Bright Mac sighed heavily as he looked over the pile of sticks, rocks and leaves. Then he looked at the orange filly sitting beside the pile, covered in dirt, scrapes and bearing a twig in her mane.
He sighed again.
"Applejack," he said with every ounce of patience he could muster, "Now what've you learned from this?"
The filly paused, searching her thoughts carefully to separate the lessons she had learned from this debacle from the one that her father wanted her to have gotten out of it. With the innocence of an angel, she pronounced one. "Structural foundations should be secured at least two full hoof-widths deep into the ground before workin' on the roof structure?"
Bright Mac looked at his daughter.
He looked at the pile of debris that had been her attempt at a playhouse.
"That's a lesson," he hesitantly allowed.
Applejack smiled even wider, hoping to out-adorable her father's frustration.
Leaning in, Bright Mac smudged away some of the dirt on the filly's cheek with his hoof. "The lesson Ah was thinkin' more of is that six ain't old enough to do construction work."
Instantly, Applejack objected. "Ah'm seven!"
"Seven ain't old enough neither," amended her father as he fought to keep down his laughter. "But," Bright Mac added as he straightened up again, "You've got a point behind this little..." He trailed off, considering carefully how to express himself without adding inappropriate words to Applejack's young vocabulary. "Incident," he decided on.
Moving around past her, Bright Mac prodded the pile of attempted structure. "You're gettin' older, an' a growin' filly like yourself needs a little bit of privacy. At the least, somewhere you an' your friends can talk an' giggle an' do whatever it is little fillies do." He laughed quietly - doubly so once he saw Applejack's indignant pout. "So Ah figure since seven ain't old enough to build it that Ah should get my hooves involved."
Applejack's pout blossomed into a sparkling-eyed smile wide as Appleoosa.
"Gonna need more nails," Bright Mac mused to himself as he drove one of the last ones he had in. There were only two left in the bag, but they'd lasted nearly long enough - the roof was on the treehouse. Three walls stood firm, as did the ramp leading up into the branches - the last wall would be put on later. Had to be, since Bright Mac was too large to fit through the filly-sized door and take care of the interior.
Another afternoon or two would be enough to get the rest done, and then it was just some sanding and painting before his eldest daughter had herself the clubhouse that she'd been after. Maybe it hadn't been quick, but working together, they'd nearly completed the job and had a good time doing it.
A glance down to where Applejack was reminded Bright Mac of the fun they'd had over the last two weeks - selecting just the right tree to build the house in; planning out the design; cutting the boards and piece by piece setting them into place. Long, late afternoons of working together on a project. Not really work-work though - even though they both had sweat their fair share. Applejack was still sweating as she carried another can of paint out from the barn, staging it for use in the next few days. But every moment with his daughter had been precious joy for Bright Mac. And her smile - both the one she had now and the one she'd have when it was all done - made everything worth it.
"That the last of 'em?" He called down from above, leaning to get a better look at his daughter.
Applejack was cheery despite the work. "Sure is, Pa!" With a jerk of her head, she tugged a tarp over the paint to protect it from the elements. "When ya get back, we can start right up!"
Bright Mac beamed. "And we will. Ah know you want this done so you can show it off to your friends, sugarcube. Soon as your Ma and Ah get back, we'll get it done." He tapped the hammer against his chin thoughtfully. "So round trip, plus finishin' up... Ah'd say you should be 'bout ready to brag about this here treehouse by the end of next week."
The joy of the job being nearly complete invigorated Applejack - she clapped her hooves together excitedly.
And he smiled, because his daughter smiled.
The day had no right to be sunny.
It should have been raining. Dark. Somber and grey and packed with clouds heavy as lead hearts.
But it wasn't. It was sunny and bright with a light, cool breeze out of the southeast that carried with it the scent of the lake. It was a perfect day for fun and laughter in the green grass.
Applejack wanted no part of that.
The mourning clothes had been packed away - the only black dress she owned - and the relatives had gone home. Now the farmstead was only four. Not six. Never again.
The orchard gave Applejack some small solace. It smelled as it always did, at least. The hint of apple in every breath she took was something she could latch on to - something normal.
If she closed her eyes, it was almost the same again. Wood against her back as she leaned into the tree. Ripe fruit and rich loam tickling her nose. And the gentle, distant sound of somepony working.
It was the last that pulled her eyes open, and set her hooves to move again.
As she approached, the sound resolved itself - not the thud of hooves bucking trees, but a lighter sound. The regular slide and scrape, the sound - so much like the tide - of sandpaper back and forth against wood. Vision, too, resolved into the bright red of Big Mac.
That Big Mac was working in the orchard was normal. That he was halfway up a tree was not. But there he was - running a sanding block over a section of the treehouse.
For long minutes, Applejack watched her brother work. He did so with a slow, even pace, thoughtful in each action. The rough-grained sandpaper was swapped in time for progressively finer ones - each taking the rough board he was working on closer to completion.
Applejack didn't voice her question - there wasn't any need to. Big Mac answered it anyway. In his own time.
"Pa said he'd finish this treehouse for ya," the still young colt intoned solemnly. "Ah figured he wouldn't mind some help to keep the promise."
She nodded in silent response - and picked up a piece of sandpaper to help.
Author's Note
When I read Under A Tree, I realized that since the clubhouse the Crusaders would inherit had been Applejack's as a child there was only one pony who could have built it - Bright Mac. And that given who the Apples are, the story of that clubhouse was one worth telling.
