As he hefted his great wood-and-metal plow up onto its shelf, Big Macintosh felt a soft touch on his back. He startled, but drew a steadying breath and managed to guide the plow down gently. Then he turned, expecting perhaps that Apple Bloom had come to call him in for dinner.
He looked from side to side in the warm, dark barn, but saw nopony. There were loose-packed bales of hay, lances of late afternoon light spearing down through gaps and knotholes, and sweet-smelling casks full of juice in various stages of fermentation—but that was all.
Big Mac grunted, turned toward the great barn door, and walked across its threshold to the gently-waving grass outside. He instantly felt his stomach clench with trepidation as he sighted the family home. Why’d Applejack and them all hafta run off to deal with more changeling problems now of all times? he thought to himself. He looked up toward the sky, and let his gaze linger on the gold-and-red-smeared canvas of sunset.
One more glance toward the house—bringing a pang of anxiety—and he set off for the nearby hill overlooking the farm.
An unexpectedly chill wind blew through the grass around his fetlocks as he walked, teasing Big Mac’s shaggy coat. He maintained his pace while glancing around, again seeing all the sights he’d expect on the working farm. One of those was the field he’d been plowing that afternoon, with its rich soil seeming almost pitch-black as the blazing sunset threw the landscape into either brilliant color or deep shadow. He allowed himself a tight-lipped smile as he studied it from afar.
At last, Big Mac reached the lone apple tree at the top of the hill. He settled on his haunches underneath it, gazed up at the fruit weighing heavy on its branches, and heaved a deep sigh. “I wish it was all just as simple as you are,” he said aloud to the apples. “Ain’t nothing to it; just grow ya and buck ya, year in and year out. Ain’t even much to decide about, with Granny figurin’ how much needs done every day. It’s just…”
He shook his head and looked down toward the farmhouse again. “Grow up, Big Mac,” he said under his breath. “Just walk back down and tell her no. I love Granny, and I’ll work this farm to my dyin’ day, but she’s just gonna have to wait for AJ to get back and sign those papers. Not everypony’s meant to be in charge of things… world needs its share of ponies just willing to lend a strong back.”
The breeze blew again, and Big Mac felt it brush his coat once more—but this time came a more tangible sensation as well. It was light for a touch, but solid enough to make him turn his head.
He jerked back at the sight of a sturdy, yellow-coated stallion standing just behind him.
“Just a strong back?” asked the newcomer, smiling beneath a shock of red mane sticking out from his tan stetson hat. “Son, I wouldn’t be so proud of you if that’s all you were.”
Big Mac’s jaw drifted open as his eyes roved over the face of the newcomer. “P… pa?!”
“Yeah, son,” Bright Mac said with a smile. “It’s me. And I just want you to know that I’m proud of you… endlessly proud. But I need you to know that you’re wrong about something.”
“B… but… this ain’t possible…”
Bright Mac shook his head, and his smile turned wan. “I didn’t think so either, but I need—”
“Wait.” Big Mac raised a hoof to his mouth, and pointed with the other. “No. You can’t be here. Whatever you are, you can’t be my pa.”
“I can. I am. But I don’t know how long I have, so please, just listen.”
“No!” Big Mac rose to all fours and stomped closer to Bright Mac, who retreated several steps down the hill, eyes widening. “Now I don’t know if you’re some figment outta my own brain, or maybe some kinda changeling spy or something! But that ain’t a face you get to wear, ya hear me?!” His hooves stomped loudly as he closed the distance.
“Wait, son, no!”
The image of Bright Mac ducked around a thick set of bushes midway down the hill. Big Mac jumped forward, seeking to catch it.
But it was gone.
For long moments, Big Mac stood alone there on the hill, looking all about for where it could’ve gone. Accompanying his fruitless search was the soft song of the wind in the trees, and the hammering beat of his blood in his ears. At last, with rising confusion, he looked back at where he’d chased it down the hill. He trotted closer, focusing on the crushed grass that had been beneath his heavy hooves.
But the only hoofprints were his own.
Late that night, Big Mac sat alone at his kitchen table, staring into the guttering flame of a lone candle. Granny Smith and Apple Bloom had long since gone to bed, but he sat silent as a stone, keeping a solitary vigil.
