Property of West Wind

by OleGrayMane

Rating: teen
Tags: Big Macintosh, Applejack, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Granny Smith, Other, Original Character, Tragedy
Length: 31414

Beset by an uncertain economy and uncooperative weather, the Apples hire three drifters to help out for the season. One of them desires to become more than what he's been, and nopony's life is the same again. ⭐️ SA Featured

BESET BY AN UNCERTAIN ECONOMY and uncooperative weather, the Apples hire three drifters to help out for the season. One of them desires to become more than what he's been, and nopony's life is the same again.

The characterization of everyone—from the Apples to the homeless to the one-off strangers mentioned in passing—was excellent, equal parts real and true to the show—Burraku_Pansa

Special thanks to Rainbooms and ArgonMatrix

Reviewed by Seattle's Angels in Round 38 2nd Mar 2014

Published 2013-08-16 02:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-18 01:43:44 UTC

Departure

“Is that all he owned?” Granny Smith asked.

“Yes, Ma'am.” Meadowlark tossed the meager collection of items onto the kitchen table. “Ponies like us, we travel light.” His faint smile quickly faded.

The items weren't enough to cover the tabletop: three vests—one worn, two practically threadbare—a blue and white striped cap, a knitted winter scarf with matching cap, four books from the Ponyville library, and an olive drab travel bag.

As Meadowlark looked on, Granny went through the items of clothing, her hooves shaking perceptibly. She checked every pocket methodically, turning each inside out, looking for a photograph, an old letter, any scrap of paper with a trace of writing.

“An' ya sure he never told ya where he was from or nuthin'?”

“Somewhere in the Southeast. Maybe.” He scratched his head. “Never did mention a name. Honest, Ma'am, I've told you and the sheriff all I know. Really I have. You see, us on the road, we don't—”

“I know the song, Doc.” Granny paused and set down the worn vest she'd been examining and stared at him, her old eyes tired, but her face determined. “I just need to do my best to find an answer—for both him and myself.”

“I appreciate that, Ma'am,” he said.

She resumed her search, picking up the travel bag and dumping out its contents: a toothbrush, a broken comb, a pocket knife, a small black book, and half a dozen pencils of varying lengths.

Meadowlark's body stiffened. “If I can be forward,” he said.

“Hmm?” Granny stopped her search and looked up.

“Well, if there are any answers to be found, they'll be in that book there.” He pointed at the item sitting in front of her.

“An' why is that?” she asked curtly.

“Because that's his writing in there.”

Granny gazed at the unassuming book in silence, hesitating before reaching to pick it up. She held it lightly in her hooves as if it might break.

Her head snapped up. “Did ya read it?” she asked sternly.

“No, never. He kept tight wraps on it, and now—” He fidgeted. “Well, I, uh, I wouldn't have the heart.”

Her lips tightened as she studied his face in silence. “Thank you for your help, Doc. Ya have my condolences.”

“Thank you, Ma'am.” He glanced about uneasily. “Well,” he exclaimed louder than needed, “it's getting late. I guess it's about time for me to go get my things in order.” Meadow Lark headed towards the door.

“You thinkin' of going somewhere?”

“Begging your pardon”—he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder—“but there's not much left for me here, is there?” He turned his head and said quietly, “And I've got my promise to keep.” He stood facing the door with a blank stare.

She leaned forward and cupped her ear. “Eh?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, Ma'am, you see, I've been thinking of heading home, that is, if they'll take me.”

“I see.” She nodded. “Good luck to ya.”

Meadowlark resumed his walk towards the door, but barely managed two steps before Granny spoke again.

“Yur gonna stay for the—” She didn't finish.

He froze. “Of course. It wouldn't be right if I didn't.” He pivoted to face her, his head held high.

“Thank you for all you've done for him—for all of us.” He didn't wait for a reply and strode briskly out the door. The soft click of the latch left the old mare sitting alone in the kitchen.

Granny Smith put the black book down. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, waiting while the clock on the wall ticked away. Something told her she needed somepony's permission, but that permission would never come.

If there are any answers to be found…

She bit her lip, picked up the book, and opened it. Crudely printed on the inside of the front cover were the words Property of West Wind.

Diary, Part One

My dear friend West,

These blank pages are for you to write stories of your own.

Happy Hearth's Warming Eve!

Tick Tock

—❦—

Wednesday, 27 December

Mr. Tock gave me this book and a box of pencils and said I should write. I don't know quite what to do, but I will try. I guess I should start by thanking him for the present and for letting me stay here.

Thursday, 25 January

Again Mr. Tock asked me if I'd put anything here. I was honest and told him no. He got frustrated, but in the nice sort of way that he does. No yelling or anything.

I asked what type of things I should write because I just don't know, and he told me I need to write about things that happen. Ordinary thing. Nothing special. Well, nothing special happens around the shop at all, so I should have plenty to write about. Ha Ha.

I work and live at Mr. Tock's shop. I don't do much, just keep the place clean and do some cooking. Mostly I keep Mr. Tock company. That's hardly work at all. I don't work on clocks. Only unicorns like Mr. Tock can do that. There are too many tiny gears and springs for an earth pony to work on.

I live in this old room upstairs. Mr. Tock gives me a few bits whenever he can. It's not like a real job or anything I guess, but I have plenty of food and it's out of the cold. That's good enough for me. Plus, Mr. Tock is real good company.

Friday, 16 February

Nothing much has been happening at the shop, but that's not news at all. No customers have come in for a while. Mr. Tock say that nopony likes going out in miserable, cold weather. He told me not to worry about it. Thing will pick up when the weather gets better. I sure hope that's true, because it's pretty boring around here.

I think Mr. Tock is bored too. While I tidy up the shop, he just sits in his study drinking tea and writing letters. In the evening, he'll tell stories or read his books. He's been nice enough to let me read some of them. When I ask, he'll pull a couple from the shelf and send me off with them. The bad part is when he wants to talk about them later. It feels like I'm back at school when he starts asking questions. But reading's a good way to pass time while nothing is happening. And without those books, I think I might go stir-crazy.

Wednesday, 28 February

We're finally getting that big snow here in Fillydelphia. For the past week we've been reading in the newspaper about how it’s been moving north and burying towns. Yesterday we went shopping to stock up on food. The stores were crowded like it was Hearth's Warming Eve again. Guess everypony had the same idea. Mr. Tock and I rushed about getting everything on his list. It was a little tiring, but helping Mr. Tock feels good.

With the way the snow has been coming down today, we certainly aren't going to have any customers for a while. But I don't mind so much, because when it stops, there will be plenty of shoveling for me to do. It may be work, but at least it will be something new.

Thursday, 1 March

I woke up early this morning like a little colt. I watched the snow come down all day yesterday and wondered if it would still be going this morning. It was, and it didn't stop util right after noon. I put on my cap and scarf and went out to shovel the walk in front of the store.

The snow wasn't too heavy, but there was a lot of it. After I was done with our walk, Mr. Tock asked me to do the walks of the stores next to us. On one side is a second-hand clothing store run by a pegasus mare. She's about my age, maybe a little older, and is real nice. While I was working, she came out with a cup of hot cider for me. It was fun to talk to her for a bit, but she got cold and need to get back inside. I got back to shoveling.

The shop on the other side is one of those long, narrow hardware stores where you can find just about anything you want. The unicorn that runs it stood behind his door staring at me like I was trespassing or something. He didn't even come out and say thank you or nothing. When I asked Mr. Tock about him, he said to pay him no mind because he's always grumpy. We had a good laugh at that.

It was practically dark by the time I finished. I was tired and surely frozen. Mr. Tock made our supper tonight, and all the hard work made it taste better than it should have. I may be tired, but it was satisfying to do real work today.

Tuesday, 6 March

We finally got a customer! Late this morning the bell that hangs on the front door jingled. There was this pony standing in middle of the shop, and he said he was looking for something for his little niece's birthday. Mr. Tock said he had just the thing. He went up and brought out the little clock in the front window.

It's one of those clocks where tiny wooden ponies move around in a circle every quarter hour. That clock was special to me, because it got me here at the shop. When I was out on the street, I saw it in the shop window. I had no better place to be, so I sat down and watched it a few times.

When I heard somepony call “Hey, you” I started to move off, since what usually follows is “get moving.” Instead Mr. Tock, because that's who said it, told me to wait because he wanted to talk to me. He asked if I had a place to stay and I said no. He asked if I wanted to help out in the shop, even if he couldn't pay much of anything. A place to live before winter started, room and board, how could I not say yes?

So, thanks to that clock, I ended up at the shop with one of the nicest bosses I've ever had. But Mr. Tock's not quite a boss. More like a nice old uncle or something.

I'll miss that little clock.

Saturday, 10 March

The weather is getting better, and we get a trickle of customers now. Mr. Tock says it's this way every year. One fellow even dropped off a pocket watch for repair. Mr. Tock put on his special glasses and used his magic to pop off the back. I watched as he cleaned up the insides and got it all adjusted. It runs like new.

It was a marvel to behold. He did it all without moving his hooves. I sure wish I could do something like that. I can do a lot of things, and I have, but what Mr. Tock can do is remarkable. It must be nice to have talent like that.

Friday, 16 March

Today, Mr. Tock got another letter from his sister in Manehatten and was all excited. His nephew is going to come to live and work at the shop. As the weather gets nice, Mr. Tock figures the place might get a little busy, and he could use a little help now and then.

I don't think he needs any help. I've watched him work, and I know he's doing just fine, even if he does say he is getting slower. Things are just fine here, and I can help him if he needs it.

He says his nephew is a good watchmaker and a nice pony. He's sure I'll like him. I hope so.

Wednesday, 21 March

Mr. Tock's nephew, Main Spring, lives with us now. I guess he is okay. He doesn't say much to me, but that's probably because he and his uncle are busy catching up. The two of them did all the talking at supper tonight, while I just sat there listening.

His nephew wants to make the business grow, but I think Mr. Tock likes it just the way it is. The shop's just the right size for Mr. Tock. It doesn't need to be any bigger.

After supper the two of them went to his study to talk. I asked for a book first and then I came back here to my room. Once I laid down, I didn't feel like doing any reading. I think I'll go to bed now.

Tuesday, 27 March

Mr. Spring is getting on my nerves. Every time I say something, he cuts me off like I don't count for nothing. He's nice and polite to Mr. Tock, but he ignores me. I don't know what I've done wrong for him to act like that. I know I'm not as smart as he and Mr. Tock, but that's no reason to be rude.

Maybe he's one of those unicorns who thinks earth ponies are useless. I don't know if it's better for him to not like all earth ponies or just me in particular. I asked Mr. Tock if that's the case and he got mad. He told me I wasn't thinking right. “No decent pony thinks that way anymore,” he said, and certainly nopony in his family.

I don't know if that made me feel any better. I guess I'll take Mr. Tock's advice and give his nephew some time to come around.

Saturday, 31 March

I've been doing a lot more reading since that Mr. Spring arrived. It's not because I want to, but because Mr. Tock and his nephew spend the evenings talking in his study. I'm left out.

I brought in tea the other night and Mr. Spring got all quiet. His eyes followed every move I made. It was like having one of those shopkeepers watch you, where they expect you are going to pocket something if they turn their back for a moment.

After I put down the tray, I asked Mr. Tock for a new book. He picked out a real hard one, one written in old-fashion language. It ended up being too hard and I gave up on it.

Tonight, I went to return it. I apologized for interrupting and told Mr. Tock I just couldn't read that book. He said he had problems reading it the first time too and it made me feel better. That's the decent kind of fellow he is. He pulled out a new one that's just fine. Before I left, I said good night and made sure to smile at Mr. Spring.

That didn't help one bit, because, after I left, I could hear Mr. Spring talking in an angry voice. Now I know for sure he doesn't like me. I think he wants to throw me out, but I don't understand why. Sometimes I think I should just go in there and ask him what's his problem. Even if things went bad, at least I'd know why he hates me. But Mr. Tock told me to give him more time. Mr. Tock's a smart pony, so I'll listen to him.

Friday, 6 April

Mr. Tock and his nephew argue most every night now. There's no doubt it's about me being here. Supper time is quiet. When it's over I come up here and hide, because I know the fighting's going to start. I can hear them arguing down there right now.

I want to stick my head under my pillow like when I was little. Of course, that didn't make Ma and Pa's yelling go away. I couldn't stand it back then and I can't stand it now. Why does there always have to be so much fighting?

It was fighting that drove me from home. Must be thirty years ago. One morning I packed my things, took some food from the kitchen, and left. If only I'd known better, but I was too young and didn't.

Last night I thought maybe that's what I should do. I could wake up early, take a little food, and leave this place. But Mr. Tock is such a nice pony and things are good here. At least they were until his nephew showed up. I don't want to leave because there's nothing I've done wrong. Mr. Spring is the one that should go away, not me.

Monday, 9 April

I really screwed up today. I was sweeping in the shop and put a broom handle through the glass of a grandfather clock. Mr. Spring was right there and he saw me do it. He yelled all kinds of foul things at me. Mr. Tock sent me up here and the two of them went to his study. They've been yelling for hours now.

I can't believe I went and handed Spring a reason to get rid of me! Why do I do stupid things like this? Mr. Tock's a good pony, he knows it was an accident, but I can't trust Spring. I can hear him yelling at poor Mr. Tock.

My mind's all a mess because of this. I think I should just pack my bags and leave. The weather's pretty good now, and I can make it on the street. But then again, I think Mr. Tock will do me right. He's been good to me, and I'd feel bad about running out on him.

I'll wait until tomorrow and see what happens. If it doesn't get any better, I'll just go.

By the Fire

“He said he'd pay it back,” Tic Tock pleaded.

“With what?” Main Spring demanded. “Money that you'll give him? You hardly pay him anything anyway. Think, Uncle. That doesn't make any sense. It's… it's…” he sputtered. “It's like picking your own pocket.”

“He could do other chores or work for the neighbors.” The old unicorn sat in his chair by the fire, rubbing his hooves together while his nephew paced back and forth in the small study.

“We've talked about this before,” Spring said. “He doesn't belong here. He needs to go.”

“But he's done no harm. He's helped me all through the winter.”

“No harm?” Spring stopped pacing and thrust his hoof in the direction of the workshop. “And what do you call the broken glass?”

“It can be replaced—”

“Yes, but it's going to cost us money, and now the customer's order is delayed. They'll be angry.”

“You don't know that,” Tock shot back.

“I know I'd be angry if it was my clock.” Spring sat down in front of his uncle's chair. “Uncle, please. We've talked about this at length. This is no longer an issue for discussion. You have to get rid of him.”

“But what of him?” The old pony's lip quivered. “Where is he to go? He says he has nopony here in the city, or anywhere else for that matter. What is he to do when you throw him out into the street?”

“I'm sure he knows how to survive. His type always does.”

The muscles in Tock's jaw stiffened and his body shook.

“His type?” Tock stared back fiercely. “What type of callous bigot did my sister raise?”

“No. No I—I didn't mean—” Spring stammered. “I'm sorry—that came out wrong.” He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before releasing it. “I meant a pony like West knows how to survive in these situations. You or I, we wouldn't know the first thing to do, would we? You tell me he's been living like this for decades. If that's true, I'm sure he knows where to go.”

Tock's frown deepened. “You still haven't proved to me your heart isn't made of stone.” He repositioned himself in the chair, turning his back to his nephew and glaring into the fire.

Main Spring waited, then spoke softly. “Uncle…” The old pony paid him no heed. “Uncle, please,” he insisted.

Tock swiveled around, his face locked in a scowl.

“Uncle,” he said, “why do you think I'm here?”

“Why?” Tick Tock breathed in and out rapidly. “You're here because the family thinks I'm too worn out to run the shop! You're here to take over, to put me out to pasture. That's why you're here!”

Spring watched the old pony's chest rise and fall. He reached for his uncle's hoof, but it was snatched away. “No, Uncle Tock, that's not why I'm here.”

“Then why all this big talk?” Tock slammed his hoof into the padded arm of the chair with a thud. “Why all this talk of expanding the business? The family's not satisfied with how I run my shop? Listen”—he slid forward in the chair—“the shop makes enough bits for me to get by. That's all I need. I don't need your help. I can still do the work!”

“I know you can, Uncle.”

“Then why are you here?” he demanded, his gray muzzle quivering.

“I didn't come for any of those reasons.” Spring paused, and the old unicorn narrowed his eyes. “I came because Mother asked me to.”

Tick Tock sat motionless.

“I came because she was worried about her big brother.”

“Let her worry.” He snapped his head to the right, his glassy eyes watching the fire's dying flames.

“When she got your letters, she was so upset. At first, she was worried, well…” Spring paused and ran his hoof over his mane. “This is so hard. At first—well—she was worried your mind might be failing.”

Tock huffed in disgust.

“I told her she was wrong,” Spring continued. “I told her to look at your writing, your use of words, your wit. Those weren't letters from a failing mind. I told Mother it was the same old Uncle Tock I'd always known. I told her she'd nothing to worry about.

“But when you wrote that you'd taken in some pony off the streets, a drifter you didn't know anything about, how do you suppose she reacted? She cried for hours, Uncle. She thought it might be some con-pony trying to take advantage of you, or that maybe—”

“That maybe I'm a senile old fool?” Tock spun about and leaned forward. “You tell my sister, old or not, I've never been a fool. You try to do some good—some good for ponykind—and your damn family is ready to send you the old pony's home. My, what a fine reward.”

Spring looked down at his hooves.

“Listen here—” Tock shook his hoof at him. “If that's what you think of me, you can go back to Manehatten right now. There it is.” He pointed to the door. “Go ahead. Go home.”

