It was a quiet, ordinary day in Ponyville. Therefore, something would soon go horribly wrong.
Nothing Nightingale had experienced thus far, however, even hinted at such a debacle as would eventually ensnare her. The morning had come with a spectacular sunrise and cheerful birdsong, and the cloudless afternoon was shaping up to be just as pleasant. The little earth pony’s periwinkle coat, with its splash of white and heart-and-music note cutie mark on the rump, was curried and sleek; her navy mane and tail were neat and braided as always; and her magenta eyes were as bright and fresh as the roses in Junebug’s garden. She had helped the Cutie Mark Crusaders resolve a minor argument in a friendly manner, and Mayor Mare had actually deigned to ask her advice concerning how to best surprise an old friend from out of town. No, nothing could possibly ruin Nightingale’s day.
While chatting with a unicorn friend beside the town’s great marble fountain, Nightingale received the harbinger of her future troubles.
“So,” said Nightingale with a knowing smile, “are ye ’n Cloudy Day gittin’ ser’ous?”
The grey mare with the clouded moon on her flank tried—and failed—to hide her blush behind her curtain of white hair. “I… don’t know what you mean,” Misty Moonrise evaded.
Nightingale laughed and poked her lightly in the ribs. “Aw, ye can tell me, hon. C’mon, jes’ ’tween us girls.”
“I really—” began Misty, but, fortunately for her, another mare interceded.
“Hiya, girls!” exclaimed a familiar pink earth pony with wild curls and balloons on her flank.
“Howdy do, Pinkie,” replied Nightingale. “What brin’s ye ’round these parts?”
Pinkie Pie giggled and ruffled Nightingale’s forelock. “Why, you do, Miss Appaloosa!”
Misty Moonrise frowned and glanced at her friend. “‘Appaloosa’?”
“Fam’ly name,” Nightingale clarified, and then returned her attention to Pinkie. “Spit it out, then, Miss Pie. Let’s hear it.”
Pinkie Pie took a moment to compose herself, produced a pitch pipe from somewhere in her curls, blew a short note, cleared her throat, and—finally—sang:
This is your singing telegram,
I hope it finds you well!
Your Appleloosa family
Wants to drop in for a spell!
Nightingale’s jaw dropped and her eyes grew wide. “Whoa, thar, hon! What—?” she attempted to inquire, but Pinkie Pie was on a roll and would not be silenced now. She bounced in her usual joyful, completely random dance all around Nightingale as she continued:
They’re coming on the next train;
They’ll be here in an hour!
Auntie Lime says, “Howdy!”
And reminds you, “Don’t be sour!”
You’ve been away so long, you know,
You’ve missed out on quite a lot:
Pappy lost his teeth again,
And Uncle Starboard bought a yacht!
Ma and Li’l Bluebird say
That they can’t wait to see you!
Please meet them at the station—
After all, they’ll be there soon!
All your Appaloosa kin
Send their love and all their best!
Say howdy to your ma and Blue
From all us way out west!
By the time Pinkie Pie had delivered the last note of the singing telegram, Nightingale had shrunk in on herself and covered her face with her fore hooves. Misty Moonrise tentatively nudged her with a fore hoof. Like a bolt of lightning, Nightingale sprang up and galloped away, leaving Pinkie and Misty in a puff of dust.
From behind her, Nightingale faintly heard Pinkie Pie ask, “Was it something I sang?”
* * *
Amid the vast orchards of Sweet Apple Acres, Applejack kicked up her heels and rammed them against the stout trunk of an apple tree. As the fruit tumbled from the branches into the baskets strapped across her back, Applejack removed her signature rodeo hat and wiped her sweaty, straw-colored forelock out of her eyes. A few smudges of dirt were attempting to hide her freckles and cutie mark of three crimson apples, but there were worse things than a little sweat and mud. Practicality came first for a farmer, and Applejack was no exception.
“Applejack!” called somepony suddenly—Nightingale, Applejack realized upon looking up. The counselor skidded to a stop beside Applejack, sweaty and out of breath, and gasped, “Ye gotta… he’p me!”
“Simmer down, sugar cube,” replied Applejack, replacing her hat. “I’d be happy ta help. Whatcha got needs doin’?”
