A Discordant Harmony
Hand-rolled cigarettes were all Applejack could afford anymore. She couldn’t stand the taste, and the sensation they provided was barely worth the effort of assembling them. But, she needed some escape, and whiskey was becoming far too expensive, and the last of the cider was sold to cover last month’s mortgage.
The farmer sat alone in a dark dining room filled with ghosts and sour memories. It was in this room that Apple Bloom nearly jumped through the ceiling after getting her college acceptance letter. The room that she came in countless times with skinned knees or a scraped face. Applejack put the hand with her makeshift smoke to her chin, thinking about the first time she had to pull ticks off of her little sister’s neck.
It was at this plain, worn oak table that the doctor diagnosed Granny with Alzheimer’s and gave her a few months to live. Applejack remembered looking into her eyes for the last time as she spooned her grandmother breakfast. It was like staring into the dirty windows of a condemned house, one that once was full of life, full of memories, but now only stood as an empty structure.
Applejack’s grip on her face tightened as she looked outside to her decaying orchard as the sun rose over it and thought the dusty window framed the image like a picture of shame. Ma and Pa left her this orchard and thought she’d be the one to take the best care of it. She had integrity, determination, and a sharp eye for financials. Under her supervision, the farm wouldn’t go under, much less in the red.
But determination can’t save you from blight. A strong back and a good work ethic can’t prevent diseases of the mind for your family. Honesty can’t stop your little sister from going off to study with her friends. And penny-pinching can’t save your older brother from having to go work on the third shift in Flim and Flam’s applesauce cannery to make ends meet.
By every metric, the same virtues that placed her as head of household failed her in keeping it above water. She was alone, her fridge was almost empty, her bank account was dipping into the negatives, and beside the ashtray in the middle of the table sat a stack of unopened bills.
Applejack drew in a long breath from her shoddy cigarette and nearly gagged at the taste, letting it out in one quick exhale before rising to get a glass of water from the sink behind her. It was connected to a well Pa had dug decades ago, making the tap free, but odd tasting. A taste that made the blonde want to gag, but one she’d silently endure, the same as any degree of adversity.
The farmer retrieved a short glass from the cupboard above the faucet, and let her hand hang on the handle when she shut it. This is how it ends, huh AJ? Sweet Apple Acres, destroyed to some nameless disease. Ma would be so proud. She squeezed her eyes shut, not allowing any tears to form.
Drawing a trembling breath in, she reached down and turned the tap, flinching as it let out a squeal in protest. Maybe the foul water was punishment, maybe she deserved this, maybe it’d only get worse and she’d deserve that too. Applejack looked up to the wall in front of her, family portraits all surrounding the property deed at a distance as if paying respect.
She shut the water off as it overflowed out of the glass, spilling droplets onto its sides. The farmer willed herself to drink a glass of water every hour or so to help dull the teeth of the gnawing hunger in her stomach. She’d been skipping meals to make the financial strain of food a little less burdensome.
Applejack parted her quivering lips and began drinking. Each mouthful felt like a gallon she had to force down. Gulp. The water only collected the taste of the cigarettes and intensified the foulness of the liquid. Gulp. She could feel the cold water stabbing into her cavities like freezing knives. Gulp.
The glass slipped out of Applejack’s hand and clattered unceremoniously in the empty sink. Her lips trembled as she clenched her fists trying to contain her tears. “This ain’t the Apple family way.” The farmer stammered, surprised at the smallness in her own once commanding voice. She placed her hands on the counter, and dug her fingers in, “So what if we got a bad harvest? Worst comes to worst, we’ll write it off and replant every damn —”
A song coming from outside the window cut her off. A hollow, out-of-tune melody that sounded like notes trying to escape from being played. Applejack stared at the windowpanes as though it were her own grave. Her hands felt like they were going to melt and freeze simultaneously.
