No sunset in Equestria could compare to a Vanhoover sunset. The Vantober festival was just beginning, celebrating the bountiful harvest that had blessed the whole country side. That was of course with the exception of the Pear family farm. After moving clear across equestria, we spent a long and hard summer tilling our new found fields and planting the seeds of our future. It wouldn't be until at least next Vantoberfest that we would be able to celebrate the fruits of our labor. I had called in every favor from everypony I could think of and put our whole family operation into debt just to get this far. But the investment would be more than worth it. The untapped riches of these lands, scouted by myself of course, were fertile and ripe for the pickings.
“Soon these hills will be bursting with Pear trees as far as the horizon.” I held my dear wife's hoof in mine. She looked at me with her gorgeous eyes and ever optimistic smile.
“Oh darling, I simply can't wait to see it.”
We had been sleeping in a cabin just off site of our barn construction. The workers and helpers had gone home for the day and only family members remained to settle down to supper and rest up for another hard day's work. Some of my kin wanted to trot into town and partake in the Vantoberfest celebration, but I wouldn't allow it. Everyday was a precious resource we couldn't afford to squander. A late night and a cider hangover would lead to a weak and unproductive day at best and a major setback causing weeks of frustrating fixing at worse. But I wasn't a heartless old stallion. I too was tempted by the allure of good food and fine fellowship. And making good with the neighbors was just as important as our own foundation on these fields.
I approached the campfire where my darling was serving up some cabbage stew for our children and relatives. The company jumped a bit as I slapped a wooden barrel on an oak tree stump.
“The finest cider in all of Vanhoover, so I'm told by the maker anyways.”
The eyes of my young kin lit up like lightning bugs on a fall twilight.
“But Pa, I thought you said we wasn't allowed to have any cider,” my eldest son spoke up. A goodie two shoes if ever there was one, but only ‘cause I was always hardest on him.
“I said nopony could go into town during the festival. But I don't see any harm in bringing some of the town to us here.”
Greedily, they moseyed over to the cask.
“Now mind your cups, y’all. If anypony complains about a headache tomorrow, I'll have you choppin’ wood till your shoulders ache more than your head.”
They mumbled, “Yes, Pa,” as they happily partook in the culture of our new home.
“Granny Smith’s was better,” I just barely heard somepony mutter under their breath.
“What was that?” In the same instant my head shot around to glare at the campfire entourage, they all froze in place.
“Uh, nothing. It was nothing,” my youngest son sheepishly remarked with his head down.
“That's what I thought.” I took a plate from my wife and sat down to enjoy a well earned meal. Before I could take my first bite, I felt beside me the presence of my niece holding something in her hooves. I turned and looked to see her carefree smile and disarming demeanor. She was just like her aunt and filled me with a pride that I treasured greatly, especially after such a recent disappointment.
“What is it, sweet pea?” I asked in what must have been the calmest and most tender tone of voice I had used in days.
“Mail carrier came by today. I-I thought you might wanna take a look at the post.” She gingerly held out a stack of envelopes towards me.
“Just set 'em right by me for now. I'll have a look see as soon as I finish supper. Thank you, darlin’.”
She left them neatly on the ground next to me. I wanted to pick up my food and dig in, but something made me pick up the mail instead. Most of it was what I expected from relatives, associates, and the town, but a small beige envelope written in familiar penmanship made my heart skip a beat. It was addressed from Sweet Apple Acres in Ponyville with a heart next to my name.
And there it was. The same disappointment and emptiness that I suppressed every night welled up inside me. I felt a rush of anger so fierce my vision blurred a little. I wanted to take that cursed letter and throw it straight in the fire. The best thing to do would be to forget about it and move on. I would never mention her name or what she did ever again. Yet my resolve failed. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened it up. The tri-folded handwritten parchment laid gently in my hooves. For just a brief moment, as I read the words, my anger subsided. It said the following:
Hello father. I wanted to write you and let you know that I miss you and the family more than anything in Celestia's green Equestria. I know you may not want to hear from me right now and I won't ask you to write me back, but just know that I love you. I will never stop loving you as long as my heart beats in my chest. I hope that one day you find it in your heart to forgive me. I know I hurt you. I should have told you sooner. I should have helped you understand. I should have let you see for yourself what a wonderful, loving stallion Bright Mac is. If you only knew him, I know in my soul you would be proud to have him as a son. Granny Smith is even more stubborn than you said she was, but under all that gruff and harshness, lies a heart of gold. She reminds me so much of you.