“Ye gotta lemme work with ye here on the farm fer a few days.”
Applejack arched an eyebrow. “It ain’t that I don’t appreciate th’ offer, Nightingale, but why exactly do ya wanna do that?”
“’Cause it’s what I’m s’pposed t’ be doin’.” Nightingale sighed and scuffed a hoof in the dirt. “Ye’ve got kin in Appleloosa, A.J. Ye know ’em ponies pride ’emselves on that apple orchard, jes’ like ye ’n yer fam’ly’re proud o’ this here farm o’ yers. Well, my fam’ly’s roots’re in farmin’, too. Ma ’n Pa Appaloosa raise berry patches ’n vineyards like Pappy a’fore ’em, ’n his folks a’fore him. All us Appaloosas’re s’pposed t’ be in the farmin’ business, one way or ’nother. Why, even my li’l brother Bluebird works the fam’ly farm, singin’ t’ the plants t’ he’p ’em grow. I’m the only one in the fam’ly who don’t…” she finished, hanging her head.
“But you’ve got a great talent,” persuaded Applejack. “Helpin’ ponies work out their problems an’ not feel so blue is what ya do best. Why would ya wanna do anythin’ else?”
“’Cause I cain’t disappoint Ma ’n Li’l Bluebird. If they find out I ain’t in the fam’ly tradition o’ farmin’, they’ll be crushed. They’ll never wanna see me ag’in. They’ll never speak t’ me ag’in!” Nightingale cringed. “They won’t want my mail no more, won’t send me mail no more. Firs’ thin’ ye know, I’ll be outta the loop like a tumbleweed in a dust-devil, ’n then they’ll start t’ forget all ’bout me. I won’t be invited t’ the fam’ly reunions. I’ll be kicked outta all the birthday ’n hol’day parties ’cause no-pony’ll even remember who I am or what I look like!”
Unused to seeing Nightingale so hysterical, Applejack flicked her ears sideways and wondered how she should react. Nightingale was clearly not herself at the moment. Maybe couns’lors need advice ev’ry now an’ then, too, thought Applejack. “Ya know, if ya love what you’re doin’ an’ jus’ explain that ta yer fam’ly, I’m sure they’ll understand. I reckon you’ll feel a mite better if you’re honest with ’em than if ya keep tryin’ ta pretend you’re somethin’ you’re not.”
Nightingale gazed up at Applejack with glistening eyes not unlike those of a shivering puppy left out in the rain.
Against her better judgment, Applejack reluctantly relented. “I… guess ya can help out ’round th’ farm while yer kin’re visitin’. But I still think ya should tell ’em th’ truth.”
Nightingale jumped up and vigorously shook Applejack’s fore hoof. “Thank ye, A.J.! I owe ye one!” She let go and immediately dashed back to the road leading to town.
Applejack adjusted her hat to shade her eyes from the afternoon sun. Shaking her head, she muttered, “I shor hope that pony knows what she’s doin’.”
* * *
As the train’s brakes squealed and clouds of steam erupted from the pressure valves, Nightingale waited with quivering knees and a strained smile for her little brother and ma to disembark. She was not shaking because she was nervous—she was just tired. Zooming through one’s house hiding counseling files, psychology books, and other items of the therapist was no simple task. Beside her stood Misty Moonrise, whom Nightingale had nearly trampled in her haste to reach the station.
“Why are you so worried?” asked Misty. Nightingale had brought her up to speed on her temporary career shift. “They’re your family. You won’t disappoint them just because you aren’t a far—”
Nightingale stamped a fore hoof and snapped her tail. “Why does ev’rypony keep sayin’ that? Course they’ll be disappointed! Like my Pappy says, ‘Never miss a good chance t’ shut up.’ So quit yer jawin’ ’n play along, or leave.”
Misty folded her ears with a scowl and turned to leave. Before she could take two steps, however, an unfamiliar voice with a decidedly familiar drawl called out.
“Is that my li’l Nightingale? Ooh, git o’er here ’n lemme lookitcha!”
A velvet purple mare with a bushel of berries on her flank stepped out of the dissipating steam, smoothing her neatly arranged plum curls with a fore hoof. A burly stallion with an aqua coat, blue-and-seafoam-striped hair, and a vine-wrapped music note on his flank followed close behind the mare. Both were earth ponies with the same magenta eyes, freckles, and splashes of white on their hindquarters as Nightingale.
