//------------------------------// // Year Two: Honesty's Burden // Story: Sweet Apple Anthology // by Bad_Seed_72 //------------------------------// Year Two: Honesty’s Burden “Ya think Uncle Apple Strudel will like ma card, Granny?” Apple Bloom held out a hoof-made Father’s Day card to her grandmother, who was busying herself with an apple pie on the kitchen counter. The elderly mare took one glance at the gift, full of prose and exaltation of the filly’s favorite uncle, and answered sincerely, “Ah know he will, Apple Bloom. An Ah’m sure he’ll love the cobbler yer helpin’ me make, too!” Granddaughter giggled and said, “Well, o’ course he will, Granny! It’s his favorite! Lemme jus’ go put this away an’ Ah’ll come back an’ help ya some more.” At Granny Smith’s nod, Apple Bloom trotted out of the kitchen, heading towards her upstairs bedroom. In her path, standing in the middle of the corridor, Applejack tapped a forehoof to her chin, her muzzle full of worry. Her sister raised an eyebrow. “Applejack! Somethin’ wrong?” “Huh?” Finding Apple Bloom looking up at her with a quizzical expression, Applejack said, “Oh! Hey, Apple Bloom! Whatcha got there?” “A card fer Uncle Apple Strudel!” she exclaimed happily. “Granny says he’s gonna love it!” Applejack chuckled heartily. “Ah’m sure he will, Apple Bloom! Now, jus’ let me git outta yer way here, an’ Ah’ll—“ “Wait! Ya look like yer confused, big sis. Somethin’ wrong?” Apple Bloom asked once more. Applejack feigned a grin, darting her eyes around the room. “Applejack, yer bad at lyin’… you know this…” she warned, unfazed. Applejack sighed. “Have ya seen Babs anywhere, hon?” Shaking her muzzle, Apple Bloom said, “Ah haven’t seen her all day! She was gone when Ah woke up, an’ she weren’t at breakfast neither. It’s almost time fer lunch, too. Why? Ya lookin’ fer her?” “Ah’m jus’ worried ‘bout her, Apple Bloom. Father’s Day’s tomorrowa, an’ we haven’t gotten anythin’ from Manehatten yet,” she answered. Ponyville’s favorite mailmare brought nothing of interest to Sweet Apple Acres. Nearly seven months had passed since the farmhouse became home to a fifth Apple, and not one sheet of paper or scroll of parchment from Manehatten arrived. In that time, Babs seemed happy enough outside of the holidays. Mother’s Day, Babs Seed spent the majority of the day asleep. Or, so, she told her cousins. Big Mac, observant as he was, confided in Applejack that he’d heard crying coming from the fillies’ bedroom that morning. Applejack did not doubt her brother. However, Babs Seed perked up the next day, disregarding any lingering sorrow. Though she was compelled to act, Applejack did not bring up the incident to Babs, waiting for Citrus or Libra to speak the necessary words through ink and parchment. She silently chided her own delay. There were no letters. There was no more time for silence. Frown streaking across her muzzle, Apple Bloom asked, “Nothin’ at all?” “No, Apple Bloom,” Applejack confirmed. “Nothin’. Why, if that city weren’t so darned dangerous, Ah would’ve gone an’ talked ta Citrus o’ Libra maself. Ain’t right, them not writin’.” “But… Ah read in the papers that it was supposed ta be gettin’ better there. Didn’t Princess Celestia bring the Royal Guard in ta help the police-ponies?” “Don’t make no difference,” dismissed Applejack. “It’ll be long time comin’ fer Manehatten ta be a good place ta live. In fact, y’all both be outta school by then.” Applejack began to trot towards the farmhouse door. “Ah’m gonna go see if Ah can find Babs. If ya see her befo’ Ah do, lil’ sis, can ya tell her Ah’m out in the fields?” Apple Bloom nodded. Two Apples parted ways, though their minds were in sync, the absence of another prompting them to formulate wise words in anticipation of her return. Wisdom, of course, comes with age. ~ Positioned directly on the thinking spot of the Cutie Mark Crusaders clubhouse, Babs Seed was not blessed with any revelation. Nopony—not a bartender, nor a violet alicorn, nor a phantom of the past—appeared before her