Three weeks had passed since half the men of Hoofburg had left on the fateful train that would take them to their destiny. No farmers could be seen ploughing the field or planting new seeds for Mother Spring to breed. No boys herding cows out of and into barns. And certainly no brothers calling their sisters names, thought Abigail bitterly.
Indeed, Hoofburg seemed empty, but Abigail was sure no other place was as empty as her heart was. Patrick was gone, and she felt his absence more than she had thought she would. And Father! She had wished for her father to be far away from her, and now she must pay the price.
Mrs. Rogers had lain sick for weeks out of depression, much to the horror of Abigail. Father and Patrick were gone, surely Mother wouldn't go to, would she? She lay awake worrying about it in the calm, serene nights, where her frantic heart and her juggled thoughts seemed so absurd, so out of place. She would do anything to have a moment to herself and cry. But she can't! Mother could be listening, watching…. No, she must be brave. For heaven's sake! Young girls like her were trembling in fear there in France, and she, who was safe and sound in Hoofburg, were crying of nothing! What would Patrick say if he knew?
Mrs. Rogers did go back to splendid health in the second week, but still the emptiness in Abigail's heart remained .The other girls rarely visited her, and it was rather a relief to Abigail, for she had found herself dreading it. The other girls weren't the same girls she had used to laugh and sing along with. They were different. She was different. The war had changed them all.
Occasionally, Fillan West filled the emptiness. He had promised Patrick Rogers he would look after Abigail, and he would see to keeping that promise as he waited anxiously for his eighteenth birthday. Should he swear to the officer that he was eighteen, even though he is not? Peter Matthews did, and the officer believed him.
No, he couldn't. Abigail Rogers was in a depth of depression. She would never admit it, and even if Fillan had suggested it, she would insist it wasn't true till the end of her life, but he knew she needed him. And Fillan liked being needed.
"Whatever happened to your thumb?" he asked one day.
"This?" Abigail raised her bandaged thumb. "Oh, Georgia was trying to teach me how to sew and I couldn't stop pricking myself, naturally. Why, don't look at my thumb like that, Fillan! It has a few holes on it, but it's not that bad!"
"And I suppose this-" Fillan said, lifting up a corsage, knitted in such a way that would mortify Georgia and send her screaming all over Hoofburg, "-is your masterpiece?"
Abigail snorted as haughtily as her ego would allow. If the war had changed anything about Fillan, it sure wasn't his sarcasm! But yet, Abigail found herself happy about it, for Fillan's sarcasm paired up with her sharp tongue could make such an argument that would take Abigail's mind off the war, off Patrick and off Father. "Well, laugh all you want, Fillan West. Someday you might just find me a famous tailor."
But she saw no hope in being a 'famous tailor' in the next few lessons. Even Georgia had cried out in despair that she, Abigail Rogers, was utterly hopeless! Ashamed and hurt that Georgia had said so about her, Abigail had taken herself to sewing her heart out alone in her room, only managing to poke more holes in her thumb, much to the disgust of Mrs. Rogers. "Abigail!" she had screamed to her daughter. "If this goes on, your thumb will disappear entirely!"
This - plus more taunts from heartless Fillan - crushed Abigail's hope and burned it to ashes. She wrote Mrs. Rogers and Fillan's name on an old piece of paper and poked them furiously with her needle. Nothing could have been any more foolish, but nothing could have been any more satisfying either!
Then, on one fateful Sunday, the news came: THOUSANDS OF SOLDIERS - GASSED TO DEATH. The church was almost empty, as the people of Hoofburg had fallen sick with worry. Abigail had rushed to Windy Lake and had 'wailed like a baby'. Derrane found her there and both of them cried, holding each other with shaken arms and shaken hearts. Had Mr. Frank, Mr. Rogers and Patrick been gassed to death? Oh, how they would've suffered in those last moments in their lives! Why, Abigail and Derrane couldn't bear to think of it!
