The large stallion sat in front of his living room window, enjoying a moment of peaceful solitude while watching the weather outside. Macintosh loved the rain. Though it took longer to finish his chores and he had to clean himself up before going back into the house, he loved it just the same. There was something about the sound of the droplets falling in sheets upon the fields outside that was just so... mesmerizing. The stallion smiled to himself as he turned away from the window, and a memory surfaced in his thoughts. It was a day like this, years ago, that his father had taught him how to play his favorite game.
Moving to the kitchen, he opened the drawer next to the oven and began rooting around in it. Paring knife, pie thermometer... Maracas? Macintosh shook his head. I’ll have to have another chat with Apple Bloom about putting her things where they belo-- Ah, there it is!
Setting the maracas to the side, Macintosh reached back into the drawer and brought out a small cherry wood board. Running a hoof over the top of it, he took in the slightly off-kilter peg holes and faded lines with a grin that nearly reached his ears. Still perfect. Flipping the board over, the stallion slid a small metal panel from its recess on the back, revealing six small pegs: Three silver, three copper. Macintosh snorted in disbelief. Everything’s still here. I thought for sure that Apple Bloom would’ve tried to use this in some hair-brained scheme to get her cutie mark.
The farmer pulled a deck of cards from the drawer before placing the utensils and, with another shake of his head, the musical instruments back where he had found them. He set his own prizes on the kitchen table and sat down, listening to the gentle pitter-patter of the rain outside. Mesmerizing. His eyelids drooped and slowly closed.
********
“Your deal, Bubba.”
Macintosh opened his eyes and looked across the table at his Pa, who had just finished cutting the cards.
“Didn’t I deal the last bushel, Pa?”
The chestnut farmer shrugged. “Nope, that was me.” A smirk crept onto his face. “But if ya don’t want the crib, I’ll be happy to deal.”
Macintosh’s eyes widened and he quickly reached for the cards. “No, that’s okay! I’ll deal.” The dealer always got the crib, and that meant extra points.
Papa Apple laughed heartily. “That’s what I thought.”
Macintosh dealt six cards to the both of them, then set the rest of the deck next to the board. The colt studied his cards for a moment, trying to keep his emotions from showing. Don’t ever let your opponent see a good bushel in your expression, Pa had said on many occasions. He set two cards down in the crib, then watched as his father took two of his cards and tossed them in as well.
Papa Apple flipped the top card of the deck up, revealing a seven. Macintosh sniffed loudly; that wasn’t going to help him. He looked up at his father, his head slightly inclined. “Go ahead, Pa.”
The farmer nodded, and set a card down. “Eight.”
Macintosh winced. Okay, I can see that he’s got some points in his bushel. No big deal. He set down a card of his own. “Twelve.”
Papa Apple casually selected another card to play. “Nineteen.”
The colt looked at his remaining cards, then back at the playing field. “Twenty-four,” he announced with a tone of finality, beaming proudly as he saw his father purse his lips. He must have only high-cards left. First point is mine!
His smile faltered as he watched his father’s pained expression shift into a toothy grin. The chestnut stallion set another card down, ending the first run. “Thirty-one for two.”
Macintosh brought a hoof to his face as his father laughed and took his two points on the board. “How the heck do you do that, Pa?”
The Apple patriarch raised an eyebrow at his son’s question. “What’cha mean, Bubba? I dropped a seven on yer twenty-four. Thirty-one is worth two points, and we start the next run, remember?”
The colt shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. Yer always playing the right cards. I can’t seem to win fer losin’.”
Papa Apple chuckled softly and set the rest of his bushel face-down on the table. “You’ll learn the strategies with time, son. In the meantime, always watch yer opponent. Pay attention to where they pull out the card that they’re playin’. Most folk will arrange their bushel lowest t’ highest. You’ll always learn more watchin’ and listenin’ than you will runnin’ off at the mouth and jumpin’ head-first into something. Remember that.” He pulled a pipe from the satchel at his side and tapped it on his temple before popping it into his mouth. The stallion spoke around the stem as he sparked a match against the side of the table. “Yer turn to play a card, Bubba.”