She took cautious steps towards the front door, not bothering to put her boots on or shut the door behind her, and ventured out into the dying orchard. Dead limbs extended out at odd and desperate angles, like a corpse’s hand grasping for their final possession just out of reach. The haunting resonance came from all around, harmonizing with the howling wind. The cold burrowed into Applejack like a needle, and the sound injected panic into her bloodstream. Her breaths grew shallow and quick, and her steps became closer to shambles as she drew deeper into her skeletal orchard instinctually following an unknown path.
Applejack’s foot collided with a swollen root coming out of the ground, and the world spun. Her head hurled toward the ground as the ghastly melody almost vibrated in her head. A song of death and decay growing quieter with each chorus, and ending on the note of Applejack’s head colliding with a stone.
Pestilence
Applejack felt pain coarse through her back before she struggled to open her eyes. She felt the stinging, deep cold that sent shivers through her, which only intensified the pain before she realized where she was, or what happened while she was out.
Near the foot of her bed, off in a corner in the room, sat Big Mac in a beat-up recliner looking up at a lecturing Nurse Redheart in a faded pink jacket. The farmer blinked, her eyes sticking together and resisting the command to open. Applejack’s throat felt like she drank sandpaper, which she had come to expect from drinking tap water, and her head thumped in a dull rhythm underneath what she guessed was bandages.
The apple-print wallpaper in Applejack’s room swirled, and the oak floorboards seemed to swell in an arch and threatened to break apart before coming down to rest. It looked like the floor was breathing. Her brother, who couldn’t have been a few feet away, seemed miles apart. The bedroom was dark, even though sunlight crept in from either window in the room, one behind the blonde and one situated near her brother, both looking out to the farm.
“Where…? What… Happened?” Applejack rasped, prying the attention of the other two in the room directly onto her.
“What happened,” Nurse Redheart started, taking a single stomp in Applejack’s direction, “was you got very lucky. If your brother didn’t pull you in any sooner than he did, you’d be comatose or worse.” She sighed, releasing the frustration that no doubt was building from the second she arrived. “And luckily for you, I owe Mac a favor, and came in on my day off for this.” She lazily threw a hand in the direction of the bedridden farmer.
“You passed out and I dragged you up here, is what she’s tryin’ t’ say.” Big Mac slumped over in the chair, his back audibly cracking with fatigue from his shift at work. “Don’t know what you was doin’ out there, but you better not do it again. This time was a favor, the next time we can’t afford, y’hear?” The burly figure let out a sigh and slowly shook his head. “What were you even doin’ out there?”
“I…” Applejack stopped as her voice hitched. She didn’t wanna lie, but they’d never believe the trees sang to her. “I was just out for a walk, and then I tripped.” The birds behind the blonde beckoned unsuccessfully for the mood to improve. She threw an eye towards Redheart, who was impatiently tapping her foot with a handbag hung around her shoulder, as if waiting for permission to leave. “Thank you, nurse, I owe you one. Is there anythin’ I can do for ya so you can get goin’?”
“No, not a thing. Can I go now?” Her voice sounded hurried and annoyed.
“Now you hold on just a minute.” Mac pointed an accusing finger at his sister, and Redheart slumped and let out a loud sigh like a child would when waiting in an unmoving line. “Somethin’ ain’t addin’ up here.”
The large man sat up straight, sending another chorus of labored cracks through the room. “How come you left the door open? Do you know how much it costs to heat this damn place? We don’t even use half the rooms!”
Applejack bit the inside of her lip, a nearly invisible reflex that came when she was lying. “I didn’t think I’d be outside for that long.” She gulped, hoping he’d drop the issue.
Big Mac shook his head. “Nope, that ain’t like you. You’re stingier than I am.” He tossed a glance to Nurse Redheart. “You know what Granny Smith used to say about this one?”
“I sure love it when nurses get their days off?” The pink-haired woman rolled her eyes.