I hope you and mama are doing well. I hope the new farm is coming along smoothly. You said that Vanhoover was rich in soil and I pray that the land yields you twice as much as you had hoped for. I dream of a day we can all be together as a family again. No more feuding or fighting. All grievances put aside in the name of friendship. Because the biggest surprise to me, being with the Apples, is how much the same we are. The differences are so insignificant, it makes me cry that a wedge was driven through such wholesome and like minded ponies. I don't blame anypony for how we got this way. These things happen sometimes and when you feel wronged, sometimes the hardest thing to do is let go.
Anyway, I hope to see or hear from you soon. It breaks my heart to think that I broke yours. Please be safe and tell Mama and the boys and everypony that I'm thinking of them. You're all in my thoughts every single day. I love you with all my heart and my being. We're far apart in every way, but you are still the closest to me.
Best Wishes,
Pear Butter 💓
I gently placed the letter back in the envelope as it came. I shook my head, still thinking about destroying the contents. The naivety of that one was astounding. It shook me to my core that she would have the nerve to say those things to me. How could she talk of love and friendship when she had betrayed her own kin? I should have seen it sooner. I should have picked up on her behavior and done something about it. This was all my fault. I had failed her as a father and now it was too late. I would never have my only daughter back again.
****
As the moons came and went, so did Pear Butter’s letters. I had let up on banishing her name, at least from my own thoughts that is. I never did destroy the first one or any of the proceeding letters. I just read them when they arrived and then placed then in a trunk I kept next to my desk. The barn was gorgeous. The crops were plentiful. Sales were through the roof and in just barely a year's time, the Pear family was becoming a household name in Vanhoover. But none of our success could sit with me very well as I read her most recent letter:
Papa I have such wonderful news. I'm pregnant! Can you believe it? Your very first grandchild is on the way. Bright Mac and I were elated when the doctor gave us the word this morning. Granny Smith is so excited that we finally will have some more help on the farm. She's such a card but she means well, so don't be too hard on her. After all I seem to recall Mama told me you said the same thing when I was born. If it’s a girl, we're gonna name her Applejack. If it's a boy we wanna go with Big Macintosh. I wanted to maybe go with a Pear name, but mentioning anything Pear related around Granny is difficult. I feel so happy I could just sing all day everyday. Sometimes I do, whether anypony wants me to or not. I still play the guitar you gave me on my birthday. I haven't been taking lessons but I still practice everyday, like you told me to. You were right, my technique has really come a long way in the last year. A lot can change in a year. It feels like only yesterday you, Mama, and the boys were right here with me. I'm still surrounded by my family but it's only half. The loneliness gets to me sometimes. I know I should really stop bringing it up, but if y’all ever wanted to come by, even for a day, even if it was just on your way to more important business, we would all love to have you. I would fix up the biggest and finest supper you ever did see. I may not be as good as Mama, but I've been honing my home making skills. After all, they’re gonna come in handy once the baby is here. I promise Granny Smith will behave. I told her I never want to demand anything of her or this household except for one thing. My family is welcome in my home. And it's just as much my home as it is her’s now. She put up a bit of a fuss, but she relented. Gosh darn it, I just make her sound like the meanest thing sometimes, don't I? I swear to Celestia she's not. She's the sweetest and kindest mare in the whole world despite what she might tell you. We truly are happy here. I hope everypony is just as happy and healthy up there too. Be sure to give everypony my best as usual.
