It was four months before Abigail and Derrane could stand being face to face with each other, and even by then, the sting still prodded them

A/N: This is the first time I'm writing an Author's Note (I would have written sooner, but I was afraid I'd babble just as long as my story, so I didn't!) J Thank you for your reviews, Gueck Thea, Christine, Merky, Anne, Laurie, kaygirl and ppl who I may have forgotten to mention (oh! Yasmine!) . I really appreciate it!

It was four months before Abigail and Derrane could stand being face to face with each other, and even by then, the sting still prodded them. The old cheerful greetings and handshakes and hugs and comrade fun were gone - perhaps, never to return. Instead, grim and firm 'hellos' and half-hearted smiles took place.

"Derrane Frank has been getting along with her father's death very well, isn't she?" commented Greg West one day as he walked Abigail home from church.

"Yes." replied Abigail curtly, much to Greg's surprise. He had heard from a very reliable source that Abigail Rogers and Derrane Frank had a fight, and clearly, neither of them had apologised to each other. It was up to Derrane now, for Greg knew the Rogers' pride as he knew his name, and he wouldn't bet on Abigail apologising - even if it was her fault!

"Will you be coming to tea tomorrow evening?" Greg asked as they reached the front gate of Lunar Cottage. "I suppose I will be able to show you around the graveyard then."

Abigail nodded absently and waited as Greg walked away. Mrs. West often asked her for tea every now and then. On the first day she had went, Abigail had managed to spill three cupfuls of tea on the tablecloth - Mrs. West's brand new ones, as she found out later - and had kept so unusually quiet that it created a rather uncomfortable atmosphere. She wasn't entirely sure of what Mrs. West thought of her now, and she didn't want to know what Mrs. West would think of her when she finds out that this clumsy ox was engaged to her son!

And as for the graveyard, Greg had insisted on her seeing it. Said something about how Fillan and he used to go there every Sunday to calm their minds, but Abigail knew better. The only thing a West would do at a graveyard would consist of stomping on the tombs of their enemy's father or grandfather or great grandfather. She had overheard Patrick telling Father that Fillan West had once kicked Arthur Water's tomb when Hans Water stole his lunch, which sent Mr. Rogers howling with laughter, much to the disgust of Mrs. Rogers.

Mrs. Rogers was in the kitchen when Abigail walked in, which was an unexpected surprise for she was usually over at McAlister's shop. "I'm a bit tired today," she answered when Abigail inquired.

"You should rest, Mother," said Abigail as she scooped up two letters from the small pile on the table. "I can do the work as long as you give me clear instructions."

Mrs. Rogers took it as an insult to her capability, and she sent the confused maiden to her room, where Abigail spent the next hour reading the letters Patrick and Fillan had sent her. Father rarely sends her letters - he writes them to Mother instead, and somehow, Abigail felt there was more to it that what her mother had allowed her to know.

Patrick's letter was cheerful and light, filled with a dozen or more 'I hopes'; 'I hope you and Mother are doing fine', 'I hope James is still around and had not sleepwalked into the sea', 'I hope you were joking about wanting me to marry' and so on. There was also a short description on the ongoing in the battlefield, but Abigail skipped that paragraph. She wasn't interested.

Fillan's letter, however, was filled with harmless sarcasm, and lines here and there that made Abigail's face turn hot, either in embarrassment or disbelief. 'All this secrecy is killing me,' he wrote. 'Almost all the men here are engaged -almost- and I just had to tell them that I was too. But not to worry, I didn't tell anyone whom the lucky damsel was - which made matters worse, because Patrick had started teasing me about Dorothy. That brother of yours knows very well that I don't give a horse's hoof about Dorothy Clint, and yet he's just doing it to vex me into telling him!'

Mrs. Rogers glanced up at the ceiling, as if she could see right through it into Abigail's room. What on earth was Abigail laughing like that for? Why, people were bound to think that she, Martha Rogers, was rearing a lunatic!

*

"Elaine West," read Greg as he stared stonily at the tombstone at his feet, with weeds creeping all over it. "That's my great grandmother. Poisoned herself, thinking Dean Von had left her when he was just over harbour on a business trip. Came back and found her dead. Got a shock and moved away."

Abigail shuddered, picturing the poisoned face of Elaine West lying underneath her very feet. She thought it was such a tragic, but yet such a stupid way to die, but did not dare say so lest Greg gets offended.

"This tomb belongs to Matthew Ferdinand," continued Greg. "He went sailing years ago and never returned. Dead, the people supposed. So they put up a tomb for him. Then he came back, unshaven and all." Abigail's eyes grew wide. Greg grinned. "But he died two days after, so the tomb wasn't wasted after all!"

"Julia Kirk. She poisoned her husband when she caught him on a bench with someone else. See that, Abigail? That's her husband's tomb. I suppose the townspeople buried him far away from Julia for precautions! And that's William Andrews. He lived in an old cottage by the shore, all alone. Didn't have much of a family. Never married anyone. Thinks that women are bad luck."

Abigail narrowed her eyes. Bad luck, eh?

"Shane Canin. A fine man, they say. Had the brains and the looks. But he never married though, ever since Vanessa Sil left him and married someone else."

"Why would she do that if Shane's such a fine man?" asked Abigail curiously.

"How should I know?" replied Greg, leading her around a broken tomb. "Maybe he wasn't as fine as people thought he was. Maybe he fooled the people into thinking that he was such a perfect angel. People do that, you know. Like Fillan."

"What about Fillan?"

Greg raised his eyebrows at Abigail's tone. "He isn't any better than I am - he pulls worse tricks than I do when he was my age, you know - and people seem to worship him. All the things about Queens and college…" Greg shook his head. "Almost drove me crazy."