“She’d always say, ‘that Jaqueline pinches pennies into dollars when we only need dimes.’” Mac did his best impression of his grandmother, and each word tapped a nail deeper in Applejack’s heart. He let out a hearty laugh. “So,” he suddenly stopped, “I don’t believe you, AJ. If you saw some sasquatch or mothman out there, you can tell me that. I wouldn’t believe it, but I’d believe you.” He tilted his head just enough to look sympathetic.
Applejack pursed her lips into a thin line. “You want the truth? Fine!” She barely had the strength to ball her hands into fists. “I heard the trees playin’ music to me, and it sounded just plain unnatural.” The farmer’s lips wobbled, and her breath became shallow. “It just didn’t sound right, Macintosh. And I’ve been so stressed about the farm dyin’, Granny dyin’, Ma and Pa bein’ ashamed of me and Apple Bloom leavin’ and takin’ Winona with her that I wasn’t thinkin’ clearly,” She heaved in a trembling breath, “An’ I just went an’ fucked things up again.” Applejack slammed her hands to her face and let the sobs tumble out of her.
Applejack felt the mood in the room fall with her stomach, and she felt the looks the two gave her change intention altogether. She’d never been a woman who admitted defeat, and even days ago when things seemed their worst, she stuck out whatever last stand she could, even if it was sitting in an empty dining room with an empty stomach sipping whiskey. But here the two of them were, looking on as the stalwart Applejack sat crying and defeated.
“Applejack.” Big Mac said in as hushed a tone as his voice could manage. “You didn’t fuck up, ain’t one of those things you just said is your fault.” He pushed his chair closer to the foot of the bed. “You’re doing your —”
“It don’t matter!” Applejack cut him off, her voice shrill and muddied in tears. “Everythin’s falling apart jus’ the same. Apple Bloom’s off studyin’ with that scholarship she’s got, so she ain’t here. Granny’s gone, and I couldn’t do nothin’ about that. The farm’s goin’ to hell and I can’t do nothin’ about that either.”
“If I could?” Redheart stepped in, setting her purse beside Applejack’s covered feet. “I think I can help you with that.”
“What!? Excuse you?” Applejack lurched forward, only to have pain anchor her right back in place. “I tried everythin’, and nothin’ worked. Nutrient mixes, pruning, refertilizing, hell, I even dug up the roots and treated them myself and it didn’t fix a thing. If you know somethin’ I don’t about farmin’, I’m all ears.” The blonde crossed her arms, her sadness suspended by a rise of anger and the prospect of saving the farm.
“Well it’s not really about farming,” The nurse rotated her hand as she spoke. “It’s about the music you heard. It could be from a disease that was only recently discovered that’s been going around farms lately. Do you drink water from the tap?”
Applejack nodded apprehensively. “All the time, so I don’t eat as much. Can’t go blowin’ half my money on food.”
“Eeyup, see that’s Jaqueline.” Big Mac let out a note of amusement.
“Is your supply connected to well water?” Redheart leaned in, the pink-haired form overtaking Mac’s, her voice growing a touch louder.
Applejack nodded again, “That ain’t unusual for farms to have a setup like that. ‘Sides, it’s cheaper that way.”
“And I assume you use that to water your crops?” The bed creaked as the nurse’s hands pressed into it.
Applejack let a sharp breath slip through her teeth. “Would you get to the point?”
“I think you have dead bats in the well!” Redheart exclaimed, happiness inappropriately oozing from her words.
The farmer slumped down, a weak breath leaving her as the suspended sorrow suddenly dropped into her stomach like a boulder off a cliffside. “It… It can’t be that simple, right?”
Nurse Redheart nodded enthusiastically, “Sometimes it can be! You’d be surprised how often this sort of thing happens too.” She caught herself with a light giggle. “That it’s something simple, not the bats in well water, though that’s been —”
Applejack burrowed her fingers into her hair and shrieked, letting her wail thoroughly permeate through the small quarters, before trailing off in a quaking sob, her gaze scanning, yet failing to meet anything but the floor beside her. The farmer dug her knees into her thumping chest and clenched her teeth with such force she thought they might shatter.
