A nervous young man by the name of Ben stood by the wooden coffin in the middle of the snowy graveyard. His fingers were clasped tightly in front of him as he looked at the handful of people standing mutely nearby.

It felt wrong, having a funeral during the snowing, chilled December morning. Felt disrespectful, in its own way. Still, what happened happened. There wasn’t any going back. With that thought in mind, he looked down at the notes in his hand and began to read.

“L-Logan Jubilee was a good man,” the pastor spoke up, once it seemed like the few people attending were attentively watching him. “A man full of life, vigor, and courage. A man who had to work for everything he had. He was born poor to a mother with seven kids. He worked his family’s farm until his twenties, when he then served his country in war, where he rose to the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade and was honorably discharged after shrapnel from a grenade blew out a knee and made him unfit to serve. He returned to farmwork when he was forty. Thanks to his good nature and business sense, his property became one of the largest vineyards in the whole of Louisiana. It was there that he met the love of his life--a young woman working the vineyards. Sherri Jubilee.”

He gestured to the woman dressed in black up front. Her red brows tensed up as she stared at the coffin being prepared to get lowered into the waiting mouth of the earth. Her lips pursed as she clasped a single rose in her gloved, delicate hands.

“Together,” the young pastor continued, “they spent years sowing seeds of kindness and harvesting their bounty. He is survived by his beloved wife, and their adoptive son, Martin Jubilee.” He rubbed his hands together to dispel the quickly growing chill. “Now, I'd ask to join me in prayer. Prayer for his friends, prayer for his family, and prayer that Logan has found comfort walking alongside the Lord above. Please, bow your heads.”

000

Sherri walked away from the fresh grave, her head held high beneath her veil and her steps sure.

The woman had never been the best at funerals—the fact she wasn't crying was an oddity. Then again, she might have just cried herself dry over the past few days. The teenager walking nearby glanced towards her as they made their way to the car.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, running a hand over his crew cut.

Sherri offered a weak smile, her normally pretty and cream-colored features muted from a lack of sleep.

“We knew it was coming, Marty,” she said, her light, airy southern voice reassuring him despite her weary appearance. “We shouldn't worry about him anymore—he's on his way home.” She approached Logan's car—her car now, she grimly corrected herself, and sat in the passenger seat.

“Should be some, uh, mail for you on the dash,” the dark-skinned man offered, moving to the driver's seat and starting the engine. Marty gave a worried glance her direction and shifted to reverse, pulling out of the gravel parking lot and getting on the road.

Sherri finally gathered herself enough to lean forward and grab the stack of cards and envelopes and thumb through them. Well-wishes, condolences, thoughts and prayers. A water bill.

That gave her pause. The address bar:

Sherri Jubilee.

Not Logan. She sighed, running a hand through her ruby-red hair. Not Logan.

Life went on without him. That hurt the most.

She turned her head, leaning against the window and staring at the passing memories. The church they got married at. A few minutes later, the road where he wrecked their first company truck—just a few months after his discharge, before he even started courting her. A turn down the road took them past a corn field, where Logan had proposed to her. Sweet bastard even hired the property owner to come out and spell her name in the air with a crop duster.

“Look...” Marty started, interrupting Sherri from her thoughts as he wrung the steering wheel in his strong hands. “I know this is a bad time, but Mr. West called yesterday—“

Sherri gave a worried grimace that she tried to hide as she glanced over to him. “Marty...”

“And he said he needed to know if we're going to liquidate the estate—“

“Marty.”

“I told him you were considering it but didn't have any plans, and he said—“

“Marty.”

He paused, blinking. “Yeah?”

“Can we please not talk about lawyers yet?” she tensely asked.

“Sorry.”

They drove in dead silence for a while longer, Marty awkwardly tapping the wheel as Sherri ran a finger delicately over the beauty mark on her face.

“Besides...” she trailed off. “I haven't given up on the vineyard yet, no matter how much Mr. West wants to think otherwise, you hear?”

He hummed in thought. “But West is right in one regard: vineyard's profit margin is getting narrower by the day.”

“Only because Logan could outwork anyone we put in the fields, bad knee be damned.” She sighed. “Now...”

He gave a stilted smile. “He was a good guy. I know he wasn't my real dad, but—“

“Don't you say that,” Sherri instantly rebuked, her green eyes narrowing. “You're my son just like Logan's your dad, blood or not.”

They drove on for a moment longer. Marty glanced again out his window. “I just want to make sure you're taken care of.”

“I'll be fine. It's just a matter of getting the farm up and running again. All I need is someone with quick hands and a strong back to help me out. I'll check around town tomorrow, even.”

The car rolled down the road, leaving a handful of Sherri's memories behind.