“Howdy, Ma,” said Nightingale, exchanging hugs with them. “Hey, thar, Li’l Blue.”
The mare spotted Misty before she could slip away. “Ooh, ’n who we got here, Nightingale? One o’ yer friends?”
“Sure as shootin’. This here’s my gal pal, Misty Moonrise. Misty, this’s my ma, Sweet Mulberry, ’n this here’s my li’l brother, Li’l Bluebird. Ev’rypony jes’ calls him ‘Li’l Blue,’ though. Ain’t that right, Blue?”
Li’l Bluebird nodded silently, smiling.
“Aw, don’t bother with all that hoopla, hon,” said Sweet Mulberry, hooking a foreleg across Misty’s shoulders and squeezing her tightly. “If ye’re friends o’ Nightingale, ye’re good as fam’ly. Call me ‘Sweet.’”
“Um…” began Misty.
“No ifs, ’ns, or buts ’bout it, hayseed,” Sweet argued, though she hardly sounded like she was arguing. “Ye’re an honorary Appaloosa now, ’n thar ain’t nothin’ formal ’bout us. It’s ‘Sweet’ or ‘Ma,’ hon, ’n ye jes’ wait ’til the next Appaloosa reunion—”
“Nightingale!” Misty pleaded, shrinking beneath Sweet Mulberry’s onslaught.
“Ma!” Nightingale fussed, wrapping her braided tail around and tugging away the arm Sweet was using to trap Misty. As soon as she was free, Misty Moonrise darted off and out of sight. Nightingale glared at her ma. “Now lookit whatcha gone ’n done. Ye cain’t be so aggressive with ev’rypony; not all ponies like it.”
“Don’tcha take that tone with me, li’l missy,” Sweet Mulberry chastised. “I was jes’ bein’ friendly, ’n thar ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. Now, where’d that nice conductor feller hide our bags?” She trotted off to where the luggage car was being emptied farther down the platform.
Nightingale dragged a fore hoof across her face. “Ma’ll never change, Li’l Blue. How d’ye put up with her?”
Li’l Bluebird shrugged.
“Well, let’s git y’all settled. I’m sure y’all’re plumb tuckered out ’n eager t’ git—”
“Whoa, thar, li’l birdie,” interrupted Sweet Mulberry, returning with her and Li’l Bluebird’s saddlebags. “We ain’t done nothin’ ’cept sit on that train all day. Why don’t we drop off our thin’s, ’n then ye can show us whatcha do ’round here?”
Good thin’ I went t’ A.J. firs’, thought Nightingale. “Shoot, I thought ye’d never ask!”
And that is precisely what they did. After leaving Sweet Mulberry’s and Li’l Bluebird’s bags at Nightingale’s house, the Appaloosas made straight for the Apple farm. Applejack was still out in the orchard apple-bucking, this time accompanied by her older brother, Big Mac. The muscular red stallion was hitched to a wagon almost overflowing with apples, though the load did not seem to hinder him in the slightest.
“Howdy, A.J., Big Mac,” Nightingale said, plastering a wide smile on her face that she hoped was convincing. “I’d like y’all t’ meet my ma, Sweet Mulberry, ’n my li’l brother, Li’l Bluebird.”
“Pleased ta meet y’all,” replied Applejack, kicking aside a few rotten apples from the most recent pile. “What can we do ya for?”
“Li’l Blue here ’n I wanted t’ see what stole our Nightingale away from the vineyard,” Sweet Mulberry answered. “Our fam’ly’s been in the berry business fer gen’rations, ye know, so it was quite the surprise when my li’l birdie decided t’ take up roots way out here in Ponyville.”
“Well, we ain’t much for berries ’round these parts, but ya won’t find better apples anywhere outside of Sweet Apple Acres. Y’all’re jus’ in time for Apple-buck Season, matter of fact. Big Mac an’ I shor could use th’ extra hooves, if y’all’d care ta lend ’em.”
“Now thar’s a right fine idea! Jes’ show us what t’ do ’n we’ll git this orchard bucked faster than a buffalo walkin’ on hot coals.”