Macintosh bit the corner of his lip as he watched his father bring the match to his pipe. “Be careful, Pa. Y’know that Ma doesn’t--”
********
“--Want you smokin’ in... the house.” Macintosh’s eyes fluttered open and he found himself leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He sat up straight and wiped his mouth to make sure that he hadn’t been drooling, the smooth, rolling scent of his father’s tobacco still teasing his nostrils . Must’ve dozed off, he thought blearily, before mentally slapping himself. ’Course ya did, dumbass. Rain always makes ya sleepy.
He stood up and stretched, thankful that the mares of the house were out and about in town. The stallion rolled his head from side to side, delighting in the chorus of pops that rattled down the sides of his neck. A craving that he hadn’t felt in some time ate at him, brought on by the dream he had just experienced. Ah, why the hay not? The girls ain’t home.
Macintosh walked to the stairs and made his way up to his room. He found the small box that he was looking for right where he had left it, hidden under some tax forms in his desk. Removing it, he set the box down and gingerly opened the lid, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply as the ghostly scent of pipe smoke filled his senses once again.
The stallion pulled a small leather pouch from the box, and gently shook a little pile of tobacco out. With surprising care, he broke apart a few small clumps, just as he’d seen his father do. When the tobacco was properly loosened, he slowly filled the pipe, placing the looseleaf in the old blackened bowl. Satisfied, he hoofed up an old brass tamper.
Easy does it, he silently reminded himself. When he had first learned to set a pipe, his eagerness had gotten the better of him several times and he had packed the tobacco far too tightly. His father’s words echoed in his memory once again. Anything worth doing is worth taking the time to do it properly. He pressed lightly, feeling the tobacco spring back slightly. Perfect.
Macintosh sparked a match against his horseshoe, and his nose tingled a little at the sulfury burst. He eased the match head into the bowl, puffing lightly as he circled the briarwood rim with the flame. The first mouthfuls of air were dry and acrid, but as the looseleaf began to glow, a full, sweet flavor filled his mouth. Macintosh rolled it around with his tongue and then let it go, watching the tendrils of smoke drift and twist in the still air of the room.
He moved to his nightstand and pulled an ashtray from the top drawer. After dropping the match in it, Macintosh sat down on the edge of his bed, taking another draw from his pipe. The smoke left his mouth in a rush as he sighed. The smoke, the rain, and the memories were just what he needed. He was calm. He was content.
********
He was terrified. The sun was setting fast, and the colt sat on the edge of his bed, unable to do anything but dread what was in store for him.
Why did I have to hit him back?
He had never been in a fight before. It wasn't that he was scared of standing up for himself; even as young as he was, he was still larger than most of his classmates. Macintosh just usually kept to himself, preferring to walk away from confrontation rather than meeting it head-on, like the more hotheaded colts did. When he saw the bully push over that filly, though...
Macintosh rubbed his mane with his hooves nervously. I should've found the teacher. I shouldn't have gotten in his face. I shouldn't have--
The sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs snapped the colt from his thoughts and sent a bolt of panic racing up his spine. His father was home from the fields. While normally Macintosh would be thrilled to see his Pa again, the thought of facing him after the events that took place earlier in the day was unbearable. His granny had nearly pulled his ear off marching him home from school, all the while detailing exactly how he was a disappointment to the Apple clan in general and his Pa in particular. She had told him that his suspension would be spent cleaning the house with nothing but a toothbrush and a feather.
Macintosh hadn’t enjoyed that in the slightest, but it paled in comparison to what his father might do when he found out that his son had been suspended from school for fighting.
The sweat began to trickle down his face when he heard his father’s heavy hoofsteps come up the stairs. A small squeak escaped from his lips as the door to the room opened.
Papa Apple stood in the doorway for a moment, his face unreadable. “I see I don’t have to wake ya, son. Good.” The stallion took a step back, letting the light from the hall illuminate the edge of the room. “Come down to the kitchen.” With that, Papa Apple turned and walked back down the stairs.
Macintosh’s mind went wild with speculation. Is he going to feed me to the timberwolves? Is he gonna send me to the dungeon in Canterlot? Is he gonna banish me to the forest, leaving me to wander around until I go insane? The colt shivered at that last thought. He really didn’t like that forest.