“Mother thought,” Spring said, “that if you needed somepony to help out in the shop, or just to be with you, that it should be family.” He raised his head and gazed into his uncle's angry eyes. “Mother wanted me to be here for you, because she loves you, Uncle. She doesn't want you to be lonely anymore.”

Tock's eyes began to well up. He pulled his lips tight, but failed to stop his tears. When his nephew reached out for his hoof, he did not pull back.

“What of West?” he gasped. “He'll be the one that's alone. What of him?”

“I know it won't be easy.” Spring sighed. “But he's a resilient pony. You know that. I'm sure he's probably stronger than either of us. After all”—he wiped his eyes—“look at us two.”

They sat together in silence, interrupted only by a single pop from the fire. Occasionally, Spring put a bit more pressure on his uncle's hoof, gently nudging him.

After many minutes, Tock spoke. “When?”

“Waiting won't make it easier.”

For a long time, Tic Tock looked into the fireplace, watching the orange coals flicker.

“Tomorrow then,” he said.

Main Spring released his uncle's hoof and leaned back. The corner of his mouth crept up.

“I'll talk to him after breakfast,” Tock said. “I won't have him leave hungry.”

Diary, Part Two

Tuesday, 10 April

I didn't get the chance to leave on my own. Can't say I didn't expect it. After breakfast, Mr. Tock explained I was going to have to go. It was pretty awful, because you could see how upset he was. I know Spring made him do this.

Spring stood there, watching us, making sure his uncle got rid of me. Then, when I went to get my things, he followed me upstairs and watched everything I did. The bastard must have figured I was going to steal something.

When I went downstairs, I thanked Mr. Tock for keeping me on over the winter. I almost broke down myself, but I wasn't about to give Spring the satisfaction. Mr. Tock hugged me, and I felt some coins drop into my vest pocket. He'd slipped me twenty bits without Spring seeing. I won't never forget his kindness.

I hit the streets and wandered about for the rest of the day. I didn't look for work or a place stay like I should have. Instead, I just kept walking. Living with Mr. Tock had been a real good deal, but now that's all over. I suppose it took a while to sink in. Eventually, it began to get dark and I got hungry. There was only one place left to go.

Tonight I'm back to sleeping in a shelter. I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow.

Wednesday, 11 April

I spent all day walking up and down every street, looking for work. I didn't see a single help wanted sign in a window. At all and every place I bothered to ask about a job, even just sweeping up, they told me no. I had my hopes up that I'd find something fast, but that don't look like it's going to happen.

So, I'm at the shelter again. I guess I could get a cheap room to flop, but I think I need to hold on to my bits for now. The soup and the blankets may be thin at this place, but it's better than nothing, especially at this time of the year.

I don't mean to complain, because they try hard here. They don't judge you, and they'll help as much as they can, or as much as you’re willing to let them. I've got food and a decent bed, and they keep everypony pretty safe. It's a nice place, as these sorts of places go, but I do miss being at Mr. Tock's.

I'll try again tomorrow. If I find a job for just a day or two, I'd be all right. There's got to be something out there.

Saturday, 14 April

Another wasted day. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'm going to wear my hooves off walking around this stupid city looking for work. I don't dare wander too far from the shelter, otherwise I might not be able to get back here before dark. Sometimes they fill up, and I don't want to be left out on the street. I'm getting too old for that nonsense.

I need to find work. After all, I can't wear out my welcome here. It's one thing to need this place for a while, but they won't let you stay forever. I'm willing to do any work, if somepony would just give me a chance. But the situation looks worse than last fall, and I'm running out of ideas. Being honest and willing to work aren't worth a damn if there's no jobs to be had.

Today wasn't all bad. I ended up with a story I think Mr. Tock would like. This must be the kind of thing he told me to put down here.

So, I walk inside a book store because it was cold and drizzling and I needed to be out of the weather for a while. They had a big pile of books, and I found one filled with short stories like one of the ones in Mr. Tock's library. Having nothing else to do, I started in on it. I'd finished one story and was starting on another, when the pony who owned the place came over. He said what they always say: “You know this isn't a library.” Clever fellow. I had to buy something or get out.

That made me mad, not that I said anything to him. For a second, I thought about putting that book in my bag and running out with it. It'd serve him right, wouldn't it? It wasn't like he had any other customers, and I wasn't wearing out the words by reading them. But, with the way my luck's been heading, I was sure I'd get caught. The shelter's mattress may be lumpy, but it's better than the one in the jailhouse.

Then I remembered the coins. That was found money, and Mr. Tock would've been pleased to know I'd bought a book with them. So I took the book up to the mare sitting behind the register at the front counter, while that owner watched me like a hawk. The book was a whole ten bits, so I slid her one of the coins. Then she did the damnedest thing. She slid me five bits back. I was about to tell her she figured it wrong.

But she winked at me and said, “New customer discount.”

I thanked her, grabbed the change, and got out before the owner knew what she'd done.

Monday, 16 April

Finally, I got my luck back! After supper, I was sitting and reading my book, when somepony kicked my bed. At first, I thought they'd come to rob me, so I leaned over and grabbed my saddlebags. Instead of getting beat or robbed, I heard laughing. When I looked up to see what they hay was going on, I couldn't believe it.

It was good old Doc from the lumber camp! Why, I hadn't even thought of his worthless hide in at least a year, and there he was in the flesh. I told him I was never so happy to be laughed at in my life.

Doc and this other pony called Shorty sat down. We talked a bit about how things were going, which weren't good. None of us have seen a single chance for work. Doc got all sly looking and told me he had a plan. He's pretty smart, so when he said that, I got excited.

With the weather getting good, he and Shorty were fixing to head south. He knew of farms that hire ponies for the whole summer, sometimes all the way through fall. The work wouldn't be easy, but he promised it wouldn't be too hard. It certainly couldn't be harder than hauling lumber.

The pair of them planned to buy food for a day or two, hop a southbound, and start hunting for jobs. Finally, he said what I was dying to hear. He said I could come along if I wanted. Normally, I don't travel with nopony unless I know them. Doc was okay, but I don't know Shorty. But if Doc thinks he's okay, that's good enough for me.

It didn't take but a second for me to tell him real loud, “Heck yeah, I'll go.” Doc laughed at me a second time.

While Doc and Shorty find us a train tomorrow, I'll buy myself a little food for the trip. We'll meet down by the yards late in the day. I can't wait to leave this city behind me.

At the Shelter

Shorty hurled his saddlebags onto the cot. They slid off the far side and struck Doc's flank.

“Hey, watch it!” Doc turned around and looked at him. He picked up the bags and tossed them on Shorty's cot. “What's the matter with you?”

“Nothin',” Shorty replied as he flopped onto the bed. He kicked the bags down to the far end and laid back with his hooves tucked behind his head, his blank stare fixed on the gray ceiling.

“Don't lie to me,” Doc snapped, “it ain't healthy.” He sat on the edge of his cot and watched Shorty through narrow eyes. “And you're no good at it.”

Shorty kept looking at the ceiling, ignoring him, then scowled and gave the bags an unnecessary kick.

“All right. Tell me what's botherin' you.”

“Oh, nothing much.” Shorty snapped his head towards Doc. “Just you inviting other ponies to travel with us, that's all.” He directed his glare back to the ceiling.

Doc inhaled deeply before blowing the air noisily through his lips. He leaned forward and spoke softly next to Shorty's ear. “What's wrong with asking West to go with us, eh? He's got enough bits to feed himself. It's not like he's dead weight.”

“For a start, you should've asked me.”

“Well, if that's all.” Doc leaned back and slapped his thigh with his hoof. “Please, Mr. Short Line, can my friend West come with us, please?”

Shorty fought to hide a grin. He rolled on his side and found Doc's face beaming with a toothy smile. Once the smile faded away, he asked, “And what if I say no?”

“And why would you say no? Just because you like being a contrarian?”

Shorty raised an eyebrow. “A what?”

“Just because you enjoy being difficult all the damn time.”

“No,” he replied. “Because we don't need nopony to get in our way. You and me, we got this thing all planned out, right? We get us some good jobs, save up a bunch of bits, and have a hell of a winter down south where it ain't cold at all. I figure getting jobs for two ain't bad, but three is a lot harder. Can't we just ditch him and go ahead with the plan?”

Doc rolled his eyes. “I can't see how you figure he's going to get in our way. Yes, getting jobs for three may be a tad more difficult, but some of those farms down there are huge”—he spread out his forelegs for dramatic effect—“absolutely huge.”

“Why,” he added, “they must need to hire a dozen or more laborers, and if we get down there early enough, we won't have any problems finding jobs. And what's our alternative? Kicking around this moldy old city looking for a crummy factory job? I don't know about you, but I don't want to spend all summer inside a dark, dusty warehouse, sweeping floors.”

“No, I don't neither.” Shorty raised himself up and sat on the edge of the cot. “But why do we have to bring him?” he whispered. “Ain't he too old? And he don't talk too sharp either. He's a loser, Doc. He ain't like us at all. He ain't got that—what did you call it?”

“The fire.”

“Yeah, he ain't got no fire. I tell ya, all he's gonna do is get in our way.”

“Now, Shorty,” Doc sighed. “First, West ain't as old as you think. I've seen him put in hard labor and in places tougher than any farm or factory, let me tell you. Sure, West ain't like us, but that's his right. You and me, we live our lives the way we want to, and he's got the right to do the same. That's rule number one of the road. Ain't it?”

“Yeah, but he's a—”

“He may not be the president of Canterlot University, but if you plan on living on the road, and getting as old as he is, he might be able to teach you a thing or two.”

“Bah!”

“See, right there!” Doc poked him in the chest. “That's the kind of thing you need to learn. The code says you need to respect others and be a gentlecolt to folks at all times. West's been living on his own almost as long as I've been alive, and he knows the value of livin' by the code. That's the type of thing you need to learn from him, because, by gum, I sure don't seem to be able to teach it to you.”

Shorty snorted. “The only part of the code that makes sense is living my life the way I want to.” He tapped his chest. “I just wanna do what makes me happy, see? The rest of your code is just nonsense that holds me back.” He waved his hoof derisively. “You can haul off all the rest of that code rubbish as far as I care.”

Doc rested his head on his hoof and closed his eyes. “Didn't you learn nothing from that little 'incident' last fall?”

Shorty sat bolt upright. “That bastard deserved it! Where the hell did he get off callin' me a dirty bum to my face?”

Doc sighed and reached out to touch the younger pony's shoulder. “It may be that he deserved a beating, but you need to think of the consequences—to yourself and others.”

“Now, listen,” Doc continued. “I'm not going to try to be your father—”

Shorty shoved the hoof from his shoulder and turned towards the wall.

“It's more like I want to be you brother or your uncle. Or something. I can show you how things work, and if you follow the code, you'll stay out of trouble and can live the way you want to.”

Shorty folded his forelegs across his chest.

“When you fight the town folk, even if you're right, you mess it up for the next feller coming through. It's an important part of the code. Otherwise, we'd never know what's waiting for us in the next town. It could be a decent job, a hot meal from some kind mare, or a beating. Or worse. Because you messed it up for the next feller, well, that's why they put you in front of the court.”

The defiance in Shorty's body shrank. He sat quietly on the edge of the cot with a blank face towards the wall.

Doc spoke deliberately, giving time for his words to sink in. “While the court might not be the law proper, they're our law, and their judgement tends to be swifter and harsher than anything you'll find in town.”

“I know,” Shorty mumbled, looking down at the bags at the end of his cot.

“You best not forget”—Doc reached out to touch his shoulder again—“if I hadn't shown up to testify when I did, you might've ended up in some ditch as crawdad food. Normally, I'm not the type to deprive a creature of a decent meal, but I sure didn't want to see you end up as some crustacean’s supper.”

Doc tilted his head and peered into Shorty's face, trying to gauge what to say next. He found a sliver of a grin, just as he'd hoped.

“We need to help each other out. All of us.” Doc implored. “It ain't no option. We need to do it to survive. I helped you out back then, and right now, I think our friend West could use a little help too. He's one of us, so it's our duty to help him out, because one day, it will be our turn to be askin' for help. Only by all of us working together, helping each other out the best we can, are we able to live the way we want to.

“And that's what we all want.” Doc shook him a bit. “Ain't that right?”

Shorty nodded and Doc grinned.

“Good. Now, I'll ask you again,” Doc said with a gleam in his eyes. “Mr. Short Line, is it okay if my friend West comes with us? Pretty please?”

Shorty chuckled. “All right, Doc. He can come.”

“That's more like it, my boy.” He gave Shorty's jaw a playful shove. “I'm glad we got that settled.”

“Sorry, Doc.”

“Never mind, never mind.” He leaned back and stretched. “All this yakking has tuckered me out.” Doc fluffed the thin pillow before placing it at the top of his cot and laying down. “You get some rest too, because we need to go down to the yard pretty early and find us a rattler to hop.”

Diary, Part Three

Wednesday, 18 April

I'm so happy I'm finally out of that damn city. Tonight Doc and Shorty figured out this freight was deadheading south. We hopped it when there was still enough light to see, but dark enough so we weren't seen at all. Now the three of us are sitting in this here boxcar, moving down the line. With nothing to do but wait, we all got to talking. Well, mostly Shorty and Doc talking. Dang, but they sure do love to talk. I think Shorty likes it even more than Doc does.

Shorty's full name is Short Line, and he's a young pony that's only been on the road a couple of years. His Ma died young, so he grew up on the trains with his Pa. Doc calls him a 'caboose kid' because of that, but I don't think Shorty likes it when he does. Shorty's Pa worked the railroad his whole life and expected his son to do the same. That line of work was too hard for Shorty, so two years ago he rode the train to Filly and walked away from it all.

Doc likes to mess with him a bit. The two of them get to talking about something and you can see that look in Doc's eye. He'll figure out a way to twist Shorty's thinking around if he can. Doc don't mean nothing by it. I think he does it to keep sharp. And maybe have a bit of fun.

I need to write something about Doc. Five winters ago we met at a lumber camp up north, where the work was real hard, but the money made it worth it. Doc's just one of these really nice ponies to be around, and I like him a lot. He makes you feel good all the time, with his jokes and encouragement and such. Jokes are always good, especially when the work is hard.

So here is one of his jokes. First, you got to know Doc's just his nickname and his real name is Meadowlark. He said his Ma wanted him to sing like a beautiful bird, but instead he sings like a toad. See, funny ain't it? He can't remember how he came to be called Doc, as he doesn't know a damn thing about medicine. I know he's had more schooling that most of us, but I'm pretty sure he's not a university type doctor neither. From the way he talks, he might have been married once, but he never comes out and says anything. I don't know if he just walked off on her or if he got a proper divorce.

Both of them are asleep now, and according to Doc's watch, I've got at least another hour before it's Shorty's turn to be lookout. We should be in Ponyville right before sun up if the engineer keeps up this pace. We'll hop off before we get to town so nopony sees us, and then head off and see if we can get us some jobs. It's going to be a busy day, so I hope I can settle down and get rested.

Thursday, 19 April

Hot damn I got lucky today. I guess we all did, but I feel the luckiest of all.

Our first luck was that the engineer made good time. The train started to slow down just as the sun came up, so it wasn't too hard to see when we jumped. We hopped off without any bumps or bruises. Jumping from a moving freight worries me. I've heard too many stories of fellers greasing the tracks by messing around freights in the dark.

We made ourselves as presentable as you can after spending a night in a boxcar. Then we needed to figure where we were headed. Doc got wind of this big orchard near Ponyville, but didn't know exactly where it was. Luck was with us again, as we bumped into somepony who was out early. He told us exactly how to get to the orchard outside of town, and since farm folk get going early, we didn't waste any time getting moving. We hustled there as fast as we could.

When we got to the big gate, Doc made me and Shorty sit down and wait. He figured we didn't want to make it look like we trying to take over the place. That seemed like a reasonable thing to me. Doc started out for the house, planning on introduced himself and wasn’t a second too soon.

The third bit of luck that morning was getting there at the right time. We'd arrived just as they'd finished breakfast and had come outside, getting ready to head out to work. Doc ended up talking to the whole family of them out on the porch. Then it seemed our luck had run out.

I think me and Shorty were both nervous when Doc trotted back shaking his head. He had good and bad news for us. They were looking for ponies to help out alright, but they were only looking for two. When he said that, I knew I was doomed right there. But, and this just shows you how decent he is, Doc reckoned that if somepony got sent walking, the other two should give him some bits to help out. Shorty had some harsh words about it, but ended up agreeing anyway. All three of us trotted up to the house to get checked out by the family.

This big red pony with a collar stepped off the porch to look us over. I figured Doc was in, because he was the one making the deal. It had to be between me and Shorty. The big feller looked all three of us up and down. Now, Shorty has to be half my age, so I knew what must be going on in that big pony's head. And he must have known I was thinking it too, because the only one he put questions to was me.

He asked if I could buck a tree. I told him that, honestly, I'd never tried. That damn Shorty went and laughed at me. But the big pony gave him a stare and Shorty shut up real fast. Then he asked if I could pull a loaded wagon, and I was happy to tell him I could.

Doc didn't waste a minute and vouched for me, saying how he'd worked with me and seen me pull wagons filled with timbers back at the logging camp. Of course, Doc conveniently forgot to mention that was five years ago!

After asking me those questions, the big pony turned around and hopped onto the porch. The family had a meeting. It didn't look like things were going too good. But I was surprised, because it looked like the big feller was losing the argument. There weren't no yelling or nothing, but he ended up walking off looking mighty unhappy. The old mare waved Doc back to the porch for a talk, because, you see, she had a new proposal.

