Opening the door to their cabin, Mosley’s nostrils were pleasantly assaulted by an unexpected succulent aroma. Valencia turned to him from the stove as Alice announced his arrival with, what seemed to him, a disdainful cluck. The bubbling pot, that Valencia was tending, being the apparent performer of the delightful olfactory symphony.

“Well, just in time dah’ling, Alice doesn’t have to go looking for you after all.” She said as the hen whipped her head away from him, as if to show that she had no interest in whether he was present or not.

“But what are you cooking? I know I was in the zone out there, was I so oblivious that you went shopping without my noticing?” His befuddlement was nearly as strong as his hunger.

“No need, Dah’ling, I just harvested while I weeded. We have a nice dandelion and sweet clover salad to start. Followed by a redstem fillaree, plantain, and thistle stew, seasoned with wild onion.” She looked at him askance, “We are on a farm my dear, did city living really make you think that food can only come from a restaurant? Now go and wash up, so we can eat.”

He was dumbfounded. But of course she was right. What he had been focused on as weeds, she had wisely viewed as their next meal. With their bit situation what it was, making do with what they had made so much sense. He quickly washed the day’s sweat and grime down the shower drain, amazing himself with the amount of dirt he had accumulated with just half a day’s labor.

After toweling off, smiling that she had even unpacked the necessities from their bags, he quietly set the table as she set the stew to simmer. She set the salad in the center of the table, then sat across from him, just as they had done in their old home in Manehatten. Albeit with a much smaller table, and no servants. Unless you counted Alice. Glancing at the hen, the image of her in a Prance maid outfit, holding a feather duster in her beak, came unbidden to his mind and he snorted at the picture.

“Does my cooking amuse you?” Valencia asked, a dangerous lilt in her voice that he recognized all too well.

“No no no, of course not, it’s just,” and he related his farciful vision.

“Hmmm, that is an image, isn’t it?” Her lips curled into a slight, but genuine, smile, “Truthfully though, how do you like it?”

Caught with a mouthful of the simple salad, he quickly chewed and swallowed, “Truthfully, I had forgotten than an unadorned salad could be such a treat. The freshness of these greens makes a dressing completely unnecessary!”

Her smile widened, “Indeed. The reason dressings flow so freely in the city is to conceal the bitterness that the leaves gain in the time that it takes to travel from farm, to store, to plate.” With that pearl dispensed, she joined him in devouring their repast.

As he ladled out the stew, only fitting as she had prepared everything, he felt his mouth watering dangerously. It was only luck that he finished serving the food responsible before he added his drool to the ladle’s contents.

Finally sitting down to eat their main course, the result of his first sip was beyond his expectations, “How did you learn to cook like this?” He exclaimed after his third mouthful, before diving back in, “This is exquisite! You really made this with only the weeds from the field? No secret seasonings, or anything?” Between his un-restrained consumption of the stew, he saw his refined spouse’s smile grow.

“Although I have heard that the best seasoning is hunger,” She smirked, “This is just water and heat. With fresh leaves and flowers added at the right times, in the right proportions. As to how I learned, well, by paying attention. Much of it was from my Nan, but I also from the kitchen in our own home as well. Just because we had servants who could do everything, I saw no need to remain ignorant of how it was done. Indeed, though you never knew it, this is not the first time I have cooked for you.” With a coy smile, she returned to her own bowl, leaving her befuddled husband to dole out his second serving in confusion.

After cleaning the dishes from that meal of surprises, Mosley remained deep in thought. Going through his nightly routine on automatic, as he mulled over the unprecedented events of the past week.

It was seven days ago this morning, that he had received the bad news, and it took hours of accumulating the evidence before he finally allowed himself to believe it. A scam. He, Mosley Orange, esteemed in Manehatten financial circles for his skill at evaluating start-up companies, had been taken in by common con-artists.

Their slick presentations, slide shows, market research papers. All faked. ‘You know,’ He mused, ‘with all the effort that they put into creating that fake operation, they could have easily been successful running a real business.’ The thought brought a wry smile to his muzzle, ‘Perhaps that is why I got sucked in. Not because I was too gullible, but because I picked up on the genuine skill behind the con. Too bad I couldn’t read where their skill truly lay.’