Macintosh crept slowly out of his room, taking care not to make noise; waking his mom and infant sister from their nap would just add fuel to the flames. He entered the kitchen with his head and ears hung low. It took him a moment to realize that his father was sitting at the table, setting up the cribbage board.
Papa Apple smiled slightly at the colt’s shocked expression, but kept an edge to his voice. “Sit.”
Macintosh sat.
The stallion shuffled the deck and began laying out the cards, watching Macintosh with a raised eyebrow the whole time.
The colt’s confusion added to his fear. Are we really going to play a game? Why hasn’t he yelled at me? How am I still alive? This is torture! “Pa, I--” Macintosh cut his sentence off abruptly as his Pa raised a hoof.
“Shhh.” Papa Apple pointed to the table. “Pick yer cards up.”
Macintosh did as he was told, sorting his cards and picking out two for the crib. After the crib was set, he flipped the top card of the deck and played his first card. “Five.”
Papa Apple shook his head before setting a ten down. “I’ll take those two points. I’ve told ya before, Mac: Never lead with a five.”
Macintosh lowered his ears at his father’s gentle rebuke. “Yes, sir.”
A tap on the table brought the colt’s focus back to the game at hoof. “Your move, son.”
The younger Apple set another of his cards down. “S-seventeen.” When is the other hoof gonna drop?
His answer came quicker than he’d have liked. “So,” Papa Apple began, “I heard you got into a little scrap today.”
There it was. The end of his world. Mac was sure that this was the last cribbage game he would ever enjoy, not that he was enjoying it much. He swallowed audibly and looked his father in the eye. He could do that much, at least. “Yes, sir. A bully was--”
The narrowing of his father’s eyes told Macintosh that he should stop talking. Now.
“I don’t want excuses, son. It is what it is. Twenty-four.” He set a seven on to the run of cards.
The colt nodded and pursed his lips. He lay another of his cards down. “Thirty.”
Papa Apple shook his head. “Go.”
Macintosh sat there for a moment, confused. Is he talking about the game? Is he telling me to leave?
The stallion tapped on the table again, and his voice was edged with an uncharacteristic impatience. “Take yer point, I don’t have an ace.”
The colt moved his peg up a hole and grabbed his cards from the first run, setting them face down on the table while his father did the same. “Gone.”
Papa Apple sighed and gazed levelly at Macintosh. “How about you tell me what happened, son? No excuses, just facts.”
Macintosh took a deep breath and began. “There’s this colt, Pa. He likes to pick on smaller foals, ‘specially fillies. Usually it’s just teasin’ and name callin’, but today he pushed a filly while we were at recess. She fell and scraped her knee, and I got real mad.” The colt stopped for a moment, his breaths becoming shallower as his emotions started to overtake him. “I started yellin’ at him, and he yelled back. He punched me, and then I punched him. We rolled on the ground for a while, hitting each other. It wasn’t until Missus Quill broke us up that I realized that we were both covered in dirt and blood, and the filly was crying for us to stop.”
Macintosh felt his eyes begin to sting, both in fear of his father’s reaction, and the memory of another. “The filly was scared of me, Pa. I didn’t like that.”
Papa Apple nodded sagely. “That sounds about right, son. Violence is the path of last resort, and it ain’t ever pretty.” He reached over the table and patted his son on the shoulder. “Still, I ain’t about to fault you for defending yerself or those smaller than you.”
Macintosh sat frozen in place, stupefied. “Y-you mean you’re not gonna send me to live in the forest for the rest of my life?”
The large farmer gave a laugh straight from his belly. “No, Mac. As mad as yer Ma and Granny might be at ya, they’d tan my hide if I ever tried something like that. ‘Sides,” he grinned, “You’re the only other stallion around these parts. I’m not lookin’ at dealing with a house full of females without some backup.”
Macintosh laughed shakily. His life wasn’t over! His relief was dampened somewhat, though, by the stern look that his father was giving him.
“Don’t think yer off the hook, son. Not by a damn sight. Yer gonna go apologize to that colt tomorrow, and after that, yer goin’ to apologize to the filly fer scarin’ her. And after that, you bring yer happy ass out to the fields. I’m puttin’ you to work, starting tomorrow.”
