I. Oh, Bury Me NotView OnlineStill, LifeI. Oh, Bury Me NotBright Mac heard the tapping at the basement window. It was Pear Butter, his oldest friend. Mac climbed up on the stack of old pallets to shoo her off, but as soon as he opened the window, the little filly was inside. “Mac,” she started, “what’s happened? I left messages for you like you said but—“ “Buttercup…” Mac tried to show courage, but the young colt didn’t have enough to spare. “…you can’t be here. Papple and Gala both got it. Bad. Ain’t nothing more to do. You need to leave, now.” “Please,” Buttercup said, “It’s prolly nothin! My Grannyberry says that this one ain’t nearly as bad as the one ten years ago, won’t even have to lock everybody in who gets it, you’ll just get the sniffles and be done.” Mac took a cautious step back. “I… I wish I could believe that everything’s gonna be OK. But you heard the radio, none of 'em ain’t ever seen a flu this bad before. They got doctors in Canterlot try’na find a cure but so far nothin.” He felt his jaw quake with every word. Buttercup made to embrace him but he stepped back again. “No!” He shouted. “You’ll get sick too!” Buttercup stopped in her tracks and began to cry softly. “I’m scared, Mac… my mama already got the sniffles an’—“ There was a loud banging coming from upstairs. The front door. Then came a loud voice. “Sir, by order of the Ponyville Board of Health this house is under quarantine. No one is to enter or leave for fifteen days…” Mac wasted no time. He shooed his friend back to the window where she entered. “If they catch you here you won’t be able to leave. You’ll be stuck here with us. Go now!” “Mac…” “Please!” Buttercup nodded and climbed back out the window. Mac closed it carefully to avoid attracting attention. “Bright Mac! Where are you?” Mac’s mother was calling him. “Get down here on the double! There’s ponies who need to see us…” Mac crept up the basement stairs, then doubled back to the upstairs hallway. “Comin’, Mama,” he shouted. “You come down here right this instant, young colt!” Beneath the yelling, Mac sensed a fear in his mother he’d never heard before. Two earth ponies and a pegasi, covered in white cloaks and wearing thick masks and hoods, made it very clear. The house was quarantined. No one could come in or go out. Food would be delivered daily for those who needed it. Punishments for breaking quarantine would be strict, five hundred bits to start (a sum even Mac knew the Apples could not pay). If anyone passed, they were to hang a white sheet or garment out the window, and someone would come collect the bodies. Mac looked around at his family. Mama, standing there, afraid. Next to her were Papple and his big brother Gala, both audibly wheezing and sniffing, staring at the white-cloaked ponies with defiant eyes. By his side he felt tiny hooves wrapping around his own, his baby sister Ruby Red. The white cloaks left, but before they left they nailed a bright white sign in red letters to the front door: NOTICE This house is under QUARANTINE. No pony shall enter or leave this house nor remove any pony or thing from it without the permission of a Town Health Officer. Violators are subject to fines and imprisonment at hard labor. Any person removing or tampering with this sign without authorization is liable to a fine of five hundred bits. - PER ORDER, PONYVILLE BOARD OF HEALTH Mama tried to put on a brave face, saying that it would be just like a little vacation, no work, no school, just lots of time to rest and be a family. But school had been closed for a month now, and Mac hadn’t even gone into town for two weeks, though it was only a half-hour walk that he could do blindfolded. Mac played along anyway, even though he knew something bad was coming. Three days later, Mac and Ruby had each taken to their beds. Even Mama was soon brought low. Even when Mac just got a bowl of oats and some water for Ruby, or made some porridge for his parents and brother, he had to carefully plan it so not to waste too much energy. The coughing kept getting worse, at all hours of day and night. By the fifth day, Mac knew they weren’t all going to make it. That night, Mac woke up in a cold sweat to his Mama shaking him awake. “Mac…” she said, rasping. “Papple needs to see you. Right now.” She coughed. “Please… come now.” Mac rose from his bed, coughing himself. Mama guided him to her own bedroom, where Papple laid on the bed, his breathing low and rasping. “Mac… Mac… C’mere. Son.” Mac slowly walked to his father’s side. He could see that the flu had reduced his father - the strongest and most fit pony he’d ever known - to the point of death. He would have wept. He wanted to. But he knew this was not the time. He had to be strong, since his father could not. “I’m here, Papa.” “Mac…” His father reached out a hoof to embrace his son. And since they had both fallen to the same illness, Mac knew there was no point keeping away from his father now. He felt his father’s forehoof embrace him. “Oh Mac. You’re getting so… so strong. I…” he coughed violently. “I need you to take care… take care of Mama, and Gala, and Ruby… I need you to be strong… I need you to be a stallion for ‘em…” “I… I will, Papa.” “A stallion… gotta provide for his family. Or... what’s his life worth? It's on you. You remember that. You be a good boy. You take care of them. I’ll… I’ll see…” Mac always would remember. It's on me now. I'm the one who they're gonna need to survive now. Cortland “Pa” Apple, husband of Annie Smith Apple, father of Gala, Bright McIntosh, and Ruby, passed from the world that night. Just after sunrise, Bright’s older brother, Gala, took a turn for the worst, and he, too, joined his father. Mac was the one to hang a white sheet from the window, while his Mama, in her weakened state, could do nothing but sleep beside her husband for the last time. The Undertakers came for them soon after. When they had departed, Mac was left alone. He was no longer a young colt. He couldn't afford to be anything but the stallion of the house. As soon as the quarantine ended, Mama sent Ruby away to Manehattan on the train, with a note for her sister. The flu had already burned through Manehattan; and Ruby would at least have a home and food to eat while Mac and his mother tried to keep the farm running. But even they had not seen the worst of what the Great Flu had done. That had fallen on the Pear family next door. For they had lost five - Pear Butter’s mother, grandmother, two older brothers, and older sister. Only Pear Butter, her father, Anjou “Pere” Pear, and her aunt Quince, remained. The next time they saw each other, Buttercup again ran to her friend for comfort. “They’re gone, Mac! They’re all gone!” Pear Butter cried, her hooves around Bright Mac. “It’s just me and Father and Auntie and Auntie sayin' she's gonna leave and I’ve got no one else! We’re all alone!” But