His eyes drooped, and his head fell forward… but he jerked awake again, unwilling to yield to sleep while such a great weight of uncertainty pressed down on him. Not for the first time that evening, he thought of telling Granny Smith what he’d seen, or of running into town and alerting Mayor Mare about possible changelings, or even of asking his friend Spike to send a message by dragonfire to one or more Princesses. The latter thought filled him with even more trepidation, and a deeper wish that he could be sure about what he’d seen.
But minutes passed in silence, and his breathing grew more rhythmic as his sore muscles relaxed. His head drooped again—
Slowly, through a haze of semiconsciousness, Big Mac began to feel a presence next to the icebox. He turned his focus on a darkling mass that ebbed and flowed in its solidity, but also filled him with a strange sense of belonging. It was as if he’d felt the entity upon his mind before, but never quite so clearly.
“Greetings, Big Macintosh,” said the swiftly-resolving form of Princess Luna in a voice both strong and regal. She narrowed her eyes and looked back and forth across the room. “I sense ill portents in your sleep this night, and not only those borne of your rough accommodations.”
Big Mac winced at the thought of having passed-out in his seat. He blushed as well at the thought of the Princess seeing him lying there drooling on the kitchen table, and hoped he woke up on his own so he wouldn’t have to endure the questions anypony else would ask if they found him.
“You, uh… you might say we had a visitor up at our farm today, Princess.”
“Indeed,” Luna said, raising an eyebrow. “I sense… someone close to you? But someone who could not have been there?”
He swallowed. “I suppose you could say that, ma’am. Reckon I’m not sure what it was. Maybe… a daydream? Could you have sent me one of those?”
“Not likely; I am asleep during most of the day, and I only rarely send a dream. It is a subtle power, but one with weighty and complex responsibility.”
Big Mac nodded. “Reckon I don’t know, then. Maybe it ain’t nothin’...”
“Would you tell me about it?”
He frowned. “It looked like my pa,” he said slowly. “I suppose I didn’t give it much chance to say a whole lot, though it seemed to want to tell me somethin’.”
“I see.” Luna furrowed her brows for a moment. “Taking on the appearance of your departed father could mean changelings…”
“I didn’t reckon even changelings would be cruel enough to make me think my pa’d come back,” Big Mac said, head drooping.
She touched a hoof to her jaw. “You said it spoke to you?”
“Eeyup.”
Luna paused, apparently in thought. “A changeling could mimic your father’s appearance by studying the pictures in your hall. But they’d have no way to know what he sounded like.”
Big Mac raised his head. “But what else could it be? I mean, there ain’t no comin’ back from where my pa’s been, is there?”
Luna frowned. “I wouldn’t think so. Although, if life has taught me anything, it is that there is always more to discover. If this could be something from realms beyond our reckoning, then perhaps I ought to keep a closer watch over your family’s dreams, in case it proves to be malign.”
“Thank you, Princess,” Big Mac said.
“There are other, more straightforward possibilities, though,” she said, lighting her horn. “Let me help you to your room. Fatigue can play tricks on the mind, and despite the loveliness of your family’s kitchen, I do not think it will help relieve you of the great unrest your dreams have shown these many nights.”
Big Mac opened his mouth to protest, but felt the glow of her horn overtake him, followed soon by darkness.
The next day, Big Mac struggled under a thick fog of grogginess to keep up with his plowing. He’d barely done a quarter-days’ work by the time he stopped for lunch. By the time he managed to remember where he’d left his lunch, he’d lost his appetite, and simply went back to working.
He regretted that decision long before the sun began descending into the late afternoon. The last hour or so of plowing was sheer torture, with his stomach grumbling almost as loud as the sound of the plow turning up dirt. It became bad enough that he broke early, unhitching himself from the plow and leaving it there in the field as he set off for the farmhouse.
A slight tickle on the back of his mane made him stiffen in his stride. He turned his head, but found nothing save for the open field behind him—and the hill beyond.
Big Mac sighed as curiosity won the battle against trepidation. With movements like lead, he plodded back across the field and toward the hill, trying to ignore his stomach and his nerves by turns. He climbed the hillside ponderously, looking all around himself as he went. It was empty, though; empty save for himself, the few bushes along the way, and the solitary tree.
He salivated as he caught sight of the ripe fruit hanging heavy in the tree.