Applejack glanced slyly at Nightingale. “Why don’tcha show ’em how it’s done, then, Nightingale?”
“Me?!” Nightingale almost squeaked—she had never bucked an apple tree a day in her life! “Uh, I mean, why don’tcha do it yerself, A.J.? Ain’t no-pony can hold a candle t’ yer apple-buckin’ skills, after all.”
Applejack’s smile shifted to a frown, a scowl creasing her sweaty brow. “That’s mighty kind of ya ta say, but I reckon you’re jus’ as good. Shoot, Nightingale’s one of our best apple-buckers. Ain’t that right, Big Mac?”
“N—” Big Mac began, but the word was choked off when his sister elbowed him hard in the ribs. He glared at her for a moment, but eventually muttered a disgruntled, “Eeyup.”
Nightingale gulped. It was suddenly a lot harder to keep up that fake smile. Don’t sweat it, Nightingale, she told herself, approaching an apple tree. Thar ain’t nothin’ t’ it. Jes’ like the buckin’ bronco competition at the Appleloosa Rodeo. With that in mind, she squared up her hindquarters with the tree trunk, inhaled deeply, and bucked. Her hind hooves plowed straight into the trunk, jarring a number of apples from its limbs. A couple plopped on Nightingale’s head, but she was just thankful it worked. Relieved, she managed to keep the smile believable as she returned her attention to her kin. “See? Ain’t nothin’ t’ it. Find a tree ’n git buckin’!”
* * *
By the end of the week, Nightingale was sore from the tips of her ears to the frogs of her hooves. She liked to stay in shape and catch the rodeo when it came to town, but bucking apples was a whole new world compared to how she usually spent her days. Applejack was still keeping her word and continuing the ruse, though after every hard day’s work she attempted to persuade Nightingale to spill the proverbial beans to Sweet and Blue. Nightingale still refused.
“They’re only stayin’ a few more days,” she had told Applejack. “After that, they’ll be outta my mane ’n I’ll be outta yers.”
Still, Nightingale’s counseling work was beginning to pile up. Spending a whole week at Sweet Apple Acres left loads of impending paperwork awaiting her attention, not to mention all the ponies who usually came by to ask for advice. None of her regular clients had been at all pleased to have their sessions put off until next week, no matter how many times Nightingale apologized.
Maintaining the lie for her kin was wearing Nightingale ragged, and it showed. Her braids were messy and frayed, dark bags hung under her tired eyes, and she still smelled like apples—how in the wide, wide world of Equestria did the Apples wash it off? Of course, Nightingale could blame her appearance and constant exhaustion on the apple-bucking, but that did not make the job any easier. If she had to choose between keeping up the lie and the apple-bucking, she was sure the latter would make her keel over first.
The day before Sweet Mulberry and Li’l Bluebird were to catch the train back to Appleloosa, Nightingale’s real work caught up to her. On their way home after a long day in the Apple family’s orchard, a little brown-and-white-patched colt with crushing uncertainty in his eyes approached Nightingale.
“Um, Miss Nightingale?” asked Pipsqueak, head hanging and ears drooped. “Can I ask you something?”
Nightingale simply could not refuse the young fellow. She told her ma and Blue that she would catch up with them later. Once they were well out of earshot, she bent down to Pipsqueak’s level with a smile and a nod.
“Well, you see, my friend and I were playing detectives, and… um… We were looking for clues with her brand-new Official Sherlock Pones Magnifying Glass, and…” He faltered, biting his lip.
“Did somethin’ happen t’ yer friend’s magnifyin’ glass?”
Pipsqueak nodded. “Her mom asked her to help with something in the house for a minute, and she left the magnifying glass with me so I could keep looking for clues. I thought I’d get a better view from higher up, so I climbed a tree all the way to the tippy-top. But I… I dropped the magnifying glass and the glass part shattered in a zillion pieces!” By the time he was done, tears glimmered in his eyes and he had sunk to the ground, trembling.
“What’d yer friend say when she found out?”
“I can’t tell her I broke her brand-new Official Sherlock Pones Magnifying Glass!” squeaked Pipsqueak, eyes widening. “She’ll be so angry with me, she’ll never want to be friends again!”
