'Dear Patrick,' wrote Abigail on one fine evening

'Dear Patrick,' wrote Abigail on one fine evening. 'Mr. and Mrs. Kirk did come by and apologise, as Fillan had predicted. They didn't seem too pleased to be apologising to a lowly fifteen-year-old like me, but they did it sincerely, and I forgave them - I had to. It wouldn't do to hold grudges against the Kirks. But no matter how many times they apologise, Patrick, I will never ever forget the murderous look Mrs. Kirk had given me on that horrible night. I fear it would haunt me for the rest of my life.'

'I saw Oliver a few days ago. She didn't look at me once, but I knew she was aware of my presence, because her cheeks turned unusually red. She hadn't apologised, and even if she had, I doubt I would forgive her. Somehow, Mr and Mrs. Kirk had decided not to bother to clear the gossips up, and I find my name brought up a lot among the folks of Hoofburg. The villagers still think that I am the one to blame, and I am sick of explaining myself innocent. They never listen to me, nevertheless, and I just don't care anymore.'

'However, Fillan gets fairly furious whenever someone talks about me around him. He defends me, just like you would have if you were here (you would defend me, wouldn't you, Patrick?), and it helps, for people do listen to him, because he's 'the future BA boy'. Honestly, I don't see why the fact that he is going to college changes anything! I, for one, will always see him as the stupid boy who once called me 'fatty'.'

'He doesn't call me names now.'

'And I hope you won't too when you come back!'

'The other girls are fine, though I haven't seen them for a long time. Georgia told me she has been having a hard time with James. That little boy has started sleepwalking, and goodness knows where he'll end up if nobody caught him on time! Wendy is full of sorrow because Robert Carlo's eighteenth birthday is coming up, and she is afraid he would consider joining the army.'

'I don't think he would. He's a coward. Wendy gets mad whenever I say that, so I'll say it to you instead. Still, I am confused. Wendy doesn't want Robert to go, and yet she hates it when people say he is too much of a coward to go. Does she, or does she not want him to go?'

'I tried preaching to her about war and young girls dying across the land like you did to me the day before you went, but I don't think Wendy understood a word I said. Perhaps I had babbled like Mother does whenever she gets mad and doesn't know what to say but says something anyway. Or perhaps Wendy was too wrapped up with her Robert to care about what I have to say.'

'The other day, Fillan wanted to show me a 'treasure' he had found deep in the woods at the end of the shore, and we met Mrs. Clint. I knew that Mr. and Mrs. Clint had wanted to marry their daughter Dorothy off to Fillan, and I thought what fun it would be if Mrs. Clint were to chat Fillan up. Well, mercy, she did!'

'Mrs. Clint took no notice of me, apparently. I don't know whether it was because of all the things that she has heard of me, or if she was too wrapped up with Fillan that she hadn't even noticed me. But nevertheless, I enjoyed the conversation. Mrs. Clint managed to mention Dorothy a dozen times every time she opens her mouth, and you should have seen Fillan's face! I will never know if he was embarrassed or annoyed!'

'I teased him about Dorothy, Dorothy and more Dorothy, and he was furious!'

'He said he was too young to be thinking of such things, but I don't believe him. Fillan is almost eighteen. Patricia Harris has married David Young, and she's only sixteen! Now… when will you marry, Patrick? Do you want me to watch the girls in Hoofburg for you? So I can tell you which is the best when you come back?'

'If your answer is yes, I'll ask Derrane to help me and we'll choose some nice girls for you.'

'If your answer is no, I'll ask Derrane to help me and we'll choose some nice girls for you anyway.'

'We finally got to the so said treasure - and could you guess what it is? It was a deserted tower! It looks old, and neither I or Fillan knew who built it, but we were glad whoever it was did build it, because I think it's such a darling little thing, despite it's alarming condition! There were small plants all over the walls, and Fillan said white flowers bloom out of them every summer - whole bunches of them - and the tower would look as if it is covered with a white carpet!'

'We have vowed to come back there in the summer, which is only a month away, and you can come along, if you're back by then.'

'You will be back by then, won't you?'