They lost their appetite for weeks till Abigail had lost so much weight that Patrick couldn't possibly nickname her 'Hippopotamus' anymore! Days were dull, and nights were unendurable. Abigail hadn't an idea how she survived, but she was glad she did for at the following Sunday, Patrick's letter arrived. He was unharmed, and the others were safe. The enemy had gassed another camp of soldiers over the northern side. The war looks as if it would last longer than expected, and he was afraid that Abigail and Mother must wait a while longer.
Abigail had been so happy that she had spent the night smiling away at the stars. The other girls had disappeared into their own bubbles. The stars were her friends now. How they shone and twinkled brightly against the black atmosphere! And how they will go on shining and twinkling regardless if the atmosphere gets brighter or blacker!
Yes, she shall wait a while longer.
"And in the meantime," said Abigail to herself gaily, with a slight chuckle. "I shall learn how to cook!"
Having had a bad experience with tutors, Abigail decided to learn how to cook by herself, and she did - much to the amusement of Mrs. Rogers. Now, aromas of burned cakes and pies and porridges were considered 'normal' in Lunar Cottage. Fillan West was Abigail's usual victim, and although he had never tasted anything so bad before, he decided that he would support Abigail this time, regardless if he dies of a badly diseased stomach or whatsoever.
"Are you sure you're doing the right thing, Abigail?" Fillan had started to call Abigail by her first name, and somehow Abigail liked it better than 'Miss Rogers'. 'Miss Rogers' sounded so … formal, and Abigail hated feeling as if she was still a stranger to Fillan.
"Sure I'm sure!" Abigail said hotly. "It says so in the recipe, didn't it?"
"Yes, and the recipe also said it should have turned into a rosy brown, not… not that!" Fillan pointed to the sluggish green liquid in the boiling pot, and Abigail looked at it with secret disgust, but still kept a straight face for the sake of her pride. She scooped a spoonful of it and shoved it to Fillan. "Try it."
Fillan's face turned almost as green. "Why Abigail! I would die for you without thinking twice, but this is unacceptable!"
"Are you indicating that my cooking is worse than death?"
"Why I- I didn't … well… yes."
The look on Abigail's face broke Fillan's heart, and his conscience. Had he offended the young damsel? "Something must have gone wrong, Abigail. You can try again and I promise with all my heart that I will eat it if it turns out slightly less greener."
"I don't feel like 'trying again'." muttered defeated Abigail. She was 'hopeless' in sewing, and Fillan had practically said he would rather die than eat her cooking … wasn't she good in anything?
"Abigail!" Greg West hopped into the room through the backdoor with his bright smile, which reminded Fillan of his own. "I met your mother in the post office and she said to give you this letter," he shoved one delicate envelope forward. "She also said she won't be home till late 'cause there was a long line in McAlister's shop. She said news were bound to be broadcasted to-night, and she could not afford to miss it."
Abigail nodded at his every word. Mother had stopped buying newspapers ever since the day it told of the soldiers being gassed to death, which had almost killed her with worry, and had turned out incorrect after all. She had stomped her feet and yelled at poor amused Abigail: "Darned newspapers! They cannot be trusted!" and had after that, scolded herself for swearing in front of her daughter. Now she often went to McAlister's shop, for that was the only place in Hoofburg with a radio, where she had to fight the long lines of other 'busybodies', resulting in her delay of getting back, where Abigail lay in fear at the prospect of being home alone, and where Fillan paced back and forth in his room, worried. He dared not go to Lunar Cottage, for he had been there so often now that the Hoofburg's people were starting to be suspicious.
"Now, do you suppose it is a love letter?" teased Fillan, eyeing the fine decorations on the envelope with eyes of 'an angel's', as Georgia had put it. Abigail had argued that an angel's eyes could not possibly be green. "Well, nobody had said it wasn't green!" Georgia had snorted.
Abigail, too excited at the prospect of receiving a letter - her first letter, ignored Fillan's taunt. Why, the letter was for her! Not for Mother, but her! Whoever could have sent it?