she could not escape her father’s gaze. For when he saw who his daughter had embraced, he grabbed her away from Mac. Pear screamed all the louder, but he did not hear. Her father glared at Mac. “You killed them. You stupid Apples. You killed my family.” He growled with contempt, and rage, and grief. Mac wanted to cry, but no tears came. It would be many years before Bright Mac and Pear Butter would ever say more than a few words to each other. Between the day of the memorial service for the hundreds of ponies lost in Ponyville, and the chance day ten years later when Bright Mac saw Pear Butter. His Buttercup. Grown up and beautiful, tending the orchard of her father, who also had spent the intervening years alone. Mac sat alone at the kitchen table, a great map of the west orchard in front of him, half-covered in seed catalogs, old telegrams with apple prices, sales contracts, the giant family ledger of income and expenses, checkbook, and an old manual calculator. The last few years had been pretty good, and Mac wanted to plow the profits back into the farm. A new dam had been built for flood control, which meant that a good chunk of the Acres that would formerly flood every ten or so years was now ripe for planting, and Mac intended to get every last bit o’ profit out of that land he could. Mama had tried to teach Mac everything she knew about running the farm, but every time it was left unspoken that Papple had known so much more. Her and Mac simply had to learn by trial, error, and hard experience. There were many lean years not so long ago when ponies didn’t want to buy anything but canned fruit and preserves, cheap and lasting for years. But things had gotten better since that tragic year of plague, and ponies were now buying fresh apples for eating, but more importantly, drinking more cider. Mac had spent the last few hours since dinner trying to game out how he could make the most out of the available space. He decided that, good times or bad, cider would be something there’d always be demand for in the town. So he marked most of the empty spaces for cider varietals, leaving a few for fresh varietals and a few for canning. Never put all yer apples in one basket, he remembered Papple saying. Then he added up the amounts for the seedlings, filled out the order form, and wrote a check, stuffing an envelope for the morning mail. Satisfied, he went upstairs to bed. But his wife was nowhere to be found, at least not in their bedroom. Tip-hoofing carefully so as not to wake his Mama, he found Buttercup in the room—the nursery, he remembered that they would call it—that they had set aside for their soon-to-arrive child. She sat in the rocking chair that he had made with love for her, next to an open window, the first breezes of summer blowing through. “Hey, beautiful,” he said. “Someone keepin’ you up?” Buttercup rested a hoof on her belly. “The baby? Nah, they’re fast asleep in here too. Y’finished downstairs?” Mac kissed his wife. “Yep. Gonna be doin’ lots of planting this summer. But I got a feelin’ it’s gonna pay off.” She kissed him back. “You work too damned much,” she said with a smile. “That means I’m working enough. You know how we Apples are.” He sat down next to her, on the soft rug Pear had gotten from her friends at her baby shower, shaped and colored, of course, like an apple. “Hm.” Buttercup said, and turned back to the window. “I was just thinkin’… it was fifteen years ago that my Mama and brothers and sisters passed.” Mac had completely forgotten the date, but not its significance to him, too. No, not forgotten, put aside. It hurts too much. “I… I guess you must be missin’ your family somethin’ fierce,” he said, hoping that she’d not go there. “Now more than ever,” she said. “Don’t you think about your Pa and your brother?” The words were like she’d ripped a bandage off a barely-healed wound. “Yeah. I do.” Mac felt a tremolo in his voice. “But they’re gone. I’m here. They can’t keep this farm going. It’s all on me. So… if you think I’m workin’ too hard, it’s for a reason.” He laid his head on her shoulder. “The reason is you.” “Oh, Mac,” Buttercup said. She put a hoof around her husband, stroking his back. “There’s been too much grief to go around these past few years. I know you don’t like talkin’ about it. But don’t let it weigh your soul down. There’s joy in this world, and brightness, and many good things coming to us. And I think they’re all lookin’ down on us, proud as can be.” I hope so, Mac thought. Then he heard her crying. “What’s wrong, love?” “For a second, I added my own father and aunt in with the dead.” She turned back toward the window, and wiped a tear from her eye. Mac opened his mouth to ask if Anjou or Quince had replied to any of the letters she had sent them since she found out she was expecting. But he knew the answer, and it angered him. It’s all for you, he thought, hoping that she could read his mind. Your family abandoned you. But I never will.
II. Southern AccentsView OnlineStill, LifeII. Southern Accents“OK, Mac, last one!” Bright Mac said, holding one end of the board as his son lifted up the other end as high as his height would let him. “Now watch closely. This is where good measurin’ pays off.” With two gentle hoof taps, Mac fit the board into place, completing the wall of the new chicken coop. Little Mac smiled and laughed. “Okay, buddy,” Mac said, “just four more nails and we call it a day.” Mac hammered in the two at the top, Little Mac hammered in the two at the bottom where he could reach, with his father’s guidance. “Good job, Mac, you made this go so much easier. Thanks for your help today!” Mac hugged his son close and tousled his mane. “Mac!” Granny’s shouting came from the house. “You get yer flanks on in here! You gotta be ready to go in less’n forty minutes!” Oh stuffin’, I got a date tonight! Mac remembered. “Comin’, Ma!” He yelled back and tapped his son on the back. “Welp, you gotta go wash up for supper, and I gotta go get changed.” Buttercup was waiting for both of them in the living room, wearing her best evening clothes and giving baby Applejack all the kisses she thought the little one needed. Then she saw her husband and son, covered in mud and sawdust. “Ew,” she said. “No kissin’ til’ you get a shower.” She turned to Little Mac. “That goes for you too, young colt.” “I didn’t think you’d be ready that quick!” Mac said. “I’m full of surprises,” she said. “No canoodlin’ til yer ready!” Granny yelled from the kitchen. “I had to call in a heap o’ favors with my gal pals to sit for the younguns tonight, and you ain’t gonna mess it up by missin’ yer ride to town. So scoot!” Mac didn’t have to be told twice. He went upstairs, showered, shaved and changed into his own finery, leaving his usual outside hat behind in favor of a fine white stetson. Total time, twenty minutes. Plenty o’ time. As he was walking down the stairs, he caught Buttercup’s eye, again. “Now there’s the stallion I married,” she said with a smile. Mac came down and gave her a kiss, and one for baby AJ, who cooed with delight. This was going to be Mac and Buttercup’s first night out since AJ was born, and they were both looking forward to it. “Can ya take her for a sec?” Buttercup handed the baby off to Mac, along with a burp cloth. “I gotta check on a few last things. And don’t worry, she’s changed an’ fed.” Mac was left sitting on the couch, holding his daughter. He smiled at her. She smiled back. He smiled wider, and so did she, with a happy gurgle. “Hey there, you smiley girl. Mama and Daddy’re gonna go have some fun tonight. But we’ll be back later. You don’t give yer Granny too much fussin, y’hear?” AJ kicked about in her swaddling, still grinning. “Guess I’ll take that as a yes.