His pace quickened. He walked right up underneath it and reached a hoof up to pluck an apple. He didn’t even need to buck them, with the branches hanging so low.
“I remember when you planted that,” said his father’s voice behind him.
Big Mac jumped again, and turned, seeing Bright Mac—or the image of him—standing nearby.
Bright Mac raised a hoof in a gesture of peace. “It was father’s day, right after Applejack was born. I remember you led me up here, and I…” He looked down at the grass. “I told you all the reasons why planting a lone tree at the very tip-top of a hill wouldn’t work.”
Tears sprung to Big Mac’s eyes. “Pa?”
“Your mother was right, of course,” Bright Mac said, meeting his eyes again. “There were ways that we could nurture it, and shelter it from storms while it was too small to bear them itself. But I’m… not proud of discouraging you. I did too much of that, sometimes.”
Big Mac felt a flood of warmth in his chest and face. He couldn’t speak, though he felt as if there was a knot of words, and questions, veritably threatening to burst out of his throat.
“I just want you to know that I’m proud of you, and of the pony you’ve become. And I need you to know that I’m sorry. I always tried to do my best, and learn from my mistakes, but I made a lot more of them than I’d have liked. Especially with you. I learned so much from you, but I learned it the hard way sometimes, and I—”
“Why didn’t you come back sooner?” Big Mac blurted, half-choking his words through tears. “It wasn’t fair having to grow up without you!”
Bright Mac frowned. “It wasn’t fair not getting to see you grow up, and not getting to say what I needed to say when it would’ve made the most difference.”
“But how… how can you be here?”
“That’s not the important thing, son; you are. You need to know that you can run the farm, if you want to. I know you feel like your sisters are leaving you behind, and I know you dream of being just like them…” He cracked a smile. “Alicorn princess and all, right?”
A hot wave of embarrassment came crashing down on Big Mac. “Pa, I—”
“You’ve got nothing to explain or apologize for. I know it doesn’t take much to feel like the world’s pushing you aside.” Bright Mac frowned. “It felt like time stood still for me here on the farm, sometimes. And fatherhood never quite took to me, through no fault of yours or your sisters—I just always felt it was work, even though I was proud to do it.”
Big Mac turned his eyes toward the ground.
“You need to know that I love you, son, and I’m proud of you. And my own failings as a stallion, and a father… well, they ain’t yours. Or they don’t have to be. I wouldn’t want them to be, at any rate.”
“Pa, I don’t blame you—”
“Course ya do. As well you should. But let me tell you something: if I can be proud of one thing I did in my life, just one thing, it'd be being there for your mother through her suffering after her pa left her.”
Big Mac looked up again, seeing his father’s ears turned down.
“That’s what I wanted to tell you: even if most ponies don’t understand, and even if it’s for just one pony—even for yourself—your love can still mean the world to somepony. And you’ve got a great big heart, just full to burstin’ with love, all just waiting to come out.”
The breath caught in Big Mac’s throat. “Pa… how do I know you’re real? That you’re not just… some changeling, sent to tease my heart and take… take…” His voice was lost amid rough sobbing.
Bright Mac took a step backwards, and nodded. “Proof is valuable in some things, son. But sometimes, proof just ain’t there at the start of something. Anypony has it in ‘em to fail at doing just about anything; I was just a pony too, and I made plenty of mistakes, right up to my dying day. But I believe in you, son. I think you’d find it in you to take the farm if you could put aside your fear of failing at it. And for anything I did to put that fear in you… I’m sorry. Ten thousand times sorry. But not as sorry as I am proud of you. And that’s…”
The image of Bright Mac started fading.
“…That’s all I really wanted to say…”
“No, pa!” Big Mac’s vision blurred with tears as he leapt forward, reaching out to hug his father.
But nopony was there to hug.
Big Mac was still sobbing under his breath as he entered the farmhouse. He knew it was a risk coming back before regaining his composure, but he’d waited as long as he could and only felt more ready to burst with what he’d heard and seen.
Granny Smith stood in the adjoining kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove. She glanced up from her work, then turned off the flame after studying him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Granny, I…” Big Mac swallowed, then sighed. He slowly crossed the distance between them, then encircled Granny Smith in a great hug.
“Easy there, Mackie! These old bones ain’t as tough as they used to be!”