Love always,
Pear Butter 💓
This one I crumpled up in my hoof only to end up smoothing it out, folding it neatly, and placing it back in the envelope like all the others. I went back to my work and my family. I didn't have anymore time to put up with this nonsense.
****
Years went by and many thing changed. My hair grew gray. My wife and I grew wrinkles around our eyes, me a little more than her perhaps. My sons had all fully grown and moved away. I was hurt that nopony seemed to want to continue the family business but I knew I couldn't force them to stay. I had already failed as a father once. They all had their hopes and dreams to go follow and I reluctantly let them go one by one. However, my little wallflower of a niece stayed by my side. She had become the manager of the Pear Orchard. I taught her everything I knew and she soaked it all in. I couldn't be more proud of her if she had been my own daughter. She was the closest thing I had to my own child these days.
That was until I came home from the market one day. One of my worse fears had come true. There she was, sitting at my desk. The chest full of Pear Butter's letters open and dozens of them scattered about the desk and the floor. Tears dripped from her eyes as she read an unfolded one under my reading lamp. She looked up as I opened the door to the study. She glared at me with a look of disgust and disdain I had never seen of her face before.
“You,” she almost whispered through gritted teeth, “How could you?”
I froze, unable to move or speak. I had never understood why I kept the letters in first place, or why I read them for that matter. Something just stopped me every time I thought about throwing them away. Finally I mustered up a few words.
“What made you go looking for them?” I looked away. I couldn't hold her accusing stare.
“I was looking for the ledgers from last year and thought maybe they were in this chest. Now I wish I'd never opened the damn thing. How could anypony be so cruel? I’ve read ever single one of them, but you never even bothered to write back or say a word to anypony about her. Did you even read them?” She demanded.
“Yes,” I said curt.
“You have grandchildren!” She screamed at me. She walked around the desk and over to the front door where I stood.
“Where are you going?” I demanded and she slapped me so hard I nearly lost my balance.
“As far away from here as I can get. I can't do this anymore, not now.” She turned to move past me.
“Wait!” I yelled and she stopped. “I love you. You're like my own daughter.”
She scoffed and pointed to the letters.
“Well if this is how you treat your daughter, frankly, I'd rather be a stranger.” She started tearing up again. I could feel my own tears coming but held them back with everything I could.
“I was gonna leave everything to you when I pass. All of this, the whole farm, the business, it's yours. Please, I need you.” I reached out my hoof to her but she just shook her head.
“I don't want it,” she bluntly stated. And just as she was about to leave again I pleaded,
“Don't tell your Auntie.”
She reeled back to slap me again and I winced. I opened my eyes a moment later when the blow never came.
“You idiot. Of course I won't tell her. Look at me.” She pointed to her own tears. “She was my cousin. If Auntie reads those letters, they’ll kill her.” She slammed the door behind her and walked off. I never saw her again. I slowly wandered over to my desk and the mess of letters. Still open under the reading lamp was the most recent one. It had just come in the mail that day. I hadn't even had a chance to open it yet. She must have looked to see if a new letter arrived after going threw the whole stack.
I read the latest correspondence from my daughter:
Dear Papa,
Applebloom was born today. We decided to name her after her grandmother, Amberbloom. She's the spitting image of me and the Apple of my eye. Big Mac is almost as tall as his daddy now. Applejack is old enough to help out with the farm, but I'm worried about her taking on too big of a workload. She tends to bite off more than she can chew, just like her daddy. It was colder this year than normal. The orchard suffered quite a bit, but we'll get by. We always do. Bright Mac installed a better fireplace to make sure the house stays warmer at night. He thinks I'm a fool for writing these letters to you and maybe he's right. But I just can't stop believing that I'll see you again one day. I can't bring myself to lose hope that somewhere inside you I'm still your little girl. I know you love me. No amount of silence will ever convince me otherwise. Granny Smith convinced me not to tell the children about what happened. About the feud or the move. I only agreed because I know one day you’ll explain it yourself to them in person. There won't be any fighting or resentment or hard feelings. You're their Grand Pear and that's all that matters. It's all that's ever mattered to me.