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead. A horn came from the driveway outside. “Mac! Buttercup! Yer ride’s here!” Granny said. “OK,” Buttercup said, striding on over to the door as Mac handed off AJ to Granny. “I left two bottles in the icebox for AJ if she needs ‘em, make sure Lil’ Mac only gets two cookies and one story….” “Filly, I have it under control,” Granny said. “You two git, and have a good time.” There had never been anything close to fine dining in Ponyville, but that was starting to change. There was a new restaurant in the lobby of the Old Towne Hotel, and Buttercup had heard from all her friends that it was the place for romance. Mac, meanwhile, was confused by the menu. “I don’t understand half these words,” he said, flipping back and forth. “They’re Ardennais,” Pear said. “That’s why I don’t understand them,” Mac replied, to which Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Oh, I remember enough. Ask me before you ask the waiter.” Mac went back to the menu, still confused. Buttercup noticed his confusion, and brought down the menu. “Do you trust me?” she asked. “Implicitly,” he replied. “All right. Let me do this for you.” When the waiter came, Buttercup spoke to him in Ardennais, with a beautiful lilting accent Mac had never heard from her before. Even the waiter seemed shocked, and then impressed. “So…” Mac began when the waiter had left. “Gâteau à l'avoine au poivre,” Buttercup said. “Oat cake with pepper. I think you’ll like it.” “Since when did you learn to speak Ardennais?” Buttercup smiled. “It does run in the blood lines, my grandpa and great grandpa spoke it. And I had a lot o’ time to myself when the little ones went down for naps and you were workin’ outside. So… I picked up some hobbies to pass the time.” “First you gettin’ back to playin’ guitar, and now this?” “Oh, the guitar’s been mostly for the little ones. Couldn’t do much in my last months expectin’ with AJ, so I started playin’ an’ singin’ for Little Mac. Apparently AJ must’ve heard that, now whenever I play she just goes right to sleep, don’t matter what….” Mac rested his head on his hooves, and stared at her. “What?” Buttercup asked. “Have I told you lately just how gosh-darned much I love you?” “Oh. And here I just thought you were usin’ me for my good looks.” She had a playful look in her eyes. Her beautiful eyes. “Well, there is that,” he said. “But every day I see somethin’ new to you and I can’t help but think how lucky I am.” Mac laid his hoof across the table, and Buttercup took it. Tell her, something told him. But he didn’t, not during the meal. Instead they just talked, and gossiped, and swapped stories of their younger days, and how her bestie Chiffon Swirl was talking marriage to the bakery manager. “Sugar Cake?” Mac said. “Huh. Never would have figured those two for an item.” Buttercup made a face. “Oh hush, you. I suppose your pal Burnt Oak’s been fillin’ your head with all kinds of Army stories.” “Well, he did say that was part of the attraction when he joined up,” Mac said. “He just made sergeant, though, and his term’s almost up. Got enough money to come back here if he wants to…” Dinner was perfect. So was the movie, Some Like To Trot. So was the ride back. And even though it was late at night, Buttercup whispered as they were headed up the road home that they should stop and check in on their tree. Their trees. And so they did. A pear tree, and an apple tree, crossing into each other, over the stone in which they had carved their declaration of love, the glade where they were secretly married, the glade in which Buttercup had to let her father go off in his anger, only to be welcomed as an Apple. They sat, side by side, for a very long time, wordless. Then Mac finally spoke. “I’m… sorry. I know I should be around for you more, and not just as Daddy. I know you got a life of your own, and I want to be there, it’s just…” Buttercup reached out and squeezed his hoof. “You do so much for me. For us. And I love being a mother, and I love that you’re always there to support me and the little ones and your Ma. Whatever I ask you, you just do. And that’s wonderful. And I don’t ever want you to feel guilty about it..” Something welled up inside of Mac, but he forced it back down. “But just remember,” she continued, “there’s a difference between surviving and living. I know, I had to learn it myself when Pere-Pear left.” Mac nodded. All these years, he thought. Old man still owns the farm next door, and he’s never once come back, not even for his daughter. “I went over to the old house, the other day,” Buttercup said. “Not trespassin’ or anythin’ funny, just seein’ if anyone had been livin’ there. If anyone knew how to get in touch with him out in Vanhoover.” “And?” Mac asked. “No one but some hired hands and a boss. Boss just says he was hired by letter, draws pay and expenses from a bank in town.” Buttercup sighed. “I don’t even know what I was thinking, hoping that I could write something that would get him to change his mind about…” She paused. “About us.” “Your old man’s a damned fool, and he doesn’t deserve a moment’s thought for what he did to you,” Mac said, with an anger that surprised him. “But that’s just it,” Buttercup replied. “I don’t think he did it because he hated you, or your family. I guess I’ve just been thinkin’ about it differently since I had Little Mac and AJ. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost one of them, or if I lost you,” she continued. “I remember how devastated after the plague he was, losing Mama and Bartlett and Bosc and Concorde and Grannyberry all at once. Then Auntie Quince left as soon as she was able. It wasn’t until later I found out she did a mail-order bride thing.” “What?” Mac said. “That was it?” Buttercup nodded. “Chiffon’s mama kept in touch with her for a bit. Turns out Auntie wanted to stay but she felt like she didn’t have a choice. She didn’t know the first thing about farmin’, that she was just goin’ to be one more mouth to feed. She thought that my daddy could handle it, that it was for the best. ‘Cept it wasn’t. Pere-Pear–Anjou–was a proud stallion. But losing all of his family but me… I mean, he’d never gotten on with anyone in Ponyville, not even the other farmers. Everything from boundary stuff to his gettin’ his hackles up about the dam project to all kinds of slights and disrespects. But losing pretty much all his family… I think that just broke him. After what happened he spent many years drinkin’ himself to sleep.” “I never heard anythin’ about that,” Mac responded with concern. “He made me promise I wouldn’t say anythin’. He never did anything to hurt me, I think… I think he was just hurtin’ too much inside and that was the only thing would make it stop. He’d just gotten sober when my Uncle offered him the land out near Vanhoover. And I guess that was that. He said there was nothin’ for us here, and if it weren’t for you, I’d have believed him, too.” Mac bowed his head. “Still doesn’t make up for how he hurt you, even if he was hurtin’ himself.” Buttercup looked up at the trees, and the stone, and all they had made and signed and created from their love. “I ain’t sayin’ I’ve forgiven him. Still not sure I can. I just… well, I guess I just understand him now.” Then she threw her hooves around him, kissed him, and nuzzled him. “But don’t you dare go anywhere. You hear me?” Mac heard her voice quaver, but his remained resolute. “Never. I said I’d keep you as my wife, right here. And we Apples keep our word.”
III. I See A DarknessView OnlineStill, LifeIII. I See A DarknessThe rain continued for the third straight night, banging against the tin roof of the house. Bright Mac steeled himself for the dangerous work he had to do. But Buttercup wouldn’t let him. “It’s too dangerous, Mac! The dam could give way at any second! No way you can be up there fixing things if it starts to go--” Mac stamped a giant hoof on the floor. “If I don’t get that spillway gate open, all the Acre’s gonna be flooded. We’ll lose everything. The trees, the pens, the cider presses, the wagons. Everything. I can’t…” He stopped when he saw Buttercup collapse the floor, tears streaming down her face, a hoof rubbing her belly protectively. “I won’t let that happen. I promised I’d take care of you, whatever happens.” “Mac…” Buttercup sobbed, pleading. “A stallion has gotta provide for his family. Or... what’s his life worth?” Papple’s words comin’ outta my mouth, Mac thought. “Mac, all those things out there are just things!” Buttercup screamed. “We can always grow new trees and buy new things. But how are we supposed to go on if something happens to you?” She stifled another sob, rubbing her pregnant belly faster, as if the foal inside could sense something terribly wrong. “You… you told me you’d never leave.” “You’re strong. You got Granny and Lil’ Mac. But they can’t open the valve. I gotta.” Mac tried to give her some comfort, but Buttercup was balled up and crying too hard, and time was short. So he put on his hat and opened the door. “POPPA!” He heard AJ screaming at the top of her little lungs, tumbling down the stairs. “AJ!” Mac turned around. “Yer supposed to be up in bed!” Before he knew it, AJ had both her forehooves wrapped around her Poppa, as if she was trying to hold on to a fence post in a tornado. “Don’t go out there Poppa! Please don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!!!” Mac turned around. “Daddy’s gotta go do some work. But I’ll be safe, I promise. I’ll be back soon. Now you just go on up ta bed and I’ll see you in the mornin’.” “No you won’t!” AJ shrieked, with a force and a fear that rattled Mac to his core. She looked up into his eyes, and he saw the sheer desperation in them. AJ’s face flushed and her jaw trembled. He’d never seen her like this. Mac closed the door to stop the rain from getting in. Then he knelt down in front of her. “What’s wrong, sugarcube?” “I had a bad dream that you wen’ out in the storm and ya never came back and when they finally found ya you were dead and we had a big funeral and then momma got sad and real sick and something happened and momma died ‘cause of the baby an’ we were just all left alone and it was so hard an’ I missed you so darn much every single night and–” Young AJ’s nightmares poured out at ten country miles a minute before she simply dissolved in inconsolable tears. Mac stroked his daughter’s mane, and she looked up at him, a glimmer in her eyes. “Please Poppa… don’ leave us.” It was as if Mac saw his daughter’s vision, foggy, but unmistakable. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was afraid. “Shhh…” he shushed his baby filly, stroking her back. “Okay, okay. You win. Poppa ain’t goin nowhere tonight. Not until daylight.” He felt his voice cracking. Then Buttercup with her hooves around him, also quietly crying, but with strange tears of thanks. Mac picked up his still-inconsolable daughter, and laid her on the couch. He tossed his hat on the rack and pulled off his poncho, then sat down next to her. She nuzzled close in his lap. Buttercup never strayed more than inches away from him. They all fell asleep on that couch, to the sound of the rain beating on the tin roof. The dam indeed failed that night, and two-thirds of Sweet Apple Acres was under withers-deep water at first light. The dam, the spillway, the sluice gate, were all simply gone. The basement of the house, the barns, and the cider pressing house were all flooded. The pig pens and the chicken coops had been carried away, with only fence posts and a few beams jutting out of the ground at odd angles where they had been. Two days later, two engineers came out to look at the damage. Mac followed as they walked around what remained of the dam, chunks of concrete thrown around like children’s building blocks. “I thought about going up there when the storm hit, tryin’ ta open the emergency spillway according to the instructions,” He said. The lead engineer just shook his head. “Doubt it would have made a difference with how much water was behind there in the reservoir. Even if you had gotten it open, you’d have been swept away when it was overtopped.” Mac didn’t tell anyone else that part. Since it was all from the flood, none of the family’s insurance that Mac had so conscientiously paid up for years would cover any of the damage. The one saving grace was that the flood waters hadn’t come up to the leaves and the fruit of their trees. There would still be a harvest this year, albeit a lean one. The soil, of course, would be waterlogged, and the longer the floodwaters stayed up the more likely rot would set in and the trees would have to come down anyway. All the Apple Family could do was wait, and hope, and pray. It took a week, but the waters did recede. But their work was only beginning As soon as they were able, Mac and Lil’ Mac