'How much longer will the war lasts, Patrick? I am waiting. I am waiting as patiently as my nature would allow me. But for how much longer? Won't it end, Patrick? Because it doesn't look promising. John Mason just signed up, and Mrs. Mason is lying ill in grief. I feel sorry for her, for John is the only child. How many more of our boys must go, Patrick? I have no special affection for them, but to see them go is a hard thing.'

'Well, good luck, and tell Father I love him and that I am thinking of him all the time, even if he refuses to believe it. Mother is healthy and fine. She thinks of the two of you all the time too, because she always yells out your names when she drops something (and trust me, Mother drops a lot of things nowadays). (But that is good, isn't it? Then she will say your names more often and remember you more often too!)'

'Yours, Abigail.'

*

Abigail stared at the stars with the same lonely and stony gaze she had acquired for some time. Bitter tears dropped every now and then. These were leftovers. She had finished crying ages ago.

"What is this?" Mother had said when Abigail handed her a nicely wrapped box early that morning.

Abigail, who had expected a more courteous reaction, stared at her mother like she had never seen her before. "Why, Mother! Have you forgotten? Today is your birthday! And this is your birthday present."

Mother had snorted and pushed the box away ungratefully. "Why, I thought you had more sense than to waste money over a thing as silly as birthday gifts! I do not want birthday gifts. I only want your father and brother back. Now, don't look at me with that face, Abigail Rogers! Take this back and go to your room."

How Abigail struggled to keep her hot tears at bay! She had been crying for hours now, and yet the humiliation and sting kept hurting. The box was still downstairs. Abigail had not 'taken it back' as her mother had told her, and she had no notion of 'taking it back' either. Mother had 'rejected' her gift, and she will not touch it again for as long she lived. Never!

She had been so proud of it - had spent days and nights completing it - had worked on it with patience that would have made Patrick proud - had poured all her love in it - why won't Mother accept it? What could possibly be wrong with it?

Nurturing the heart that has been wounded and stabbed countless of times, Abigail went to sleep, forgetting all her rituals and prayers and goodnights to the stars. She was tired - and disappointed - and humiliated. Her pride had been stomped to pieces. She will go away now. Perhaps everything will be better when she returns at dawn tomorrow.

Downstairs, Mrs. Rogers picked up the box, which had dropped onto the nicely scrubbed floor and opened it. There was a small note, and a brooch - what an ugly brooch this is! Mrs. Rogers had no doubt Abigail had made it herself.

'Happy Birthday, Mother,' read the crumpled note. 'From, your one and only daughter - Abigail.'

Mrs. Rogers put her knitting down, in spite of herself, and went to the room which door and windows stood ajar. Obviously, her 'one and only daughter' had forgotten to shut it. She closed the windows noiselessly, and looked about the room. Abigail was asleep under the blue quilt. Had she been - yes… Abigail had been crying. Mrs. Rogers would have spotted the tear-stained cheeks from miles away.

"My one and only daughter," whispered Mrs. Rogers softly, smiling amusingly at the expression Abigail held on her face. "You do not belong to me anymore. You have grown apart from me, and I fear you will go on growing apart from me. One day you will be someone else's, and I pray he won't make you cry like I have."

Mrs. Rogers stood up and walked to the door. She has said what she had wanted to say, and it doesn't matter if Abigail had or had not heard it. In fact, she wasn't even sure if she wanted Abigail to hear it. Perhaps it would be better if she hadn't.

"Dear Lord above, I pray that she will be a good mother someday, for her mother certainly wasn't!"

Nevertheless, Abigail's spirits soared high above when Mrs. Rogers walked into the kitchen the next day bearing the brooch on her chest.

*

Fillan and Abigail walked hurriedly to the 'Deserted Tower', as they were wont to call it. It was summer now, and Patrick had wrote that he won't be back - not yet, and that they should go ahead without him.

"Oh, I see it!" Abigail cried out excitedly, as she slipped in between maple trees, and trotted on the stones carefully, lest she falls and breaks her head. "Why, it does look as if it's covered with carpet! Have you seen anything quite as beautiful before, Fillan?"

Fillan didn't answer. Abigail swung her head around and watched in amusement as he walked solemnly with his eyes fixed firmly on the stones. He had been unusually quiet today, wherever did his soul dropped off to? "Fillan? … Fillan! …. FILLAN!"

"Aye, sir!" Fillan woke with a start, carelessly slipping out 'soldier talk'.

