"But I know there's a plan and so do you."- Frank Hogan

DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters or the quotes from them. All credit goes to Crown Media, Janette Oke, Brian Bird, and the movers and shakers behind the television series.

Abigail

When my Noah and Peter died, I thought my life was over. I wasn't a wife, wasn't even a mother. What purpose did I have? I was plunged into a valley of darkness. And it wasn't until a certain high society schoolteacher from Hamilton came to then Coal Valley, that I began to see the light in the dark. I found that, shockingly, the world didn't end just because my world did.

Frank would say that there's a plan for everyone. That just because everything looks hopeless doesn't mean there actually is no hope. We just don't have the big picture. We don't see as He does. I try to hold tight to that thought now. Because I have to believe it's true. For Elizabeth. For….Jack. For Bill. For the town. For me.

As Elizabeth sobs against my shoulder, I hold back the tears I want, the tears I need, to shed for my friend. She needs my strength now, my support. My own pain will come later.

"This is so unfair," she sobs.

"I know it is," I say, stroking her hair. And I cannot find the right words to tell her that it will be all-right. Because, despite my faith in God's ultimate plan, I'm not totally sure I can tell her that. There's a large part of me that's angry. Angry that my friend is gone. Angry that my other friend is in so much pain. Angry that, once again, a good man is taken too soon. I may be a woman of faith but that doesn't mean I don't get fired up.

And I know I'm supposed to be strong and, do the right thing, but, if you want to know the truth, I am tired of being tested.

Words said in anger to Frank come back once again to my mind.

I am tired of losing people I love.

I am tired of being tested.

I hold my friend in my arms and all I can manage is a prayer of comfort, asking for strength and for Jack to be at peace.

Then I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Abigail." It's Bill Avery. Once a proverbial thorn in my side, I find that right now I am grateful for his quiet presence. His restrained reaction. Because I don't know how I would have handled a more emotional person. I don't think I'm capable of that right now.

"It's Jack," I choke out softly into the cool night.

Bill gets very still. The kind of stillness that is almost a physical presence. The stillness before a breaking storm, when the sky is a sickly yellow-green and heavy with rage. I've been in those storms before. We survive but not without damage.

"….he's gone," I continue, marveling that my voice doesn't seem to shake. Or, if it does, Bill does not notice or is, at least, kind enough to not say anything. "There was a landslide…" and my voice trails off. I'm not ready to speak it all out loud. Not yet.

"NO." Elizabeth's cries get louder. As if hearing the words is too much. Hurts too much to even breathe.

I know how that feels.

I was there once before, a long time ago. In another lifetime.

"Let me help." Bill's voice breaks in and he gently lays a hand on my shoulder.

It's surprisingly reassuring to feel him there. Somehow he grounds me so that I can pull myself together. "Let's get Elizabeth to the infirmary." I say. "Most people are still at Carson's party but I think she could use some privacy."

"Agreed," he responds and puts his arm around Elizabeth's back as I do the same. Bill's hand brushes my hand slightly and gives it a small grasp, which I find comforting and strengthening.

We put our arms around her and help her to her feet. Thankfully, the infirmary is not too far – which is a relief. Elizabeth can barely keep herself upright, the weight of the shock lies heavy on her shoulders. Bill and I, we keep her up. Her sobs are quieting now – I think she's running out of tears to cry.

Another feeling I know all too well.

But this is just the beginning. The beginning of many moments where out of nowhere, the smallest sound or smell will bring memories flooding back to your mind. Where you keep looking out on the horizon, expecting them to appear at any moment. You know, with your head, that they're gone. But your heart keeps looking. Expecting them to come around the corner.

And they don't and you crumple.

Grief is a fearsome thing. And it humbles us all.

We're finally at the infirmary. A journey of a few dozen steps feels like it has taken eternity. Never has five minutes felt so very long.

Bill manages to jimmy the door open – one of the many talents he has that I don't ask about. Sometimes not knowing is better.

"Let's put her here," I say, indicating the bed with two partitions on the side, "she can be relatively private here."

Bill nods and the two of us help Elizabeth over to the bed.

"Elizabeth," I say, as if to a child, "I need you to lie down on the bed. Can you do that for me?"

She nods and manages a slightly feisty retort, "I'm in pain, Abigail, not a child."

I know she doesn't mean to be unkind so I'm not angry. I understand. I never really cared to be babied either. And Elizabeth has probably had far too much of that her entire life – so, even now, in her pain, she slightly rebels against any coddling.

She lies down, her eyes still open, staring out into the distance, into a future without Jack. And the emptiness I see in her eyes hurts. Hurts as much as knowing that the only way our Mountie would be returning is in a box. To lay beneath the earth near the town where his heart lay. How could it be any other way?

Elizabeth starts to shake, even though she's heavily clothed. The night is chill but not so chill that she'd be reacting this way.

"It's the shock," Bill says, "does the infirmary have blankets?"

"It should," I reply, "I'll need to do some looking."

"Let me get Carson," Bill said abruptly.

"But his party…" My voice trails off when I realize how silly that sounds. But Bill doesn't judge me.

"He'd want to be here." He says kindly. "It's what he does."

I nod, realizing the sense in his words.

"Please get him, then. And Faith," I ask. Oh, dear Lord, Faith. She and Jack had been good friends. And Jack had held her in high esteem, a great compliment from the Mountie.

Bill nods. "I'll be back shortly."

"I'll be here." I look at him. "And, Bill?" He turns from the door way.

"Thank you," I say softly. For everything. I leave those words unsaid.

He gives me a faint smile, that doesn't reach his eyes. And I notice then the pain. That his eyes are bright with….tears? Bill Avery, near TEARS?

It is a measure of how dearly Jack was…is… loved that his passing is breaking down walls that have been years in the building. Walls that not only could keep the pain away – but also prevent anyone from getting too close.

"No thanks needed." He says. "Jack said he'd always have my back. And I will always have his."

Neither of us comment on his use of the present tense to refer to Jack. It still hasn't sunk in that he's gone.

I simply nod. No further words are needed so I whisper a prayer as he walks into the night.

To get Carson and Faith.

And, soon, the whole town will know. It's just the way of things when you live in a small town. All news, good or bad, travels in seconds.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the storm to come.