000

“Would you rather... uh... eat a steak, or go two weeks without bathing?” Rainbow Dash asked, floating on a small cloud she had borrowed from a larger collection up above. The pegasus rested her head on her hooves and smirked at a perturbed Rarity.

“Why, that is absolutely disgusting!” she replied, doffing her mane with a hoof.

“Eyup,” Applejack agreed with a nod, squinting through the sun's glare and looking at everyone else sitting around in a circle.

“Quite! I mean, who could go two days without bathing, let alone a week! Steak, obviously,” Rarity huffed out.

The group shared an uneasy glance with one another at her quick response.

“Ok...” Twilight Sparkle said, raising a brow. “Guess it's your turn,” she said, glancing at Discord. “Would you rather... work a year as an accountant, or turned to stone for five years?”

“Full-time position?” the spirit of chaos asked.

“Forty hour work week, yes.”

“Will I be conscious of every agonizing, painful second inside my stone prison?”

“Quite.”

“Stone,” he promptly replied. “Accountant's almost as bad as a dentist when it comes to jobs.” He rubbed the patch of beard on his chin. “Alright... hmm... would you, Applejack—“ he violently sneezed, launching an explosion of fireworks out of his nose. One touched the farmpony and in a spark of light she vanished, hat and all.

The others sat in shock, staring at the empty patch where Applejack had laid seconds ago. Small wisps of smoke wafted from the ground. They turned their attention towards the draconequus.

“Ok,” He held his miss-matched hands up and gave an accepting nod. “My fault. Should of covered my nose.”

000

Sherri paced inside her lavish room, unsure what to do. Days like today, Logan used to read by the fireplace downstairs. Sherri was never much of a reader, but the way he'd passionately speak about books one after another was enough to keep her interest. She sighed, sitting on her plush bed and running a finger over a framed photograph of a well-built man in fatigues.

“Logan... I'm sorry I'm not adjusting. I know you'd want me to get back to work as soon as I could—it's how you handled your father's death, but...” She squeezed her raw eyes shut. “I guess I just ain't as strong as you were, sugar. I-I wish I was, but...” Sherri put the photo back on the nightstand. She stared up at the ceiling in thought.

A knock at the door. Sherri ignored it—it could wait.

Another knock a moment later, this one more frantic. “Miss Jubilee?” a voice on the other end called. She recognized it as Hans, one of the oldest workers on the vineyard and one of the closest to the family.

Whatever it was had to of been important. She rose and opened the door, noting Hans and the worn stetson he clutched in front of him.

“Yes?” she asked

“Ma'am, you're gonna want to see this,” the old man said, his words urgent as he snapped around and made his way downstairs.

They promptly came to the modestly posh lobby, where a group of some of the other year-round employees stood in a half-circle by the door, their backs turned to Sherri and Hans.

“We're here,” Hans said, biting his lower lip in worry. The group parted, revealing a man holding a limp blonde woman in his arms. Sherri didn't have to make much of a guess to assume she was nude, save for the blanket draped over her to protect her modesty.

“What is this?” she finally asked, looking over the young woman in curiosity.

“We're hoping you can tell us,” Hans said. “A woman's touch and all. Just figured we could put her somewhere until she wakes up.”

“Do you think she's... dangerous?” Sherry took a few steps forward, grabbing the woman's hands and splaying her fingers. “It's not often you find someone in the snow like that. Especially honest folk.”

“I already looked over her,” the man holding her said. He paused. “That didn't come out right. What I mean to say is that she didn't have any needle marks on her. We were just fixing some fence over by the road and 'bam!'” He nodded. “I think she might have fallen off the freeway, maybe.”

“But why is she nude, I wonder?” Hans pondered.

None had an answer. Finally, Sherri spoke up.

“Kidnapping?”

The man holding her winced. “Maybe. Though that sounds like...”

“I know what it sounds like, darling. But we are fairly close to New Orleans... maybe a tourist?”

“In winter?”

“You have a better idea?” she curtly replied, leaving the man speechless. She sighed seconds after snapping at him. “I'm sorry... it's just been...”

“God, I know, Sherri. We're real sorry for it, but...”

“I know, life goes on even when you want it stopped for a bit.” She gave a considering rub of her chin. “Take her to my room. When she wakes up, I'll just have a chat with her.”

As the man and a few others marched her upstairs, Sherri couldn't help but glance to the ceiling, worry eating at her gut.

“Logan, this is gonna get harder before it's easier, ain't it?”

Author's Note

While I'm not one to call first on anything... this is the first fic to use the Cherry Jubilee tag. Feels good, man.

Anyway, this story'll be fairly lengthy, and have some hopefully respectable romance in it. Please leave a comment down below if you liked it/hated it/were tepid about the entire concept. Thanks for giving it a chance, guys!