Taking my hat off, I toss it on the counter, wiping at a smear of flour on my cheek. The pie came out pretty darn good-not Cutie Mark good, as the girls were disappointed to find, but still, it looks fantastic. The carmel drizzled across the flaky crust is a thick golden, dripping slightly off the edges of the pan. Where the girls cut out their slices, I can see the brown cinnamon coated slices of apple, and the generous layer of apple preserves lining the crust.
I take a deep breath, breathing in the deep sweet scent. It dances it’s way through me, and I can feel my hair standing on end.
I almost have to smack myself to keep from cutting myself a slice, but I swore I’d keep this dang diet going and I’m gonna, no matter how out of kilter I get to feeling.
Grumbling under my head, I glance out as the Crusaders run off into the orchards, the low sun casting their shadows long. No doubt they’re trying to get a quick meeting in before they need to head home.
Taking a deep breath, I turn back to the messy kitchen. Sighing, I walk through the hall into the living room. I’m honestly ready to sleep until next harvest, but I suppose I should take the egg back out to the barn.
It’s gone.
My bag lays empty on the floor, the living room completely empty. For a moment, I stand still, and just stare, as if the egg will reappear. Granny Smith is gone-the gears in her head have gone a bit creaky with old age-maybe she took the egg, but honestly that doesn’t make me feel much better.
Closing my eyes, I swear silently, then run for the stairs, racing up. “Granny Smith? Granny Smith! Granny, where are you!”
I race to the end of the hall, then pause, huffing to catch my breath. As I lift my head to call again, I hear a small distant voice. Pausing, I approach my bedroom. The door is open a crack, not quite enough to see through, but enough for light and sound to strain through.
“Hush now little one, you’re loved by all you know. You’ll never lose your friendships, no matter how you grow. There ain’t no cause to worry, so don’t you cry or fret. Cause we won’t let this world hurt you, they’ll all love you I bet,” croons a familiar raspy voice, hushed and soft. I push the door open slightly so I can see better. The lights are put out and the curtains drawn, dimming the room. In the corner is Apple Bloom’s old cradle-I haven’t seen it for years now. The egg is inside, cushioned carefully by pillows and the quilt from the loft. Granny Smith is adjusting the pillows carefully, smiling down at the egg as if it’s a baby filly, drifting off to sleep.
She steps away, careful that her slightly shaking knees don’t knock the cradle. She comes over to the door and pulls it open, jumping in surprise. “Tarnation!” she whispers. “Apple Jubilee-”
“Apple Jack,” I correct her, wincing at the mistaken use of mother’s name.
“Hush, you’re being too loud,” she says. “Have you decided on a name then?” she asks, hobbling out into the hall and gently closing the door behind her.
I blink in surprise, glancing at the closed door. “A... a name?”
Granny Smith shakes her head. “Of course you didn’t, this is you we’re talking about. You should start thinking about some though-for girls and boys both, you don’t know what you might get. I think Apple Pips would be cute for a girl, don’t you?”
“Uh-right,” I say, blinking as Granny starts to hobble away down the hall. She pauses at the end of the hall, glancing over her shoulder.
“Oh, and Jubilee sugar?”
“It’s Apple Jack, Granny.”
“Right, right, that’s what I said,” Granny says, waving me off. “I’d be mighty interested to learn what’s going on with that egg.”
I pause, jolting. “Huh? Oh, right! Shucks, I nearly forgot to tell you. See, I-”
“Hush,” she interrupts me, smiling her withered wrinkly smile. “Save it till Big Mac gets home so you only have to tell it once. But it better be a mighty story.”
I just stand and watch as she opens the door to her room and disappears inside, closing it softly behind her.
Shaking myself out of my distraction, I glance back at the door to my room, then trot to the stairs, halfway down remembering to be quiet. Why am I trying anyway? It’s only an egg-it can’t sleep anyway.
Returning to the kitchen, I grab my hat and shove it on, ignoring the treasonous pie, and duck outside. It’s starting to get late. I guess I’ll go let Mac know he can be done for the day.
I head out into west orchard, leaving the path to wander through the apple trees. It occurs to me maybe I should have brought a cart so I could help him bring in some of the apples he’s harvested, but I’ve gone too far for that.
Finally I notice a familiar flash of red near the ground through the trees. “Big Mac! Apple Bloom and her friends helped me make a pie for-”
I pause as I step into the clearing. He glances up at me. I can catch a faint glimpse of surprise escape from behind his mask, but his eyes give away nothing. “I didn’t know you like to read,” I say, glancing at the book.
“Eeyup,” he says, standing slowly. I step closer to see what it’s about, but he closes it, tucking it in his saddle bag quickly-almost a little too quickly.
“Alright-oh, and I have something to tell you and Granny and such,” I say, trying to focus. “I’ll meet you back at the barn I guess.”
“Eeyup,” he says again, walking over to hook himself to a cart filled with fresh picked apples. I watch him for a while, my thoughts tethered like a pacing bull. Mac’s never kept secrets-from me or anyone.
It must be nothing.