Papa Apple’s face grew more serious. “And any time yer thinkin’ about puttin’ yer hooves on someone in anger, you remember that look the filly gave you. Don’t ever forget it.”
Macintosh nodded mutely. He couldn’t forget that look even if he wanted to.
Papa Apple grunted, satisfied. He picked up his cards and looked at the board. “Let’s finish this game up, Bubba. You need to get to bed. You got a long day ahead of ya.”
********
Macintosh emptied the last of the ashes from his pipe into the ashtray, smiling. His Pa hadn’t been lying; the next day, and the days that followed, had been brutal on him: Hard work, hot sun, and no dessert.
Still, he’d survived, and it helped to build his work ethic into what it was now. He had even made amends with the bully and struck up a friendship. The stallion snorted; Caramel had become more like a brother than a friend. The way that his sister was eyeing up his friend these days had Macintosh thinking that it might even be official soon.
After cleaning his pipe, he set it gently back into its box, along with the tobacco. The stallion placed the box lovingly back into the drawer, closed it, and walked down the stairs, heading for the kitchen. It was time for some food.
After pouring a generous amount of sun-brewed tea into a glass, Macintosh set about looking for something to eat. He settled on two apple fritters and a tub of cream cheese. Ever since Rarity had introduced him to the soul-warming bliss that was cream cheese, he couldn’t get enough of it. His sisters liked to make faces whenever he spread it across things like apple pie, but he didn’t care.
The apple-cream cheese fritters were reduced to crumbs within moments as Macintosh made short work of them. After demolishing his food, he guzzled the tea as though he were in the desert and had come upon an oasis. His sigh of satisfaction quickly morphed into a belch that momentarily drowned out the thunder. He chuckled proudly afterwards. Shame A.J. wasn’t here to hear that one. She’d have turned it into a contest.
The stallion placed his dirty dishes in the sink and set the tub of cream cheese back in the icebox. His ear swiveled toward the window as a particularly violent peal of thunder sounded across the sky outside. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the lightning hadn’t let up as of yet. A pang of concern for his family members stole the comfortable smile from his face. He shook his head from side to side, mane whipping back and forth. Don’t be stupid, Mac. A.J. and Granny are grown mares, and they’re lookin’ after Applebloom. They don’t need ya worrying about them anymore, especially about a few streaks of lightning.
Still, He found that he couldn’t help himself; worrying about their welfare was ingrained in him. It was his duty.
********
“But Papa,” The filly complained, stamping a hoof on the kitchen tile in indignation, “I don’t want ya to go! I need ya to pick me up from school!”
The chestnut stallion laughed and picked up the young pony, setting her in his lap and kissing her on the forehead. “It’s just fer a few days, princess. Mac’ll be here ta walk ya home.”
Applejack squirmed from her father’s grasp, hopping down from the table. “But Big Mac don’t give me ponyback rides like you do!” She looked her Pa squarely in the eye and hit him with her most devastating puppy dog pout. “Pleeeease?”
While normally Papa Apple would melt at the sight of it, he shook his head firmly. “Sorry, princess. I gotta attend this market. Our harvests have been pretty darn good as of late, but if I don’t have anypony to sell the fruit to, a lot of it is gonna go to waste. Now, what’s the Apple family’s stance on wasting food?”
The filly’s shoulders slumped as she looked at her hooves and pawed at the ground absently. “Don’t.”
Papa Apple smiled. “Exactly. Now don’t you worry yer pretty little mane. I’ll be back soon enough to give ya all the ponyback rides ya want.” He looked over at Macintosh and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
The young stallion held in a sigh of disgust through sheer force of will, opting instead to roll his eyes. He knew what his father wanted. “If’n ya let me and Pa be, I’ll give ya ponyback rides from school ‘till Pa gets back from his trip.”
Applejack snapped out of her somber mood and looked up at her brother, her eyes sparkling with glee. “Really, Big Mac? Ya promise?” She squealed and hopped up to hug her brother before he even got a chance to nod. “Thank you, Big Mac!” She jumped down and yelled out to the living room. “Mama! Big Mac’s gonna pick me up from school and gimme ponyback rides while Papa’s at work!”