Nightingale smiled softly and drew the colt close in a hug. Then she wiped away his tears and did what she did best, in a voice so unlike her usual speaking voice it was almost unrecognizable—she sang:
When a troubled hole burns in your heart
And all you have are secrets,
It’s time to stop hiding in the dark
And to lay your secrets bare.
If your friendship’s true,
No matter what you say,
No matter what you do,
Honesty’s the only way
To mend the hole in you.
Don’t ever be afraid
To tell her the truth.
When she had finished, Pipsqueak had calmed down again and only sniffled every now and then. He looked up at Nightingale. “Are you sure, Miss Nightingale? What if she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore?”
“If she’s as good a friend as she sounds,” Nightingale assured him, “then she’ll understand. She may be a li’l upset at firs’, but she’ll forgive ye ’n y’all’ll still be friends.”
Pipsqueak nodded, as if to firm his resolve and muster his courage. He started to leave, but then seemed to remember something and darted back to Nightingale. “Thanks for the advice, Miss Nightingale,” he said, hugging her briefly, and then he hastened off.
Nightingale watched him go with a smile. The day’s toils did not feel quite so exhausting anymore.
* * *
Somewhere in Ponyville, a rooster crowed with the rising sun. It was somewhat odd to hear one so nearby—the chickens and roosters usually kept to the outskirts of town. But Nightingale was too tired to worry about it. It was the first day after her ma and Blue had gone back to Appleloosa, and Nightingale was going to enjoy it her way. Stuffing her head under her pillow to muffle the rooster’s cries, she attempted to go back to sleep.
Suddenly, a bell clanged right beside her. Nightingale jerked upright, and found Applejack standing at her bedside, a cowbell in one fore hoof.
“What the hay’re ye doin’ in my house, Applejack?” yawned Nightingale. “’N why in Celestia’s name’re ye ringin’ that thar bell this early in the mornin’?”
“Rise an’ shine, sleepin’ beauty,” replied Applejack. “Them apples ain’t gonna buck ’emselves.”
Nightingale rubbed at her weary eyes. “What in tarnation—?”
“Whatcha still doin’ in bed, li’l birdie?” Sweet Mulberry asked cheerfully, walking into the room alongside Li’l Bluebird. “Up ’n at ’em! Thar’s chores needs doin’ a’fore breakfast!”
“Ma! Blue! I thought y’all’d gone home. Whatcha doin’ in Ponyville?”
Sweet Mulberry and Li’l Blue exchanged knowing smiles. “Well, we thought ’bout it,” explained Sweet.
A horrible knot began to twist Nightingale’s gut. No…
“’N we decided we didn’t wantcha t’ be out here all by yer lonesome.”
No! Was the room getting smaller, or was it just her imagination? Nightingale could not tell.
“So yer li’l brother ’n I’re gonna stay in Ponyville ’n work the Apple farm with ye forever!”
“NO!” Nightingale screamed, leaping off her bed and bolting out the door. Instead of entering the hall, however, she found herself in pitch black.
Sweet Mulberry appeared out of the shadows in front of her. “What’s the hold-up, li’l birdie? We gotta git movin’ on that apple-buckin’!”
Nightingale scrambled back, but bumped into the solid frame of her younger brother. Li’l Bluebird grinned and rumbled in his basso voice, “We ain’t got all day, big sis! Head ’em up, move ’em out!”
When Nightingale attempted to flee again, she found herself face-to-face with Applejack. “Looks like you’re a farmer, after all. Ain’t ya glad ya won’t disappoint yer kinfolk now?”
“No, I ain’t!” Nightingale protested, ears folded and pupils shrunk to tiny dots. “I cain’t be a farmer!”
“All yer fam’ly’s farmers,” argued Applejack calmly. “I reckon they’ll be right proud ta hear you’re followin’ in their hoofsteps.”
“But I’m not! I cain’t!” Nightingale cowered, helpless beneath Applejack’s glare. “’Tain’t what I’m meant t’ do, A.J.!”
“Coulda fooled me,” Applejack snorted, walking away.