as she stretched out on the floorboards, burying her muzzle in her forehooves. It’s nice, sometimes, bein’ alone. Seven months marked her arrival in Ponyville. Seven months of hushed silence from her first kind of family. The second kind welcomed her with open hooves. All her days hence were, for the majority of their hours, happy. Metal Crown and Brass Fork occasionally tossed their insults at the other Crusaders, but a few pointed words from their fourth member silenced their opposition. Crown, especially, seemed to hold an unexplained grudge towards Babs. The spoiled brat referenced Orange Enterprises and its owner's exploits with an almost jealous agenda. Questions regarding the size of their mansion or bank accounts went unanswered. Babs Seed disregarded her fortune altogether, and truly didn’t care if there wouldn't be an inheritance. What the Apple Family lacked in grandiose housing, imported cuisine, and superfluous decoration, it countered in full force with love, acceptance, and compassion. If Babs Seed could add anything more within the cramped square footage of the farmhouse, it would be the three ponies she missed more than anything. Babs Seed flipped onto her back, staring at the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. She reached up with a forehoof, falling short of the electric connection. Her thoughts wandered through uncharted territory. Soon, I’ll be gettin’ taller an’ stronger. Applejack says once I turn thirteen in the summer, things will start changin’ on me… Great. Mo’ change. Change is good, right? The barren treehouse offered no response. “Dat’s what ‘Dey’ say, an’ Dey are always right,” Babs muttered to her audience of none. Brushing aside recollections of that awkward conversation with Applejack, the foal pondered, “I hope somepony puts ma name on the card Apple Bloom makes… I don’t think I can…” Her words trailed off into the distance, into the wild blue yonder outside the clubhouse windows. …I don’t think I can handle Fatha’s Day dis year. ~ Applejack combed through the orchards, miles and miles of blooming apple trees thick and prosperous through her family’s fields. Babs Seed hadn’t sprouted pegasus wings in some twist of Nature’s creation; nevertheless, she checked the branches above, just in case. No orange foals were to be found, though a certain cyan pegasus napped in a tree in the middle of the south field. “Rainbow Dash!” Applejack hollered. “Git outta dat tree!” Yawning, Dash stretched her forelimbs. “What’s the matter, AJ?" she teased. "Isn’t it a little early for harvesting-time?” Applejack countered, “Maybe, but ya shouldn’t be nappin’ out here, anyhow! Don’t ya have preparations ta make fer Pa’s Day tomorrowa?” Dismissing her with a forehoof, Rainbow Dash arched her back into the branch and replied, “Got it covered. Sent my dad a few tickets to the next Wonderbolts show. We’ll be going together in the summer, and it’s gonna be awesome!” “Glad ta hear,” Applejack said flatly. “You seen Babs Seed ‘round here at all?” Gesturing in the direction of the Cutie Mark Crusaders clubhouse at the far edge of the orchard’s boundary, Dash stated, “Yeah, I think I saw somepony headed up into there. Dunno though. The weather team did such a great job on the clouds today, and I was just laying here, looking at ‘em all, when I found… the most… interesting… shape…” Face-hoofing as Rainbow Dash devolved into a series of snores, Applejack brushed aside her irritation and set her course towards the treehouse. Across the fields she ran, every hoof-beat against the grass momentous in her anticipation, hoping the lazy flier was correct. ~ Babs ignored the rapping of hooves on the clubhouse door. Blowing away a stray strand of mane that blocked her vision, she simply groaned in response. “I’m busy.” Her request disregarded, Babs Seed remained prone on the floorboards, refusing to meet her visitor. A familiar Stetson-clad mare trotted inside and sat on her haunches beside the filly, a gentle grin on her muzzle. “Found