The voice that came from the living room was warm and pleasant, tinged with a soft southern accent. “That’s wonderful, sugarcube. Now, come in here and sit with yer Granny and me. Let the boys finish their game.”
The filly nodded emphatically at no one in particular and sped off into the living room. Macintosh turned back to the table to see his father chuckling softly. “Yer a good big brother, Mac.”
The adolescent stallion rolled his eyes again. “C’mon, Pa. I just wanted her to let us finish playin’.”
Papa Apple shook his head, still chuckling. “Deny it all ya want, Bubba. But you’ll miss that filly’s energy one day.” He began to cut the cards. “Y’know she thinks the world of ya.”
Macintosh shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I know that... And I love her too, even if she does get on my last nerve from time to time.”
The farmer spared his son a sympathetic look. “I know what ya mean. I remember yer aunts growing up. Still, it does my heart good to see you two care so much for each other. You know what yer job is when I’m away.”
Macintosh grunted in affirmation. “I’m the stallion of the house. It’s my job to watch over Ma, Granny and A.J. and help them out as much as I can.”
Papa Apple reached over and ruffled his son’s mane. “That’s my boy. You probably don’t understand it yet, Bubba, but family is everything. Kin’s gotta stand by kin, through good times and bad.” The stallion clicked his tongue. “Too many folk out there don’t understand that.”
The chestnut Apple finished cutting the cards, hoofing them back to Macintosh to deal. “Ya better hope you get a good bushel and crib this round, Mac, ‘else yer lookin’ at bein’ skunked!”
********
Through good times and bad, Macintosh thought. He had done his best to live up to that standard. I hope I’ve done ya proud, Pa.
The large red stallion grunted and pushed away his maudlin thoughts, focusing instead on the board resting on the table. He smirked as the end of that particular game sprang to his memory. And of course, I wound up getting skunked.
He turned toward the stovetop, picking up the kettle and moving to the sink. He filled it to the line and set it back on the stove, lighting the burner. They should be home soon.
As though summoned by his thoughts, Macintosh heard the front door click and open with a creak. He moved to the living room, watching with no small relief as his Granny made her way slowly inside, shaking her umbrella as she went. “Sweet apple pie, that was a doozy of a rainstorm!” She smiled as she noticed Macintosh approaching. “Hello, Macintosh! Will you be a dear, and fix me a tea? This cold’s settled itself in my bones, and I ain’t as spry as I once was.”
Macintosh nodded his head with a smile. “Already on it, Granny. The water’s boilin’ as we speak.”
Granny Smith beamed at her grandson. “You’re an angel. I wonder sometimes why ya weren’t born with wings!” She cackled at her own joke, not realizing that Macintosh hadn’t gotten it. “Well, I’m gonna go sit in my sleepin’ chair. Lemme know when my tea is ready.”
“A’course, Granny. Get ya comfy.” Macintosh helped the elderly Apple ease into her seat, and grabbed the umbrella to set back outside.
He turned back to the door just in time to see a bright, energetic, and thoroughly mud-caked Applebloom canter into the house. His eyebrows raised and he moved to speak, but was beaten to it by a voice from the front doorstep.
“Applebloom, you get yer butt upstairs and into the bath! You can tell Big Mac about yer lil’ misadventure as soon as yer clean.”
“Awww, okay,” the young yellow filly whined. She walked somberly to the foot of the staircase, staring at her brother with large, doleful eyes.
Macintosh held in a grin; he had seen this too many times by both of his sisters to be suckered in. Well, he liked to think so, anyway. Still, he had an ace up his fetlock this time. “I’d suggest hurryin’ up, Applebloom. ‘Less you don’t wanna learn how to play a new card game tonight.”
Applebloom’s eyes widened at the prospect of learning a new game. “Really? What is it? What is it?” She began to hop up and down on the first step, caking it with layers of chipped mud as she went.
Macintosh sighed in annoyance. “I’ll show ya, after ya make both yerself and that stair look like they did this morning. Get to it.”
The young Apple stopped hopping for a moment and blinked, then realized what her big brother had meant. Mac could have sworn that he saw a ghostly hoof tap the lightbulb above his sister’s head to make it flicker on. “Oh! Okay, Big Mac. I’ll get it all clean, I promise!” With that, she shot up the stairs to begin the long, all-too-familiar process of getting dirt and grit out of her coat.