Abigail turned as white as a corpse. She was fully aware now that Fillan had turned eighteen a few days ago. Had he- could he have - did he took the notion to - of course he did, thought Abigail as she turned around and walked faster towards the tower. She had seen the eagerness in his eyes. Had seen the impatient look on his face as he watched other boys' sign up in envy. Oh, why hadn't she prepared herself for this, when she knew all along that it was coming?

Fillan forehead formed deep lines of concern. Had Abigail figured it out? Does she know? "Abigail-"

"We're here," Abigail interrupted flatly. "The flowers are lovely, aren't they? I must tell Mother about this. She would love to take some of them home and plant them. But of course, by doing so, it will probably ruin the entire thing. But then again, people rarely come by, don't they? Surely they wouldn't notice a missing patch, would they? Well, for one thing, I will not tell anyone about this. Not even Georgia. She might tell James and next thing you know, he is sleepwalking over here and tearing all the flowers apart-" Abigail knew she was babbling. She herself doesn't understand half the things that she says, but if babbling helps keep the unwanted words from Fillan, then babble she would! "-And of course, Wendy won't be told either. She would send lover-boy Robert over to pick some for her, and knowing Robert, he would do it. He just lets Wendy manipulate him like a string doll, and I think that is such a weak point in a man-"

"Is that so?" interrupted Fillan finally, finding that his patience rather failed him today. "Then maybe I should stop you from manipulating the conversation lest you think I am in the same race as Robert?"

"Girls have always talked a lot more than boys, so that is natural." said Abigail meekly. Quick! Babble again! "Father used to say he would never see the dawn of the day when I will stop talking for even five minutes. And of course, Patrick agreed with him. He was always against me in everything -"

"Yes," Fillan nodded. "Abigail, can I talk now?"

As if Fillan hadn't even said a word, Abigail 'babbled' on and on, saying everything that came into her mind. Everything - except war. Fillan took that as "No, Fillan, you cannot talk" and watched Abigail grimly. So, Abigail is avoiding the subject matter. Very well. Two can play in this game.

And so, Abigail talked till sunset. Only when they made their way home did her tongue gave protest and she was forced to keep silent. No doubt Fillan would take the chance now and bring the subject up. How Abigail dreaded the moment! Often she glanced sideways at him and kept a watchful eye on his expression, so she would know when to interrupt him if he decides to open his mouth. But Fillan's mouth stayed shut, and Abigail couldn't recall the last time she had been so happy to see the front porch of Lunar Cottage.

There were several people around - old Mrs. Gardion, walking home from McAlister's shop, no doubt - she had always been known as a 'busybody', Sarah and Jubilee Carson, out for their daily rumble around the beach, most probably and Kayla Carlo, sister of Robert Carlo who was Wendy Trent's beau, walking with the same air of modesty as her brother's. It was a very inappropriate time, but Fillan knew he couldn't possibly wait any longer. Abigail has suspected his going, and there is no doubt that she would take precautions and avoid him lest he confirms her suspicion.

Abigail saw the change in his expression, and decided she had to act fast. "So, goodnight, Fillan," she said almost eagerly. She whirled around to leave, and when Fillan's hand found her arm, her eyes grew as wide as her eye-socket would allow. It has come…."Oh, no, Fillan - no."

"Oh, yes, Abigail - yes. My turn has arrived."

Abigail stared at him solemnly and said meekly: "But…your-college?"

Fillan laughed. "You really think I would stoop to such a silly thing as college when I have an opportunity to fight for the country? Honestly, Abigail, is that an insult?"

"No, of course not! But you… you-can't go. Just stay here for a while longer, Fillan. The- the war would end soon… stay here where it's safe…"

"Sometimes, Abigail," Fillan looked into the dark eyes and smiled at the deep concerned sparkle in them. Could Abigail possibly - "staying here where it's safe is even worse than being out there where it's not."

Abigail sighed. She had run out of protests. But there was one more - a little protest she was ashamed to voice, for it was such a selfish and inconsiderate one that she felt she had been possessed by a devil when she thought of it. "Stay here, Fillan." she ordered firmly, much to her utter surprise. She! Ordering Fillan West around! "If not for your sake, then for mine!" She turned bright red like a tomato as soon as the words escaped her lips. Why, she might as well have screamed to the rest of the world that she was nothing more than a selfish brat who only wanted Fillan to herself! Patrick would have been so ashamed of her!

