Two Bites of a Cherry

Cherry Jubilee paced up and down in the carriage, and as the train chugged and rattled, she hurried past the plush velvet upholstery, through the rear door, and into the dark timber world of barrels and crates. Hastily, she prised the lid off one and checked the yellow cherries near the brim.

“Not a bruise. Thank mah stars,” she murmured, closing the lid. “Heavens to betsy, I swear I asked ‘em to take it slow.”

Sliding the door back, she noticed the Canterlot types glancing sidelong at her, and stiffened her neck as she strode back to her compartment. A slight prickling of sweat broke out under her neckerchief.

It didn’t matter that some ponies called her Dame. It didn’t even matter that she’d gained more money than most of the unicorn types who’d inherited theirs. She was still the pony who, once upon a time, could only have paid neighbours with oatmeal.

Trouble was that her mind kept fading in and out of focus. As soon as she’d returned to her seat and stretched out along the bench, she felt last night creeping up on her. But this was no ordinary delivery. This had to be perfect.

Her stomach rumbled. Some of her curls were unfurling. Even with the special lotion she’d rubbed into them, the flesh and skin around her hooves throbbed. Why oh why didn’t I do this all yesterday? It’ll take hours to set these up.

Greenery flashed by the window while the distant cottages watched. She felt her eyelids drooping.

Yet that was how it always worked, from sunrise to sunset and often beyond. Cherry-picking, cherry-sorting, cherry-baking, preparing cherry stalls, selling cherries, hawking cherries, breeding cherries, testing cherries, cherries, cherries, cherries…

With a scoff, she jerked awake, startling the two ponies who’d seated themselves opposite her. At once, she straightened up and tried discreetly to blink the tiredness out of her eyes. She hadn’t even noticed the brief nap.

The one pony was carrying a bundle. To her relief, she recognized them both, and the bundle wriggled enough to let a small head poke out and stare at her.

“Top of the mornin’, folks,” she said, beaming at them. Fighting against the heavy eyelids, her gaze fell upon the baby’s face. “My, ain’t you the purdiest li’l’ thing?”

“Thank you,” said the mother, beaming back. “Cherry Jubilee, ain’t it?”

“What’s left of her, sugar.”

Despite the weight on her soul, she joined in the mild chuckles. It was as if they were sitting around the hearth again, just like the nights so long ago, with the hot chocolate steaming from their mugs…

“I remember you,” she said. “Orange Squash and Orange Marmalade, ain’t it? Why, you were jus’ a couple of foals last time I saw yer.”

“Yep. You don’t usually come this far out,” said the father, braving a smile. “Special occasion?”

“They don’t come much more special! A grand ol’ friend o’ mine’s tyin’ the knot come sunrise tomorrow. I ain’t gonna miss it for a bag of golden apples.”

Too right I ain’t, she thought. I gave my word. I ain’t Dame Cherry Jubilee if I ain’t a mare of my word.

“How wonderful,” said the mother with a smile. “We’re heading to Canterlot for the weekend. The Princesses are leaving for a special occasion today. The whole Court has to cover the main functions of government during their absence.”

“Oh? What’s the occasion?” Cherry Jubilee relaxed, but it was the fiery relaxation of a phoenix near a fire. This is where she belonged. She could feel it in her bones, chatting like she used to do…

The father shrugged. “No one knows. It’s a surprise, or so I’ve heard.”

“Mmmm.” She licked her lips with the relish of mystery and gossip. “Now there’s a Hearth’s Warming present to open, and make no mistake. Your pa goin’ too? I recollect he were a devil for juicy li’l’ secrets.”

At this point, both mother and father bowed their heads. “I’m sorry,” said the mother. “He… passed away ten years ago.”

The fires turned on her, and she flinched from the burns. Suddenly, age rushed through her, eating at her insides and turning her feelings to ash. Not now! This ain’t the sort of thing to dwell on! There’s a weddin’ tomorrow! Her thoughts crumbled against the sheer heat of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said as graciously as she could while still wincing from the scorch marks.

They both conjured brave smiles. The father said, “It’s OK. It was a long time ago. You couldn’t have known.”

“He was a good soul, was your pa, and he told the best tall tales this side of the county. Is there anythin’ I can do?”

To her discomfort, they shook their heads, refusing to let go of the smiles. The words “ten years ago” haunted her mind. Not for the first time, she glanced at her own reflection on the glass. Despite the green blurs of the verge-side leaves, she could see her face, and thought she saw, under her pale fur, the slight stretch marks of her skin.

Nevertheless, she suppressed a sigh. Don’t y’all start. It ain’t over till it’s over, she thought, though her inner voice ended with little conviction.

Before she could open her mouth to change tracks, the train creaked and groaned with metal under strain, and she felt her seat try to throw her forwards.

Over the gentle plinking of cooling metal, the conductor yelled, “Ponyville Train Station! Neeeeeeext stop… Caaaaanterlooooot!”

At once, she rose out of her seat and nodded her head in a hasty approximation of a bow. “Mighty nice to bump into you Oranges again, but duty calls, and she’s a stickler for time-keepin’.”

“How about we meet up some time in the summer?” suggested the mother.

“Sure! Y’all know where I park myself most evenin’s. Don’t be a stranger, yer hear?”