Big Mac loosened his grip only a little. He brought his muzzle closer to her ear. “Granny, I just saw my pa again.”
She pushed away from him and met his eyes. “Y’saw what now?”
“I saw pa. Please, I know it sounds crazy, but I swear… it must’ve been him.”
Granny planted her rump on the floor. She looked up at him, blinking. Then she nodded. “All right; let’s say as ya did. Did he look well?”
“Course he did. Didn’t look a day older then… well, y’know.”
“I do.” Granny Smith looked at the floor. Her jaw tightened slightly. “And you’re sure it weren’t just nerves? Lately you got more nerves’n a hog tap-dancin’ on a tightrope.”
Big Mac wrung his forehooves. “Listen, I know I’ve been on edge since ya first asked me about signin’ those papers to take over Sweet Apple Acres. Truth is, I felt more shame’n I knew how to say, but I always figured that being in charge would be somethin’ bigger than I knew how to do.”
Granny Smith harrumphed. “Well sure, being in charge is harder’n it looks. Gotta know when to push you kids past somethin’ you’re just scared of ‘cause it’s new, and when to hold off ‘cause it’s somethin’ you ain’t ready for.” She looked away, toward the window and the fields beyond. “Takin’ over ain’t somethin’ I can push ya into. Applejack should be home soon enough, and I know she’ll be willin’ to sign. But truth be told, it don’t seem like her path is as tied to this place as it used to be. Might be that her heart’ll always be here, but ain’t no telling where her hooves might be on any given day.”
“I’ve felt for a long time now that Applejack was everythin’ I ain’t,” Big Mac said, also looking out the window toward the hill and its lone tree. “It’s hard not to, when she’s always runnin’ around and savin’ the world from this and that. But maybe… maybe my pa helped remind me of something.”
Big Mac felt Granny Smith’s silent gaze turn on him. He met her eyes, finding their redness betrayed a depth of sadness and vulnerability that the tough old mare didn’t usually show.
“Somepony’s gotta make that world she’s savin’,” Big Mac said. “And this ol’ place don’t have to be run quite the way that you and pa had run it. I got some Pear in me too, and maybe that leaves room for me to do things my way.”
“Well, figures it’d take some kinda supernatural hoozeywhatsits to make ya stop worryin’ that you can’t do what we did, and start focusing on what you can do.” Granny Smith added a slight smile. “I’ve never known a Pear that weren’t stubborner’n a mule… no offense to mules, y’understand. But I reckon what you’re sayin’ is right. The truth is that you ain’t your pa; I dare say you’re a harder worker than he ever was, and maybe a mite better stallion in some ways.”
Big Mac grinned. “Now Granny, it ain’t good to speak ill of the dead.”
She gave him a mostly-flat look with the hint of a smile. “I’m gettin’ too close to joinin’ him to hold back what I wanna say. And maybe that brings me to the other thing that needs said about runnin’ this place: you can’t do it alone. Things ain’t always gonna go well, even if ya do yer best. Ya need to look for good ponies who can help carry ya through the tough bits.”
Big Mac felt a rush of fire through his cheeks, and he buried his face in his hooves. “Please don’t start with this again, Granny…”
“I was just gonna say that maybe you should bring that Sugar Belle ya keep talkin’ ‘bout around the place sometime. Seems like she’s gotta have a good head on her shoulders if she’s taken a shine to you.” She gave him a broad wink. “And, o’course, a good, strong head on one end prolly means she’s got some nice, strong flanks on the other end, otherwise she’d be floppin’ like a junebug anytime she tried to walk somewhere. Know what I mean?”
“I do, Granny,” Big Mac said, smiling in spite of himself. “Well, I’ll tell ya what… why don’t we start with them papers first. Let’s get this all official-like, then maybe I can think about… well, courtin’.”
Granny Smith nodded. “Fair enough. Dinner can wait a few.”
As the sun sunk low on the horizon, bright and sunny afternoon gave way to a sky of vivid pinkish-gold shot through with long strings of fiery clouds.
A brief but strong wind whipped through the branches of the lone tree overlooking the farmhouse at Sweet Apple Acres. And for a moment, if a pony had looked, they might’ve seen a figure standing underneath that tree, wearing a stetson and a large, warm smile.
But it was just there for a moment. And it, too, faded with the twilight.