She remembered the sickening smell of putrid flesh coming from the barn, every last animal lay dead or gasping for life. She remembered puking up blood after eating a tainted apple, and the horror that ensued about if she’d sent out a rotten shipment. The animals were laid to rest, and the shipment was safe, but the paranoia never left her, and she placed the blame harshly on her shoulders.
Applejack held up a trembling hand, carefully balling it into a fist, letting each of her fingers close into her palm, observing each of her fingers with hesitation. “It’s all my fault.” Her face putrefied into a bitter frown as she heard the sound of her weak, defeated voice.
She reared back and punched herself in the head as hard as she could. A depressing thud reverberated through the room as fist met forehead and her vision became a sea of stars that crumbled around the edges.
Instantly, nurse Redheart and Big Mac leapt to restrain the blonde, but not before she got another hit in, this time breaking the skin. Applejack thrashed in their grip as she felt blood trickle down her face like a teardrop. Her breath was a series of hollow gasps that inhaled flames and faltering exhales that gave way to glass throughout her body, quickly becoming hyperventilation.
Nurse Redheart’s voice, which before was excited at the prospect of uncovering the heart of the problem, was now authoritative and clear. “Applejack, you need to calm down. You’re having a panic attack right now, ok? You’re gonna get through it, but I need you to repeat after me, alright?” She said with practiced familiarity.
The blonde squirmed in response, feeling smaller by the second. It was impossible that it was just something in the water, that couldn’t be true. Something that simple that she never thought to check? She never checked the water when the animals started dying. She never checked the water when the apples started falling off the trees, and the leaves got dark spots. She let the farm die, along with the family name.
“In.” Her voice was distant, almost underwater. “Out.”
“In.” The room shrunk as it spun. “Out.”
“In.” Everything went black. “Out.”
Applejack awoke for the second time that day, except this time, she was alone. Muted daylight danced through the windows, waxing and waning as clouds overtook the sun and left its presence. The bed creaked as Applejack sat up, noticing with delay that she was laid down after her… episode.
Each heartbeat sent a dull throb through her head, along with a growing regret. She shook her head, which felt two miles wide and two tons heavy. She’d passed out drunk before, and hit her head on tables, stairs, toilets, and she regretted waking up to those, but nothing was quite like getting knocked out by your own punch. While the ringing in her ears and the blurriness in her vision were rough, the guilt of having just harmed herself in front of a stranger and her brother was exponentially worse.
Applejack dragged her hand to the nightstand, hoping to reach in the drawer and pull out one of her handmade cigarettes she’d prepared beforehand. It was a morning ritual to have a crummy cigarette in bed, and then start the day by making a new one to replace it for the next morning. And if there was anything she needed in this moment, it was a cigarette.
What greeted her, sitting just in front of an antique lamp, was a note written in what looked like two different handwritings, pinned down by a glass of water, and two white capsules she assumed to be painkillers. The blonde woman winced as she leaned over and slid the painkillers off the nightstand and into her waiting hand, then into her mouth in one rehearsed motion. She’s been here before because of anything from hangovers and heat stroke to everything in between.
Applejack gingerly grabbed the glass and furrowed her brow, the taste of medicine starting to sting at her tongue. Physically, this sensation of fogginess and pain wasn’t new. Emotionally, shame loomed over her like a storm cloud. Applejack ran a hand through her hair, placing it behind her ear, and greedily drank half the glass.
The farmer’s eyes shot wide and pried the glass from her lips, letting a few droplets of water fall onto her chest. In the haze of fatigue and routine, she drank the tap water. She narrowed her eyes at her hand on the other side of the clear glass. Then why…?
The note!
Applejack set the glass down with a soft thud and picked up the piece of paper, reading it with her back hunched. One half was written neatly, the ink from a pen barely marking itself, and the other was written crudely, ink pooling out from some letters.