'Dear Abigail Rogers,' read the letter, 'I will be coming over to Hoofburg soon, and I shall drop by Lunar Cottage. Signed, Oliver Kirk.'
"Oliver Kirk!" Abigail screeched, looking at the name again lest her eyes fooled her. Greg looked at his brother with curious eyes. Fillan smiled in reply and shook his head.
"Who's Oliver Kirk?" Greg asked finally, finding both Abigail and Fillan 'impossible' to understand. To his utter surprise, Abigail clasped her hands around his and smiled at him and said: "Ooh! Why, I could just kiss you, Greg West, for bringing me this good news!" and then started dancing around the kitchen like one imagining herself flying in the air. Greg told Jonathan Waters several days later that 'Abigail Rogers' senses has dropped to the end of her toes' and had Jonathan 'noticed that she is blossoming into such a pretty damsel?'
Before Abigail's pride has its chance to balloon up, it must be stated here that Abigail Rogers isn't any prettier than the rest of the girls are. But, like everybody else, she too, held her own uniqueness in a way that attracts the hearts and souls of people who had had the chance to get to know her. And perhaps, Greg West has found himself listed among the others.
"Oliver Kirk is coming to visit me!" gasped Abigail as she gaily took hold of the pot and spilled the entire green liquid out of the window. Fillan felt sorry for anything alive that had been underneath the window at that very moment. "I feel as if I've just been lifted to the seventh heaven!"
"It's only Oliver Kirk, Abigail," said Fillan cruelly. "Why, one would think it was the president coming over looking at how you screamed!"
"Only Oliver Kirk!" Abigail looked crossly at Fillan. "Oh, I should have known you are more stupid than I gave you credit for, despite you being one of Queen's best student and a future BA!" Fillan's eyes widened, and Greg giggled in delight. There! His so-called perfect big brother being thrashed by Abigail, of all people! "Why, Oliver Kirk is the one of the prettiest girls in Hoofburg! And her wealth would put the kings of previous centuries to shame!"
"Is that why you like her?" Fillan asked. "Because she's pretty and rich?"
"That is not the point," Abigail replied, washing the pot furiously. "We-"
"-Then what is the point?"
"I was about to tell before you rudely inter-"
"-I don't interrupt people."
"You just di-"
"-Fine. So what is the point?"
"The point is, Oliver Kirk is coming over to see me!" Abigail tensed hands relaxed and she began to rinse the pot properly. "Do you know how many girls would die just to stand next to Oliver?"
"Didn't she exclude you and Derrane from her party last year?" Greg pointed out.
"She did," Abigail grimaced at the humiliating memory. "But that was only because we weren't fully fifteen yet. I cannot blame her."
At that moment, Mrs. Rogers returned with a grim face. The boys excused themselves, only to be replied by an icy glare and a curt goodbye. Abigail, Fillan and Greg had been used to the reception, for it often occurs, especially when Mrs. Rogers is back from McAlister's shop, but somehow it still stung their sensitive, little hearts, and bothered them for days.
"You want to know what you could do to make sure Oliver Kirk leaves Lunar Cottage very much impressed?" Fillan whispered to Abigail as she walked them to the door.
"Yes!" Abigail said excitedly, her eyes brimming with anticipation.
"Don't cook."
The next few days saw an excited Abigail rushing from all corners of Lunar Cottage to get it into 'tip-top' shape. She had told her mother, and Mrs. Rogers had said: "So? Why are you telling me this?" that cut Abigail right through her heart. She should've known Mother wouldn't care, wouldn't join her in her happiness. Mother never joined her in anything.
Nevertheless, preparations were made, floors scrubbed, windows cleaned, cluttered mess cleared and so on. Abigail never felt so tired before, but still the excitement thumped on and she went to bed with a happy mind. Tomorrow is 'The Day'! She hoped everything will be fine. But suppose morning refuses to come? Suppose she spilled tea all over Oliver's expensive dress? Suppose -
Rubbish! Abigail said to herself as she walked to her window and looked at her friends up in the sky above. The stars are shining even brighter tonight. Surely that is a good sign, isn't it?