and Granny and even young AJ and even Buttercup herself were out there buckin’ every last apple they could and pressing as much cider as they could make. Mac was used to the 18 hour days, but he saw the toll it was taking on Buttercup most of all, her belly growing with each passing day and bitterly fighting fatigue. And yet, no matter how many times Mac or Granny told her to rest, she said that she was fine. “It’s gotta be done, and its gotta be done now,” she said. “We’ll just deal with the rest when it comes.” Finally, it was done. Mac sold almost everything they had harvested and then some, but even then it was going to be a hard winter. Lil’ Mac took things in stride, even asking Mac if he could get a paper route in town to raise extra bits. He overheard AJ telling Buttercup she’d be fine without a Hearth’s Warming that year. One night, Granny came to him with a bag of bits and said it was “for the family,” that she had sold some old knick-knacks that were just taking up space, but he soon noticed that her silver brush set was gone and nowhere to be seen. All Mac could do was work outside, try to keep as many of the trees alive and safe from rot as he could. He ended up selling much more firewood than he wanted. It was three weeks past Hearth’s Warming, in the middle of the night, when he awoke to find Buttercup in terrible pain, panting and groaning. “What’s wrong, Buttercup? Is it time?” “Mac…” she panted. “Just… get yer mother. Please.” Mac did as his wife asked. His mother told her to give them some privacy and get some rest, and said he could take her bed for the night. He was awoken two hours later. “Mac. Mac, there’s… something wrong. Foal’s in the wrong position. I’m gonna ring for an ambulance. I need you to go in there and keep her calm and breathing.” Mac saw the streaks of blood on his mother’s hoof. He went straight for his wife, who was lying on her side, panting. “I just heard. Don’t you worry,” he said. “There’s an ambulance a comin’ for you. But I’m here now. Just keep breathin.’” Buttercup said nothing. But she smiled faintly. He took his hoof in hers. “Guess I shouldn’t have tried to out-work you,” she whispered. The ambulance came a half-hour later, and Mac and Granny watched as two burly pegasi medics placed buttercup onto a stretcher and flew her down the stairs. “We can only take one family member,” they said. Granny nodded. “He’s the husband. Take him.” One look from his mother, and Bright Mac did as he was told. The weather outside was bitter cold, and the ambulance cart wasn’t insulated. Mac sat beside Buttercup the whole way, squeezing her hoof and trying to keep her breathing slow and steady, even as pains wracked her. When he arrived at the hospital, he watched as doctors took Buttercup away. He gave her one last kiss. “It’ll be over soon, Buttercup. You’ll be a mama again.” Buttercup nodded. “Thank you, Mac.” “Your wife’s in good hands, Mr. Mac,” said the unicorn doctor, interrupting. We’ve got this. Just stay in the hospital. We’ll come find you when we have news.” Mac was left there, alone. So went and got a muffin, then sat in the waiting room, for hours until he fell asleep. He was awoken again, byt the same doctor, and a unicorn nurse shaking him roughly, with urgent looks in their eyes. “Wh--what’s happened? Did Buttercup have the foal?” “She did, your daughter was born half an hour ago.” The doctor’s lack of smile told Mac all he needed to know. “Oh, no… Buttercup? The baby?” He asked. “The baby’s fine, but your wife… there’s been a complication. It was a breech birth and she experienced a hemorrhage. We’re taking her into surgery to stop the bleeding, but…” the doctor sighed. “Unless we can give her a transfusion of compatible blood-” Mac stood up, as tall as he could get. “Take mine. As much as you need.” The doctor gritted his teeth. “Sir, I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” Mac snorted. “The hell it ain’t. I’m ACQ-negative. So’s she. We’re compatible.” The doctor looked at him. Mac looked back, resolute. “Just because I’m a farmer doesn’t mean I don’t know my own life sciences. We ain’t dumb, we just work for a livin’.” The doctor sized him up. “All right. Nurse, get Mister Mac here typed and cross-matched. If he’s a match, prep him for donor transfusion in OR-4. We’re gonna have to do it live.” It wasn’t long before Mac had a big bandage on his hoof from the first draw, and was being wheeled into an operating room. “...Mac?” He heard Buttercup’s voice, faintly. He looked over, and saw Buttercup, turned to face him. Her face was ashen, pale as Death herself. “I’m here, Buttercup,” Mac said. “Heard you might need some help.” “Mac… our daughter… I…” she whispered. “I’m so tired…” Mac reached out, and took her hoof as he felt the transfusion needle go into his neck. “I’m right here, honey. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He heard her sigh contentedly. “I thought it was my time…” He squeezed her hoof. “Not today, my precious Pear. I’m with you, and I’m not going anywhere.” Mac saw her wince as the transfusion needle went into her neck, then the blood flowing down with gravity. “What’s… what’s going on,” she asked, her eyes glassy. “Doc said you just needed some extra blood. That’s all.” “... oh,” she said. “I… tired.” Mac kept squeezing her hoof. “You don’t sleep now, honey. Don’t sleep. I’m here.” On the far side of the drapes, Mac could hear steel clicking and clanking, suction, squishing noises, all mixed in with his wife’s soft moans and rattling breathing. He kept squeezing her hoof. “You stay with me,” he kept repeating. “You stay with me…” Mac felt himself floating, out of his body, out of time, out of mind. He was seeing… something. Voices all around him, muffled, mostly indistinct. What he saw, he saw as through glass, darkly. He saw himself wrapped around and pinned under a tree trunk, his eyes open and tongue bloated. In the distance, he heard screams. He saw his mother, Buttercup, Little Mac, and Applejack, looks of despair upon all of them. Buttercup falling to the ground with a loud, keening wail. He saw them all dressed in mourning black, alongside Burnt Oak, Chiffon Swirl, the mayor, the preacher. He saw a coffin lowered into the ground under the tree… under their trees. He heard Buttercup wailing in pain, a baby’s cry. The words massive blood loss and systemic organ failure and you should say your goodbyes now. He heard more wailing, more sobbing. Little Applejack, crying hardest of all. He saw another funeral, another gathering of ponies in mourning black, another coffin lowered into the ground, beside what he knew what was his own resting place. Then, years upon years of memories, sad ones, empty ones, ones of pain and heartache, words like why did they go Granny and what happened and I miss them so much. And then he heard one, last, sonorous, booming, thunderous, determined, voice. NO. Mac