Applejack
Applejack had spent most of the night downstairs at the kitchen table working on the accounts for Sweet Apple Acres. She hated this part of the job. Granny Smith used to handle all the numbers, but with her advancing age the sheer volume of work was starting to get the better of her, so Applejack and Big Mac had agreed to take on some of the workload. Tonight, not being able to go and buck trees in the darkness but feeling obliged to get some work done, Applejack sat in the kitchen, head resting on forehoof, staring at the numbers before her and trying to make them agreeable.
She had sat staring blankly at the same line for fifteen minutes, unable to think, when a voice from across the table brought her back to reality.
“Howdy, Applejack. Been a while, I reckon.”
Applejack looked up and nearly fell off her chair. “Ma!?”
“Yes, Applejack. It's me.”
Applejack looked into her mother's eyes for a moment, trying to think. The unnatural calmness of the situation disturbed her. She climbed off her chair and took a step backwards. “Now, what in tarnation is goin' on here? Ma is... Well, she sure ain't in a position to be talkin' to me from across the table! You ain't her. What are you?”
The pony fixed her gaze on Applejack and spoke slowly. “I am your mother. And you're right, I'm dead, but that doesn't seem to be stopping me.”
Applejack shook her head. She wanted to believe this. She felt almost as though she had to. But she didn't let herself.
“Applejack,” said the pony across the table. “Look into my eyes and tell me I'm lying. Go on.” She spoke slowly, sounding out each syllable calmly.
Applejack closed her eyes and sighed. The suggestion was sound. She could spot a lie from even the most controlled and calm of ponies if she put her mind to it. She did as the other pony requested, looking her in the eye for several seconds. The other pony looked back, unflinching.
The other pony was not lying.
“Ma... What's goin' on, ma? This is...” Applejack's voice cracked as she spoke.
Her mother sighed, shoulders slumping, and then shrugged. “No clue. Some ancient magic, I reckon. I don't know the metaphysical mumbo jumbo behind it and I don't rightly care to. All I know is that I'm here now. And that I hafta go at sunrise.”
Applejack's eyes widened. “Go? But...”
Applejack's mother looked down at the table. “Yes, sugarcube. At sunrise.” There were long seconds of silence. Then she said, “You're standing there like a scarecrow with no place to go. Sit down, why don't you?”
When Applejack sat, she remembered the accounts sitting before her. She pushed them together into a neatish pile and pushed them to one side.
“I know we ain't got much time,” said her mother. “But it's better than most ponies get, so I reckon we should make use of it while we can.”
Applejack rubbed her forehoof against the table. “Ma,” she said at last, “It's just so... I don't know. I don't know what to feel.”
Her mother reached across the table and put a hoof on hers, holding it steady. “Talk to me, Applejack. Tell me about my kin. Tell me... How long has it been since the accident?”
“Ten years,” said Applejack.
Applejack's mother took a deep breath and shuddered. “...Ten years. Oh, Celestia.” She looked out the window. “So Apple Bloom is...”
“A filly now.”
“Tell me about her.” Applejack's mother gave her a pleading look. “And Macintosh. And you.”
Applejack smiled. This was something she felt comfortable with. “Bloom is a little firecracker if you ever saw one. Passionate and skilled like I ain't ever known. She's takin' a mite longer than most ponies to get her cutie mark, just like I did. Impatient, just like I was. She even got herself a little group of friends, 'Cutie Mark Crusaders,' they call 'emselves. Them three fillies are always causin' a ruckus tryin' to find their special talents. I don't mind, 'cause it just shows that filly won't ever quit once she gets in her head to do somethin'.
“Big Mac and I tried to bring her up the way you brought us up. So how I reckon it, she's the filly she is because of you. You'd be proud of her, ma.”
Applejack's mother was smiling. “ 'Cutie Mark Crusaders,' huh? I like that. And what of Macintosh?”
“Big Mac … Well, he's quieter than he used to be. But he's always been there for the family, keepin' us together steady as a rock. He ain't hardly ever let himself get riled by events, even when I've got het up. Even when jumped-up ancient varmints are threatenin' Equestria. We had a lot of those, lately. Been kinda hectic.”
Applejack's mother frowned. “You haven't been running off half cocked into the maw of danger, have you, sugarcube?”
“Yeah … I have.”
“Applejack! You were always so steadfast. Until something tickled that heroic instinct of yours. Then, boom! And you were high-tailing it in quick as an ice skating whippet, consequences be damned.” Applejack's mother tried to look severe, but tears in her eyes betrayed her nostalgia. At length she put a hoof to her head and sighed. “Tell me at least, you ain't putting yourself in any unnecessary danger, are you?”
“No! It's important. It's important to help ponies where you can. You told me that.”
“I reckon I did. Still, leaping into the fray without thinking does nopony any good.”
“I know. I ain't so thoughtless now as when I was a filly. Plus I got my friends helpin' me, and I got Celestia's blessin'.”
“Celestia, huh? Well, I figure that's okay. Just you tell her, though, if she gets you hurt, then immortal demigod or not, she'll feel my wrath. What? Don't you look so shocked, sugarcube, you know I never had much reverence for the monarchy.”
Applejack sighed. “Yeah, I remember. But … never mind. Thanks, ma, I'll try and keep safe, I promise.”
“Good girl.”
“Also, it's a diarchy now. Princess Celestia's long lost sister came back from the moon, and … Well, it's complicated.”
Applejack's mother looked as though she was about to say something dismissive, then stopped herself. “Huh. Now there's a change. Well, so long as they ain't becoming tyrants and ain't raising taxes, that's fine and dandy.”
Applejack wondered whether it would be worthwhile to mention the recently introduced Crystal Empire Aid Tax. Before she had decided, her mother spoke again.