For an incalculable time, Nightingale cringed alone in the empty black. She had no idea where her ma and Blue had gone—or even Applejack, for that matter—but at least they were no longer there to see the tears streaming from Nightingale’s eyes. When the clopping of hooves broke the unbearable silence, Nightingale raised her gaze and found a familiar face watching her from a short ways off.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” said Misty Moonrise, walking closer, “but both Princess Luna and I agreed that you needed to see the whole thing.”
“What?” Nightingale stood and scrubbed away her tears. “What’s the Princess doin’ in… whatever this place is?”
“As the Princess of the Night, it’s Princess Luna’s duty to watch over our dreams,” Misty answered. “As one of her pupils and a dreamwalker, my duty is to protect ponies from the dangers of the dream world and to help them understand their nightmares.”
“So… this’s all a dream?”
Misty nodded.
Nightingale released a sigh. “Thank Celestia! I thought I was doomed t’ be a farmer forever.”
“If you continue the charade, your nightmare may become more real than you’d like.”
“But I jes’ cain’t disappoint my fam’ly, Misty. If I tell ’em I ain’t really a farmer ’n that I lied ’bout it…” Nightingale shuddered. “Jes’ think how angry they’ll be with me. They’ll never wanna see me ag’in.”
Misty Moonrise regarded her quietly for a few moments, and then said, “Pipsqueak told the truth about the magnifying glass.”
Nightingale blinked. “Did he?”
Misty nodded again. “Princess Luna had asked me to help him tonight, but I stepped into his dreams only to find that his problem was already solved. He took your advice to heart and acted on it, and it saved his friendship. Perhaps you should consider taking your advice, too.”
Nightingale averted her gaze, uncertain. But she was starting to think that maybe Applejack and Misty had been right all along.
* * *
The following morning, Nightingale asked her ma and Li’l Blue to meet her in the barn at Sweet Apple Acres. After Nightingale fetched Misty, they swung the barn door aside to reveal Sweet Mulberry and Li’l Bluebird, as well as Applejack and Big Mac.
Nightingale took a deep breath to settle her nerves and began, “I’ve got somethin’ t’ say ’n, Ma, Blue, y’all might not like it.”
“Go on, li’l birdie,” Li’l Blue rumbled gently, earning startled glances from Applejack and Big Mac, who had never heard him utter a word until now.
“Well, I’m ashamed t’ admit it,” Nightingale continued, “but I’ve been lyin’ t’ y’all since ye arrived, ’n I asked the Apples ’n Misty t’ lie, too. I don’t really work on the Apple farm. I don’t work on any farm. I’m a couns’lor. I give ponies advice ’n, well, I he’p ’em not feel so blue.”
“Why’d’ye lie ’bout that, hayseed?” asked Sweet.
“’Cause I didn’t wanna disappoint ye ’n Li’l Blue, Ma. I thought that, since all us Appaloosas’ve worked the land ’cross the gen’rations, y’all wouldn’t approve o’ me not bein’ a farmer, too. So I pretended t’ be what I ain’t. A.J. ’n Misty told me I should jes’ be honest with y’all, but I was too stubborn t’ listen.” Nightingale turned to Misty and the Apples. “’Tweren’t right o’ me t’ ask y’all t’ lie, too, ’n I’m right sorry fer ignorin’ y’all’s advice.” She returned her attention to her ma and little brother, saying, “It took me a while, but I know now that I shouldn’t’ve worried so much ’bout disappointin’ y’all, ’n I’m sorry fer lyin’ like I did. Ain’t nothin’ good comes o’ pretendin’ t’ be somethin’ ye’re not.”
Sweet Mulberry and Li’l Bluebird traded glances, and then they both embraced Nightingale tightly. “All that fuss ’n bother!” Sweet remarked. “Ye oughtta know by now ye could never disappoint yer fam’ly. Us Appaloosas stick t’gether, ’n it don’t matter if ye’re a farmer or a pestpony. We’ll always be proud o’ our li’l Nightingale.”
Applejack reared up. “Hoo-wee! I’m glad that’s over.”
Beside her, Big Mac nodded. “Eeyup.”
“Now that ev’rypony’s bein’ their right selves,” Applejack went on, “how’s ’bout y’all come up ta th’ house for a bite? We’ve got more pancakes than fleas on an itchy dog, an’ we’re gonna need help eatin’ ’em.”
Nightingale beamed. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all week!”