was awoken, again. He gasped, filled his lungs with air (was it air?), felt his hooves and head and tail flailing about. “Mr. Macintosh. Bright Mac!” He heard the voice. It was a mare’s, but unfamiliar, and yet, and yet… Mac opened his eyes. The world was unfocused. A light shined in one of his eyes, then the other. “Come back to us, Bright Mac, you’re OK.” Mac gasped again. “Buttercup… how…” “She’s fine,” the voice said. “She’s fine. She’s out of surgery. She made it. We just almost lost you.” Mac slowed his breathing. “What… happen…” “Before we realized it, you’d lost about nearly half the blood in your body. You’re a damned superhero, Mister Mac!” Mac looked around, or tried to. He was still in the hospital. There were IV’s going into his neck. He felt like a barrel that had been drained to the dregs, being refilled one drop of rainwater at a time. He looked over, and saw his mother. “Mama… I think I’m all right. You mind Buttercup, I’ll be all right–” He felt something backside his head, and yelped. “That was the most durn foolish thing you ever did!” He heard his mother’s voice through tears. “We almost lost you.” “Almost…” Mac wheezed. “Just… just not quite.” Then he felt his mother’s embrace. “Don’t you dare leave me like that,” she whispered. Before Mac passed out, yet again, a stray thought entered his mind. You have been given a second chance.
IV. Bridge Over Troubled WaterView OnlineStill, LifeIV. Bridge Over Troubled WaterMac was doing better the next morning, so the doctors let him be wheeled up, flat on his back, to the maternity floor to see his wife. He just nodded. “Papa!” came two screams of joy from his two children as he was wheeled in. He reached out, and his hoof was taken in turn by a bunch of smaller ones. Then Mac turned, and saw Buttercup, a bundle of blankets on her lap, smiling at him with a look of pure love, reaching out. He felt the gurney rolling closer, and their hooves met. “My stallion,” she said. “Hello, beautiful,” he replied. “I got someone here who wants to meet ya,” she motioned with her head, folding back the blankets, revealing a small, sleeping filly with her father’s exact colors. Of course, Mac would have cried. This time, he just literally didn’t have anything left for tears. The doctor filled them in on what had happened. They’d been so focused on Buttercup that by the time she’d been stabilized, Mac had almost gone over himself. It was only a quick-thinking nurse that had noticed something was wrong with Mac. Thankfully, they’d stopped the transfusion and were able to give Mac IV fluids. “Still,” the doctor said, “you’ve both been through quite a lot tonight. I’d like to keep you both here until I’m confident you’re stable enough to go home. Your daughter, too.” Mac nodded, and slowly raised a hoof. “How… much are we going to owe?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Buttercup looking downcast. The doctor clasped his hooves. “You don’t worry about that.” Buttercup spoke up. “What he means to say is that we… we don’t have a lot of money left. We lost almost everything in a flood a few months back.” The doctor came up to both of them. “We’re not in the habit of turning anypony away who can’t pay. I can arrange someone from billing to come up and speak to you later. You just worry about getting better, all right?” Mac wanted to say something more, but he was too tired to protest. A week later, Mac and Buttercup were both cleared to go home. Mac looked at his hospital papers, and strangely, the bill was marked “PAID”. There was no mention of who, exactly, had paid. Burnt Oak, who’d just left the Army and had gotten back to town, heard about what had happened, and took Mac, Buttercup, and their daughter home in his own cart. But rather than catch up, Mac spent most of the ride home asleep. The doctor had warned both of them that they’d need to eat plenty, sleep more, and conserve their respective strengths for the next few months. Buttercup did, spending most of her time on bedrest as the doctor had ordered her, and getting to know her new foal, whom they had named Applebloom. But Mac knew there was work to be done. There was always work to be done. Though, try as he might, he couldn’t do very much of it. He hadn’t felt that weak since the plague days, all those years ago. He hated that sensation, of knowing that his family needed him, yet being powerless and helpless. The financial part of it hurt the most. With the losses from the flood, Mac saw each day's ledger, saw their funds drying up, and quickly. He swallowed his pride, and began writing to all the family creditors, asking for hardship exceptions and forgiveness and promising that all would be paid back, with interest, everyone from the mortgage-holder on the cider press, to Ponyville Elementary asking for free lunches for Little Mac and AJ. All came back with short notes saying the debts were considered cancelled, and not to worry about them. Two months later, Granny came upstairs, with a strange look on her face. “Somethin’ wrong, Mama?” Mac asked, sitting up in bed. “Oh… nothin. I just… got…” “Got what? Mac asked. “... never you mind, son,” she said. “Ain’t important.” Which, of course, only made Mac more suspicious. The following week, Granny had brought them all downstairs for a family dinner, their first together since the events of the flood all those months ago. Mac was the first to notice the chairs had been rearranged, but he said nothing. After dinner, he lounged on the couch with the newspaper, listening to the radio. Buttercup tended to Applebloom, while Little Mac and AJ assembled a puzzle on the floor. Mac heard a knock at the door. “I’ll git it!” Granny shouted, and rushed forward. Mac went back to his paper. Probably just some lost traveling salespony, he thought. When he looked up again, he saw him. Anjou Pear. How dare he. Mac’s heart filled with contempt. “What’s he doin’ here?” Mac said loudly, rising unsteadily to his hooves. The room went quiet. Buttercup gasped as her father stepped into the room. “H-hello,” he said, quietly. “Who’s that,” AJ asked in pure innocence. “Mac, AJ…” Granny said, “this is your grandfather. Your mama’s father.” Little Mac stood up. “Papa said you hate us.” Mac heard his own voice in his son’s. They’d never talked about it, but everyone in the family knew. “Mac!” Granny shouted, “you watch yerself–” “I’m sorry,” Anjou said. “I shouldn’t have come.” He ran outside and slammed the door shut behind him. Mac looked around the room. Everyone looked at him, except for Buttercup, who sat, quietly, tears forming in her eyes at what she’d just seen. “Damn it, son,” Granny said, tossing Mac his poncho and hat. “He came back to apologize to ya! Now go out there and talk to him!” “I got nothin’ ta say to that old fool!” Mac said, stamping his hoof, tossing aside the