He came back and explained they would take all three of us, but for five less bits a week each. I could have jumped for joy, but Shorty wasn't pleased at all. He came right out and said that one of us would be picking the pocket of the other two, and there was no doubt who he felt that was by the way he looked at me. Doc got him calmed down some and explained that some bits for all was better than none for one. Finally, Doc asked him how certain he was that he wasn't the one who'd be sent packing. Was he so certain he'd be willing to bet a seasons wages on it? I felt like laughing when he said that, but didn't, because Shorty seemed mad enough at me all ready.

Doc went back and we made the deal.

We had a decent supper tonight and now all three of us are back in the bunkhouse. Work starts tomorrow.

In the Yard

“Just so we're all clear, here's the contract.” Granny Smith sat on the porch, her narrowed eyes scanning the three ponies standing before her.

“Thirty-five bits a week each. Thirty paid direct, five held in escrow for cash-out at season's end. Six days labor, Sundays off. Three square every day of the week. And now the rules. On this here farm, we don't tolerate no laziness, cussin', drunkenness, or fightin'. Yur here to do an honest day's work, and if ya do, we'll have no problems gittin' along.”

“Sounds copacetic,” Meadowlark said with a broad smile. “We won't let you down, Miss Smith.”

“Ya best not,” Granny huffed. “And plain ole Granny will do fine, ya understand?”

All three nodded their heads.

“Now, Applejack here”—she tilted her head towards the mare seated next to her—“will show you to the bunkhouse. Drop off your things, then y'all come back for cleaning supplies, as your very first job will be to clean the place up. And seein' as it ain't been used in a while, it might take you some time. The bunkhouse ain't fancy, but it's your home while your here, and once it's clean, I expect it to stay that way. Understood?”

A dull chorus of “Yes Ma'am”s answered her.

“Good. When that's finished, your next job will be to git yourselves cleaned-up, 'cause—” She paused and looked at them with some bemusement. “Honestly, you boys are looking a might bit shabby.”

“Last night's accommodations,” Meadowlark said, “were, well, let's say they were less than ideal.”

Granny grinned. “I don't wanna know, but I expect the bunkhouse will be much more comfortable than wherever you've been. After lunch, we'll git you signed into the ledger all proper like, then McIntosh and Applejack will show you the layout of the farm. Real work starts tomorrow. Breakfast's at five-thirty. Don't be late unless you like being hungry.”

Meadowlark raised his hoof. “About that, Ma'am—”

Granny examined their fatigued faces. “I'll rustle sumptin' up,” she said softly.

“Thank you, Miss—” he caught himself and smiled, “—Granny.”

She nodded. “All right, off ya go.” Granny dismissed them with a wave of her hoof.

“C'mon fellers.” Applejack popped up and began to lead them away. “Let's get ya settled in, then we'll get ya some of our famous eats.”

As Applejack trotted the new hires down the path, Granny stood and prepared to head back to the kitchen. She chuckled to herself: Two breakfasts in one day.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Mac wandering aimlessly in the yard, his head hanging low as he poked at a rock lodged in the ground. She stopped to watch.

He pried the rock loose and sent it skittering with a swift kick. He wandered off, hunting for another.

Granny sat down and let out an exasperated sigh. “McIntosh,” she called.

Unconsciously, his ear flicked towards her, but he ignored her and resumed his search.

“Big Mac,” she called louder. “Come talk to me—please.”

He froze mid-kick as his eyes turned towards her. He let the rock be and shuffled back to the house, his head still down. McIntosh sat down in front of her, staring at his hooves.

Granny waited for him to say something, anything, but he remained speechless. In time, she gave up and asked, “Ya gonna mope 'cause I overruled ya?”

He pursed his lips and briskly shook his head.

“What is it then?”

“How ya know they ain't criminals, Granny?”

“I don't,” she said and he raised his head and shot her a puzzled look. “But they don't act like the criminal type, do they? Otherwise, they would've waited util you and AJ were working in the orchards and robbed the place blind.”

He grunted. “How ya know they're gonna work hard?”

“Mac, I don't know that neither, but sometimes ya gotta have faith. I have faith they're good, honest ponies, willin' to work, and I'll keep that faith util they prove otherwise. Providence brought them to us, and for that I'm glad. I'll give 'em a chance, and, if they don't work out, I promise ya I'll send 'em packing.”

“But—” he paused for a second. “We agreed on hirin' two, not three.”

“So this morning, fortune puts three of 'em on our doorstep. Which one of them ya want to send off, eh?”

“Well—” he pawed at the ground “—the older feller don't look like he could—”

“Oh, I see now.” Granny closed an eye and cocked her head. “Ya don't like old ponies no more do ya? Well, I recon that feller's just a few years younger than yur Pa would—” She caught herself. “I'm sorry.”

She lowered her voice. “Mac, this ain't like you. Be truthful. What's troublin' ya. I promise I'll hear ya out.”

McIntosh thrust out his jaw. “I say we don't need nopony helpin' us out.” He raised his voice. “They ain't family, Granny.”

She sighed. “I thought we had this all straightened out. That storm's left us with way more work than normal. You see'd the damage. You know what it's gonna take to fix it. No relatives can help 'cause they're in as bad straits as us. What else can we do?”

“It's an Apple farm. Apples should work it.”

“It ain't no sin to ask for help, Mac. You know that.”

Their eyes locked, but he glanced away. “Apple Bloom can help when she's outta school,” he mumbled.

“She will,” Granny said. “Don't you think for a minute I'm gonna let that little filly off the hook. But that ain't gonna be enough, Mac, you know that. Bloom's a hard little worker, but she ain't half as strong as you or AJ.”

Unwilling to face her, he gazed into the distant trees.

“Mac—look at me,” she insisted. “Please.” He turned.

“I know this farm means a lot to you—it means a lot to all of us. It's been a family farm, and we're all proud of that, but I ain't gonna let my pride, nor anypony's pride, get in the way of makin' this farm work. Not now, not never. You're too young to remember when we done this before. But we did and it's what we gotta to do now. I need ya to come to terms with that.”

He nodded silently.

“Thank you. Don't ya fret none, 'cause there'll be no shortage of work for any of y'all. We're gonna need everypony to work together this season, more than we've needed it in a long, long time. Tomorrow, you and AJ are gonna teach these ponies how to do a full day's worth of work—the Apple way. Ya get 'em taught proper and we'll set them up as their own crew. Then you and AJ can concentrate on gettin' our apple trees back in shape. That's why the others are here, 'cause I need you and AJ to do the work that I trust to family. Do ya understand, Mac?”

“Eeyup.”

She smiled. “Good, I knew it.” She rose and stretched her back legs one at a time. “I'm relyin' on ya, Mac, 'cause we're gonna need a good crop this year. After all, I've got three more ponies to feed—and pay.”

Diary, Part Four

Friday, 27 April

It's been rough this first week. I've forgotten what hard work was, but I'm relearning it awfully fast. This isn't the hardest work I've done, or the longest hours, but the combination sure is taking some getting used to. The first thing taking getting used to is waking up early. We took our time starting the day back at Mr. Tock's, but not here.

These Apple folks are hard workers, and they expect you to do likewise. Some bosses laze around and nag you, but the Apples are out there working twice as hard as you. Makes me feel bad if I can't keep up.

And no pony can keep up with Mr. Mac, because he's one of the strongest ponies I've ever seen. He could've taken the place of two ponies, maybe three, at the lumber camp. One thing you learn right away about him is he don't waste time nor words. Not that Miss AJ's does either, she's a hard worker too, but she talks a lot more. Sort of like Doc.

We're working with them until we get the hang of what we're supposed to do. Then we'll be our own crew. According to Miss AJ, that'll happen in a week.

Right now, we're all doing cleanup work. Miss AJ and I haul carts, while the others take down dead branches. They load the carts, we haul it all off to at the edge of the woods, dump them, and do it all over again. I have to hustle to keep up with Miss AJ, but if I fall behind, she always says something encouraging. No nagging or yelling like those factory bosses, just stuff that makes you laugh and try harder. She's right good to work with.

Now that we've been here for a while, I've started to realize the size of this place. It's at least five times bigger than the farm I grew up on. The last few years I've been kicking around cities so much that I'd forgotten the country can be a beautiful place. At this time of the year it's like a dream with all those trees covered with white and pink blossoms. Even at night that sweet smell is everywhere. You know, I don't miss the smell of Fillydelphia one bit.

Time to stop writing now. It's getting late and I need my rest. The sun keeps coming up earlier every morning, and there's never a shortage of work.

Tuesday, 1 May

Today I learned things aren't perfect here, but the one who should've learned something was Shorty. I'm not sure he did though. His big mouth got him in trouble with the Apples this afternoon. Miss AJ and I were coming back from emptying carts, when we saw Shorty arguing with Mr. Mac. Doc told me later Shorty was trying to tell him the best way to take down some branch, and Mr. Mac was having none of it. I could see Doc trying to get things cooled down, but Mr. Mac sure was looking sore.

Right away, Miss AJ got unhitched and galloped over to them. By the time I got there, she'd sent Mr. Mac off so he could cool down. I could see him in the distance, bucking trees like he was trying to uproot them. Once he was gone, Miss AJ let Shorty have it. That's the first time I've seen her cross. Now I know I don't ever want be on her bad side. She dressed Shorty up and down and then put him back to work.

I got sent to work with Mr. Mac for the rest of the day while Miss AJ worked with Doc and Shorty. When Mr. Mac saw me coming, he stopped kicking trees and stood there watching me. I think my voice broke when I told him I was supposed to work with him. Without saying nothing, he got back to working like nothing ever happened. He didn't say a word util it was time to head back for supper.

Working with Mr. Mac was fine, but listening to Shorty grouse about the Apples tonight is too much. Doc's trying to be sympathetic to him, but I think that's just Doc trying to keep the peace. As for me, I think that nopony cares how Shorty thinks things should be run. This is the Apples' farm. They pay us to do what we're told. Shorty should be thankful he's got a decent job instead of running his mouth all the time.

Monday, 7 May

The three of us are on our own crew now, but we're still cleaning up. Last week I mentioned to Miss AJ about the big snow we had in Fillydelphia. She told me that's the storm that damaged her trees. She also said Granny had some “none too polite words” for the Weather Patrol because of it.

I guess I'm grateful for that storm. Without it, the Apples wouldn't have so much cleanup work, and they wouldn't have taken the three of us on. Of course, I didn't tell Miss AJ that. It would have made her cross.

Everything's got her worried about her trees and this year's harvest. She's looking forward to a summer of good weather to help the trees recover. It's been a long time since I've heard that type of talk. When you work city jobs, ponies only care about the weather so they don't get their manes wet. Ma and Pa always fretted over the weather, worrying if it was too hot, too wet, too cold, or too dry. It seems no matter how well tended the weather may be, a farmer's mind can't never rest. I guess I forgot about that type of thinking, seeing as I left our farm so long ago.

Things are a bit tough for the Apples right now, but they don't let it get them down. They just keep working and have faith that things will work out. You got to admire that.

Sunday, 13 May

Today is Mother's Day. The Apples are off to some ceremony somewhere in the south orchard. They didn't tell us no details, and I wasn't about to ask. Private like stuff.

Yesterday, they got a big picnic spread prepared for themselves as well as a ton of food for us. Today, the three of us had our lunch alone, and afterwards, I took my book and sat under the trees to do my reading and writing.

I haven't been around a real family in years, so maybe I don't know what I'm talking about, but I think the Apples are kind of special. They're real tight knit, and you can see that in how well they work together. Now, that don't mean they don't have no arguments, far from it, but they never let it get mean. I guess that's how a family should work, but I wouldn't really know, since mine didn't work that way at all.

Seeing that it's Mother's Day, I'll have to write about Ma. I'd like to say what a swell life I had with her back on the farm, but one thing she taught me was it ain't right to lie.

Ma had a problem. That problem started with the farm and ended with Pa. Something was wrong with our farm, something in the soil. Even I could feel it, and I'm not really a farmer. I think Pa thought he could fix it at one time. He just needed to work out the right combination, then he could make it work, but he couldn't seem figure out what that combination was.

Ma knew something was wrong too, and she wasn't about to let Pa forget. At one time, I imagine Pa must have been like Mr. Mac, strong and proud. I don't know for certain, but I'd like to think so. From the time I was old enough to remember, Pa was half broken, and somehow, Ma thought words were going to fix him.

It would start every night at supper and just keep going. They'd fight over anything, but money was their favorite. They'd fight and fight and nothing would ever get better. What Ma didn't do with her words, Pa finished himself with drinking. The last two years I spent on that farm were a misery I don't never want to see again. Like Pa, all I wanted was a little bit of peace. So I left.

I must be a bad son for thinking like this on Mother's Day. Sometime I wonder if either of them are still alive. If they are, are they still be on that farm? Maybe Sis runs it now with a family of her own. I'd like to think that maybe things got better, that one day Pa figured out how to fix the soil, and that all the fighting stopped.

But if I went back, I'm afraid I'd find out otherwise. I'd rather live without knowing that.

Tuesday, 22 May

Doc and I played chess again after supper. He taught me to play back at the lumber camp, but I was never any good. After all this time, I've forgotten all the strategy he tried to teach me. I don't have to say that he won both of the games we played, but it was still fun.

Shorty was bored. He don't play chess and won't learn, no matter how much Doc pesters him. After I lost for the second time, Shorty suggested we all play cards, that is, play cards for money.

Doc was up for a game and said, “I drink and gamble, always enough, but never too much.” I'm not much for gambling myself, but I wouldn't think of spoiling Doc's fun.

We played for about two hours, and Shorty kept winning hand after hand. Doc's a smart player, so he held his own. Not me, and like a fool, I kept expecting my luck to change. It never did. Doc ended up losing a few bits, but I'm out more than a week's pay. The game broke up when Doc said he was getting tired, but I think he was tired of losing more than anything else.

If losing all that money wasn't bad enough, Shorty got up in my face and says, “Next time bring more money.”

I stood up. I don't know what I was thinking of doing, but Doc saw I was mad and got between us. He joked that we'd contributed enough to the Short Line retirement fund for one night and sent us back to our bunks.

I'm glad Doc's dragged him outside for a walk, because I didn't want to hear him shuffle those damn cards anymore. Being alone's helping me cool down. I've got to thank Doc for doing that for me.

I shouldn't be surprised Shorty acted that way. All you have to do is listen to the way he talks about everything and everypony. He thinks he knows everything and can do and say as he pleases. I realize it's my own fault for losing that money, but what he did was uncalled for. One day somepony will set him straight.

Tonight's been an expensive lesson, but I've learned not to play cards with him ever again.

In the Night

Doc stood next to his bunk and struck his pillow. He stared at the peeling paint on the bunkhouse wall for a moment before turning to watch the others. West sat, ignoring everything and everypony around him. Shorty was at his bunk, shuffling his cards and grinning. The tightness in Doc's chest grew. After a stretch, Doc edged towards the bunkhouse door.

“Say, Shorty,” he said, “let's me and you get some night air. I'm finding it a bit stuffy in here tonight.”

Shorty shuffling halted and he looked at him, asking 'what?' with his eyes. Doc cocked his head and nodded towards the door.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Good idea.” Shorty put down the cards and walked across the floor, but gave West a wide berth.

Doc held the door open as Shorty walked through it, but waited before joining him outside.

“That okay with you, West?” Doc asked. The older pony sat next to his bunk, occupied by a book.

“Hey. Wake up, West,” Doc called again. “Me and Shorty are stepping out for a bit. That okay with you?”

“Sure. Go ahead.” His eyes never left the page.

The rusty spring at the top of the door pulled it closed with a snap. Joining Shorty on the path, Doc set a brisk pace as they walked side by side, their hooves crunching in the gravel. All the while, Shorty shot furtive glances towards Doc, but Doc's gaze remained fixed on the darkness ahead.

“Uh, so what did you—” Shorty began.

“Now, hold your tongue a bit.” Doc led him down the path, out towards the orchards, in silence. When at last he'd determined they were a satisfactory distance from the bunkhouse, Doc came to a halt and pivoted to faced him.

“So, you tell me exactly what you think you were doing back there?”

A smirk flashed across Shorty's face. “Why Doc, what do ya mean?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” he said. “I was watching you, but you were pretty good—not perfect mind you—but pretty darn good. Been practicing have you?”

“Gee,” Shorty chuckled and stepped back. “I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”

“You're a crappy liar, Short Line, and if you intend to be a cheat, lying's a skill you'll need to practice.”

Shorty frowned.

“Yeah, I just called you a liar and a cheat,” Doc said.

“You accusin' me of something, Doc?”

“Damn straight I am,” he scoffed. For a while there, I though we might be playing with a pinochle deck the way royalty kept showing up in your hand. Why do you think I kept folding all the damn time? I cut my loses whenever I thought you were pullin' somethin'. So tell me, what was it? Bottom dealing? Second dealing? What exactly were you doin'?”

“Nothin',” Shorty said. “I ain't no cheat.”

They stood apart. Doc narrowed his eyes, indicating without a doubt he wasn't going to give ground.

Shorty glanced down at his hooves. “I've been practicing my shuffles and how to stack the deck.”

Doc spun about and pushed his hoof through his mane. “For crying out loud! That's a sure fire way to get yourself killed. Look, if you get in a game with real players they'll see right through you! You want to go to Las Pegasus this winter, right? Well, I've got bad news for you, boy. There'll be pros there, ones that know every trick in the book, ones that won't cut you no slack.”