“We're getting off track. I ain't got long; I want to know about my kin, not heads of state. Tell me, what happened after your pa and I died?”
Applejack's breath caught in her throat. “Well,” she said after a moment, “I don't remember much about it. It was hectic. A lot of stuff to sort out. Funeral arrangements, financial stuff, that sorta thing. We kept busy 'cause we had to, and 'cause it stopped our minds from goin' places they oughtn't.”
Applejack paused and looked at her hooves.
“Go on,” said her mother. “After that?”
“After that … I guess I kinda let everythin' get to me. We found a routine and didn't hafta worry so much about the farm. So I started to dwell on what happened, and then I stopped thinkin' straight. I decided I didn't wanna work on the farm any more. So I left.”
“Oh, Applejack,” her mother said, and reached across the table to put a hoof against Applejack's cheek. “I'm so sorry.”
“No, ma, please, you ain't gotta be sorry. It was a thing nopony could help. So, I left. I went to live with Auntie and Uncle Orange.”
“Hmph. I can't imagine Granny Smith was too pleased about that,” said Applejack's mother.
“No, she wasn't. She didn't stop me, though. Said as headstrong a filly as I hadta make her own mistakes. Matter of principle.”
“Yeah, that sounds like her. It was easy to not like your granny, but terribly difficult to not respect her.” Applejack's mother gave a wry smile. “And the Oranges? I'm betting they were head over hocks – sorry, uh, absolutely delighted – to have the opportunity to pull you back into the frou-frou fold.”
Applejack felt a little embarrassed by her mother's contempt. “They did nothin' slick, ma. They just had their way of life and I was the one who chose to be there. I gotta own that one, not them.”
“Don't get me wrong, Applejack. They ain't bad ponies. I love my sister, my mom and dad. And family comes first, no matter what. I still hold to that. But I ain't gonna pretend I respect the values they chose to live by, and I ain't gonna pretend I forgive them for how they treated your pa and me. Not even now.”
Applejack didn't say anything.
Her mother sighed. “But that's my issue and it's my burden to bear, not yours. You don't hafta blame them. And you don't hafta blame yourself either, 'specially given the circumstances. So no talk of owning it, y'hear?”
“Yes, ma.”
“Anyhow, we're back at the farm, and you don't sound like a pony who grew up in Manehattan, so I figure the move didn't stick?”
“Nope,” said Applejack. “Livin' in Manehattan was difficult. Didn't make anythin' easier and made a cartful of things worse. Couple'a things happened, and I realised home was where I belonged.”
“Ah,” said Applejack's mother. “And what about – ”
“Ma?”
Applejack's mother swished her tail. “Please don't interrupt me, sugarcube.”
“Sorry, ma, but this is important.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“Are you really so upset with Aunt Orange? I don't recall that ever bein' a problem when I was a filly.”
“Yes, I was. And no, you wouldn't” said Applejack's mother. “There are some things you don't worry fillies and colts with. This was one of them. When I was pregnant with Macintosh, we all figured my family's … disapproval … of your pa was pretty much useless, so we decided to never argue in front of the foals. We all agreed on one thing, after all: Family comes first.
“Granny Smith was quite happy to share her thoughts on 'em, mind, but since she and my parents were never in the same room, it didn't matter so much.”
“So all those trips to Manehattan …” said Applejack. “All that time you and aunt Orange were buttin' heads in secret?”
“Oh, no. Not all the time,” said Applejack's mother. “Sometimes we just glared at each in cold silence. Kept some variety to the visits, y'know?”
“Ma!”
Applejack's mother shrugged. “Nah, we did argue, but not all that much by the time you and Macintosh were out of diapers. Usually we agreed to disagree. And I agreed not to raise hell when they tried to teach you posh mannerisms. Which was fine, 'cause they never succeeded and gave up after a couple of years.”
“I wish you'd told me,” said Applejack. “I was a tough filly. I coulda' handled it.”
“You probably coulda',” said Applejack's mother. “But you shouldn't'a had to. Not at that age.”
“No, ma … You lied to us, Big Macintosh and me.”
“I didn't lie. I just avoided telling you some stuff. Look, sugarcube, you might be getting huffy over it now, but consider how it was then. What good would it have done? Seeing my sister and I arguing? Nothing but caused you and Macintosh grief. I didn't want you to grow up seeing rifts in your family from foalhood.”
Applejack looked away. She wasn't pleased. Her mother's reasoning was understandable, but she still felt it was wrong that she had been mislead as a filly.
“Applejack, I'm sorry if I've hurt you. But you must understand that I made that decision for your benefit, and when you were a filly it was my choice to make. You don't hafta agree with that choice, but please respect the position I was in. When you have your own foals – and you should! – you can make your own decisions.
“'Sides, we haven't got much time before we're separated forever. I'd rather not spend them arguing about what's already happened.”
There was a moment of silence where Applejack studied her hoof.
“Okay, ma,” she said at last. “I don't agree … but it's past, and I suppose it does nopony any good to fuss about it now.”
“Or, at least, you can fuss over it after tonight,” said Applejack's mother. She was looking out the window. “What I'd like, I reckon, is to go out and wander about the farm a bit. I want to see the sunrise. Let's trot up to Kallisti Hill. I always liked that spot. Went there to cry sometimes, and remind myself that living here was worth the stress.” By the time she finished the sentence she was already at the door.
“Okay,” said Applejack. “But, one thing. I reckon I missed a lot as a filly. I'll tell you more about Big Mac, Apple Bloom, and I if you tell me more about you and pa.”
“Seems fair,” said Applejack's mother, smiling. “C'mon, let's go.”
*