Applejack, what you’ve just had is a panic attack. You’re not crazy, you’re not dying, everything will be ok. I’ve left you some aspirin for the pain, and though I don’t like to do so, I’ve left you a glass of water. Drink as little of it as possible, just enough to get them down. When Macintosh comes home, he’ll be bringing a case of water. Only drink that until you get your well situation fixed. I’ve also scheduled you for a doctor’s visit exactly two weeks from now at noon, I know you don’t want to see him, but it’s for your own good. You can get through this, Nurse Redheart.
Applejack stared side-eyed at the glass of water before shutting them and breathing in a deep sigh. She wished she’d read that before she drank nearly half the glass. Though it couldn’t be helped, water always tasted better coming out of sleep.
As her eyes drifted across Big Mac’s almost illegible half of the note, music started to flow in from the windows.
Jackie, some damn bum of a worker up and quit in the middle of his shift, and they called me in to pick up the rest of it. I ordered you a pizza, and it should be coming in anytime soon. I’ve already paid over the phone, and I told him to put it on the dining room table. Also told him if he touches anything I’m gonna bust him in his lip. Anyways, you’ll be alright. I’ll be home in about two hours with some water, so don’t go doin’ anythin’ reckless.
The note suddenly cut off, running out of space on the page as Mac’s writing was rather large. The savory, meaty smell of pizza floated into the room just as the discordant harmony returned full blast in the farmer’s ears. It sounded like it was being played through dying instruments, whose final breaths were being forced out, and as grating as it was to hear, Applejack didn’t want to stop listening.
The siren call of decaying music beckoned her like flies to a bug zapper. With difficulty and straining that reminded her of Granny, she got out of bed and hobbled over to the door, struggling to keep her balance as her head wanted to throw its weight in every direction.
The white door in front of her seemed to stretch infinitely upwards like a monolith, but with a heavy shake of the head, the blonde reached for the brass doorknob and turned. “We’re just gettin’ pizza, AJ, that’s it. Just grab a few slices, and back up to bed with you.”
As she approached the faded wooden stairs that led down to her meal, the song started to shift. Life seemingly breathed into every note as she neared the outside like a dying flower being revived.
As Applejack slowly descended the stairs one after another, she heard a sweet, feminine hum in her ear.
“Ma!?” Applejack said, almost whimpering.
Applejack swung her head around to find no one there, save for a picture on the wall of her graduation photo. She’d never seen Granny so proud of her, and that grin Big Mac and Apple Bloom had could’ve lit the house for a whole year. She remembered walking out from the school’s gymnasium and being besieged on all sides by hugs, and the words “They’d be so proud of you.”
Applejack sniffed as she returned her descent, landing at the base of the stairs, only to hear the music become a lively elegant orchestra, punctuated by the sweetness of her mother’s gentle cooing.
An ordinary white cardboard box emblazoned with a simple logo and grease splotches sat expectantly on the dining room table. From the base of the stairs Applejack could see it plainly, and the salty aroma was almost intoxicating. From the base of the stairs, she could see the front door, the music almost calling her towards it.
Applejack knew she shouldn’t. Her thoughts pleaded with her to just grab the whole box and drag it back upstairs and wait. Her thoughts were rational, but that voice in her ear… Maybe she could talk to it outside.
“Aw hell, I’m sorry Mac, but you’re gonna have to drag me back in here again.”
Applejack didn’t know where she was going, but her feet carried her forward towards an unknown destination nonetheless. The trees sang their sweet melody as the blonde woman looked around, seeing memories wherever she turned as she progressed down a path between the would-be orchard.
Over there by the tire swing was where Winona dug up a small wooden chest that Apple Bloom brought inside. The whole family gathered around that dining room table and watched as she opened it. Inside lay chemistry equipment that she desperately wanted, but didn’t get for her birthday. It just wasn’t in the budget. No one knew where it came from, least of all Apple Bloom. But as she took turns hugging everyone in the room, opting to thank everyone instead of no one, Granny winked at Applejack.