“Dammit!” Doc stomped his hoof. “You'll get yourself killed—and you're liable to get me killed in the process.”

“It's no big deal, Doc. It was just us playing.” He laughed nervously. “So what, you and West going to kill me over a few bits?”

“Listen you, I don't appreciate being taken, but I'll get over it. Just don't you do it again, understand? But, West—well, I'm surprised he didn't get all over you the way you rubbed it in there. Why'd you have to go and do that? Ain't you got no sense? If you are going to cheat somepony, at least have the decency to be pleasant when you clean 'em out. What are you trying to do, provoke him?”

“And if I was, what's it to you?” Shorty stood jut-jawed.

Doc examined the hard look on his face, and then asked, “What precisely do you have against West?”

“He owes me,” Shorty stated plainly.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Him being here, that cost me—both of us—five bits a week. That adds up to a lot of money by the time fall comes around. I aim to get it back.”

“So cheating at cards is how you are going to do it?” Doc shook his head. “Why don't you think these things through? He ain't even good at cards. You could have cleaned him out without cheating.”

“I could've,” Shorty's eyes sparkled. “But I needed practice.”

Doc held out his hoof questioningly. “So you'll keep cheating him util you think you're even, huh? A fine plan, a fine plan indeed.” He spat on the ground. “How the hell are the three of us supposed to work together for the next six months if you are going to pull crap like extracting some imaginary debt from him?

“Sometimes”—he stabbed at Shorty' chest with his hoof—“you make me regret ever savin' your worthless flank.”

Shorty snapped his head back, his eyes open wide. “This is all your fault, Doc.”

“What?”

“It was your idea to bring him along in the first place. Remember? I didn't want to. Having him come with us was your doing, not mine. Now he's here, and he costs us money every damn day and don't add nothin' to the work.”

“Where do you get off saying that?” Doc demanded. “If you're calling him a shirker, then you're calling me one too, because he does just as much work as I do.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No I don't, because sometimes you are so full of bull, what comes out of your mouth don't make no sense at all.”

Shorty's cold scowl caused Doc to halt. He found his heart racing and something squirming in his mind, a feeling he didn't like at all. Three deep breaths put enough of a stop to it so he could speak again.

“All right. I'm sorry—we just need to calm down here,” he said.

Shorty's face remained locked in a hostile glare.

“We've got a summer full of work ahead of us,” Doc said, “and you need to learn how to live with him in a civil fashion. I'm not saying you have to like him. Nopony can make you do that, but you need to be civil. Now, you know better than to take advantage of nopony, especially one of us. The code says so, right? No more cheating, and no more trying to settle this—this—debt of yours.”

Doc watched Shorty's face, expecting some type of improvement. Instead, the young pony's scowl deepened.

“I've taken good care of you haven't I?” Doc said. “I've done my best to make sure we weren't hungry or cold, right? Remember how I helped you out when you really needed it? Remember? Don't never forget that.”

He paused again but there was still no change.

“C'mon Shorty. Think back to all we've done together. It's been one hell of a time, hasn't it? Winter down south this year, right? It's gonna be grand! I promise that.”

Shorty's stone-face held an answer Doc didn't want to hear, but he pushed ahead.

“Please, do me this one favor. Promise me,” he pleaded, “promise me you'll try to get along with him.”

Doc waited, but all he heard was the rustling of the wind through the leaves.

“You're runnin' out of favors, Doc.” Shorty turned and stomped off into the dark.

Diary, Part Five

Sunday, 27 May

It took me a while, but I finally finished the book I bought with Mr. Tock's money. The stories were pretty good, and every time I read one, I'd think back to living with Mr. Tock. But I'm done with them all, so I needed to get something new to read.

After breakfast, I asked Miss AJ if there was a bookstore in town. She said there was, but first I should go to the library run by her friend. Since I've got to make up for my losses, free books sounded like a fine idea. I grabbed my saddlebags and headed off.

On the edge of town, I'm walking along when a pink mare pops out of nowhere and asks me if I'm new in town. The first thought in my head was she was part of some “welcome committee”. Maybe somepony else was hiding in the bushes to beat me up and make sure I kept moving on. It wouldn't have been the first time I received a greeting like that.

Of course, this time things would be different, because I had my job on the farm. Still, that wild look on her face and her out-of-control mane made me nervous. And where had she come from in the first place?

Right away, I told her I didn't want no trouble. She twisted her face up funny, looking real puzzled. I explained I work on the Apple's farm and was headed for the library in town. A big smile swallowed her face as she told me she knew Miss AJ, Granny, Mr. Mac, and even little Miss Bloom. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing it was going to be okay. When I asked about the library, she said she'd take me there because the librarian was her friend too. Small towns are nice since everypony knows everypony else.

According to her, everypony in town was her friend. While we walked, she kept bouncing up and down like a spring, talking a mile a minute. She went on and on about every little thing from her job to other ponies, and I swear, not once did she take a breath. I was exhausted from her talk by the time we got to the library. Before I could thank her, she'd disappeared. A very strange case.

When I opened the library door, I froze, because right in front of me was a dragon sorting books. Now, a couple of the stories I've read had dragons in them, and they were always flying around terrorizing towns, and sometimes, swallowing ponies whole. The little feller didn't look like he could fly, yet alone swallow nopony, but I'd never seen a dragon before, big or small, so I was in shock!

He turned around and asked if he could help me. I stammered that I'd come to get a book, so he called out for the librarian, Miss Twilight, telling her she had a customer. She came downstairs and asked what type of book I was looking for, and then led me off to where I could find them. She seems to know exactly where every book is in that place. I bet a hundred bits she and Mr. Tock would get along fine.

It didn't take me no time before I found one that'll last me for a while. When I asked what I had to do to borrow it, all she wanted to know was the title, where I lived, and when I planned on returning it. I'd been expecting a hassle, but it was nothing special at all. Here she hadn't known me for all of ten minutes, yet she trusted what I said was the truth. I'm embarrassed to say I was touched.

Going to town to get a book has been a little adventure. Ponyville is different from most places I've been, and I can't say that's a bad thing. They've got nice folk here. A bit strange sometimes, but nice.

Sunday, 2 June

Clean-up's all finished now, and the three of us are working the fields. The Apples are tending to their trees. I don't think they'd feel right having other ponies work on them.

All day we check on the corn and weeded the vegetables. The work's not that hard, but it's getting a bit hot out in the fields. Shorty's never worked on a farm, so he thinks it's pretty tough, but for me it's like being a kid again.

On our farm we grew our own vegetables too and raised acres of corn. Back then, that corn seemed to go on forever, and the work went on even longer. Now it don't bother me that much. As a matter of fact, I am looking forward to help bring in the harvest this year. Maybe Pa would be happy to know that farming was in my blood after all.

When the three of us started working the fields, we'd tell stories and joke to pass the time, but we ran out of things to talk about pretty fast. Now, we'll start out talking in the morning, but after a while, we get quiet and just do our work. With all that quiet, I've been thinking.

I've been thinking about what I want to do with myself. It seems like a long way off, but fall is gonna come around before I expect it. We'll get cashed out, and I'll have more bits saved then I've seen in years. Once I'm done here, what am I gonna do with myself? With all that money, I could get a proper train ticket and go anywhere I wanted. I even considered going home, then again, I thought not. It might be nice to see Sis again, but would she remember me? It was a long time ago and she was awful young.

If I don't have no particular place to go, do I just bum around? Where's that ever got me? I can't keep rolling around, going from job-to-job forever. Then I ask myself, what's wrong with staying here?

I could stay right here on this farm. These folks gave me an opportunity, a chance to prove I'm not a bum. Working here makes me feel important, like I've got a chance to do something with my life. It's not too late to change, is it?

They could use somepony here this winter to help out with the chores. I could winter-over and be ready to help them next season. There'd be no need to train somepony next year, because I'd already know it and be right here to help out. They're sincere folks. I'm sure they'd appreciate it.

I've got it fixed in my mind that this is the right thing to do. I might have convinced myself, but I'm gonna have to spend my thinking time figuring out how to convince them.

Saturday, 8 June

If I want to convince these good folks to keep me on, I need to be respectable. It's been ages since I've been to a real barber. I've got bits now, so I decided to head to town tonight and see one. I'm getting to be a regular in town these days. I can't describe how good it feels to have ponies say hello to you when they see you on the street. Every time they do, it makes me certain staying here is the right thing to do.

I had the barber do me up with a short mane and tail like an honest working pony. He used that tonic I remember from when I was a colt. Pa would take me to the barber before school would start, and I remember that smell. Funny how somethings never change. After I finished at the barber shop, I went out for some fresh duds.

I could afford to get something new, especially as I'm going to winter over here, but that's no reason to waste money. So I found a place where I could get something used, but not worn out. They had a rather sporty vest that fit well. Then I spied this dashing bowler hat and tried it on in front of a mirror. The clerk sitting up front was watching me try it on. I'd just opened my mouth to ask her opinion, when she shook her head. I put it back.

With my new look and new vest, I trotted back to the farm all spry. Part of the reason I felt so good is I think I have my plan figured out. When I got back to the bunkhouse, Doc said I looked dapper. I like the sound of the word dapper. But I swear, the minute I start feeling good about anything, Shorty fixes it for me. He asked if I was gonna ask Granny for a date.

That may be clever and all, but I didn't appreciate it. I just ignored him, got my things, and headed out for a while. When he's like this, the farther away I am from him, the better I feel. What I can't figure out is why Doc hangs out with Shorty.

Ignoring Shorty and his mouth is the best thing for me to do. Fall's gonna come around, and I'll be rid of him. I've got to keep reminding myself of that.

Tuesday, 11-June

Today was the day to act on my plan. Every Tuesday and Thursday Mr. Mac makes deliveries in town. Granny hands out the order list, we pick the vegetables, pack the crates, and load up Mr. Mac's wagon.

After we finished breakfast, I pulled Granny aside and said I had a proposal. Since there is so much work for Mr. Mac and Miss AJ to do, why not let me take the orders into town. My stomach churned while she stood there and thought it through. I didn't feel any better when she went off to talk to Mr. Mac. It's hard to tell what that pony is thinking, but it must have been all right, because Granny said okay.

The three of us got everything picked and packed just like normal. As we finished loading the wagon, Granny got me the list of the stops and how much was due at each. When Doc figured out what I was up to, he chuckled about me volunteering for extra work. I just shrugged and grinned at him. I could see Shorty wanted to say something, but he wasn't about to do it with the Apples around. He settled for giving me a frown.

Hauling the loaded wagon wasn't a problem at all. It was easier pulling it over the road than pulling carts over the paths in the orchard. Before I knew it, I was at my first stop. Then I stood there like a fool. In all my excitement, I hadn't figured out what I was going to do or say when I got there.

After a deep breath, I knocked on the back door of the shop. When the mare who runs the place answered, she was confused since she didn't know who I was or what I wanted. It took a moment, but I managed to explain I was filling in for Mr. Mac on deliveries today. Once that got straightened out, she checked her order, payed what she owed, and gave me a new order. She also wanted me to say “Hi” to Mr. Mac for her.

It was pretty much the same story at all the other stops. By the end, I'd worked up a little speech to introduce myself. I kept laughing as I trotted back to the farm with my empty wagon. I think the ponies I passed on the way back thought I'd gone batty.

This plan of mine worked out real good. The Apples are gonna see how reliable and decent I am. By the time summer's over, I'm sure they'll want to keep me on. I've asked Granny if I could do this again on Thursday and she said she'd think it over. Once they see I'm reliable, I'm going to ask her if I can do deliveries all the time. I'm holding my breath this is going to work out.

At the Table

The bits clanked softly as Granny Smith stacked them on top of the day's receipts. Applejack and McIntosh watched from across the table as she recorded the results in her ledger with care. Granny checked the tally against the bills. She ran down the column of figures, added them up, and then did it again. Satisfied in her math, she cocked her head and looked at the pair sitting across from her.

“Well?” Applejack asked.

“Not a bit missing.” Granny put down her quill. “I told ya there weren’t nothin' to worry 'bout, Mac.”

The big pony huffed. “But what if he had run off with the money?”

“Now Mac, that don't make no sense.” Granny snapped the ledger closed. “If'n he did, it would only be what, twenty or thirty more bits than he has in escrow. Anypony that knows his figures would see there ain't no profit in running off.”

McIntosh continued to pout. “Well, what if he'd done it anyway?”

“Mac,” Applejack said, “can't ya give a pony credit for showin' a little initiative?”

“Exactly,” Granny chimed in. “I'm embarrassed to say that I should've thought of the idea myself. Havin' one of them make deliveries frees you up for another hour or two of work only you can do, Mac. You know that.”

He twisted the corner of his mouth.

“Or maybe”—she grinned—“would ya rather have him workin' in the orchards?”

His face soured. “Nope, I don't.” He pointed to a jumble of paper slips laying across from him. “Did he get all the orders?”

Granny stretched out and retrieved the slips. “One from each stop,” she declared, holding them aloft. “And not a complaint or nothin' on a single one.” She placed the stack down on top of the ledger.

“And as a matter of fact,” she added, “he got back about twenty minutes earlier than you normally do. Not bad for an old pony, eh?”

Mac said nothing. Instead he studied the ceiling as if it were a new and interesting addition to the room.

Applejack glanced at him and then turned to Granny. “Well, not bad for a first time.” Her brother remained disinterested in her observation.

“An' when he got back,” Granny said, “he asked if he could do Thursday's deliveries to boot. The way he asked, I'm think he might be plannin' on seein' if he can make it a regular job.” She took a moment to study their faces. “What do you make of that?”

“I don't see no problem with it,” Applejack said. She turned to Mac and added, “But I expect you got some complaint, don't ya?”

He stopped looking at the ceiling. “Eeyup, I do.”

Granny leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “Explain yurself.”

Mac puffed out his chest. “This is a family business,” he said staring straight at her, “and he ain't no family.”

“He's just hauling a wagon to town,” Applejack said. “Anypony could do that.”

He looked crossly at her.

“Uh, I mean, it ain't like he's trying to run the place. He's just deliverin' goods, that's all.”

“When he talks to our customers”—Mac tapped his massive hoof on the table—“he represents us. Our business. Our family. How do we know how he behaves when he's in town? How do we know what he says to other ponies? He might've done okay today, but are both of you so certain it's a good idea havin' him do it all the time?” He alternated his glare between the two.

“I'm sure ponies would let us know if there were problems,” Applejack said.

“And why should we wait util there are problems?” Mac asked.

The room became quiet. Granny crossed her forelegs and waited.

“So,” Granny began, “one vote fur it and one vote agin it.” She leaned back and massaged her jaw. “I guess I get to break the tie then, don't I?”

McIntosh scowled while Granny rolled ideas around in her head.

“I break the tie by givin' him Tuesday deliveries from now on. Mac, you keep Thursdays.”

“Sounds fair,” Applejack said.

Mac rose for his place at the table and marched out of the kitchen mumbling.

Applejack pushed back her hat and asked, “What the hay is that all about?”

“Oh, sometimes yur brother thinks he's the only pony that can do things right around here,” Granny said. “He just needs more time to get used to havin' others help us out. Then again—” She paused and winked conspiratorially. “Well, I've had suspicions.”

A gleam appeared in Applejack's eye as she leaned forward. “And those would be?”

“Let me ask ya something—” Granny closed an eye. “How many customers on the route would just happen to be single mares? Hmm? More than half by my reckonin'.”

“Granny, are you thinkin' he's got a special somepony in town he ain't been tellin' us about?”

“Oh, I didn't say that!” Her wrinkled face lit up with a devilish look. “But I wouldn't put it past yur brother to enjoy any attention given him.”

Applejack put her hoof over her mouth and snickered.

“And when does he tell us anything anyway? Twice times never, that's when. We'll be kind and leave him Thursdays for socializin'—he surely deserves that. I know y'all been workin' hard, ya'll deserve a little sumptin'.”

As quickly as the youthful, mischievous look had appeared in her face, it vanished. Her eyes became glassy and her voice wavered.

“Oh, AJ. This year's been so trying, I don't know if I can bare it. When ya get to my age, ya want to see everything work out for the best, not like this year's been headin'.” She shook her head. “Ya just want to know things are gonna be all right after yur gone.”

Applejack reached across the table and touched her foreleg. “Uh, Granny…” she said, her voice soft and low. “You ain't plannin' on goin' nowhere now, is you?”

Granny's head snapped up, once again filled with life. “Heavens no child! I've got plenty of years left. And I plan on puttin' em to good use too, embarrassin' yur sister and drivin' your brother to distraction.”

“That's a relief.” Applejack leaned back and let out a sigh. “You were startin' to worry me there for a minute.”

“And as for you—” Granny waggled her hoof at her. “You got far to go before I'm ready to let ya take over my job.”

“Why do you always say it's gonna be me? Why not Mac?” Applejack asked. “He's the oldest after all and loads stronger than I am. And don't forget Apple Bloom. She may want your job too.”

“Well, I have a feeling yur sister's destiny ain't on the farm, but—then again—she just might prove me wrong,” Granny said. “Now yur brother's a fine stallion. He can power a farm, that's for sure, but I don't think he's one to run it.”

“What do ya mean?”

“Workin' the farm and makin' it work is two different jobs. There's harder work than pullin' a plow, like makin' sure ya still got a farm come spring. But if ya must know the real reason—” Granny shot a furtive glance towards the door. Not convinced of their privacy, she gestured for Applejack to lean closer.