Her wild eyes travelled the dark space. Why, look! There are two stars up north, separated from the rest! Don't they seem bigger than the others? These stars must be heaven-sent, and she, Abigail Rogers, had been lucky enough to spot it.
"I shall name them after the two important men in my life," whispered Abigail to herself rather unconsciously. "Father and Patrick, wherever you are, may the Mighty Power protect you, and may the stars guide you."
Despite Abigail's fear, morning did arrive, and the dark, calm hours of night retreated. She immediately set to work, and when she was confident that Oliver Kirk couldn't possibly find anything wrong, she put on her gingham dress and although it looked shabby, she decided to be satisfied with it. Other girls whose country had been under attack probably hadn't a piece of cloth at all, so why should she complain? Don't worry girls, she said quietly. My father and brother will save you. You will be saved.
There was a knock on the door, and Abigail tripped over a stool as she rushed around madly. She dropped with a sound that would have woken up the dead and wondered in horror if Oliver had heard the noise. Why, Oliver must've heard! She might even be laughing out there at this very minute!
She opened the door sheepishly, and there stood Oliver Kirk, elegant as ever in her green dress with lovely laces on her sleeves. "Welcome to Lunar Cottage, Oliver," said Abigail courteously, shaking with excitement. "I can assure you that you will enjoy your visit her."
"Yes," Oliver nodded as she stepped in gracefully. Abigail watched in envy and wished she could walk as airily as Oliver does, and hold her chin up like she does, and sit down as primly as she does and-
"Where is your mother, Abigail?" Oliver asked, tossing her sixteen-year-old head with an air of a queen.
"She is in town, at McAlister's shop, most probably. Have some tea, Oliver."
"Why, thank you. My, my, you have grown rather thin, Abigail dear. Must have been the pressures of your father and brother going. Lunar Cottage seems rather quiet without them, don't you think?"
"Yes." Abigail replied, sitting down across.
"I had thought so." Oliver nodded, reaching out for a piece of blueberry pie which Abigail had asked Georgia to make. "Now, dear Abigail, I would like to tell you my true reason for coming."
"Yes?"
"You see, I have been having some money problems lately-"
"But Oliver, how could you have money problems? You are one of the wealthiest girls in Hoofburg!" Abigail then realised she had rudely interrupted and profusely apologised when Oliver suddenly burst into tears. "Oliver!" cried Abigail in shock and panic. "I hadn't mean to interrupt you like that! Please do not cry!"
"I am not crying because of that, you pooch!" said Oliver, snorting and sobbing ridiculously. "Oh! All of you think I am wealthy, but I'm not! Father and Mother are, but I'm not! Why, Father and Mother doesn't even care about me."
Abigail thought of her mother, and looked at Oliver sympathetically. "I know how that feels, Oliver. Please don't cry now."
"Oh! Let me cry! I want to cry! " wailed Oliver in a way that would've have sent sixteen-year-old girls to shame. "You would not believe what Father said when I asked him for a mite of his money, Abigail! Why, you ask? I had only wanted to go to town, Abigail, and how he scolded me! He said I always waste his money! I never do so! Why, I always buy my own clothes with my own money, and I always pay for my school fees."
Abigail gasped. Oliver Kirk buys her own clothes with her own money and pays for her own school fees? How horrible! Abigail was thankful that Mrs. Rogers wasn't as bad. "That is dreadful! Why don't you ask your Mother for a few pennies, Oliver?"
"Do you think I have not tried? I asked ages ago, and she spanked me, Abigail! Yes, spanked me! I have such a horrible life, Abigail. I feel I want to die!"
Abigail's eyes grew as wide as it can possibly grow. She looked at Oliver who cried even harder, and felt guilty. She had always thought Oliver was happy. Why, Oliver always looked happy! But Abigail didn't know Oliver very well, and it wasn't impossible that what she had said was true. Abigail had always read in books that wealthy people were nothing more than selfish, self-centred devils. "Is there any way that I can help you, Oliver?"