There, that empty can laying faded and crushed at the base of a darker tree, that was her little sister’s first venture into making soda. Apple soda, of course. She’d ordered blank cans from Filthy Rich’s shop and painted them herself. Applejack laughed heartily when she remembered waking up to the sound of explosions coming from the kitchen, finding that all the cans had exploded from overpressurization. She and Mac came down ready to fight only to find a fizzy, sticky mess everywhere.
As she kept walking, Applejack didn’t notice that her head felt better. The spinning vision slowed down, and the pain subsided, likely the work of painkillers finally kicking in.
Applejack saw in the distance a tree that made her heart drop. It was one that had such a large hole in it, that Big Mac had decided to make it his weekend mission to carve out a seat inside. It was a spot he’d made to sit with some girl he was trying to impress, and within a few weeks, their initials made their way into the trunk enclosed in a heart.
That was the spot that Applejack ran with her first and final stolen good. The treasure was a new type of candy bar that’d just come out, a chocolate bar that was half white, half milk chocolate, and the two swirled around each other.
She remembered running out of the store on that hot July day, hoping to make it to this isolated hiding place undetected before her fortune melted. Applejack would never forget that taste, a dance of sweetness across her tongue. She’d never forget the guilt that came over her, like she’d just fallen into a mud puddle.
The melted treasure was all over her hands, and before she could lick it off, Granny found her. Her heart turned to ice, setting off a chain reaction that froze everything, save for her eyes, which melted almost immediately.
Granny was furious, but determined to turn this into a lesson. Applejack was dragged by her ear down the hill, past the gathering line of customers coming for cider season, past all the shops and staring crowds of a bustling small town, right through the open door of Filthy Rich’s shop.
Applejack put a hand on her head as the memory that branded itself in her mind replayed on its own as her feet continued to march on deeper into the dying orchard. There wasn’t much orchard left, but Applejack enjoyed the serenaded stroll into memory lane, even if it was a short one.
The small girl, ear red and eyes watering, confessed her act of thievery to Filthy Rich, to Granny Smith, to everyone in the store. Applejack chuckled under her breath, her smile growing sore on her face, as she remembered cleaning the store with a mop taller than her, and having to man the register while sitting on a stack of phone books.
Applejack laughed as she remembered the ire she had for Granny, and Filthy Rich, for making a little girl do all that for something so tame and commonplace. She laughed as she remembered knocking things over while trying to stock the shelves, or smacking things over with a broom handle.
She laughed as the music suddenly stopped, and she laughed as she fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. She laughed as she realized these moments were gone, and that each and every tree she passed was leafless, lifeless, and brittle.
Her sides ached as she pressed herself into the damp grass. She laughed that it was all gone, and that more was going to be lost if she couldn’t pay the farm’s bills. She bashed her head against the soft ground, her hair slumping messily in front of her, unceasing in her laughter, knowing that she’d have to abandon these memories, and that it was her fault she had to.
And she laughed as she looked up and saw her mother and father sat leaning on one another at the base of their towering, intertwining trees. Pear Butter gently strummed her guitar in a slow serene tune, hitting sour notes occasionally like she was making it up as she went. Bright Mac silently swayed his head on Pear’s shoulder as she played, his eyes closed.
“Ma?” Applejack’s twitching mouth hung open. “Pa?”
“Howdy Applejack,” Bright Mac started without opening his eyes or ceasing his motion. “How’ve you been holdin’ up?”
“Terribly, if I’m honest,” Applejack said, a genuine note of amusement bubbling up through her cracking, sorrowful voice. “Tree’s got a blight, all the animals died, Apple Bloom went to college and claimed Winona as a service dog, Granny died, and —”
“He didn’t ask how the farm was, darlin’. He asked how you were?” Pear chimed, seemingly incapable of carrying a tone less than pleasant.