poncho and hat. “Who’dya thinks been paying all the debts around here?” Granny said. Mac and Buttercup gasped. “He told me he did it so you’d talk to him. Well get the buck out there and talk!” Sullen, Mac did as his mother told. He’d last seen Anjou storming off in a huff after he’d wed Buttercup. He was expecting to meet that same anger, and prepared to respond in kind. What he found, instead, was an old, broken stallion, sitting on the bottom step, head in hooves. Why now? Why us? “Sir.” Mac began, without commitment, choosing his words carefully. “...no. No, your boy’s right. I deserve that. I did hate you. I… I don’t…” “That boy is your grandson, Mister Pear.” Mac said. “His name is Macintosh. Junior. The daughter is Applejack. The little’un is Applebloom.” “I know. I know.” Anjou shook his head. “Your mother told me. Sent me letters. After the flood.” “Just one question, old stallion,” Mac asked. “Why now?” “When… when I left I was just so angry… but as the years went by, I thought I’d broken everythin’ for you and could never fix it. So… so I just didn’t try. But your Mama wrote to me about the flood, about what you did for my Pear Butter… and… I had to come back. I had to help you. I knew that dam was trouble from the moment I saw the plans. But nobody listened.” Mac stopped. “What about the dam?” “I kept all the records. Wanted to be an engineer when I was a foal, but family needed me on the farm. I tried to teach myself. I knew the way they built it wouldn’t work. It was gonna fail, and sooner rather than later. But no one listened. Said I was crazy. Said I was a good-fer-nothin’-know-nothin. This town never liked me. Or any of us Pears. And then the flu came, and….” Mac heard the sadness in the old stallion’s voice, and something told him to continue. “Buttercup said you took it hard. Took to drinkin’ and all.” Anjou paused. “I had no one left. I’d failed my family. I blamed you, I blamed the town, I blamed everyone I could. But most of all I blamed myself.” Mac walked, slowly, down the steps, and sat next to the old man. Buttercup’s father. My family, too. They sat there in silence for a very long time. “I made everything worse,” Anjou said. “I didn’t tell you you were livin next to a death trap, and… well, you probably want nothin’ more to do with me. And that’s fine. Just tell me what debts you got, I’ll pay them, and be on my way.” There were a hundred stinging things Mac wanted to say in response. But he chose none of them. He put a hoof around his father in law. “She still misses you, y’know. She don’t talk about it much, but she does.” “She’ll never forgive me. And I don’t have the right to ask after what I did.” Anjou said. “We’ve all had to do some growin’ up way too early,” Mac said. “I know what it’s like to start from nothin, build somethin, work like a dog to provide for your family, then watch it all go away. But…” Mac sighed. That night, when he was about to go out to the dam, he’d learned a terrible wisdom. “A stallion’s gotta provide for his family. And that means bein’ there for ‘em. Takin' what's wrong and doin' yer best to make it right again. And if I know your daughter, she’ll forgive you. Can’t say how, or when. But she will.” Mac stood up, and helped his father-in-law up. “There ya go, old stallion. You can do this.” “In my worse days, I’d be needin’ lots of whiskey before somethin’ like this,” Anjou said. “None of that here, I’m afraid.” Mac smiled. “No… I s’pose you’re right.” Anjou said, taking a weary breath. Inside, Anjou slowly walked over to his daughter, as the rest of the family watched. He stopped in front of her, and began to shake. She embraced him, and they both fell to the couch. Mac could not hear what they said, but he didn’t have to. He turned to Granny, who was rocking Applebloom over her shoulder. “You should have said something, Mama.” “I know. But… I also knew Anjou’s a good stallion at heart. He… he just lost his way for a bit.” “Kids…” Mac heard Buttercup calling. “This is your Grandpear Anjou. Come say hello.” Mac stood in the doorway, for a very long time, taking it in. He didn’t know if any of this would stick. He didn’t know if something this broken could be repaired. But he hoped it would. Grandpear–no more Anjou–stayed with them for a while. He and Buttercup and Granny spent hours talking, about everything and nothing. There was laughter, there were tears, and slowly, as green shoots rising from a stump of something dead, something happened. They were becoming a family once again. One day, Grandpear came to Mac, who was dozing on the couch. “Mac… I’ve got something to show you.” Grandpear opened a massive tube full of dusty papers, unrolling them on the kitchen table. “The plans for the dam. I saved a copy. And this…” he tapped a hoof. “This is what I saw. This is how I knew.” Mac squinted–his eyes were still not what they were– and saw calculations, angry red notes, diagrams, all drawn on top of the plans. Base Inadequate. Too shallow. MUST BE DUG 40% DEEPER TO COMPENSATE FOR WATER LOAD. “Short version, they didn’t dig the foundation deep enough. The pressure at the bottom was going to rupture the dam from the bottom up. And I’m guessing that’s what happened.” Mac had a sudden realization. “Even… even with the emergency spillway opened to full?” Grandpear shook his head. “I don’t think it would have made a difference. Sluice gates would have deformed into these grooves. You coulda had ten minotaurs turning that valve with you, it wouldn’t have made a difference.” Mac’s heart sunk. My little girl had been right, he said, deciding to keep that forever to himself. “Anyway, I’ve been out there, took a whole bunch of pictures. I’m gonna head into town tomorrow, see if I can find some engineers to double-check my numbers. And then maybe a lawyer.” “I… suppose I ain’t doin’ much tomorrow,” Mac said, realizing what Grandpear was proposing. “You need me there, I’ll come with.” For the first time ever, they shook hooves. Not as rivals, not as distant memories, but as family.