Oliver looked at her with pleading eyes. "Why, yes. Have you any money that I could possibly borrow?"
Abigail winced quietly. She did have money - a few pennies and dollars right under her pillow. But she had wanted to use the money to buy ink so she could write letters to Patrick! She couldn't possibly - but Oliver needed it badly - but what about Patrick? - Abigail was sure Patrick was waiting anxiously for her letter - but Oliver! - poor helpless Oliver! "Indeed, I do. You can have them, Oliver."
"Thank you, Abigail. You don't know how much you have done for me."
Abigail stared at the empty air with face that would have made a thousand hearts break. Her eyes filled with an eerie being of emptiness and her lips quivered unstoppably.
Oliver Kirk has disappeared!
Just hours ago Mr. Kirk and Mrs. Kirk had banged on Lunar Cottage and demanded to see Abigail. Oliver Kirk has run away from home with Lucas Berg, who was very well known for his wrong doings in the community, and Mr. Kirk had found out that it was Abigail Rogers who had supported Oliver with the money.
Abigail had explained vainly, and she would never forget the look Mrs. Kirk had given here for as long she still breathes. A rescue team had rushed off to town, and Mrs. Rogers had woken up and had given Abigail a scolding she would long remember. Abigail now lay in her room, looking out at the silent night like one possessed.
So Oliver Kirk had lied to her. She had used her. All along Abigail had believed her story. All along she had felt sorry for 'poor Oliver'. And all along, she thought she had done the right thing by giving Oliver her 'ink money'.
How could she have been so foolish? She had heard that Lucas Berg had been courting Oliver, and that both Mr. Kirk and Mrs. Kirk hadn't approved of him. Why hadn't she put two and two together? Why hadn't she dug further instead of just letting herself be fooled away like that?
Fillan walked into the room and turned blue at the sight of her. He had early suspected that Oliver wanted something from Abigail. Oliver Kirk does not go around visiting girls whom she wouldn't give a horse's hoof at. But Abigail had been so excited. She had been so happy about it... "Abigail," he said softly, still standing at the side, staring like one staring at a wounded angel. "Oliver Kirk is safe. We have found her."
Abigail stared ahead stonily. So, Oliver Kirk is alright. Very well.
Fillan fidgeted uncomfortably at the eerie silence. "Oliver will explain to Mr. Kirk and Mrs. Kirk. You can expect them to come apologising in the next few days, Abigail." An even scarier silence wavered around them. Fillan wondered anxiously if Abigail was even alive. "Abigail? …. Please say something, Abigail. You're killing me with your silence."
"Even the most apologetic apologies wouldn't cure what has been said and done," Abigail said quietly. Fillan, too relieved to notice the bitterness in her tone, sat down beside her, wanting to do something, and yet not quite knowing what to do.
Abigail, whose tears had refused to show itself earlier, now flowed freely down the cheeks that burned with shame and anger. Her soul had returned to her, and she will cry for as long as her heart desired.
Fillan felt himself ease. "Listen," he whispered with a drop of mischief in his tone. "I have a surprise for you. Got it when were in town tracking you-know-who up-" he pulled out a bottle full of liquid and presented it proudly, "- and I hope you like it."
Despite her tears and shame and anger, Abigail managed to cry out: "Ink!" with such happiness that one would think she had never seen a bottle of ink before. "Fillan! Why, I can write to Patrick now!" Then she burst to tears again, clasped her hands over Fillan's and buried her face in his lap and whispered with all the happiness that is left in her: "What will I ever do without you, Fillan?"
Fillan smiled. Ah! So Abigail Rogers has finally admitted that she needed him! But the pleasure of hearing it did not quite match the pleasure he had felt as he looked into the eyes of the young maiden and wondered that maybe - just maybe, he cared more for Abigail Rogers than he was supposed to.