“Ya see,” Granny whispered with great seriousness, “mares have always been in charge of this here farm, no matter what the stallions may think.”

She leaned back. “It's a family tradition. I'd hate to break it.”

Diary, Part Six

Thursday, 14 June

Hot damn! Here I go to ask Granny about doing Thursdays deliveries, when she tells me that from now on I got deliveries every Tuesdays. I was planning on doing deliveries two or three times before asking for it as a regular job, and here she gives it to me after the first time! How's that for things working out!

Even though Mr. Mac's gonna handle Thursday deliveries, I've got no complaints. Now they'll be able to see I'm responsible and reliable. Hard work ain't enough. I've got to be more to earn the right to stay.

It's hard to believe I'm the delivery pony for Tuesdays. Sounds dumb, but when I look at those words, they make me all proud. When I thanked Granny, she just kept saying “Fine, fine” but I had to let her know how grateful I am.

Writing here, I was trying to find the right word to show how happy I am, but I ended up asking Doc. He says I should say “I am ebullient”. Damn he knows good words.

The plan to impress the Apples is working, and I can't be more ebullient about it.

Tuesday, 19 June

Today was my first day as the delivery pony for Tuesdays. I wore my cap so I would look all official like when I made my rounds. At every stop I introduced myself, telling them I'd be doing Tuesdays from now on, but not to worry, because Mr. Mac was still handling Thursdays. I might have overdone it at one place, because the mare giggled when I tipped my cap. I got embarrassed, but oh well, no harm done.

All the deliveries went fine. Most ponies remembered me from last week, and a few even recalled my name. They treated me like any other pony. Maybe it's because they don't know what I've been. I don't care a hoot, because I'm done living that way. It don't make no difference what I was, since from now on, I'm going to be like regular folk, with a regular job.

This place has brought a change over me. Two or three years ago, I would have never been like this. Who would have thought being like any other pony you'd run into on the street would make me feel so downright good inside. It used to be enough to have a fully belly, a place to flop, and maybe some extra bits, but no more. I can do better than that.

When I got back, I thanked Granny for the opportunity she's given me. I made sure she understood how much I appreciated her trusting me, and promised I won't never let her down.

Wednesday 27 June

After supper, Doc took me on a walk so we could talk in private. He wanted to know what's up with all this “delivery business”, so I sprung my plan on him. I'd expected him to be excited like I am, but it left him puzzled. I explained I decided to make a change with myself, but he kept asking me why I'd want to do such a thing. I told him I liked being with the ponies in town, but he said there are nice ponies all over. I said I liked working for the Apples and I liked being on the farm. That's when he sprung his plan on me.

Doc wants me to come down south with him and Shorty after we're done on the farm. They plan on spending all winter bumming around, just drinking and gambling, making it into a party or something. I told him I'd rather stay here and work. He explained he could find me a job if I wanted one, one that pays lots more bits than here. When I said I don't want more bits, that this here job is just fine, I could see he was getting frustrated with me because he couldn't see it my way. He kept pestering me with questions, and when he asked why I didn't want to be out on the road, I got harsh with him.

I asked him how many times was he so hungry he'd eaten weeds in a park till the law chased him off? How many times did he sleep in the open, under a bridge, or in some alley? How many times did he beg somepony for work, yet they wouldn't give him a chance because he was just a bum? I've known Doc for a while and I don't think I've ever talked to him like that.

Then he started going on about the romance of the road, and that made me madder. I asked how much “romance” did he really find out there? When I look back on it, there never was any romance living like that. Being cold, hungry, and tired ain't no way to live. It ain't romance, just hardship, plain and simple. Finally, I said I knew the code. He can live his life the way he wants to, but I get to live mine how I see fit.

He gave up. I don't think he really understands how I feel, but he said that if staying would make me happy, then that was what I should do. I hated making Doc feel bad, so I told him I was sorry. I joked that I wouldn't mind bumming around with him, as long as Shorty wasn't included. He said he understood, but I'm not sure he does.

I'll miss Doc when winter comes. He's been a good friend. But I think I'd miss the Apples, the farm, and this town even more.

Tuesday, 10 July

Deliveries went real smooth today. When I dropped off the cafe's order, the pony who runs it asked if I liked music. I said who don't, so he handed me a flyer from the tavern his friend owns. On Saturday night they're going to have a show. Three bits to get in. I thanked him and took the flyer with me.

When I got back I talked to Doc and Shorty about it. We've all been into town lots of times, buying things and such, but we have never had a night out. Here it was the middle of summer and we ain't done nothing but work. We agreed it was high time we found a remedy for that, and this looked like a swell opportunity. Saturday night, we'll be hitting the town.

Sunday, 15 July

Well, last night sure was an adventure. Everything started out fine. The three of us rushed our way through supper and got cleaned up. Granny stood on the porch and chuckled while she watched us trot off towards town.

We got to the tavern early, but there were already a few ponies there. The first thing we did was get a drink, then another. I slowed down on the second because it's been ages since I'd had two in a row. That and I didn't want to spend too much money. We hung around the bar talking, watching the other ponies, just waiting for the show to start. Being out with Doc and Shorty was different from working with them. For the first time since we came to town, I didn't mind hanging around Shorty.

We'd come way too early. Shorty and Doc were working on a third drink when this other pony came up to us. He told us they had a card game going in the back room, and that he reckoned we were the wagering sort of gentlecolts the game needed. You didn't have to ask Shorty and Doc twice. I said no thanks.

Shorty said I was being chicken. I told him I came to hear music, but they could go ahead and not to let me spoil their fun. The three of them went off laughing while Shorty cackled like a chicken. There was still lots of time util the show started, so I hung out by the bar, nursing my drink along, doing nothing but watching the ponyfolk have a good time.

There were a few ponies I recognized from my route or from passing them on the street. One of them spotted me and waved, so I waved back. Then I noticed this mare sitting at a table alone. I kept checking on her for a good ten minutes, trying to see if she was with anypony. It looked like she was by her lonesome. I have no idea what possessed me, maybe it was the drink, but I went over and talked to her.

Not wanting to be rude, I asked if she minded if I sat down. Well, she said no, so I introduced myself. I asked if she was here for the show, knowing darn well what the answer was, but it was good enough to get a conversation started. We got to talking, but I pretty much let her do most of it. She's from outside of town, and her daughter works in the flower shop. She'd come to see her for the weekend, but ended up here alone because her daughter went on a date. I let her talk because it was nice to hear the sound of her voice.

By the time the music started, I'd forgotten Doc and Shorty even existed.

The two of us sat at that little table enjoying the show. We hadn't heard more than three or four songs before Doc sneaks up and starts whispering in my ear. Those ponies in the back room had cleaned out him and Shorty. They didn't feel like listening to any music no more, so they were going to head back. Really, I would rather have stayed, but I couldn't let them go back alone, particularly the way Doc looked. I excused myself, explaining my friends needed me, and the three of us headed home.

The trip back was even stranger than the happenings at the tavern. It was like Doc and Shorty had switched somehow. Doc was fiery mad. First he'd be angry at himself, cursing that he should've known better than to get involved in a game like that. Then he'd curse the ponies that cleaned him out. A couple of time, he acted like he wanted to go back and start a fight.

Shorty was somewhere between angry and sad. Maybe he was both at the same time, but unlike his normal self, he was quiet. I don't know which was more disturbing, Doc being so angry or Shorty being so quiet.

A devilish notion crept into my head, and I thought I should give him a dose of what he gives me all the time. As we walked, I could take my time and think up something that would really stick it to him. But I thought better of it. If I did that, I wouldn't be no better than him, would I?

I told both of them I was sorry for what had happened. I wished them better luck next time. Shorty actually said thanks. Maybe I made progress with him after all.

Tuesday, 17 July

Since Saturday night, I've been restless. Today, after my last stop, I asked directions to the flower shop. When I got there, I stood outside the front door, so nervous I was shaking a bit. I went in. The mare at the counter greeted me right away, and frankly, that didn't help none. She asked what I was looking to buy. I asked her if she had a mother.

She laughed and called me silly, saying “everypony has a mother” and that her mother wasn't for sale. What a darn fool thing to ask. I explained I'd met this mare at the tavern where they were playing music on Saturday night and I wanted to ask if that had been her mother. Luckily, I'd gotten the right pony, because if I hadn't, I might have run out of the place from embarrassment.

I got a lump in my throat and asked if her mother was coming back anytime soon.

She didn't know when she'd be back and I couldn't think of nothing else to say. I asked her to say hi to her for me, and then hustled out as fast as I could. My face must have been as red as a ripe tomato the whole way home.

To Her Mother

Wednesday, 18 July

Hey Mom!

It was wonderful to see you this weekend. Every time you come to town, I just end up missing you more when you have to head home. But please don't think that means you should stop coming!

I'm sorry about the mix up on Saturday night, but you gave us such sort notice. Lucky and I got those reservations weeks ago, and I'd promised him so many times that we would have a proper night out at a real restaurant, rather than just grabbing a bite to eat after we get off work. He was so excited when he finally managed to get the reservation, I thought he was going to burst. When I told him last Thursday that you were coming into town for the weekend, I though he was going to cry. Not because you were coming, but because he was worried I'd have to cancel our date.

I can't tell you too many times that you are such a great mom for being so understanding. Lucky was nervous that you would get cross if we 'abandoned' you on Saturday, but I told him to relax. He doesn't really understand you yet, and, gee, he can be so excitable. Sometimes I think he is even more excitable than me! I guess things worked out pretty well in the end, didn't they? We got seated right away and the meal came quickly. It almost felt like they were trying to rush us out! The food was extraordinary, and I can see why they require reservations.

Maybe if you give us a couple of weeks notice next time (hint, hint), we can get reservations for everypony and have a real celebration. I know Lucky and I would certainly like to go back there. Why don't you help us out and give us an excuse to go.

And what a great find with that show at the tavern! It was almost like we had planned it, but honestly, it was just lucky that, er, Lucky found the flyer in the street on Saturday morning. I'm sure glad we had a chance to make the last part of the concert. From your description, I'm sorry we missed the first part.

And speaking of the first part, well, you are going to have to tell me exactly what went on before we arrived. You cannot conceal it, for you see, early this morning, a gentlecolt dropped by the shop.

I've seen him in town before, making deliveries for the Apple farm, but I've never talked to him. He was quite bashful and tongue tied when he stopped by. I eventually managed to pry out of him that he met you at the tavern on Saturday night. So you met a gentlecolt on Saturday evening. Very interesting. Perhaps you can explain how you forgot to tell me any of this before you left?

Anyway, after several silly questions, he explained he had a message for you. His entire message to you is “Hi”. That's it. Just “Hi”. He told me to tell you that, then he hurried out of the shop. You would have thought I was going to bite him or something.

Now that I have delivered his intriguing message, I'll be expecting a detailed letter from you soon. If it doesn't provide me with an adequate explanation of Saturday evening, I might have to trot down there and speak to you myself.

Oh, Rose and Daisy are pestering me to say “Hi”, too. We all look forward to seeing you again soon.

Love — Lily

Diary, Part Seven

Wednesday, 25 July

After our little outing the other week, I went to the library in the afternoon and returned my books. Miss Twilight suggested I try reading something new instead of the type of books like I'd been reading. She asked if I had any ideas and it took me a while to think of something. Then I remembered the book I got from Mr. Tock, the one I couldn't finish. It was about an old king and his two evil daughters and the one kind one. Miss Twilight knows her stories just like Mr. Tock and found it for me in no time.

I've worked real hard at reading it. Lots of times I wanted to give up, but I owed it to Mr. Tock to make an real effort. I kept reading and rereading until I understood it, and after a while, it wasn't so bad. I finished tonight. Maybe I should write Mr. Tock and tell him I finished that story. He'd probably like to know where I'm at and what's been happening.

When I go back to the library on Sunday, I'll thank Miss Twilight for making me read something different, but I'm going to ask her if she has something that won't wear me out as much as that one did.

Saturday, 4 August

Tonight I'm by lonesome because Doc and Shorty went to town. They've been talking about going back to that tavern again for most of the week, but I didn't want to go with them. I'd rather just be alone here. Before they left, Doc asked me for what must have been the fifth time if I wanted to go. I said no thanks.

Shorty told Doc to forget about “that old wet blanket” that was bound to spoil all their fun. He's got a pretty short memory of who spoiled the fun last time. Without even thinking, I blurted out that he could go to town or go to hell for all it mattered to me. The next thing I know, Doc's roaring with laughter and pushes Shorty out the door. I heard Doc laughing and Shorty complaining as they headed out. I guess I finally got one on him. It felt good.

The bunkhouse is quiet now. I imagine it will be this quiet in the winter. Sort of silly to think of winter on a hot night like tonight. When winter comes, it'll just be me sitting next to that old stove, reading something, after a hard day's work. I don't know, maybe I can even spend an evening with the Apples every so often, just to chat for a while after supper. I could get used to living like that.

Tuesday, 7 August

I tarried a bit after deliveries this morning, thinking about the flower shop again. I walk by it two or three times, but didn't see anypony and decided to head back. One of these days I'll get the courage to walk in there and ask that mare for her mother's address. I've thought of writing her a note, just to thank her for keeping me company the other week. Of course, I've thought of writing Mr. Tock. I ain't done that either.

On the way back to the farm, I ran into little Miss AB and her friend with the scooter. I asked them what they was up to so early in the day. Of course, I knew the answer. They were going into town to meet up with her other friend, and then all three planned on a day of adventuring, trying to discover themselves. She and her friends must do this two or three times a week. I warned her to be careful, otherwise Granny will have her hide if she got scraped up again.

She's a funny kid, but I like her. Right now, she's as old as my sister was when I left home, but other than that, they ain't alike at all. Having her around make me thing of Sis though. I keep thinking about writing ponies. Maybe I should start with her. I'm not certain where she'd be living. If I sent a letter general delivery they might get it to her.

Maybe I've got to stop thinking about the past. She's got her own life now, and I'm sure she forgot about her useless brother years ago. I've got my new life here on the farm that I need to pay attention to. When I'm all settled here next spring, maybe then I'll write folks.

Thursday, 16 August

After lunch I talked with Granny about the state of affairs in the garden. I told her that when we filled this morning's orders, lots of the vegetables didn't look good at all. Here it wasn't even eight in the morning and the leaves of the squash were drooping like it was mid-afternoon. We agreed this was the hottest August either of us could remember. It's bad enough that there ain't been a cloud in the sky from sun up to sun down, but I can't remember the last time we had some decent rain. She joked about frying an eggplant, but told me she was working on getting our weather problem fixed.

I sure hope she does it soon, because if she don't, we're gonna start losing crops. On top of that, this heat sure is taxing when you are out there working all day. The cloudless days turn into cloudless nights, so at least it manages to cool down. A few times last week it even got a bit chilly. We've taken to opening up every window in the bunkhouse to let it cool down, but it still takes hours before it does. When it finally gets there, it's perfect for sleeping. If it stayed hot all night long, I don't know how I'd get any rest.

We'll be needing plenty of rest with harvest season coming up. The corn don't mind the heat that much, so it's looking fine. The squashes and pumpkins are starting to ripen, but I think they'd like a little drink. The apple trees are a mixed bag. Miss AJ says the work she and her brother put in is going to pay off, but there are plenty of sorry looking trees. She said with some wet weather things will be just fine by next month. I sure hope she's right.

Either way, I'm proud about being part of this farm and what we've done this summer. When we start hauling this year's crops into town, I'm going to enjoy it. I did something that counted, not just sweeping out a warehouse or cleaning up somepony's lawn. There've been too many jobs that didn't mean nothing except making enough money to eat. Working and living on this farm isn't just a regular job, it's being part of everypony's lives. When you're a farmer you're important to the whole town. Pa tried to explain it to me when I was young, but I didn't get it. I do now.

Monday, 20 August

At supper the Apples were talking about the weather. Granny still ain't solved our weather problem. We had a drizzle two days ago, but nothing to speak of since. The days keep getting hotter and the vegetables are looking real bad. Miss AJ's fretting over the apple trees because some of their leaves turned yellow and fell off.

When we were back at the bunkhouse, Shorty started complaining how they worry too much. He only cares about it getting cooler so the work is easier. For once, I didn't pay him no mind. First, I was too hot and tired to give a damn about what he thinks. Second, it's just Shorty being his complaining self.

He's not a farmer, so he doesn't understand how us farmers think. He should go back to railroading the first chance he gets.

Wednesday, 22 August

We were heading back out to the fields after lunch when the Weather Patrol mare, the one with the rainbow mane, swooped down and started talking to Miss AJ. We kept going so we didn't exactly hear what they were talking about, but we were able to watch the happenings while we worked.

Let's just say it was pretty plain that Miss AJ weren't too happy about the service our farm's been getting. We watched them squabble for a while, but it looked like they got it settled. I expect we'll have a good soaker to get things back on track.

After Miss AJ cleared off, Shorty had some more choice comments on how stupid those mares were. I reminded him that if we don't have crops to take to market this fall, how does he expect to get his payout? He said that wasn't his problem to figure out. In some ways, I wish they wouldn't have enough money to pay him. It would serve him right.

Monday, 27 August

I had a dream last night. I was little again and back on the farm I grew up on. Sis and I were playing in the fields. Pa was working there too, smiling away. I should have known it was a dream right then. Pa hardly ever smiled.

He told the two of us to go see if supper was ready, so we ran back to the house. Ma was cooking in the kitchen, humming a tune. Sis started helping her, while I sat and watched. Pa came in from the fields and began to wash up. Nothing special or strange was going on like in some dreams. Things were happening like they always should have.