Some minutes later, she was still reeling from the conversation that had sucker-punched her brain. In as ladylike a fashion as she could manage, she stepped off the train and onto the rickety planks of the platform. The six stallions descended, and at once she slotted back into her normal rhythms and pointed to the cargo holds.

They nodded. The door slid back. One stallion hopped up and sat down, the better to anchor his weight as barrel after barrel strained his forelegs. Soon, they were being lifted onto the platform one at a time.

“I’ll go ahead and see where we’re gonna slip this stuff,” she said. “Take it nice and slow. Don’t put your back out, Stocker. Don’t want yer grandpappy to worry ‘bout you gettin’ sick again.”

On the carriage, the stallion paused to tip his hat to her, groaning under the one-limbed hold he had on his barrel. Cherry Jubilee passed through the booth and emerged onto the threshold of Ponyville.

She was surprised to find what looked like gigantic black stingers stuck in the grass, and there were gouges on the nearby buildings, but it flitted through her mind and then vanished. There’d probably been a pretty wild bachelor’s party at some point.

No one else seemed to be about. The cottages were silent and empty. Already, the sky was turning psychedelic with the onset of sundown. Sure, they did things differently outside of Dodge, but they didn’t go to bed this early, surely? The Apple family alone would’ve stayed up until it was impossible to see.

Maybe they’re at the rehearsals, she thought with a good-natured shrug. The poor darlin’s left this hitchin’ business pretty late as it is. O’ course they’d want it to be perfect. He’d be the sort who likes to do things properly.

Even over all the decades – years, she mentally insisted – she could still see him; he'd been young, trim, and in his Canterlot fancy pants dressing. He’d sat up to the rickety old table as stiffly and properly as he could’ve done, because citizens from the high-class capital tended to carry the city with them in their heads, and in a donkey’s case it was unlikely to let go this side of a century.

Daintily, he’d sipped her offering and peered over the map she'd placed on her kitchen table. It’d been late in the evening, well after several hours of talk that had seemed hugely important at the time, and yet, here and now, she couldn’t remember a word of it.

The banjo had sat in her young hooves, strings still trembling where she’d struck. He’d nodded and grinned and then said something about trusting her heart. Or was it her gut? One or the other. It had been darn inspiring all the same.

Her mind focused on the present. Glancing about, she saw a yellow cab, but it stood abandoned in the middle of the street. No public transport at this time! In a town this big!? Why, Dodge itself‘s got a full-blown all-day taxi service, and any salt-licker who could walk a straight line could’ve sleepwalked from one end to the other in five minutes.

“Tsk,” she murmured. “Well, if that don’t beat all. If this were ol’ Dodge, the townsfolk’d never stand fer no lollygaggin’.”

However, this was merely a passing cloud across the sunlight of her inner skies. Soon, her face was shining again, and she trotted further into town. It was much greener than old Dodge. All the thatched rooftops and daisies in the grass reassured her earth pony instincts. Whenever she spotted a particularly fine flowerbed or potted plant she wanted, she dreamed up one of her own. Perhaps they could spare a gardener here…

The silence bored into her. Back home, her kind of silences were made by a lot of ponies across town working and sewing and moving here and there. Those silences were filled with life, just of a tight-lipped, frowning sort. Around her now, this silence was dead.

Cherry turned a corner. Finally! Beyond the bridge over the river, the town green stretched out and invited her to step in. Standing right in the middle was the spire of Town Hall.

For some reason, a gigantic sea serpent peered through the window. Vaguely, she could hear the echoes of squealing sobs.

Cherry’s initial shock sank down at once. She’d seen weirder things on a thousand roads in her time. Besides, this was a multi-species country. No one got far in Equestrian business by acting funny around strange folk.

Besides, when she did focus, there were six mares peering through the other window too. At least she’d found the rehearsal.

Moodily, she crossed the bridge and waited. It wouldn’t do to barge in halfway through, but grand cherries like hers shouldn’t just be left any old how. Famous pop stars demanded her produce. High-quality stuff needed catering for before it catered for others.

She stood outside the back entrance and waited, refusing to drop her smile. A speech echoed through the wooden panelling. From the sounds of it, it was a real gem of a speech. Words sparkled and sentences gleamed and the whole thing cut through the ear and caught the light of the brain with its brilliance.

“Hoo doggies,” she murmured. “Do I wish I had a more enviable view.”

Despite herself, her inner child cooed from its vantage point. Oh yes, that had been the way once. Marriage had been all about princes and princesses and moonlight and feasts and giant halls as plush as a first-class compartment. When she’d been a filly, most of her ideas about weddings had come from bedtime fairy tales.

Ha! She smirked. Those were the kingfisher days all right. Not one page in seven that weren’t filled with some doodle of my dream stallion. I thought I was gonna marry and retire to a castle before I was old enough to get a job, if I even got one.

Her hooves ached. Before her, the rooftops swam slightly.

Gritting her teeth, Cherry Jubilee shook herself down. Not at my time of life, bub.

Finally, the sounds inside died down. Cherry raised a hoof to knock, and then heard the double doors open on the other side and the chatter spill out onto the green. Words like “reception” and “food” drifted over the wind.

A frown flickered across her face. They sure are committin’ to this rehearsal, ain’t they? Around her, ponies scattered and talk flared up. Some photographer was shouting at everyone to get together again, but no one noticed.

Skewing her jaw, Cherry sidled round the building and watched. Worries about her cherries flitted through her mind, but they were slowly being swarmed by other worries.