ya, Babs.” “Hey, Applejack,” Babs said, no joy in her greeting. Applejack mused, “Ceiling’s mighty interestin’ today, huh?” “Youze could say dat.” “Mind if Ah watch it wit’ ya?” Shrugging, Babs relented, “Sure. Why not?” Applejack removed her Stetson, cradling it in her forehooves. She joined the filly in her observation of the floorboards above, searching for patterns in the wood grain. Applejack said, “This used ta be ma clubhouse when Ah was a little filly. Built it wit’ ma Pa an’ Big Mac. Ah reckon we did a good job, don’t ya think?” “Eeyup." Nudging her playfully, Applejack observed, “Yer sure takin’ ta the Apple accent well, Babs.” Mix o’ Manehatten an’ Ponyville accent. Ain’t dat jus’ great. “Thanks.” Though they laid there, watching the ceiling with eager intent, it performed no tricks, nor did it spell out the answers either of them sought. Instead, Applejack glanced at Babs and asked, “So, ya gonna tell me what’s on yer mind, o’ am Ah gonna have ta drag it out?” Mumbling, Babs answered, “Youze know what’s on ma mind. Youze know what day it is tomorrowa. Don’t make me spell it fo’ youze.” Honesty, true to her namesake, couldn’t repress a chuckle. “Heh, still got that Manehatten snap in ya, too. Well, some things never change, Babs.” Sadly, youze is right. “How ‘bout Ah tell ya a story instead? Hmm?” She mustered a smile and, turning to Applejack, said for the second time, “Why not?” Only, this time, she spoke with a smidgen of enthusiasm. ~ A freckled orange filly hopped around the farmhouse in unrefined glee. “Ah’m gonna be a big sister! Ah’m gonna have a lil’ brother o’ sister!” she exclaimed, over and over, her joy never ceasing or dissipating in her repetition. She glanced over to the cherry-red colt sitting by the fireside and added, “An’ yer gonna be a big brother again, Mac! Ain’t it jus’ great?!” “Eeyup.” Teasing him with a poke to the ribs, Applejack giggled and said, “Oh, Mac, don’t ya know how ta say anythin’ else?” The colt shook his head. “Nope.” “Applejack! Quit buggin’ yer brother!” a gruff stallion scolded. Her strong, proud father—a dark-brown stallion with a long, black mane—trotted over to his children. He ruffled his filly’s mane with a baritone laugh. “Soon, there’ll be another foal in the house, somepony ta give ya all the grief ya give Mac when ya were a youngin’!” Applejack pouted. “Aww, Pa, Ah was jus’ playin’ wit’ him! Ah don’t give Mac no grief!” Colt warming by the hearth next to her rolled his eyes. “Hey! Ah don’t! Are ya callin’ me a liar, Mac?” A fourth pony joined her loved ones in the living room. This mare defined the word “beauty,” pure gold in coat, her dusty-orange mane perfectly combed, not one strand out of place. A hardworking apple farmer alongside her best friend and true love, she glowed radiant and brilliant, and ran the household with ease, too. Perfection held no candle to her flame. “Sunshine” was her stallion’s favorite nickname for the mare, joking that the dictionary should speak of her instead of Celestia. She smiled a knowing grin, her colt and filly engaged now in a battle of short dismissals and long pleas. Turning to her stallion, she said, “They’re jus’ like me an’ ma sisters were when we were fillies. Heh. An’ Ah think it’ll be even more so when the lil’ one is born.” The mare patted her bulging abdomen, the foal within kicking her forehoof on unspoken cue. “Come here, Applejack, Big Macintosh,” their mother urged, summoning them both. Sister and brother forgot their argument and joined their mother’s side. “What is it, Ma?” Applejack asked. “Come here, baby. Feel Mama’s stomach.” One yellow hoof guided a tiny orange one, and pressed it to the source of the gentle kicks. Her emerald irises swelled with awe. “Wow! Is that the baby?” “That’s right, Applejack,” answered the mare, smile threatening to split her muzzle in two. Tears twinkling in her shining eyes—the same shade as those of her daughter’s—she whispered, “That’s yer lil’ sister o’ brother. They can’t wait ta meet ya. Come here, Mac. Come an’ see.” Macintosh trotted over, felt the stir of life below his forehoof, and broke his own habits. “Wow, Ma. How much longer until we meet our new brother?” “No, it’s gonna be a filly, Mac! Gonna be a sister!” Applejack said. “We’ll jus’ have ta see,” their father declared, dispelling a second brewing argument. He nuzzled his mare and cooed, “Yer positively glowin’ today, Sunshine.” Returning her stallion’s affection, Sunshine blushed. “Thank ya, honey. Doctor says it won’t be too much longer. Maybe a month o’ so. Ah can’t wait.” An impossibly-small hoof reaching out to hers, Applejack agreed, “Me neither.” ~ “… Wait. Dat’s... Dat’s Apple Bloom, right?” Applejack nodded. “Eeyup. That’s right, Babs. That was when Ma’ was pregnant wit’ her. Twelve… no, almost thirteen years ago. Ah remember it like it was yesterday.” Quietly, Babs remarked, “I would remember it, too.” Applejack opened her hooves to the foal, beckoning, “Come here, hon. There’s more ta tell. An’ Ah think yer gonna want somepony ta hold ya fer this part.” If she had been in any other state of mind, Babs Seed would have refused, citing autonomy for an excuse. However, in this moment, she couldn’t deny the mare’s honesty, and curled up beside her. Applejack set her Stetson down and embraced her, slowly continuing her tale. ~ Two foals and a stallion paced within the waiting room, the rhythm of their hooves against the tile hypnotic, foreboding. Hours passed by with all the haste of molasses. There was no sweetness, however, to be found in this silence. The unicorn doctor forbid Sunshine’s foals and stallion entry into the operating room. “Please, everypony, remain calm,” he had urged. “My team and I have performed hundreds of these surgeries before, all over Equestria. It’ll only be a few hours before you can see her, and welcome her and the new foal.” That had been hours ago. Applejack whimpered to her father for the umpteenth time. “Pa, can we see Ma’ now?” The stallion shook his muzzle, utilizing every fiber of his rationality to plant his hooves firmly in the waiting room. Mind raced with scenario after impossible scenario. What if the foal was stillborn? What if there were twins—conjoined twins? What if Sunshine… didn’t have the strength? Remaining strong for his foals, he soothed, “No, darlin’. Not yet. It’ll be jus’ a lil’ while longer. Ah promise.” Applejack leaned into his shoulder, wrapping both of her forehooves around him. “Promise me, Pa. Promise me everythin’ will be alright,” she begged. Anxiety found a home within her tiny, fluttering heart, each passing second threatening to send her hooves pounding on the operating room door. Big Mac joined his sister and father, and added, “Promise me, too, Pa.” He vowed through his doubt, “Ah promise ya both. Everythin’ will be alright.” ~ The doctor spoke only gibberish. “… Placenta accreta. It is a very abnormal complication, sir. You see, when the foal is developing, at times, the placenta attaches quite deeply into the uterus. At times, removal of the placenta during the procedure can result in… hemorrhage…” The two stallions were in a small office within the hospital, its walls blindingly white. He sat on his haunches on the examination table, his eyes drifting towards an assortment of instruments and medical supplies kept in jars on the doctor’s counter. He noted how beautiful they were, in their own twisted symmetry—clean, pristine, sparkling. Like his mare. Continuing, the doctor launched into another round of rambling, words he barely processed. “Sir, we did all we could… transfusions… stitches… but there was… cardiac arrest… and our magic cannot—“ Suddenly, he snapped, “What are ya sayin’, Doc?” Unicorn removed his glasses, securing them within a pocket of his white jacket. He sighed and replied, sorrow sneaking past his professionalism, “Sir, I’m afraid that your wife has passed away.” “W-w-what?” “We were able to save the foal. The filly, rather. But, your mare, she—“ “NO!” He leapt from his haunches onto all four of his hooves, hooves that