All of a sudden, clear as day, a mare's voice says, “Time to go”. At first I thought it might be Ma, but honestly I don't remember the sound of her voice. Then I thought, maybe it was one of those late for school dreams, but that didn't make no sense. I got scared, because maybe the voice was Miss AJ's, and I'd overslept and was late for work!

I popped straight up, but it wasn't morning. It was still the middle of the night, all pitch black and with Doc snoring away. I couldn't get back to sleep at all and was tired all day.

Saturday, 1 September

Today was an extra day off because of the big rain. It started mid-morning and came down pretty much the whole day, just stopping a while ago.

Up until noon, I read some more of the books I had from the library. We had lunch, where the weather talk was all good for once, and then the three of us raced back to the bunkhouse, trying to stay dry.

It wasn't half an hour later when Shorty tried to get a card game going. I told him no way I'd ever gamble with him again, but he kept bugging me. He gave me a shove, saying I was afraid to play him. I let that slide and joked that if I played, I might as well just hand over my pay to him and get it over with. He held out his hoof like he expected me to actually do it!

I wanted to fight him so bad, but I didn't. I held my temper because I've got to be decent and respectable. No more thinking like a roustabout with no couth. He tried to provoke me, staring me down, and if he'd kept it up, I might have lost control.

Doc came to my rescue and took him off to play cards. I got out of the bunkhouse and sat under the eaves, not that those leaky things kept me dry. While I was sitting there, I spied Mr. Mac heading up to the big barn with a tool box. I got the notion right away that there was another way to prove how useful I can be.

By the time I got to the barn, Mr. Mac was arranging his tools. I asked if he could use any help. I've learned Mr. Mac is a proud feller, and odds were he might not want anypony helping him. He waited a good bit, but finally said okay. My gamble paid off.

We spent the rest of the day fixing all sorts of things. I didn't want to offend Mr. Mac none, so I let him do the real work. He had me fetch or hold things. There was no small talk, and I did as I was told. We ended up getting most everything in order this afternoon, and we'll be needing everything to be in shape come harvest time.

If there's been any of the Apples I've been worried about, it's been Mr. Mac. He's too quiet to figure out. I get along fine with Granny even when she acts strange, and Miss AJ knows I'm a hard worker, but how can you tell where you stand with a pony if he hardly says nothing? Surely, Mr. Mac knows what type of pony I am now. There's hardly two months left before our contract is up, and it'll be time to ask to stay on. After today, I believe I'm alright with him, and I don't think I'll have a problem convincing any of them to keep me on. It was a good day, even if I got soaked.

So, Shorty being an ass has been a blessing in disguise. Who would have ever guessed anything good would come from him and his mouth. Certainly not me.

After the Rain

Applejack watched the evening sky as she hung her forelegs over the bottom half of the split door. A distant rumble came from the horizon as the storm clouds retreated. The day-long drumming of rain had dwindled to the occasional plop of a fat drop landing on the sodden ground.

“Rain looks like it's stopped, Granny,” Applejack announced as she walked to where her grandmother rested.

“Good,” Granny said. “I don't wanna go from a drought to a flood.”

Applejack chuckled as she hoisted herself onto the couch and settled herself close to the old mare. “Rainbow said it was gonna be a long one to make up for last month, but they'd do their best to keep it under control.”

“They better!” Granny snapped. “Let me tell ya. I'm not at all pleased with the service we've been gettin' this year. Nope, not one bit!” She shook her hoof accusingly. “First blizzards, then droughts. What are they gonna throw at us next? Frogs?”

Applejack suppressed a laugh. “I highly doubt the Weather Patrol is gonna take the time to round up frogs to drop on us, Granny.”

Granny snorted. “Nevertheless, thank your friend for the day's work, but tell her I still ain't pleased. Mercy, what a mess it's been this year. Why, if'n I ran the farm they way they run the weather, there'd be no end to the complainin'. Sometimes I get the notion to get a big ole ladder, climb up to Cloudsdale, and give 'em all a piece of my mind in person!”

“Rainbow says they've been havin' problems she can't explain,” Applejack said. “None of 'em in Cloudsdale can explain it neither. It's almost like the weather gots its own plans. She said they go and build something up, get it goin' all regular like, then it gets out of control. Storms growin' bigger, goin' where they please, clouds wanderin' off on their own”—she shook her head—“the strangest happenings.”

Granny nodded in agreement, and then watched McIntosh sitting across from her, studying his almanac, apparently oblivious to the mares' conversation. She elbowed Applejack and shot her a knowing wink.

“McIntosh,” she said in her finest complaining voice.

“Hmm?” The big pony kept his nose planted in the book.

“McIntosh, do we got enough lumber in the barn to build a ladder that'll reach to Cloudsdale?”

Applejack covered her mouth with both hooves.

“Yur being silly, Granny,” he replied and, unperturbed, continued reading.

“I'm trying to be angry, not silly.” She crossed her forelegs and pouted. “There's a difference ya know.”

“Nope,” McIntosh mumbled. “Silly.”

“Ladder or no ladder,” Applejack said, “I'll make sure Rainbow tells them back in Cloudsdale that you're unhappy. Okay, Granny?”

“Oh, all right,” Granny said. She shivered and adjusted the shawl draped over her shoulders. “It's gittin' a might bit chilly out there. Applejack, could ya please shut the door before I catch a cold?”

Applejack slipped off the couch, shut the top half of the door, and latched it. She ambled back, but took a seat next to her brother.

Granny winked at her again. “Still, a tall ladder might come in handy. Ya never know.”

McIntosh rolled his eyes.

“Oh, pooh!” Granny said. “Yur no fun tonight, Mac.”

Applejack intervened. “No need for ladders nor complaints now, Granny. We've got our rain and it'll hold us for a good long time. The crops will all be looking dandy in a day or two, and we'll barely remember our problems.”

“How can ya forget that it's been such a frustratin' year?” Granny insisted. “Nothin' seems to be working out for the best. Why, if I was superstitious, I'd think this year was cursed.” She paused.

“Wait—” Granny pricked up her ears. “I am superstitious!”

“Lordy,” Applejack sighed quietly. With Granny in one of her moods again, she decided it was best to change the subject of conversation as quickly as possible.

“So, uh, Mac,” she began, “how'd your helper work out today?”

“Yeah,” Granny chimed in, “how'd things go?”

“Fine,” he replied as he turned a page.

Applejack looked at Granny and shrugged her shoulders.

Granny tilted her head to one side. “Just fine?”

“Eeyup.”

“What exactly do ya mean by 'fine'?” Applejack said.

“Tryin' ta read here, AJ.”

“Mac,” she said, “how can ya spend half a day working alone with somepony up in the barn, then sum it all up with the word 'fine'?”

Mac snapped his book closed and turned to her. “We fixed things and West did fine.”

“And that's it? Didn't you two talk about nothin'? Didn't you ask him no questions?”

“I told him what to fetch and what to do, and he did it. That were all the talkin' we needed to do, and that's all the talkin' we done. We got all the work I planned done and maybe a bit more, 'cause we didn't do no useless jawboning.” He opened the book again and mumbled, “He was nice an' quiet. Not like you two.”

Applejack crossed her forelegs. “It was a perfectly reasonable question, McIntosh”—he grunted at her—“seein' how you feel about them bein' here and all.”

Mac pursed his lips. He slapped his book down on the table, stood up, and faced them.

“I know what you two really want to hear. You want me to say I was wrong about them, don't ya?” He alternated his gaze between them. “Well, all right. I was wrong about them. Havin' the three of them helped this year. There was too much for just AJ and myself and havin' them here was the right thing to do.

“Today, West helped me a lot.” He swallowed and held his head high. “And I might not mind bein' helped again.” He waited for either of them to gloat, but the room was quiet.

“There,” Mac declared. “I said it and it's done.” He sat back down, his eyes fixed on Granny.

“Oh, Mac…” she groaned as she shifted on the couch. “We just wanted to know. It weren't our intention to try an' embarrass ya none. Isn't that right, AJ?”

“Yes, Ma'am. Just curious, that's all.”

“Oh.” His ears drooped as he looked down. “Sorry.”

“Nothin' to be sorry about, 'cause I'm glad ya come around, Mac.” Granny pushed herself back on the couch and folded her hooves on her lap. Her face was serious, but her voice was calm. “I'm the one that should be apologizin'. I was being an old fool, teasin' you and such. Probably got ya'll upset, didn't it?”

He said nothing. Applejack cocked her head and peeked at his downturned face, but looked back to the couch as Granny cleared her throat.

“That were quite a speech there weren't it, Applejack?” A devious smile formed on Granny's face.

Applejack returned her smile. “Mighty fine. Purty long too, given the speaker.” She jostled her brother.

McIntosh smiled a bit and let a single harumph escape.

“I'd be carefully of him, missy,” Granny warned. Bother and sister looked at her puzzled. “If'n he keeps this up, he's bound to take away that honesty title from ya.”

With a smirk on his face, Mac gave his sister a playful shove with his shoulder. She leaned against him.

Granny chuckled. “That's more like it.” She clapped her hooves on her thighs. “So, tell me you two, what's planned for tomorrow?”

“Prunin' and tendin' in the south orchards for the next day or two,” Applejack began. “In the afternoon, the fellers will be cleaning up after us there. If we got time, maybe we'll see what to do about some of those trees that ain't doin' so good.” She looked to her brother. “Ain't that right, Mac?”

“Eeyup. Sounds right.”

“Good, good,” Granny said as she nodded. The nodding dwindled off, and her eyelids drooped. Through tired eyes she soaked up the scene across from her. How many times had she watched them quarrel, then, just as quickly, make up? And so gown now, when they were foals just the other day. Regardless of their ages, the scene was the same: A brother and sister working together. As it should be. She smiled peacefully.

“Granny?” Mac asked quietly.

“Umm?” she said, but didn't stir from her drowsy reverie.

“You awake over there?”

“Yes, yes.” Her slow nodding returned. “Just thinking, that's all.”

“''Bout what?” Applejack asked.

“Thinkin' yur both such fine ponies.” Her smile broadened. “Thinkin' yur parents would be proud.”

Diary, Part Eight

Wednesday, 5 September

I got sick real bad. Some type of chill in the night after helping Mr. Mac. I should've taken better care of myself and gotten dried up proper, but I didn't. At first I just felt real tired, but somewhere in the night it must have gotten bad. It's hard for me to say, because I don't remember nothing.

In the morning, Doc says he tried to wake me, but he couldn't. He said I was all hot, but shaking like I was sitting on ice. The shaking was so bad even Shorty was worried, he tells me. I'm inclined to believe he was afraid he'd catch it.

Doc went and got Granny and Miss AJ, and them two spent the next couple of days taking care of me. I hate to be a burden to these folks. They got me some foul tasting medicine that I'm taking, so I'm better now. Still too weak to work. In the next few days I hope to be up to doing some work. The fresh air will chase this cough away.

Yesterday, I told Granny I didn't expect no pay for being sick and I'd pay her back for the medicine. That's the proper thing to do. She told me not to worry none and just get better.

I got worried that this would mess up my plans. Who wants to have some pony working for them that gets sick? Now I don't think it makes a difference. They cared for me not because they needed a worker, they cared for me because I was somepony.

And then there was this. When I got over the fever and the chills, I found a picture tacked up by my bunk. Miss Apple Bloom made me a get well card with a happy little pony face, hearts, flowers, and all those other things little fillies like to draw. Nopony ever gave me something like that before.

Sunday, 16 September

I've been back to work for over a week now, but I get tired fast. After I finish supper, I don't feel like nothing but going right to sleep. Cough's getting old too. I feel bad because it keeps Doc and Shorty awake at night. Doc's understanding, but Shorty, he won't let me hear the end of it. I try to cough in his direction every chance I get.

When I was sick, I read through all the books I had, so I went back to the library this afternoon. With Shorty giving me grief every chance he gets, I didn't feel like heading back to the farm. I went to the park in town, read some, and took a nap. By the time I got back to the farm I was late for supper and Granny gave me the eye.

Afterwards, Shorty started bugging me again like I knew he would. He complained about my cough, how I couldn't keep up with the work, how I was making everypony sick. What a piece of work. All I wanted to do was sleep, so I told him to shut up, as if telling Shorty to shut up would ever work. It didn't so I had to listen to him calling me a slacker who was pretending to be sick, and how much more work I make for him and Doc. Doc got him to lay off, but I didn't want to hang around the bunkhouse no more and stepped out for a while.

I don't know what he expects me to do, but he keeps pushing and pushing. He's not happy unless he's complaining about something, and he's at his happiest when he's complaining about me. When I was sick, I read back through what I'd wrote here. I said I hated Mr. Spring and couldn't figure out why he didn't like me. Maybe I don't hate him so much anymore. He still should have talked to me so we could have worked something out.

Shorty's different. I don't see a way to work anything out with him. What he does, he does out of pure spite. He mouths off about me and the Apples. He's a coward too, not say nothing to their faces. I guess he feels big when he cuts everypony else down. Only shows what he is. I don't know if I hate Mr. Spring no more, but I'm sure I hate Shorty.

He seems to know just what makes me angry, like maybe he knows about me wanting to stay, and he's trying to get me in trouble because of it. I'm sure he wants to get me in some type of trouble so I'll have to leave. I won't give him the satisfaction, no matter how he tries. I'm going to let it slide, because by the end of the season, he'll be gone, and I'll still be here.

Sunday, 23 September

Cough's almost gone, but likes to sneak up on me every now and then. I'm sure glad I feel better since we've had to work long and hard. We hardly have time to eat and sleep with all the harvesting going on. Our corn did respectable, given the weather, and most of the other crops did all right. The one thing that hasn't done well has been the apples, and they're the most important thing of all.

Mr. Mac and Miss AJ have been mighty concerned. Me too. That storm damage cut back on the crop plenty. Then we had the blasted drought back in August, and it hurt pretty bad. We're getting out what we can, but some trees never came back. The Apples are talking about taking out the ones that didn't recover and replanting in spring. I think that's a good idea.

Still, I feel a bit selfish about that. I mean, it's bad news, but it helps my case about staying. It sure will be handy to have a helper winter over and be ready for replanting next spring, won't it?

Tuesday, 16 October

Today, I sort of felt like part of the family. Right after breakfast Granny told me to hold up instead of going off with Doc and Shorty. She had a special task. Granny sent me off to one of the old orchards they don't hardly use and pick this type of fruit I'd never heard of. She showed me pictures of them in one of her books.

I took a cart from the barn, a long pole with a hook, for pulling them fruits out of the trees, and set out. It took a while to find them, but they were out there just like she said. Picking all those darn things took util noon. And they're really hard, so when they drop on your head, they hurt.

By the time I got back it was almost one, and everypony had cleared off. Granny was peeved because it took longer than she'd expected. At least she saved my lunch. I brought in a bushel of those things for her and started eating while she took out a big knife. She chopped one of them fruits in two, then in quarters. She did the same to another, and then another. That old mare sure knows some choice swear words.

She got upset because the insides were all filled with tiny, little worm holes. There weren't hardly were a single one that was good. Granny told me to forget about eating and go fetch Miss AJ. Off I ran, passing up Doc and Shorty and yelling that I didn't have time to talk. I brought Miss AJ back to Granny and when we got there, her mood hadn't gotten no better. The two of them started up a discussion on what to do about the mess. Turns out these things had to be cooked up for the bakery in town. They'd already promised delivery and didn't want to go back on their word. I'd about finished eating when Granny told me to run off and find Miss Apple Bloom.

So, off I went again. When I passed Doc and Shorty, I'd asked if they'd seen the little filly. They sent me in the right direction, but Shorty wanted to know what the hay was going on. I didn't answer him. At last, all three of the Apple mares were in the kitchen, and I could finish eating.

They got out paring knives and sat at the table, cutting out all the good pieces they could find. The two sisters cut and cleaned up the fruit, Granny inspected and put everything in a pot to boil. I got done eating and started for the door, figuring to join Doc and Shorty, when Granny snaps, “Where do you think your going?” She told me my job was to bring in bushels of fruit and take the remains to the hogs. Hogs don't seem to notice or mind worms. The four of us worked a couple of hours until it was time to start supper. So we cleaned up things and started cooking. After calling for Doc and Shorty and Mr. Mac, I ran to the bunkhouse, got washed up, grabbed my book.

After supper, Granny still had me working in the kitchen! After all, we needed to finish the job we'd started. It's late now and the work's winding down. Miss Bloom got sent off to bed a while ago.

Granny was plenty gruff today, and I was worried she was angry with me, but she acted the same with everypony else. I've seen her be the same with Miss AJ and Mr. Mac plenty of times. She wasn't mad, she was treating me the same way she treats kin. Felt a bit odd though. I liked working with the family, but sometimes it felt like it wasn't really happening.

I must be tired, that's all. One more batch, maybe two, and then we'll clean up and call it a night.

Wednesday, 17 October

I don't even know how to start. This is terrible. I'm scared everything is ruined now. I'm scared what the Apples are going to do. I'm scared of what Shorty's going to do.

We were taking out some half-dead trees this afternoon. Doc asked about what went on yesterday. Yesterday seemed so wonderful, I just couldn't stop talking about it. I forgot Shorty was there. He started accusing me of slacking off and making more work for him and Doc. I tried to ignore him. Doc told him he was full of it and he should shut his mouth and get back to work.

Shorty went on about how I'd spent the day playing with the girls, while he and Doc did real work. Doc stood up for me, saying it was honest work, because that's what Granny wanted me to do. But Shorty kept running his mouth. I told him about the work I did, and how hard the mares worked. That just got him starting in on the Apples.