"Abigail-"

"I didn't say that! I didn't say that!" Abigail chanted loudly, supposing if she chanted more and more, Fillan and herself would believe it. "I didn't say that! You can go wherever you want, Fillan West! To the battle field or football field, wherever!"

Fillan watched in amusement as the red-faced damsel darted towards Lunar Cottage. Then he hurried after her, with his green eyes sparkling as only green eyes could sparkle and his heavy heart getting lighter and lighter with each step. So, Abigail Rogers cared for him! She wanted him! How much more brighter can his world get?

Abigail, humiliated and ashamed of herself, walked as fast as her legs would carry her. She had made a total fool of herself, and Fillan was probably trying to catch with her so he could tell her it was 'okay'. But Abigail knew, how she knew, that Fillan must have been laughing hard at her in his head! Oh, how much more darker can her world gets?

But alas, as Fillan was much older and his legs were much longer, Abigail found herself overtaken. Well, she thought to herself, at least I can be assured that he is able to run fast should the Germans start bombing him!

"Abigail," panted Fillan softly, slightly out of breath. "Tell me if it's or if it's not true, that you care for me far more than you … than you-"

"- than I was supposed to," nodded Abigail, turning as red as ever. Oh, she will remember this humiliating moment for the rest of her horrible life! "I'm sorry, Fillan. This was not supposed to happen. Patrick never intended this to occur and I never thought-" Abigail was cut short for Fillan had clasped his hands over hers and she found it rather distracting. She waited anxiously for Fillan to burst laughing and say something sarcastic - she couldn't think of Fillan doing anything else, but it never came. Instead:

"Abigail, will you promise me that once everything is over, once all these wars and deaths and politics is over - you will be my wife?"

If it was possible that a human's mouth could drop to the ground, Abigail's would have dropped and rolled all over the ground by now. Good grief! Had Fillan dropped his brain somewhere near the tower, if he even had one? "Your wife? Me?"

"No, the apple tree."

There! Sarcasm! Abigail hadn't been dreaming! Fillan was never sarcastic in her dreams! And yet she loved the sarcasm with all her heart! Her face glowed in dim sunlight, the redness and the humiliation of the previous incident clearly forgotten. Smiling at her own stupidity, Abigail looked at Fillan, her eyes sparkling just as much as his were, and whispered - despite the urge to scream her heart out - the fateful and long-awaited word, said by many women to many eager men across the land for many centuries: "Yes."

Fillan, who thought his sarcastic little comment - which he hadn't mean to say but couldn't resist the temptation- had blown everything apart, smiled, despite his pounding heart. Now, just one more thing…

Abigail, realising what Fillan was about to do as he bent his handsome head low, scanned the area consciously for any sign of anyone who might see them and spread the news - especially Mrs. Gardion, thought Abigail, who walked slow and couldn't have walked all that far from Lunar Cottage ever since they last saw her - suppose she saw and heard everything? Abigail certainly didn't want the villagers discussing her first kiss among themselves. Maybe she should warn Fillan - oh, never mind.

"Sweet dreams," whispered Fillan as he stepped back and turned to leave. Abigail watched him disappear in the dark silhouette of the night, and sighed in contentment. She kept on staring although Fillan had long gone, and fiddled with the thought of her becoming Mrs. West a.k.a Abigail West. Abigail West! thought Abigail, wincing slightly. Why, that name sounded as if it belonged to a train station!

But at least it's better than Abigail East - or Abigail North - or Abigail South!

And with that satisfying comeback, Abigail went to bed - after greeting the two 'Father and Patrick' stars that had never failed to be up there in the sky - her soul brimming with pride and happiness. Then she remembered that Fillan was going tomorrow, and her heart turned sour. She found herself cursing the Germans with such curses that she never knew she knew, and goodness knows what would have happened if Mrs. Rogers had heard her!

*

This is was the second time Abigail had been at the train station, bidding yet another one of her beloved a goodbye, and even by now she loathed the whole place. She despised each and every inch of the railway track and worst of all, she hated the grumpy fat man who yelled: "All aboard!" just as unfeelingly as he had six months ago, when he had taken away Patrick and Mr. Rogers and other men who weren't important to her, but probably was to some people, and perhaps some women as well.