What really got him were the days following that first blow. As he went, one at a time, to each of his friends in person to explain that their investment was gone into thin air. It had to be done Pony to Pony, his pride would not allow him otherwise. Some of them raged and cursed at him, others just nodded, then turned their backs on him and walked away. Those hurt the most. Then, the day after sharing the bad news, the social fallout started. Future events sending revocations of their invitations, the Club’s doorpony refusing him entry. Then Valencia’s Weekly cocktail party, always a hit affair, receiving no guests at all. He could withstand being shunned, but for his wife to be treated as a pariah!

On top of all that, his other investments began failing. For no other reason than that all the other investors had begun to pull out. The dominos ahead were easy to see from there, with the result being that the Oranges were finished in Manehaten. With the few bits he was able to get for his shares by selling them to junk traders, after the other investors had performed their planned short selling that is, they could have paid their Penthouse lease for another month, but why? They would have no means to cover it the month after that.

The only resource left to them was their shares in a cargo ship currently en-route to the Zebronian Empire. A full 23% of the profits from that trade expedition were coming to the Oranges, after it returned of course. In seven months. At least there was a light at the end of the tunnel. All they had to do was to make it until then, and if today was any indication, they would make it.

The image of Ma chose that moment to appear in his mind. Honestly, he hadn’t been surprised by her reaction when he told her what had happened. Ma never had approved of his choice to move away from the farm to live in the ‘Big City’ with his cousins. She wasn’t above pointing out that she felt his fall was due to his getting too big for his britches, either. Still, through the gloating, he did feel the love coming from her. He had to admit that he had missed that green mare, and the tears that fell from him when they embraced were not falling only because of shame. Ma was a strong matriarch, raising his brother’s foals by herself after that Luna Blasted Manticore killed their parents. In a way, Valencia reminded him of Ma.

Valencia kept surprising him with her strength. Despite that dumping all their bits down that hole had been his idea, and despite the fact that she had suggested less aggressive investing at the time, she had never railed against him. She truly was a pillar of strength for him, in more ways than one. He was still flabbergasted at how she had thrown herself into the chores here, ‘I mean, I knew she had fortitude, what with the way she chaired the various organizations and charities back in Manehatten. Before I scuttled all of it, that is, but I never suspected she would be just as skilled at such . . . menial tasks.’

After all these years, she was still more than capable of impressing him. When he had revealed just how bad their situation was, he had braced himself for her to leave him, and she would have been more than justified in doing so. She had her own family to go back to in Fillydelphia, and after all, they had asked her to come back enough times. But no, she had just looked at him and asked him what he thought their options were. What a Mare. Now, more than ever, he had to prove that he was worthy of being called her husband. He would take this fall and make himself stronger because of it. With some hard work, they could rebuild their fortune. Maybe not back in Manehatten, but somewhere they could make the Orange name carry weight once again.

Thus mentally girded, he went to join Valencia in bed. Without words, he began to rub her back. If his back was sore, hers had to be, and as expected, he quickly found the knots beneath his hooves. Slowly, he worked his way across her withers, gently pressing the muscles outward from the spine.

With all the work her neck had done today while weeding, it was no surprise that she was so tense here. Eventually he felt the knots loosen, and he moved on. Wrapping his foreleg around her barrel for leverage, he started to work his knee against the stubborn flesh of her back. Small circles at first, but using the strong pressure needed to be effective, he gradually spiraled outward as the areas relaxed.

As he progressed, the cute grunts Valencia made turned into sighs of relaxation. Having beaten her smarting sinews into submission, he switched from massaging, to rubbing. Just letting the frog of his hoof run gently up and down each side of her crest. Going with the lay of her coat, as if he were grooming her. Nothing therapeutic this time, barely enough pressure to be felt past her coat. All he wanted to do was to let her know that he was here, and that he cared about her. After a short time, the reassuring strokes seemed to have the desired relaxing effect, and her gentle breaths became shallower as she fell asleep in his embrace.

As her form relaxed against his, satisfaction seeped through his body. With all the stress, all the pointless drama that he had been through, this right here was what was important. To be able to hold his dearest close, and to feel that she accepted him. No one else’s opinion mattered, as long as she still welcomed his embrace at the end of the day. Feeling a sense of genuine contentment for the first time in recent memory, he let Luna’s night take him blissfully into the realm of dreams.

Author's Note

The “plantain” used in the stew is not the mini banana plantain, but rather the common weed of the same name and spelling. The leaves are edible by both equine and humans. They also have antibiotic properties, can be used as a poultice to treat insect bites, rashes, and can speed the healing of cuts and wounds. Taken internally by eating it, or as a tea, it is used to tread many kidney and urinary tract issues, as well as ulcers and respiratory illness. But, you know, just a weed.