bucked endless rows of apple trees, hooves that built barns and farmhouses, hooves that pulled wagons and cared for foal’s bumps and bruises and loved his Sunshine. Raising one of those powerful, iron hooves, he jabbed the doctor in the chest, demanding, “Shut yer buckin’ mouth! Yer lyin’! Yer a LIAR!” “I understand this must be very hard for you, sir. Please, understand, we did all we could—“ “TA TATARUS YA DID!” he screamed, shoving the unicorn against the wall. Outside the door to the doctor’s office, Applejack and Big Macintosh were brushed aside as two hospital security-ponies rushed past them. The uniformed stallions dragged their father out of the room a second later, the stallion flailing his limbs and screeching in a mixture of outrage and disbelief. Applejack took to her hooves. “Pa! Where ya goin’, Pa?!” she shrieked, pursuing the three stallions, two of whom locked her father’s forehooves tight in their own grasp. A glow of magic found her tail, and yanked. “Hey!” Applejack squealed in surprise. The filly looked up from the tile to find a unicorn physician—his glasses broken in his jacket pocket, a bruise erupting across his muzzle—offering her a hoof up. She accepted, and asked, “Why’d ya do that, sir?” Big Macintosh joined his sister and the doctor, saying nothing. A few years older than his sibling, he’d comprehended far more of the muffled conversation than he’d wished. His countenance fell to the cold, unrelenting floor, dreading the explanation that was sure to come. And come it did. Sitting down on his haunches, the unicorn stallion gently whispered, “Honey… I… I have some very bad news.” Applejack shoved aside the forehoof steadying her tiny shoulder. “What’s wrong, sir? Why do ya look so sad?” she asked. “Where’s my Ma’? Why did those stallions take Pa away? “Where’s ma baby sister?” ~ Applejack’s chest was matted, fur powerless in the rain of Babs Seed’s eyes. She whispered comforting words to the foal, but could not rein in her own sorrow. Though this tale had been repeated a hundred times, a thousand times within so many tormented dreams and mournful recollections, it never ceased to break her. “Why… why are youze tellin’ me dis?” Babs gasped between sobs. Applejack placed a forehoof under her chin, two sets of emerald irises meeting. She began, “Darlin’, Ah know Ah don’t show it, but ya an’ Ah both went through some tough things as foals. Terrible, awful things nopony should know.” Babs sniffed. “Does Apple Bloom… know dis story?” Applejack nodded. Calming her breathing, Babs said, her voice trembling, “So… dat was youze motha, ma aunt, huh? But… what ‘bout…” Silencing her with a forehoof, the mare replied, “Ah’ll tell ya. An’ after Ah’m done, Ah’ll finish tellin’ ya why Ah shared this story wit’ ya, alright?” Babs Seed’s unspoken affirmation spurred her to continue. ~ Granny Smith baked treats every day. Rain or shine, day and night, she created delectable down-home goodies for her son and grandfoals. Apple pies, apple tarts, apple fritters, apple cobblers, apple cakes. Most of them went to the hound, or the pigs. One month passed. Then, two. Then, three. Or was it four? Granny Smith didn’t remember. During the latter half of Sunshine’s pregnancy, she’d taken to traveling, sharing pictures and her famous apple pie with the rest of the Apple Family. Timing her journey to match with the new foal’s birth, the mare reckoned all would be well and right and perfect. Then, the telegram, the funeral, the decay. Her son—a pillar of strength, falling by nopony but himself in his recklessness and workaholic ethic—barely existed. Care of his youngest foal fell to the elderly mare, or to the newborn's siblings. Most days, the stallion laid in bed, or wandered aimlessly over their land. Granny Smith sighed and lost herself in her mindless task. As she mixed a bowl full of cake batter, Applejack strode over to her and asked, “Granny, have ya seen Pa anywhere?” “No, youngin’, Ah haven’t,” she answered. Applejack whined, “But he was s’posed ta take me