He said that the mares were a “herd of fools” to work so hard on “garbage”. Doc told him to shut up, but he kept saying how stupid they were, and that I was a just as stupid to do extra work for them.

I couldn't take it no longer and rushed him. He was fast and knocked me over, but I kicked back before he could lay one on me. By sheer luck, my kick landed square on his jaw. And Shorty was out cold.

I should feel good at that, because that bastard deserves every bit of what I gave him. Instead, I'm scared. What are the Apples gonna do when they find out? What's Shorty gonna do? Doc said he'd take care of everything. I trust Doc and know he'll do his best, but what if he can't get the Apples to believe him? And how's he gonna deal with Shorty?

When I got back to the bunkhouse, I didn't know what to do. My mind was racing around, and all I wanted to do was run away. I started packing, but when I went to pack this book, I stopped. This little book's been where I've been writing about what a good place this farm is and how nice the town is. I'd written how I knew this is where I should be.

If I was right about those things, then running's wrong. I've got to trust that I was right. I trust Doc will to do me right and I've got to trust the Apples will understand it wasn't my fault. I won't leave.

But my mind can't let go of the thought that the Apples are gonna throw me outta here. I don't want to be out on the road no more. I want to stay. Stay right here. My mind's been fixed on staying so long, I don't know what to do anymore.

And what if Shorty comes after me? What if he's got a knife somewhere? How am I supposed to fight him then? I don't know what to do.

I've got to trust Doc. I've got to trust the Apples. I gotta because I've got nothing else left.

On the Porch

“You head back to the bunkhouse,” Doc instructed West, “and keep outta sight. Keep a cool head too. Don't do nothing rash. If you see Mac or AJ on your way, make up some story. Tell 'em—” His mind came up blank. “Something—I don't know. Tell 'em you're looking for something or the other.”

West nodded.

“Leave it to me.” Doc rested a hoof on West's shoulder. “I'll take care of everything, including this one.” He gestured towards Shorty.

“Now go!” Doc gave him a smack, and West galloped off through the orchard.

Doc trotted back to where Shorty lay on the ground. Anger roiled in him as he looked at the unconscious pony. The plans for winter were unravelling, all because he'd been stupid enough to help somepony out.

Shorty's eyes began to flutter.

Doc's kick landed with a hollow thunk on Shorty's chest. “Git up you idiot,” he sneered.

“Son-of-a…” Shorty mumbled as he pulled himself up. “What happened?”

“You got what you deserved, that's what happened.” Doc turned his head and spat. “That, and ya probably cost us our escrow.”

“Huh?” Shorty blinked, slowly bringing the world into focus. He scooted backwards and leaned on a tree. “That bastard shouldn't have—”

“Shut your damn mouth! What did you expect riding him like that? You know how he feels about them! But, oh no, you had to keep at it, didn't you? I've had it with you! Ya don't have the sense to keep that damn mouth of yours shut for ten minutes, do ya?”

“Listen, Doc, I—”

“I'm tired of listening to you, so shut up.” Doc took a step away for a second, and then came back at Shorty, shoving his hoof into his face. “Ya know, I think I've figured it out now.” His body shook. “I think there's only way you can learn anything, am I right? I think your Pa had that figured out too. It's time I teach you a lesson and beat the hell out of you right now!”

“You go to hell!”

Doc took deep, angry breaths as his hoof hovered over Shorty's head. Trembling, he slowly returned it to the ground.

“Dammit, Shorty.” He held his hoof on his forehead, his eyes closed. “Why the hell do you always do this?”

“What's gotten into you, Doc?” Shorty rubbed his aching jaw. He stared up at Doc's frustrated grimace, puzzled by the reaction.

“Let me see your face,” Doc said matter of fact. He put his hoof under Shorty's chin and examined both sides.

“Bad?” Shorty asked.

“No, but it's gonna swell. Can't hide it,” he said. “West will keep his mouth shut 'cause I told him to, but your face is gonna tell the story better than he ever could.” Doc looked off into the trees. “Dammit!”

“So what are we gonna do? That bastard will put the blame on me for sure. He'll have me thrown out!”

Doc paced back and forth. “Now listen here, punk,” he said, “I'm going to go see if I can get us out of this mess. You can't be seen util this is all sorted out. So stay put and don't even think of going after him, understand?” He turned and started towards the farm house.

“And what if I did?” Shorty shot back.

Doc walked back and looked down with an icy glare. “I swear by all this is holy, if you go at him again—code or no code—I will put you in the bone orchard.”

A heavy silence hung between. At last, Short said, “Seriously?”

Doc clenched his jaw tighter. “I promise you.”

“You're a bigger fool than he is,” Shorty mumbled as he stared at the ground.

Doc snorted and galloped off.

—❦—

As he approached the farm house, Doc slowed to a trot. She was just where he knew she'd be, on the porch in her rocker, sleeping the afternoon away, with her head tilted back and her mouth open wide. He stood in front of Granny and cleared his throat. She remained oblivious to the world. A loud forced cough got her attention, and her eyes fluttered open.

Granny brought her head up and looked about, disoriented, squinting in the bright light. “Doc—” She rubbed her eyes and blinked. “Did I oversleep?”

“Pardon me for disturbing your beauty rest, Ma'am,” he said, “but I need to have a little conversation.”

“Eh?”

“My”—he wiped imaginary sweat from his brow and looked into the sky—“certainly is a hot one so late in the year, isn't it? Nary a bit of breeze either.” He put on his best, polished smile.

Granny adjusted herself in the rocker and peered at him with one eye. “So ya woke me to deliver a weather report?”

“I wish that were the case, Ma'am.” He sheepishly pawed at the ground. “You see, we've had a bit of what you might call—oh—an incident out in the orchard.”

“Ya don't say.” Granny looked on stone-face as she crossed her forelegs.

“It just been so gosh darn hot today, even under your folk's beautiful apple trees…”

Granny's eyes narrowed.

“Well, we do a lot of talking to pass the time, ya see, and eventually, the conversation turned to how hard we've all been working.” He grinned and rolled his head back. “Then it turned to who had been working the hardest—”

The old mare huffed.

“—and thanks to this gosh darn heat, the words, well they got a little hot too, and that lead to some good natured shoving…” Doc looked at the ground and let his ears flop down. “And that, unfortunately, lead to a little dust up.” He kept his head down, but peered up cautiously, waiting for her reaction.

“Oh, Doc.” She sighed and dropped her head.

“I know,” he pleaded. “Honest, I tried to have 'em keep cooler heads.”

“Doc, Doc, Doc—” she moaned and shook her head.

“Please, Ma'am—”

“—I laid out the rules when you fellers started here. Ya know what I'm gonna hav'ta do.”

“Granny, please.” He sniffled. “I know those were the rules, we all did, but I'm begging you, please don't send none of us off. You know we've all been workin' real hard. It's been a rough year for all of us. Give 'em another chance, that's all I'm askin' from ya.”

Granny looked sternly at him and re-crossed her forelegs.

“Please, they're my friends. They're good, honest ponies at heart, and—” he paused for emphasis, “—if you send 'em off, I'm going to have to go with one or the other. It wouldn't be fair otherwise, would it?” He rubbed his nose. “We'll only be here for a few more weeks. I promise I'll make 'em behave.”

“Well…” She exhaled deeply. “Ain't none of ya given us no trouble up to now.”

“No, Ma'am.” He straightened up and held his hoof to his chest. “I promise you there'll be no more trouble.”

The old mare watched in silence, her eyes burrowing into him. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Slowly, he returned his hoof to the ground.

“Now, tell me—” Granny paused and rubbed her chin, “—is either of 'em hurt?”

“A few scrapes and bruises. Nothing bad.” Doc sighed. “Shorty got the worst of it,”—a sly grin grew on his face—“but I think his pride was hurt more than anything else.”

After a chuckle Granny said, “I see.” She smoothed out some errant hairs in her mane. “This little dust up wouldn't have been caused by a certain Mr. Short Line's mouth, would it now?”

Doc raised his head up to the sky, but his eyes were locked on her. “It certainly is hot today, ain't it?”

They laughed.

“All right,” Granny said, “I'll give 'em another chance.”

“Thank you, Ma'am. Don't fret, I'll keep 'em in line.”

“I'm sure yur word's good, Doc, but I ain't gonna take no chances.”

His eyes opened wide. “Hmm?”

“Big McIntosh will be supervisin' you boys for the next few days. Not workin', just watchin'. Ya got that straight?”

He nodded.

“If'n you three don't have the good sense to keep cool heads with Mac around, ya know what I'll do to the lot of ya.” Granny paused and glared.

“And let me warn ya…” She leaned forward in the rocker and the last trace of softness in her face disappeared as she waggled her head slowly from side-to-side. “Y'all don't want to see my grandson break up a fight, 'cause a lot more'll be hurt than somepony's pride.”

Doc gulped. “Understood, Ma'am.”

“Good.” She leaned back. “Now, you git those two settled down and cleaned up. Tell 'em they've lost a day's pay for wastin' my time—but that's all. Let 'em know I'll be expectin' a quiet and civil supper time tonight, too.” She groaned and massaged a crick in her neck.

“Oh, and Doc, let's try not to be surprised when McIntosh drops by the bunkhouse, just casually ya know, to say goodnight. I expect ya'll to sleep like babies. Maybe heads will be cooler tomorrow.” She rose from the rocker and headed for the door.

“No more shenanigans from here on out,” she warned. “We've got too much work to do.”

“Yes, Ma'am, we certainly do.” He breathed a relieved sigh and bowed his head as she walked inside.

He turned and trotted back to the orchard, wearing a satisfied grin. “Ya still got it, Doc,” he said to himself. “Ya still got it.”

Diary, Part Nine

Thursday, 18 October

Doc has saved me. He's the best friend I've ever had. Whatever he said to the Apples fixed things, because we are all still here. Things ain't like they used to be, though. Mr. Mac was with us the whole day today. He didn't say nothing at all, not that he's a talker, and he didn't work much. All his time was spent watching us. And when he looks at me, I know he knows what happened, but he won't say nothing about it.

And nopony said a word at supper last night. Tonight there was hardly any either. It's like everypony knows, but they are all afraid to mention it. Downright uncomfortable.

I wish that was the worst of it. The worst is Shorty, but that ain't no surprise. He doesn't say anything to me anymore, and he barely talks to Doc. Sometimes, I'll catch him watching me. He'll look away when I do, but I can see how much he hates me.

It's frightening, because there's a mean streak in his eye that wasn't there before. It used to be he didn't plain like me. Now I see hate and know he's planning something. How am I supposed to live with that? What if he tries something while I'm asleep or when Doc or nopony else is around? I've got that terrible feeling you get when you think that everypony might be after you.

I know it's only a couple more weeks, but I don't know if I can take it. I hardly slept at all last night. My mind kept tossing so much, that even if I was asleep, I didn't get any rest. How bad is it going to be in a few days? A whole week?

That feeling that I got to run sneaks up on me ever so often and then I can't think straight. I've got to push it down, because it's wrong. I know that something's got to give, but this time it ain't going to be me. This is the right place for me, and not Shorty or nothing else is going to drive me away. The Apples respect me and I do good work for them. Ponies in town know my name and like me. I belong here. I just know it in my heart. Every time I feel like running, I need to remind myself of that.

Monday, 22 October

I guess things are getting back to normal, if you can call it that. The three of us are working alone again, and Mr. Mac and Miss AJ are on their own team. When we work, there ain't much talking anymore. I stay away from Shorty and he stays away from me. I don't give a damn what he does as long as he don't bother me.

He hasn't said or done anything to me since the fight, but I still don't trust him. I hope it's because he's afraid of what the Apples would do if he causes any more problems. When I had a chance to talk to Doc all alone, he said it's about money. All three of us have got a lot of bits waiting when we cash out, and Shorty doesn't want to lose his. I'm glad he cares more about bits than he does about me.

It's so quiet while we work taking out these old trees. We only talk to each other when we have to, and it's nothing but work talk. Even Doc is quiet and the heavens know that ain't like him at all. We eat without talking, then we go back to the bunkhouse and don't talk. Shorty plays with his cards. I read. Me and Doc played chess once, but neither one of us had our hearts in it so we didn't do it again. He got so bored he even borrowed a book from me.

There's less than two weeks to go, so I think I can stand it. Doc said he and Shorty will head south, probably taking as much of the winter off as they can afford to. He asked me if I wanted to go with them, just in case the Apples wouldn't keep me on. I couldn't believe he even asked. When I told him no, he said he already knew my answer, but he asked to be polite. Good old Doc. Such a shame he can't see the farm is a sweet deal and stay here with me.

Tuesday, 23 October

I did the deliveries like I always do, but a bit slow, because it was nice to be away from the problems with Shorty. Nothing has happened so far, still, I don't want to be around him if I don't have to.

I'm not afraid of him anymore. When I see him, I get angry not scared, like I want to have it out with him for giving me so much grief. I don't like feeling scared or angry, but I'll put up with it for another week or so. It's hard to believe we're at the end of the season already.

Next week I'm asking the Apples. I want to look presentable when I make my proposal, so after work on Saturday, I'll hit town and get all cleaned up again. I've got a little speech planned out in my head. First, I'll tell Granny how grateful I am for having the opportunity to work and for her trusting me with the deliveries. Then I need to tell her something about how I feel about the whole town and the farm in particular. I'll tell her about what the farm means to me and how I want to help fix it up when spring comes around. I'm going to have it all practiced so I don't mess up nothing. Despite everything that's happened, I've no doubt that she'll let me stay.

Wednesday, 24 October

After supper the three of us were going back to the bunkhouse. Out of nowhere, Shorty shoved me and practically knock me over. I shoved him right back. He turned around and looked at me with an evil glare, and I looked him right back. The two of us stood there, waiting for the other to do something. I knew he was going to come at me again, but I wasn't about to back down.

Doc stood there not saying nothing for the longest time. At first I figured he didn't know what to do. Then I glanced at him, and I could see in his eyes that he was boiling mad. He was too angry to move or speak. Finally, he got ahold of himself and told us to calm down before we all got thrown off the farm.

He made Shorty clear off. Shorty looked at him mean, the same way he looks at me, but he listened and walked back to the bunkhouse like Doc told him. The two of us watched him walk away real slow. We didn't say nothing until he was out of sight.

Once Shorty was gone, Doc got spitting mad. He ran out of cuss words and then told me not to worry. I was to watch myself, he said, but not panic. We got talking about Shorty, and Doc says the way he's been acting has got him all worn out. He's having second thoughts about traveling south with him now.

I told Doc I ain't going to be pushed around no more, even if that meant trouble with the Apples. He promised me he'd make sure Shorty left me alone, even if he had to fight him himself. When Doc leaves, I'm gonna lose the best friend I've ever had.

All three of us are back at the bunkhouse. Doc's reading that book he borrowed or at least pretending to. Shorty's sitting on his bunk, playing with those damn cards of his like neither of us exist.

I know he's waiting to start something. Well, I'm waiting too.

In the Orchard

Thursday, 25 October — Early Afternoon

A wail carried through the wooded hills of the Apple's orchard. Two ponies' ears pricked up and they froze and looked at each other. Another outcry reached them.

Mac's head snapped in the direction of the sound. “They better not be fightin' again.” He clenched his jaw.

“That don't sound like no fightin' noises,” Applejack said. A third cry drifted through the hills. “Let's go!”

They broke into a gallop, racing out of the trees, over the hilltops, towards the hollow where the three laborers were working. At the top of the hill, they stopped and looked for them below.

In the hollow, a dead apple tree lay across what was once a cart, its wooden frame reduced to kindling, snapped branches entangling the remains. Nearby, Shorty lay on the ground, rocking and moaning, his hooves clasped over his head. On the far side of the fallen tree, stood Doc, immobile.

Applejack glanced at her brother before they rushed down the hillside. As she approached, she glimpsed the third pony, still harnessed to the cart, beneath the shattered branches.

She ran to the cart. McIntosh ran to Shorty.

“What in the hay happened?” Mac yelled at the pony crouched on the ground.

Shorty unburied his head, and with bulging eyes, he raised a shaking foreleg toward McIntosh. Mac shrank back.

“This wasn't supposed to happen,” Shorty blubbered. “It wasn't supposed to be like this! I didn't mean it!” He grasped at Mac.

“Make sense!” Mac stomped his hoof. “Tell me what happened.”

“Mac…” Applejack called.

He did not hear her. His pounding heart drowned out her words.

Shorty leapt up as if possessed, grabbing hold of Mac's collar. “You have to believe me!” His lips trembled. “I didn't mean to do it—it was supposed to scare him. It wasn't supposed to hurt him!”

Mac stood, mouth agape.

“Doc, everypony… I didn't mean to… You have to believe me!”

“Mac…” Applejack repeated as she clawed her way through snarled branches and pieces of the cart, tossing them aside as they came loose.

“Take yur damn hooves off me ya fool!” Mac bellowed, throwing Shorty off him.

He stumbled backwards and collapsed, whimpering and moaning. Shorty buried his head under his hooves and kept his eyes clamped shut.

“McIntosh…” Applejack called again.

“What?”

“He don't look like he's breathin'.” Applejack's words sounded distant even to herself, as if spoken by somepony else. She pushed aside a tangle of small branches to see West, pinned to the ground, a large branch across his back and neck.

Mac swiveled around and faced her. “What!”

“It's West. He's trapped and it don't look good.” The snap of branches rebounded from the hills as Applejack hurried to free him.

