendar weren’t yours to throw away. You mean to tell me you just in an’ rifled through all my stuff, and threw it out?”
“N.. No, AJ, just the calendar. I have it right here, in fact.” With a flash of magic she rummaged through a trash can, extracted the tattered calendar and shook off the dust, and levitated it softly onto the bed. “It was open to this month, and I admit, I did look through it. Only the calendar, I promise I haven’t been snooping.”
Applejack held the calendar gingerly in her hooves. “How much did you see?”
“Nothing. Really, Applejack, there wasn’t much to see.”
The farmer flipped a few pages and furrowed her brow. “Weren’t much, huh? Then you ain’t been lookin’ too close, I gather.”
Rarity stood back and raised an eyebrow. “I examined the entire calender, I’ll have you know. From ‘Greasy Gert’s Grub-N-Go,’ I believe. All I found were random marks on a smattering of peculiar dates. In fact, the calendar was empty for the past several weeks - the last marking of any kind was a checkmark of some sort immediately after Nightmare Night. It must not be particularly critical to you if you haven’t marked anything at all in eight weeks.”
The orange mare stood to her hooves, her eyes steely and her voice harsh. “Not critical? You sure, Miss Prissy?”
Taking another step backwards, Rarity stammered, “You hadn’t even marked the important dates, AJ. Not Hearth’s Warming or the Summer Sun Celebration, no harvest or Apple Buck dates, not even the opening day of market season.”
Applejack stamped a hoof against the bare floorboards, the echo ringing like a thunderclap. “An’ you didn’t see nothin’ important about that, Rarity? You didn’t see all them marks before an’ after Applebuck Season, or the ones in the summer after Mac left? Nothin’ stood out to you ‘bout them dates at all, Rare?”
“No! Nothing important, AJ, not that I saw. Now, sweetie, let’s -“
Eyes flashing and muscles tensed, Applejack hurled the calendar across the room, its weathered pages striking the unicorn full in the chest before fluttering to the floor. “Then take the darned thing and trash it! Whatever y’all want, just get out, an’ take that thing with you.” She shook her head and fell heavily back into bed, drawing the covers up to her muzzle. As she blew out the last lantern lighting the spartan room, she added, “Y’all heard me. If you ain’t figured that calendar out yet, then don’t come back ‘till you do, you hear?”
Seconds passed into minutes in the darkened room as both ponies remained still, their silence broken only by heavy breathing and tiny splashes against the bare floor.
Finally Rarity managed a whisper. “Nightmare Night. That was when we spotted Twilight and Luna heading back to the Library. And we told ourselves it would be a shame if they… outdid us. And we - “
“We didn’t make it back to my barn until after midnight,” Applejack added softly from her pillow, “which is why - “
“The mark was on the day after.” Rarity swallowed hard and continued, “That was the last time we spent the night together, wasn’t it?”
“And all them other marks? Y’all figurin’ it out now?”
“Those were all the other days - nights, mostly - we slept together. Oh, Applejack, you marked every time?”
“Rares, I remember holidays and market days and all the rest without no calendar. But when things get rough, and life don’t seen fair, I look back at every day I marked for me, for us, an’ it all seems so much easier. Them’s the days the world melts away an’ I got nothin’ to worry ‘bout except makin’ you happy. Holidays an’ such, they ain’t so big. But the days I marked - those are the important ones.”
“AJ, has it really been two months? All the way since last Nightmare Night?”
” ‘Fraid so, sugarcube. ‘Course, now that I got my calendar back, we do have a couple ‘o hours left in the year, and…” Her sentence was cut off by the press of something warm and white, something which handed her a marker and a tattered calendar.