inta town today. Are ya sure ya haven’t seen him anywhere?” Granny Smith repeated, “No, Ah haven’t, Applejack.” Applejack rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Ah’ll go an’ find him, then. He’s probably in him an’ Ma’s room again.” ~ “Big Mac! Have ya seen Pa?” The colt tossed a stick to Winona, watching with a faint smile as the hounded rocketed after her quarry. Turning to his sibling, he said simply, “Nope.” Applejack stomped a forehoof into the dew-kissed grass. Sun barely hung at high noon in its crisp, clean sky, and still her father—a stallion of an unyielding work ethic—couldn’t be found in the farmhouse, nor in the orchards. “Dang it! He ain’t in the house, neither. Ah’m gonna go find him,” she declared, galloping quickly towards the far fields. Through a thicket of apple trees, Applejack sought the stallion, finding nopony amongst their livelihood. She did, however, find a curious sight: somepony had left one of the barn doors wide-open, exposing their animal friends to timberwolves and other uninvited guests. Quite sure that she’d solved the mystery, Applejack trotted into the barn, calling, “Pa? Pa? Hey, there ya—“ The Stetson laid expectant on the floorboards, its owner hanging from the rafters. ~ Celestia… She could articulate no language. She could only sob. Babs Seed buried her muzzle in Applejack’s chest. Ashamed of her own insecurities and tribulations—a mere pittance in the presence of Honesty’s burden—she clung to the mare, finding no words to illustrate the depth of her sympathy, empathy, sorrow, and pain. “It’s alright, Ah’m here,” Applejack soothed, stroking the foal’s mane. “A-A-Applejack…” Babs whispered, “Dat was ma aunt an’ uncle… youze parents… why…?” Applejack quietly replied, “Ah don’t know, Babs. Nopony knows. Nopony knows why things like this happen ta ponies like ya o’ me. But they do. They do, an’ they hurt, an’ they break us. “But ya know what, hon?” Rubbing her bloodshot eyes, capillaries agonizing with her soul, Babs muttered, “What, Applejack?” Wisdom of her years finished, “We become strong in the broken places. The wounds become scars, an’ the scars never heal. Hurt never fully leaves us, darlin’. It’s somethin’ we carry ‘round, in our hearts. In our minds. But… over time, it’s not as bad. Ya see, if ya would’ve asked me when Ah was yer age ‘bout this… Ah woulda jus’ ran away. An’ Ah did, fer a while.” “Where did youze run ta?” Applejack chuckled. “Auntie Orange never told ya?” At the shake of her head, she explained, “Ah went ta Manehatten once. Ya weren’t even a foal in yer mama’s belly then. Ah went ta see what Ah could find. An’ Ah didn’t find what Ah was lookin' fer.” Makes two o’ us. Babs Seed smiled. “Heh. Guess I wasn’t the only one.” Ruffling her mane, Applejack said, “Ah’m proud o’ ya, Babs. We all are. Ya made a hard decision. An’ Ah think ya made the right one to leave home, jus’ like Ah think Ah made the right one ta come home.” “But, what ‘bout—“ “Give it time, hon. Ah know Citrus an’ Libra mean well. They couldn’t make this choice fer ya, but not because they don’t love ya. An’ Ah’m sure there’s a reason ya haven’t heard from ‘em yet.” The foal sighed, skeptical, but relented, “I guess youze is right.” Plucking her Stetson from the floor and placing it on Babs's head, her uncle’s attire too comically large, Applejack offered, “How ‘bout Ah try an’ get a hold o’ ‘em fer ya? Would that help?” “Youze would do dat fo’ me?!” “O’ course Ah would.” Applejack chuckled. “Yer family, after all, an’ on top o’ that, yer a hero, Babs.” Blushing, Babs mumbled, “I don’t know ‘bout dat.” “Ya’ll know in time. Fer now, Ah think it’s gettin’ close ta suppertime.” Still wearing her uncle’s Stetson, Babs Seed followed Applejack out of the clubhouse and towards the farmhouse, letting her thoughts wander as they pleased. "Hero," huh? No. Youze is ma hero, Applejack. Always. She remembered a train ticket, and knew that, despite the distance, there was a bridge-builder striding alongside her, hatless but not hopeless.