“I…” Applejack leaned back, feeling the earth press into her knees. “I been lettin’ it get t’ me. Started drinkin’, couldn’t afford that so I started smokin’, and then I couldn’t afford that so I made ‘em myself.”
Bright Mac left his resting place on his wife’s shoulder, sitting straight up and finally giving his daughter his full attention. “Now, did you kill all them animals?”
“No, they drank tainted water apparently. Same thing that got the trees” She gestured around to her empty forest.
“Did you taint that water?” He raised an eyebrow.
“No, I sure didn’t check on it though, and it was my —”
“Then it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.” Bright’s voice came in.
“But I —”
“But nothin’, listen to your father.” Pear said, adjusting the daisy in her hair. “Sometimes he’s right you know.”
“You know what they say about broken clocks.” He crossed his arms and beamed confidence.
“But what about Granny!?”
“Again, sweetheart.” The ginger mother set her guitar down on the side of the massive tree. “I hardly think you poisoned that poor old woman.” She leaned forward intently, “You didn’t, did you?”
“No! I’d never do anythin’ like that.” Applejack clenched her fists in frustration. “Why ain’t neither of y’all takin’ this seriously!? I’ve been watchin’ this get worse for years, and all you got to say is it weren’t my fault!? Like it’s just that easy!?”
“Pear Butter?”
“Yes, darlin’?”
“You remember the time wolves got in the henhouse and ate all our chickens? Took a big bite out of the rooster too.” Neither of them looked at one another, only directly ahead at their daughter.
“Sure do, I won’t never forget that awful smell. And it set us back quite a ways too.”
“Or what about the time,” He put a hand in his hair and shook his head, as if still in disbelief, “That lightnin’ struck somewhere near here,” He pointed towards the ground, “and burned almost the whole damn orchard?”
“Like it was yesterday. Shoot that set us back so far for a few years there, if anyone touched the checkbook but you, it'd catch fire.”
Applejack’s eyes released a tension she hadn’t realized they’d been carrying, and she unclenched her jaw that she hadn’t noticed she’d been grinding.
“But did either of us give up?” Bright looked to Pear.
“Not for one second.” Pear looked to Bright.
“Was any of it our fault?”
“Eenope.” She grinned.
“But,” sadness squeezed the young blonde woman, punching weight in her stomach, “The farm…”
Bright Mac reached out to Applejack. “Can come back. You just gotta fix up that well, and if you can’t do that, hook ‘er up to the city.” Applejack took his hand and stood with a slouch.
“So… I didn’t step on the family name?” Applejack couldn’t look at her parents. “What about Apple Bloom? She went off to study chemistry, and… I’m so worried about her.”
Applejack felt two sets of arms clasp around her.
Her mother peered down majestically, “Then we’re so proud of her, she’d be the first of our family to go. We’re proud of you for lettin’ her go.”
Her father carried bass and calmness in his words. “And you know what else? You’re still here, ain’tcha? Buckle up soldier, you can do this.”
It was such a simple line, yet it carried with it the weight of the entire world. By just existing, by simply staying at the farm, and spending every waking moment in concern, every penny to keep the lights on for it, she hadn’t given up on it.
Applejack hadn’t given up on herself.
The music was gone, her laughter had ceased, and as she went to return their embrace, she found nothing but the intermingled tree. Applejack placed her arms around the trunk as wide as she could manage, letting tears stream down her face. Her parents were gone too.
Applejack smiled. She’d always wanted to meet her parents, and to hear them say that they were proud of her. That everything was ok, and was going to be ok. As she felt her hands grip around the coarse bark of the tree, feeling it flake away, she tasted salt as a tear met her grin.
She’d gotten her wish.
Applejack pressed her head gently against the wood, wishing that she could stay here marinating in this moment forever. But life marched on, and so demanded that she follow in step. With one last push of her embrace, she released herself, dusting off the fragments of wood chips that clung to her jacket.
“Buckle up, soldier.” Applejack repeated, wearing a pursed and trembling smile.