I'm crying. I usually don't cry when I write these. This is a happy time of the day for me. Maybe I'm just recovering from Applebloom’s entrance to the world today. I did give birth this morning after all. After three beautiful children, I like to think that I can understand how you feel now. It's amazing watching them turn into their own pony and make decisions on their own. One day I'll have no control or say over them whatsoever and that terrifies me. But it also excites me at the same time. I'll get to see who they become and be so proud. Please give everypony my best.
Your loving daughter,
Pear Butter 💓
****
The barn I raised, the family I had, the business I ran, the life I built here all of it was empty now. Pear Butter's letters stopped coming years ago. I was too afraid to find out why. Nothing in her last letter indicated that she had given up or was going to stop. My wife, Amberbloom, was sick. She maintained a fever for over a week and the doctor said it can be hard to recover from a sickness like this at her age. I knelt by her side and took her hoof in mine.
“Darling,” I said, “how are you feeling today?” I went to feel her forehead. She was burning up as much as ever.
“Pear,” she barely muttered, “It's my time, Pear. I'm not long for this world anymore.”
I shook my head furiously.
“Please don't say that. I can't lose you. I-I just can't.”
She breathed slowly and heavily.
“I'm sorry, my love," was all she said.
I burst into tears and held her hoof tightly to my chest.
“Tell me was I was good husband, a good father. Did I give you everything I promised you?"
I waited earnestly for her response. She frowned slightly.
“You were a good husband to me. But you didn't keep your promise.”
I was destroyed.
“What did I do wrong?” I begged. “What did I keep from you? Please, tell me.”
A tinge of strength returned to her posture as she leaned up a little. She looked piercingly at me.
“I always listened to your wisdom and did what you asked of me, Pear. I left Ponyville and Pear Butter behind because you said it was the right thing to do and I trusted you. I believed you. But as sure as I lay here the truth is you took my baby girl from me. You took her away and I can never forgive you for that.” She closed her eyes and settled back down into bed.
I lost control. I wept loudly for a very long time.
“Do you hate me?” I finally said.
“I love you, Pear. But I loved her too.”
And with that, I had lost everything. The next morning, she was gone. I buried her out on the hill where we first planted our Pear trees on our beautiful roaming acres.
I knew what I had to do. I had been nothing but a bitter old fool for too long. I sold the farm and the business for far less than it should have sold, but it didn't matter anymore. I took everything I could carry in a wagon and trotted my way back to Ponyville. My old rickety back and shoulders and knees and frankly everywhere ached like the Dickens but I journeyed on. I wandered into the old town square. It had been eons since I had walked these streets but they were as familiar as they had always been. I setup my tent in the old spot I used to sell Pear Jam on the corner next to Granny Smith. Those days seemed innocent and quaint now. It was still before Dawn. I just managed to get my shop all set up as Celestia brought the sun up on the horizon. Just like old times, ponies lined up to get some of my home family pear jam. Some ponies recognized me. Most of them looked as old as I did. Some had heard of me or remembered me from their childhood. Seeing a Pear tent back in this town caused a bit of a hubbub.
And then I saw her. I recognize her immediately. She looked just like her mother did at that age. She was barely younger than Pear Butter was when I left Ponyville in a huff. I figured she would just pass me by but she came right up to my booth. I could hardly breath. What would I say? What could I say? In the end I said nothing. I smeared some pear jam on a biscuit and handed it to her. It was high time she tasted her own family recipe.
“Oh thank you,” she beamed cheerfully in a sweet little innocent voice the likes of which I hadn't heard in so long.
“My name's Applebloom. You must be new here.” She was so kind. So sincere and earnest. Everything my dear Pear Butter had written about her was right. But not just about Applebloom, she was right about everything. This was my home. This was where my family was. I was stupid enough to forget it once and now all I could do was ask their forgiveness. But where to begin? If only I could muster up the courage to say something, anything to my own granddaughter.
“I'm… Grand Pear.”
It was a start. After all, every orchard starts with a seed.