“No! It's not my fault!” wailed Shorty. “You have to believe me!”

“Shut-up!” Mac snapped. “You”—he thrust his hoof towards Doc—“help her git those branches off yur friend—now!”

The order shattered Doc's trance and he stepped towards the remains of the cart.

Applejack reached through the branches to touch West's side. She stepped back and sat down.

“McIntosh, I—” Her voice trembled for a moment. “I don't think it's gonna do no good.”

Doc glared at Shorty. “You bastard!”

“No, Doc! It's not my fault! I didn't know—”

“You bastard! I'm gonna—”

“Everypony shut up!” McIntosh yelled.

Shorty jumped up and started trotting back and forth, babbling uncontrollably. “You can't— nopony could tell— how was I— it's not— you wouldn't—”

McIntosh strode up to him, his eyes aflame.

Paralyzed by Mac's determined look, Shorty stopped, his body trembling, but before Mac could reach him, he screamed and galloped away.

For a moment, Mac thought to chase after him, but halted when Doc began to move.

“No!” Mac yelled. “You stay here!”

Doc obeyed.

“Damn fools!” Mac spat. He turned to Applejack. “I'll go into town and get the doctor.”

“Mac—It's too late.”

“No, AJ,” he yelled, “I'm gonna go get the doctor!” Mac stared at her.

From the other side of the hollow, a small voice called down to them. “Sis? Big Mac?” Apple Bloom stood at the top of the hill with her friends beside her. “What's going on?”

“Bloom, honey, you wait right there.” Mac held up his foreleg, but the fillies continued down the slope.

“AJ,” he said, his voice low and steady, “it's gonna be all right. I'm gonna go get the doctor, okay? Everything's gonna be all right.”

“No, Mac.” Applejack bit her lip and slowly shook her head. “It ain't.”

He felt the need to argue surge within him. He needed to make her see she was wrong. He'd race into town, bring back the doctor, and things would be all right again. That's the way things worked. Mac stared at his sister, ready to tell her she was wrong, but her pained expression made it clear. This was something he couldn't make right again, something he could never fix. Mac swallowed and hung his head, the sudden weight of his collar pulling him down. He shuffled towards Doc.

“Doc,” he said in a low monotone, “those fillies don't need to see none of this. Take 'em back to the house. Tell Granny what's happened. Would ya do that—please?”

Doc's glazed eyes moved from West's body to McIntosh's serious face. He'd heard the words, but his thoughts were miles away.

“Doc,” Mac said, “I need you to—”

“Yes—yes, sir.” Doc blinked rapidly. “I—I will.” He straightened himself and donned a subtle smile. A glimmer returned to his eyes, and he seemed taller, perhaps younger, as he trotted briskly towards the three fillies, now at the bottom of the slope.

“Well now,” he said in a practiced voice, “why don't you pretty young ladies come along with me while McIntosh and Applejack get things sorted out here, okay?”

“What's goin' on, Doc?” Apple Bloom asked. “Where are Shorty and West?”

“What happened, mister?” Sweetie Belle squeaked. “Was there—”

“Yeah, tell us what happened,” Scootaloo blurted out. “We heard an awful lot of yelling.” The little pegasus peered around him at the fallen tree.

“Well…” He positioned himself sideways to block her view. “Never mind that. Let's all go see Granny, hmm? I'm sure she's got something delicious for us in that kitchen of her's. That sounds like an especially fine idea to me, what do you think?”

His eyes darted over their blank faces.

“We'll just leave everything here to Big Mac and Applejack.” He fought to hold his trembling smile. “I'm sure everything will be fine.”

Doubting eyes faced him, calling him a damned liar plainer than words ever could. But he hadn't needed them to tell him that. He knew what he was before those words crossed his lips.

Lies had always come with ease to him. Over the years, there'd been many lies to many ponies: lies for gain, lies to hide, sometimes lies just for the hell of it. But this lie had been for himself as much as for those three.

Everything will be fine. How desperate he was to believe that, but if those three didn't, how could he? Nothing could conceal the truth: Things wouldn't be all right.

They couldn't, for he'd made promises. He'd failed to keep his promise to West and nothing could fix that now. But he'd made a promise to Shorty, too. Doc had built a mountain of lies and broken promises, so what was one more? No—he wasn't going to let that one be added to the heap.

His fragile smile dissolved, for he realized nothing would be fine, or good, or right for him ever again.

Doc hung his head, and when he opened his mouth, for the first time in a very long time, he decided to speak only the truth.

“Please, darlin's,” he begged, “just—just come along with me.” Without waiting for a response, he walked away and the three fillies followed.

He led them back up the slope, away from the remains of the old apple tree laying in the hollow. As they followed, the young ones did not turn around to look and they did not ask questions, they only walked, listening to the cracks of branches echoing off the hillsides.

Promises

Applejack placed the diary on the kitchen table, sat down, and crossed her hooves. She slid the book a few inches closer to her grandmother.

“Would you've had him winter-over?”

“He was a decent fellow.” Granny Smith's voice held an exhaustion beyond the late hour. She sat and stared with glassy eyes, through her granddaughter's form and beyond the kitchen's far wall.

“That may be, but it don't answer my question.”

“And how do ya expect me to give an honest answer?” Granny snapped. “How's anypony supposed to give an honest answer after readin' that book of his and knowin' what happened?”

Applejack hung her head.

“Dammit!” A cup rattled in its saucer as Granny struck the table. “I should've listened to Mac and sent him on his way. He'd be alive today if I had and we'd all be better off for it!”

Applejack peered at her from beneath the brim of her hat.

The anger in Granny's face melted into a vacant stare. “But—” she continued in a voice small and lost. “But it didn't seem right. The three of them comin' together and us sending one of 'em off—it just didn't seem right. Not right.”

“How could ya have known, Granny?” Applejack said. “None of us know the future. You did what ya thought was right and proper. There ain't no blame in that. Things happen—things we can't help.”

“But I could've helped!” Granny reached across the table, grasping at something distant and intangible. “I could've sent him away on the day he came. I could've sent him away after the fightin'. Twice! I could've saved him twice, just by sendin' him away. But I didn't.”

Applejack remained silent.

“I couldn't bring myself to do it. I just couldn't.” Granny sighed and slumped back as if she'd exhausted the last of her strength. She placed her hooves on the table and pressed them together.

Applejack retrieved the book and leafed through its pages. She reached the last page with writing, closed it, and held it before her with both hooves.

“Why didn't he ask me?” Granny pleaded. “I could've told him we couldn't promise nothin'. He was on a fool's errand, Applejack. A fool's errand.”

As Applejack began to reply, anger siezed Granny again.

“Dammit! If that's what kindness buys these days, I'm through with it! What good did kindness do, eh? Is anypony better off 'cause of it? One pony's dead and another's on the run from the law. Tell me where's the good in that? Kindness ain't worth the cost!”

“Don't talk like—”

“Oh, I'm sorry, it's just…” She paused and sighed. “Ya think you're doin' the right thing, being a good pony, helpin' folks out, and then—then this.”

“Ya did the best you could, Granny.” Applejack mustered a pained smile.

“I don't know. I just don't know no more.” Granny closed her eyes and exhaled. “We didn't make much from cider this year, but, thank heavens, we're still in the black.” She opened her eyes and looked forlorn at Applejack. “We might not have been able to feed him, let alone pay him. You should know that much from workin' at the numbers yourself.”

“Yes, I do.” Applejack reached over and touched her. “I just needed to know your mind.”

Granny pulled back and looked out the window.

“Well”—Applejack placed the book between them—“what do we do with this now?”

Granny refused to turn and look at her or the book.

“He had some books borrowed from the library that'll need returnin'. I reckon you should take that with 'em tomorrow when you go into town. Give it to your friend. She'll know the right thing to do.”

—❦—

“But he was just here the other week.”

“I know.” Applejack sat by the library door watching Twilight flip through the pages of the diary hovering in front of her.

“And now he's—gone. Just like that. Gone.”

“I know.” Applejack fidgeted.

“And his friends?”

“His friends?” Applejack huffed. “Shorty ain't been seen since the day of the accident. He packed-up and high-tailed it out of there before we figured out what to do. Sheriff's mighty anxious to talk to him, let me tell you. And his other so-called friend…”

Twilight paused and looked up. “Hmm?”

“Doc didn't show up for breakfast the next day,” Applejack said. “Mac went to check on him at the bunkhouse, and he'd cleared out too. Didn't say nothin' to nopony 'bout it. Left behind his escrow to boot. And that's after all but promisin' Granny he'd be there.” Applejack shook her head. “I don't know what to make of none of that.”

Twilight resumed reading, breezing through the pages, while Applejack sat patiently watching.

“Remarkable,” Twilight exclaimed.

“What's that?”

“I find it really remarkable,” Twilight said. “He didn't have any family at all?”

“He did, just, it's—well—complicated and different,” Applejack said. “They all got regular families, ya know, but none they'll tell ya about. I mean, they leave 'em behind in most cases to escape their troubles and all.”

“Remarkable,” Twilight repeated and shook her head.

“I guess they make do with havin' friends,” Applejack continued, “like with the three of them comin' to town together and working at different places and such. But its nothin' permanent like a family.”

Twilight looked up from the book. “What about that tailor in Manehatten he mentioned?”

“Watchmaker and Fillydelphia,” Applejack corrected.

“Right—sorry. Did you contact him? Did he know anything about him or his family?”

“Sent an airmail message off to him yesterday. Cost us quite a bit, too.” Applejack removed her hat and pushed her forelock aside. “Had the mailpony wait for his reply and everything.”

“And?” Twilight closed the book and placed it on her writing desk.

“Poor old feller was really broke up by the news. Nephew was, too. It made me feel bad having 'em hear what happened that way.”

“Of course, but did they have any details about his family?”

“Nope.” Applejack pursed her lips. “Said we'd spent more time with him than he had, and that we probably knew more about him than he did. I don't reckon that's the case.”

“I don't know what to say.” Twilight laughed nervously. “I'm just so used to having a family, knowing that they're there, even when I don't see them that often. You end up taking it for granted they'll be there when you need them. Then you read about ponies like this, and—” Her mouth hung open as she searched for words. “I'm going to have to take time and read it properly,” she concluded, “maybe then I'll understand.”

“Ain't that hard to understand,” Applejack said, “it's just we're not used to it, that's all.”

“I don't see what you mean.”

“See, it's not like he didn't want family, Twi',” Applejack said. “I figure that's why he wanted to stay here instead of movin' on, so he could be part of our family—part of the Ponyville family. I mean, everypony wants to feel like they belong somewhere, some place where they're appreciated for what they do and who they are. That's just plain sense. But it comes so easy to ponies like me and you, we forget that ain't always gonna be the case.

“Fellers like them, for some reason or t'other, seem to have to work hard to find where they need to be. They ain't handed a family like we are. Instead, they gotta go out and find one to be part of or make one of their own. Some of 'em might never find one at all, and in his case, well—he found one too late.”

Twilight smiled. “You're quite a philosopher, AJ,” she said softly.

“Well, that may be,” Applejack sighed, “but philosophers still gotta work. I best be dealin' with the rest of my business in town.” She put on her well-worn hat and pushed it back. “I'll see ya tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” Twilight replied and paused briefly. “What time is the service?”

“Eleven o'clock,” Applejack replied. “Up on the hill—” She halted and her lips began to quiver and her voice shook as she forced herself on. “—where my parents…”

Twilight strode across the room and wrapped her forelegs around Applejack's shaking body.

“Oh, AJ.” Twilight pulled her close. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay.” Applejack tried to clear her throat. “I'm—I'm all right. I just wasn't ready…” She let out the faintest of gasps and then didn't make a sound.

“Now”—Twilight hugged her—“you take some of that back to Granny Smith, okay? It sounds like she could use it, too.” Twilight felt a nod.

“I will—thank you.”

Twilight clung to her for a long time, tightening her grip on each sniffle until they stopped.

“I want you to know,” Applejack whispered. “I'm glad you're part of my family.”

As Twilight released her, she placed her hooves on Applejack's shoulders and looked into her glistening green eyes. She smiled.

“And I'm glad you're part of mine.”

—❦—

Doc scrambled to the top of the embankment and collapsed, laying face down in the long, dry grass with his eyes closed. At the water's edge the frogs croaked their song for day's end. Only an hour or two remained before the trains would be coming through, and he'd have to get moving. Right now, he couldn't.

Deep breaths were hardly slowing things down. Doc opened his eyes and rolled on his side and propped himself up. The grass was slippery, and he slid a bit. He looked down at the cattails growing in the shallow creek where Shorty's body lay. All at one, a peculiar thought entered his mind. Those crawdads finally got their supper—they just needed to be patient.

Eerie laughter possessed him, ending at last in a sob. He dragged his hooves down his face. A few gasps of air let him regain his composure.

Doc picked up the folding knife sitting on his left and wiped its blade on the grass. It was far from clean, and the mechanism was obviously fouled. No time or means to deal with it, he thought, and he scowled as he hurled it upstream. The knife tumbled through the air and landed in the water with a satisfying plunk. It had never been a good knife anyway, he reasoned.

The reddening sky stood as a reminder of the hour. He'd kept his promise, and now he had to make a choice. Shorty's gear would take a ride on a southbound freight, that was already determined. The two of them had done enough talking about Las Pegasus that everypony would expect them to be heading that way. He'd leave a few bits in Shorty's pack to make it look genuine.

With the remainder of Shorty's money, and his own, he'd be set for a while. But where to go? The plans he'd made in spring were shot now, probably forever. Filly or Manehatten then? After all, he knew plenty of folks there, but if Shorty was found before spring...

Shorty would be found, and it didn't matter when. And when Shorty was found, they'd come looking for him. No doubt about that. Old acquaintances, Doc realized, were a liability. Those places were out.

He lifted himself up and dashed to the tree where he'd stashed his things. Doc sat, pressing himself close to the trunk to disguise his silhouette. As he looked towards Ponyville, he shook his head. West had been right all along: The place had been a sweet deal. Too bad he couldn't stay there.

Not there and not here. It had been years since Doc didn't know where he was headed. Then he remembered someplace nopony knew about, well, nopony alive.

A dozen years, he mused. Would they know him? Want him? Stranger things had happened in this forsaken world. He tossed on his bags, grunting as he added Shorty's to the load.

“Time to take a little trip,” he announced to the world in general. “Let's go see if they recognize old Meadowlark.”

He trotted towards the rail line as a chilly October breeze swept leaves around him. It reminding him of the coming winter. Winter reminded him of growing up in Whinnyapolis. Nopony could conceive of a rottener place to spend a winter. Ice and snow and bitter cold even on a sunny day. He'd hated that city, its cold, its endless winters, and he'd hated his family, and his wife, and eventually himself. But it had been home, and it might be again.

When he'd told Granny Smith he was heading home it had been a pleasant lie, a little something to make the old mare feel better. Then the silly old thing had to go and wish him luck. He hadn't thought much about needing that sort of luck since he hadn't been telling the truth at the time.

Meadowlark laughed. He was becoming a terrible liar.

Author's Note

I started writing this story back in October of 2012. I was picking quinces from a neighbor's tree—they grow, we pick and process—and I started thinking about a story of somepony working in the Apple's orchard. At that time, I decided on a diary format and banged out the core of it in three or four sessions. There was a seed of a story there, but the diary entries, plus two or three entries from the Apples ledger, just didn't do the trick. It was dull and dry.

In December of 2012, while driving back from the holiday vacation, I figured out what to do for what turned out to be the first half of the first chapter, but then the project went back on the shelf. Only once I'd completed three other stories did I return to it and finally come up with the interleaving of diary entries and scenes in which West does not appear. That still took another three revisions before it got to the form you see here.

The theme was to be West's development based on Maslow's hierarchy of needs. West starts out insecure both physically and psychologically. Many of the events in his diary are to either express his longing for some of these needs or have him achieve them. Two of the needs in the hierarchy are friendship and family, topics very relevant to MLP, and who better to represent family than the Apples.

For each of the three elder Apples, I wanted them to have a moment when they are tested. For Granny, her faith in good deeds is tested as she blames herself for West's death. McIntosh gets two moments, the first having him overcome his distrust and pride. His confidence in himself is tested when West is killed and he realizes that he can't control the situation. Applejack is one of those characters that seems indestructible, perhaps that is why I like her so much. Her moment is saved for the very end when the reality of West's death crashes down upon her. Her curt speech in the epilogue shows how she's trying to keep her emotions under control, but breaks down when she imagines West being buried next to her parents, an event that must be in the recent past based upon Apple Bloom's age. But Applejack is strong, and she only lets her emotions escape for a moment.

As for the drifters, West is marginalized because of his lack of education and skill, but his true skill is survival. A runaway at age 14, he's being living on his own for 30 years. Doc is a similar character, about a decade younger than West, and his skill is social manipulation. He tries to manipulate Shorty and make him his protégé, with little success. Shorty is a volatile individual; he's arrogant with a penchant for violence. His mother died when he was young, and he was raised by an abusive father. He takes his anger out on just about everypony, including Doc, but especially West.

Doc was a character that developed as I wrote him. First, he's not to be trusted. Most of what he tells Granny in the first chapter is a lie, and he lies again after the fight. Finally, he finds himself lying to children and has an epiphany. At that moment, he realized what a mess his lies have made and decides he is going to uphold his promise to West to fight Shorty as well as his oath to put him in the "bone orchard".

And as Applejack talks with Twilight, Doc is already off keeping his murderous promise.

For the few who made it this far, thank you very much for reading this story.