“Mum,” Sterling said, his voice addled by the pull of sleep threatening to take him at any moment, “I had a dream last night.”
“Hmm?” Sugar Belle replied, not wanting to rouse him too much by asking any in-depth questions.
“I had a dream that daddy went away.”
Sugar Belle stiffened for a second, before recovering and continuing to tuck him in. She wondered whether he’d noticed.
“We woke up and the hospital called to tell us. It was foggy outside. It felt so real, I didn’t realise I was dreaming,” he babbled, voice becoming shaky with gentle sobs.
“Why are you only telling me this now, love?”
“Because… Auntie Applejack said it was going to be foggy tomorrow.”
“Go to sleep, Sterling,” she whispered gently, her hooves starting to shake, “We can see dad at the weekend. I promise.”
When he had finally drifted off, Sugar Belle walked as quickly into the hallway as she could without waking him before she gently started to cry.
It took her a few moments to compose herself, but there was a pull from the ache in her chest. Some latent desire to be overwhelmed. To reject composure.
Sugar Belle was just a mare, after all. Who could deny her this opportunity to kick and scream and bite and shout and rage against death? Against the unfairness for her soon-to-be-fatherless son, against the widow label that would be thrust unwillingly onto her? Against the long drop of her husband in his box, with little for comfort in the freezing ground save for a hoofful of dirt slung by those he left behind?
But Sugar Belle was a mother. So, instead of doing all of that, she got up and walked down the corridor, and tried to pay no mind to the way she seemed to move into a distant light.
Once Sugar Belle had descended the stairs she saw Applejack, sat solitary underneath the light. A whiskey bottle, already cracked open was her sole company save for two glasses, one empty, one full.
When those emerald eyes looked up to see Sugar Belle, peering from gloom the kitchen light wasn’t strong enough to banish, the empty glass was soon filled too.
“You’re up late,” Applejack said, and Sugar Belle laughed.
“You know how much trouble Sterling is to get off to sleep. How about you?”
“Long day in the fields, I only just finished up.”
Both were lying, and both knew it. Sugar Belle took many things when she married, and her new family’s storied hopelessness at ever being false seemed to be one of them. She didn’t mind though. Both mares knew each other well enough to hear the truths lay unvoiced beneath the white lies.
There was a comfort in that. In knowing someone so well, you could speak to them in words that never needed saying. Sugar Belle had had that with someone else, once. Not too long ago now. Not for much longer.
She pulled up a chair and took the glass. When she knocked it back, Applejack didn’t need prompting to fill it once more.
“There’s meant to be fog tomorrow morning,” Applejack piped up, and Sugar Belle stayed silent, “You know, in my family… in our family, seems like folk always get taken on foggy mornings.”
Sugar Belle turned for a moment and looked up the stairs.
“Granny Smith, my Ma and Pa… seems like the world’s always seen fit to get foggy on mornings like that,” she paused for a moment, a hitch in her breath smothered by a quick gulp of whiskey, “I used to reckon that it was the world’s way of protecting us, like it was trying to cover itself so all the beauty wouldn’t get tainted by the horror. I always love looking out at the apple trees, but I gotta wonder… would I still love them if they hadn’t been hidden away the morning I found out Granny had gone?”
“Do you still think that?” Sugar Belle asked, “That the world was protecting you?”
“I… I don’t rightly know anymore. I guess I hope that’s what was happening, but sometimes I wonder whether it’s the opposite. Maybe it’s something up there trying to stop us from distracting ourselves with all those beautiful, beautiful apple trees. Maybe it’s the world trying to remind us that when we go, we all go alone.”
“They said they’d call when he… when he’s about to go. He won’t be alone,” Sugar Belle said, as much to herself as Applejack.
Unless he dies too quickly for them to know in time… but of course, Sugar Belle didn’t need to say that. She let it simmer under the lie.
“I guess,” Applejack continued, “As much as it’s scary, knowing when something is gonna happen, there’s some comfort there. It’s more than most folk get, the chance to go on your own terms.”
“But you don’t know, do you?” Sugar Belle interjected, teeth grinding, “You don’t know what state Mac is in, whether he’s better since the last time we visited, or worse. He might be rallying, he might be fine. You don’t even know it’s going to be foggy tomorrow morning. What if the pegasi did something wrong? What if the schedule changes at the last minute?”
“Is that what you think the world is?” Applejack said, gazing over with glassy, tear-filled eyes, “No signs, no omens… just random chance?”
Sugar Belle didn’t answer, instead she turned away and downed another glassful of whiskey. The window revealed none of sky’s secrets, no chance to see whether fog was gathering. All she saw was her own reflection, staring back.
“Does that bring you comfort, or does it make everything feel worse?” Applejack asked, and Sugar Belle kept up her staring match with her reflection in the forlorn hope she might tell her how to keep going through life, waiting for someone you love to die.
“It doesn’t matter how it makes me feel, I don’t get a say either way.”
Applejack was quiet for a moment, until Sugar Belle heard her take one last drink and rise from the table.
“G’night sis,” she mumbled, a small slur to her voice from either pain or drunkenness or some combination thereof. But, before she could head up the stairs, Sugar Belle grabbed her.
“I’m… I’m not saying I believe that… but… what did you do, Applejack. On those foggy mornings, when you found out? What did you do?”
Applejack looked down at her for a moment, pain dancing with affection, both adrift in a sea of distant, inscrutable sadness.
“I looked around for the most beautiful thing near me, whatever the fog hadn’t taken… and I held on tight.”
Sugar Belle’s lip wobbled until she bit down on it, hard, determined to crush the life from it lest it betray her, lest it rip away the white lies and banish the fog from the truth.
“I… I’ll be taking Sterling to see Mac at the weekend, do you want to come?” Sugar Belle forced herself to choke out, and Applejack just leant down and pressed their foreheads together. The two of them stayed like that for a short while, until finally Sugar Belle pulled back.
“You better get some sleep, Applejack, it’s gonna be… a hard day tomorrow. On the fields, I mean.”
“I know. Good night, Sugar Belle,” Applejack replied, and did the courtesy of not saying anything further.
When she was alone, Sugar Belle turned again to her reflection, and this time tried to stare past. The black mirror once again revealed none of the sky’s secrets. So this time, she stood up, and dragged her chair to the screen door separating her from all the world’s beauty.
When she got out there, and set up her chair, Sugar Belle found that it was a clear night. All the farm’s apple trees danced in the light, their leaves bending the moonlight in a million different directions.
Nothing happened, nothing breached the stillness, but that was okay.
Sugar Belle had time to wait and see.
When she awoke in the morning, Sugar Belle jolted, like someone had shaken her. But of course, when she looked around, spinning in the chair she’d taken from the kitchen, there was no one around.
There was nothing around at all, in fact, no ponies, no sky. Not even any trees, all of it was obscured by a heavy, thick fog.
But Sugar Belle paid it little mind. She had no time for peering into the murk to pray for the sight of trees. No, instead she turned around and walked inside, finding Applejack and Sterling sat at the table, tears in their eyes.
And though a similar wetness pooled in her vision, Sugar Belle couldn’t help but smile at her son. Bright, beautiful, in perfect focus, untouched by fog. She beckoned him over, and swaddled him in a tender hug.
And they stayed there, huddled in whatever minor sanctuary they had built, safe from the blanket of morning fog. Or the distant ringing of the telephone.