"I tell you," Greg was telling Fillan, who looked as if he would rather face a dozen German soldiers rather than hear what Greg had to say. "You just fight your butt off, and once I turn eighteen, I'll come and I'll win the war for you, okay?" Fillan nodded absently, his grim yet bright eyes fixed firmly on Abigail, who was looking at everybody in the platform except him.

An old woman on a wheelchair whom Abigail didn't recognise wheeled beside her and wiped her tear-stained face hastily. A young man in khaki quickly ran up to her and said in a somewhat comforting way: "Nanny, please don't cry," to which the old woman hotly replied: "My youth and strength has left me, must my one and only grandson do so too?" The young man looked exasperated. "Nanny, I am not leaving you! I am only going abroad to help the country! I will be back sooner than you expect."

"Aah, the same old line," cried the old woman, flinging her wet handkerchief over her head. "I have heard dozens of young man say that, and have any managed to keep their words? None. I am not a fool, Frederick. You are not going there to help, but rather to get yourself killed…." The young man - Frederick, if Abigail wasn't mistaken - after noticing Abigail watching them, quickly wheeled his nanny away - much to Abigail's relief. She would have launched into another one of her there-are-other-people-like-you-suffering-out-there-miss speeches, and somehow, she felt the old woman would not appreciated it if she had done so.

A young lady gave out a shriek and immediately rushed out of the building. Abigail looked at the young man whom the lady had left behind and felt sorry at the heartbroken look on his face as he picked up his bag in embarrassment - for almost everyone was looking at him.

"Father, why did that woman scream?" Abigail turned around and saw a five-year-old girl tugging on her father's khaki. "Did that man do anything bad to her?" Her father smiled reassuringly at her and said nothing. The young girl tugged again, more firmly this time. "Father, is everyone in that dress like yours goin' to town to-day? Are they goin' to the sp'cial meetin' too?" the girl surveyed the crowd doubtfully. "Oh well," she said at last, turning to her father again. "Don't forget to bring in the chicky-let when you come back, 'kay?" The father nodded and Abigail supposed that the 'chicky-let' the little girl had mentioned was in fact, 'chocolate'. She lifted her gaze to the woman beside the father, and saw that she was struggling not to scream aloud like the previous one had. There were remorse in her eyes, for she probably felt guilty of lying at her young gullible daughter. But yet, she knew it was the right thing to do, and Abigail would have agreed enthusiastically with her.

Abigail found herself wishing she was just as gullible as the little girl, and that someone would come to her and say that nothing was happening, and that there was nothing to worry about, and that Father and Patrick had only gone to town to buy some 'chicky-let' for her. But then she took back her wish, for if she had not known of the war, she and Patrick would never have taken the initiative to break the walls between them, and she would never have made friends with Fillan and fall in love with him, and he might have married Dorothy off and have babies with her…

At that very moment, Abigail's eyes caught Dorothy's white-blond head bobbing over the rest of the heads. Dorothy Clint was tall, perhaps even taller than Fillan by a slight few inches. Abigail had always wished she was as tall as Dorothy, but when she heard the number of times Dorothy had banged her nose against the wall because she was too tall and had to bend down to go through, she quickly changed her mind.

So, The Clints are here… probably to persuade Fillan into marrying Dorothy again. Abigail watched from the corner of her eyes as Dorothy chatted Fillan up and - my! Dorothy was taller than Fillan! Had she grown up overni- oh. She was wearing heels.

Abigail snorted silently. She wondered naughtily how Dorothy would react when she finds out that, she, Abigail Rogers was engaged to - but no. She had been so determined to keep it a sacred secret - she was really fond of sacred secrets - and even Mrs. Rogers herself had no clue of the incident - Abigail decided she won't tell her either, Mother or not Mother - so why should Dorothy Clint, who had no ties with her at all, know?

Well, here comes the train, snorting and coughing worse than ever. And here's that grumpy old man. Yelling "All aboard!" indeed! Abigail wondered if he would still say those two words if he had been the one going over to the battlefield, or if he had been the one watching a relative or someone he cares for - if there's any, for Abigail felt he looked as if he hadn't a care for anyone except himself.