V. Rose Of My HeartView OnlineStill, LifeV. Rose Of My HeartThere weren’t many professional engineers in Ponyville one could turn to, but Burnt Oak pointed them in the direction of one, a Mr. Hondo Flanks. “He’s a unicorn,” Burnt Oak said, “done some good work for me. Family man, too.” Hondo took their meeting, and Mac could tell he was skeptical of their claims. But Grandpear’s persistence, and more than a bit of his farm salesmanship, won him over, and he said he’d at least run the numbers. He called a few days later and asked for another meeting. This time, with two lawyers. Grandpear had been right. That dam had been a deluge in waiting for years, and nobody had cared about it but him. Until now. Hondo and the lawyers promised they’d take it from here and would have news in two weeks. Two weeks later, Mac was able to read the morning mail again. He’d gotten his eyes checked–Grandpear had paid for that, too–and discovered, to his chagrin, that his heroics had worsened the astigmatism that ran on his father’s side of the family, so he’d be needing glasses. The letter caught his eye, not just because of the fine title, but the sheer size of it. Inside was a massive pile of correspondence between engineers, lawyers, and government officials. Mac didn’t understand some of it, but Grandpear explained the hard parts. In a nutshell, everyone had belatedly realized that the dam, built by the government, had not been built to spec. Rather than go through a court trial, the Royal Corps of Engineers was offering 1) to compensate the Apple family for all of their losses from the flood down to the bit, and 2) to inspect every other dam in Equestria built with that design to make sure none of them would fail. Mac huddled with his family, and even took the time to talk to Burnt Oak about it, who’d spent his Army years with the RCE. “Sounds to me like they know they bucked up hard,” Oak said. “Never heard of the Corps movin’ so fast with inspections, too. Probably tryin’ ta get ahead of this before it makes the papers and all them folks up in Canterlot start askin’ questions.” Buttercup was even more direct. “They messed up. They’re offerin’ to make it right. That’s a lesson worth teachin, and worth learnin. I say take it, and let them work the rest out.” Mac nodded, his mind made up. “Lessons? You saying that as my wife or as a mama?” “Both,” she said, smiled, and kissed him. There was a lot of paperwork to be done, though, and Mac sat through it all with Grandpear, learning lessons about bureaucracies and laws and rules and regulations, things he never knew existed and yet would have made so much of his work and his life so much easier. But at the end of it all, a Royal Treasury Check, in an amount that Mac had never even seen before. Everything they had lost, all made good. That night, there was celebration in the Apple Family. Everything was provided for. Mac and Buttercup rested easy that night. For the next few years, Grandpear split his time between Ponyville and Vanhoover, taking care of his two wildly far apart business concerns. That summer, hat in hand, asked if he could move back to Ponyville and take up his old house. Buttercup counter-offered with a new addition to the house, including a room for him. He graciously accepted. Mac pondered this offer later that night as he and Buttercup got ready for bed. “That’s a big addition you’re talking about. That’s gonna be a big room, just for him.” “Nope,” Buttercup said. “We’re gonna need two new rooms. She embraced him, and whispered in his ear. “I’m pregnant,” she said, and kissed him. But a fear awoke in Mac. The memory of what she’d gone through, what he’d gone through too, was too near. He simply sat down on the bed, and silently cursed his own carelessness. “What’s wrong, Mac?” Buttercup sat down next to him. “I thought you’d…” Mac could only sigh. “After all that happened…” he trailed off. “It’s good news. I’m happy. But I’m also scared out of my mind.” He felt a cracking in his hooves, and took off his glasses. “After what happened to you last time, I don’t want to see you go through that again.” Buttercup sat down next to him. “I’m a bit scared too,” she said. “But I want this. I accept this risk. Life is always risk. But no risk, no reward. And no love. And that ain't living.” “But why?” Mac asked. She took his hoof in hers. “I was supposed to grow up in a family of four. That got taken away from me. So…” she said, “I figure if fate did all that to us, and we survived, we must have some powerful guardian angel protectin’ us.” “We’re tempting fate,” he said. “You’re tempting fate.” “I don’t intend to be choppin’ firewood two days before this one comes,” she said. “Figure you and Burnt Oak can take care o’that. Plus, I’ll be careful, I promise. Regular checkups, off my feet when I need to be, the whole lot. But aside from that…” She made a fake-spitting noise, at which Mac couldn’t help but giggle. “I spit at fate. We survived. Now we’re gonna live. No more bein’ afraid of the future.” She turned his face toward hers. “That’s what hope is.” Mac looked at his wife. His Perfect Pear. That’s what hope is. Everything Bright Mac and Buttercup had been through, flashed before his eyes in an instance. Their first meeting as foals. Their innocent friendship. The plague. The deaths. They day they parted in sadness. The day he saw her in the field, and ran over a water tower because her beauty stuck in his mind. The days they reconnected. The day they fell in love. The day he set their love in stone for her. The day she sang for him. The day she sang and you should not blame me too, if I can’t help falling in love with you. The day she was forced to choose, and chose him. The sadness. Her welcoming into the family. She telling him he was working too hard. He telling her it’s all for you and always will be. The day they welcomed a son. Perfect date night after perfect date night. Her strumming her guitar, speaking Ardennais. The day they welcomed a daughter. How happy motherhood made her. How that happiness made Bright Mac work all the harder for her. The storm. The flood. The lean times. The hunger. The pain. The blood. The second chance. Their reunion. Their new daughter. Their benefactors, large and small. The generosity that surrounded them, invisibly, when all seemed lost. The return of what was once thought gone. The coming back together, as if grafting branches feared dead onto new rootstock, and seeing them coming back to life and bearing fruit. The joy Mac realized he felt at no longer having to be the sole stallion in the house. The work divided, the burdens shared. The joy that was to come. The faith Pear Butter had in the future she shared with Bright Mac. The love Bright Mac had for Pear Butter. Their hope, built together, but not built alone. And Bright Mac, for the first time in a very, very, long time, was no longer afraid of the future. I survived. We survived. Together. The first time Mac held his newborn son, he cried. For the first time in as long as he could remember, the tears flowed freely and fully. Nothing more to be concealed or forced away. Something other than the strong, silent, stallion who could never, ever, let his strength fail. Everything had gone perfectly. None of his fears and anxieties had come true. He traced every last detail of his son’s face with a gentle hoof, tears of joy in his eyes, messing up his vision again and again and again, despite his glasses. Buttercup rolled over to him, reaching out to her son, and to her son’s father. “Now d’ya get it?” She asked him. “I do,” he said, and held his son, and his wife close, vowing to always remember. We are alive. We are not alone. And we are going to live.