The stallion shook his head and walked toward the open front door. Applejack was struggling to enter the house without dumping the large box of groceries that rested on her back. Macintosh set the umbrella he was carrying against the wall and hurried to help his sister. “I got the groceries, sis. I’d have given ya a hoof sooner if I knew you were luggin’ such a big load.” He hefted the box with ease and set it on his back.
The apricot mare closed the front door and wiped her forehead with a hoof. “Whew, thanks, Mac. It ain’t all that heavy, it’s just awkward as hay.” She cast a disapproving look at the stairs. “Applebloom was supposed to be helpin’ me carry some of this stuff.”
Macintosh chuckled softly. “I’m guessin’ the change in plans had something to do with about thirty pounds of dirt and water?”
Applejack snorted and began walking toward the kitchen. “She saw one of her schoolmates fall in a puddle. You comin’, Mac?” She turned her head to see if he was following.
Macintosh nodded and followed her into the kitchen. “So she saw her friend jump in a puddle?”
“No,” Applejack corrected, shifting the box from her brother’s back to the counter. “Her friend fell in. Poor girl was really upset too, started tearing up. Applebloom hopped in after her and started splashin’ around. Made a game of it, so the other filly wouldn’t be upset anymore.” The mare laughed as she pulled a loaf of bread from the box. “It worked too. Pretty soon they were hoppin’ into every puddle they came across.”
The stallion smiled as he checked the kettle. “Sounds like her heart was in the right place.” After making the sure the water wasn’t boiling over, he moved next to his sister to help put away groceries.
The mare adjusted her stetson hat and shook her head. “Yeah, It’s hard to stay mad at her at times like that. I just wish she’d use her brains and think about things before she does ‘em.”
Macintosh was about to make a smart remark regarding his sisters and their hard-headedness when a voice from the floor above them saved him. “It smells funny up here!”
Applejack looked to the roof and shouted back, “It’s likely the mud stuffed in yer nostrils. Better get it out quick, before it reaches yer brain!” She looked at her brother and raised an eyebrow questioningly.
The stallion shrugged casually. “Decided to partake in the pipe.”
Applejack looked at Macintosh disapprovingly and moved back to grocery box. “That tobacco’ll be the end of ya, Mac.” She offered him an empty glass jar. “Put that up, would ya?”
Macintosh grabbed the jar and opened the cabinet next to the stove. “Gotta die of something.”
A punch to his side forced a small grunt from him, and he turned around to see his sister glaring angrily at him. “Not funny at all, Macintosh.”
The large farmer smiled and brought a hoof up to ruffle his sister’s mane. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, sis. Promise.”
Applejack’s eyes softened, though she still frowned. “You better not.” Setting the now-empty box down on the ground, she looked over at the table and decided to change the subject. “I haven’t seen that board in some time. You teaching Applebloom how to play cribbage?”
Macintosh nodded. “Figure it’s about time.” His expression took on a mischevious air. “I’d break out the board more often, but somepony likes to accuse me of cheatin’ whenever we play.”
Applejack stamped a hoof on the ground and snorted in irritation. “That’s because you do! Ain’t no way yer fancy strategies could get the one-up on me every single time!” She fumed as her brother began to snicker.
“All I hear are excuses, A.J.” Macintosh’s snickers trailed off as his sister narrowed her eyes. She got that stare from Pa, to be sure. Undaunted, he squared his jaw and looked her in the eye. “If ya needed a handicap, all ya had to do was say so.”
“Y’know what? We’ve got some time before Applebloom is clean enough to rejoin society. What do ya say to a game? We’ll just see who needs a handicap.” The mare tried to keep her tone casual, but couldn’t quite hide the competitive edge in her voice.
Macintosh sat down at the table and began shuffling the cards expertly, accepting her challenge with a smile. “Thought ya’d never ask.”
Author's Note
Well, meant to have this out by Father's Day... That didn't happen. Ah well, I got it in the same month, I suppose.
Big thanks to Featherprop for his editing magic! Write more TLL, damnit!