Everyone was rushing about now - girls were sobbing even louder - dogs barking and trying to drag their masters away from that horrible black snorting machine - husbands and wives bidding each other goodbye, probably for ever - where on earth is Fillan, for heaven's sake?

Then Fillan appeared in front of her as if he had magicked himself right there. He seized her hands, and wondered if he should, or should not, kiss Abigail? She had insisted that he shouldn't, something about sacred secrets - which Fillan had not paid attention to because he was too busy trying not to laugh - oh never mind!

Abigail wondered cruelly - as Fillan kissed her quickly but firmly - if Dorothy was somewhere watching? The place was buzzing with people and men in khakis, it was quite impossible for anyone to notice what has happened, but what if? Fillan pressed her ring finger meaningfully and smiled, and then - he was gone, as if he had been blown away by the wind unnoticed.

The train disappeared too, but more noticeably, for it's snorting and coughing was rather hard to miss. Well, thought Abigail as she watched the train rounding the curve, That is done and over with. Perhaps she should go home now and do something about her shaky hands, for they were shaking alarmingly, and have a cup of tea to calm herself down and kneel down by her window and pray…

Her eyes rested on the old woman on the wheelchair who was sobbing restlessly - Frederick must have gone despite her pleas, after all - and realised in agony that Frederick's nanny would not be able to kneel down and pray like everyone else could.

Abigail made a mental note to pray for Frederick - whoever he was - in behalf of the old woman. Yes, she would have to kneel longer - Abigail hated kneeling, her knees were bound to turn blue every time she finished - but she felt it would be worth it. Besides, she would have been thankful if someone had prayed for Father, Patrick and Fillan if, say, something happened to her legs, wouldn't she?

*

It was the day after Christmas, and Abigail spent from dawn to evening cleaning the house grumpily - for Mrs. Rogers foreboded her from visiting anyone on Christmas yesterday - when the news that her mother brought after returning from McAlister's shop sent Abigail screaming in horror and running as fast as she could towards Crystal Beam, where Derrane Frank lay sobbing in her room like one whose soul had been robbed and taken away.

Mr. Frank had died of pneumonia - the weather at the battlefield couldn't have been any worse. He had reportedly died peacefully, amid heavy coughs and the strain of people dying all around him, as he lay, unable to help, which to Derrane, was even worse than her father being shot down. Mr. Frank had always been fond of helping others. How he must have suffered in those last moments in his life, feeling empty and weak - and useless!

"Oh, Derrane!" cried Abigail as she stepped into the room and watched the slender silhouette of her friend shake against the still background, not quite knowing what to do. She wasn't feeling what Derrane was feeling, and she dared not say something lest it sounded offensive.

Derrane cried even harder. She had always told Abigail how she hated people who cry like babies, and yet, here she is, doing it, with Abigail Rogers at the sideline watching! "Go away, Abigail," she said hastily. "Leave me so I can live the rest of my lonely life peacefully."

"Derrane, don't say that. You're not alone. I'm here, I'll always be here…."

"Liar! Where have you been all this while? I've been crying since morning, and did you ever think of coming to see me when I needed you the most? No! You were probably too busy opening your Christmas presents! Go away, Abigail Rogers! Go worry about getting into college!"

Abigail found the last statement hitting her sensitive heart with a full blow, and she glared at Derrane, forgetting for that split moment that Derrane's father had just passed away. "I was not opening any Christmas presents!" she screamed. "You know very well that we don't buy papers anymore, Derrane Frank! I am not to be blamed for the late arrival of the news to my ear!"

"Is this how you treat your friends who are depressed?" said Derrane icily, her tears clearly gone, now replaced with glowing cheeks of anger. "Honestly, Abigail, I had expected more from you. Just wait till your father dies - then you will see how it feels like!"

Abigail's eyes grew wide. "How dare you!" she yelled with such a final tone to it that Derrane felt her heart breaking all over again as she watched Abigail fled down the creaky stairs of Crystal Beam and out of the house with sudden hot tears bursting out of her eyes.

Derrane stared after the ajar door like one stunned. Then she collapsed onto her bed and buried her head into her pillow, where her sobs were soon joined with the sobs of a young maiden in Lunar Cottage - much to the surprise of Mrs. Rogers -, filling the empty and soundless December night.