"Well, why don't you outshine him, for heaven's sake?" Abigail said impatiently. "Go to Queens, be one of her best students, go to college, be a BA if you want to be worshipped so much!"

"I don't want to outshine him," Greg said defiantly. "I just wished people wouldn't make such a fuss over it and stop bothering him. In fact, I wish he never had taken the notion to go to college! Why? Because he's such a changed person! He simply refuses to have fun with me anymore, and it's such a shame because he has the best ideas."

"Well," murmured Abigail. "I personally think it's a relief that you two won't go around putting snakes in people's carriages anymore. And I suppose scaring poor Mr. Johnson last year was Fillan's idea too?"

"No, that was my idea." Greg smiled proudly. "And besides, it was only a rubber snake! Who would have thought it would practically kill Mr. Johnson? Abigail! I'm not a murderer!"

"I didn't say you were."

"Yes, but you looked it. Anyway, here's Theresa Bone. Died when she was a baby. That's why the tomb is so small. People say she died of pneumonia, but everyone knows her mother drowned her in a basin by accident. And there's Joanne Rhymes. A pretty girl. Murdered by her best friend, Amy Hun. Jealous of Joanne. But she got caught and sentenced to death. There, do you see that one far ahead? That's her tomb. Amy Hun's tomb. This is Mark Furr. Died at the age of 100. He never did anything other than drink and gamble all his life. He got a heart attack when he lost his entire wealth to some stupid gambler. And this is- oh? Is it sunset already. Very well. I'll walk you home, Abigail."

"You really know the people who occupy this graveyard, don't you?" asked Abigail as they walked past the entrance, where two maple trees grew, rather at an unusual place. "You seem to remember their stories very well."

"Their stories?" Greg shook his head and laughed. "Why, Abigail, I'm afraid you got it all wrong. Fillan and I made them all up."

*

'Dear Fillan,' wrote Abigail. 'I wanted to start with something more affectionate than 'Dear Fillan' (honestly, I sound as if I'm writing to my grandfather!), but Father - or worse, Patrick - might see it, so be content. I do not care if you die out of all the secrecy. And good heavens, Fillan! Your Italics are far worse than mine!'

'But I suppose there will be no spice without Italics, don't you think?'

'I was walking home from Double Bay - Wendy was crying in happiness because Robert Carlo recently broke his ankle when he fell off his horse and won't be able to join you in the battlefield - much to my disgust. Wendy said she loved Robert too much to let him go, but really, I love you just as much (maybe even more…) and I was willing to let you go.'

'Oh, all right. I wasn't willing, but I was tolerant!'

'By the way, where was I?'

'Well, I was walking home, and Mr. Johnson happened to come along the way and offered me a ride. I accepted and who do you think was sitting right there among the dry straws opposite me?'

'Oliver Kirk.'

'I will never get to see the last of her, will I? She didn't speak to me at all (not surprisingly) and was extremely snappish whenever Mr. Johnson talked to her. I found out that she was on her way home from town (making plans on eloping again, I would say). We dropped her off at her mansion - oh, which reminds me - I never ever want to live in a mansion (I heard they have over a hundred staircases in there) (I bet the Kirks spend half their lives searching for the right stairs!) and I will never ever wish of going to one of Oliver Kirk's party again. She is not worth the while, believe me!'

'And yes, I am saying this out of personal grudge.'

'Anyway, where was I?'

'I keep losing directions of what I am or was talking about, and it's rather frustrating! Fillan, where was I?'

'Oh! I just remembered! Well, I went the rest of the way home with Mr. Johnson, and you should've heard of all the things he muttered about Oliver! He said she was a rude, spoiled, baby of a girl, and he couldn't see why the other girls would worship her so much. I think he was saying all these things just because Oliver hadn't even taken the notion to say 'thank you', but nevertheless, I enjoyed it!'

'And Mr. Johnson even said I was such a charming girl!'

'Now, maybe you would like to know that I have just found out how you have spent your childhood? Making up stories of dead people, indeed! If Greg hadn't told me that it was your (and his) masterpiece when he brought me to the graveyard and told me their stories, I would've gone around babbling about it to the other villagers, and goodness knows what would've happened! I could have been sentenced to court, with my luck! Honestly, Fillan, I suppose you would start making ridiculous stories of me when I die too?'

'Derrane is fine, if I'm not mistaken. She has grown used to her father's death and it's a relief….. probably. I have been too busy lately to really take notice of the things happening around me. And I don't know where you got the idea of me keeping something from you. I'm fine. Derrane and I are fine, if that's what you had intended to find out. We're just not... on friendly terms.'

'I'm not lonely, don't worry.'

'In fact, I just rescued a kitten from drowning in the lake yesterday. It's such a small mite of a creature, like a shrunken tiger, with black and white stripes. I think he (I'm still not sure if it's a 'he' or a 'she', but never mind) was trying to drink from the lake and accidentally dropped in. Well, lucky I walked by, wasn't it?'

'Mother threw a huge racket at home when she saw me bringing it home - naturally. She threw the kitten out and he refused to budge from the front door, and finally I slipped him in at midnight, planning to bring it out again first thing at dawn. But I overslept, and when Mother came in and saw him curled up beside my head, it was like a nightmare becoming reality! It served me right, though, for being such stubborn fool, but Mother was surprisingly nice (after screaming at me for a while), and she actually agreed to let me keep it!'

'She probably thinks I'm lonely.'

'But I'm not.'

'Georgia brought James over this afternoon and he spent the entire visit chasing the poor kitten and pulling it's tail. And he also insisted on calling it McKitty, and I couldn't resist those big blue eyes! So McKitty it was! But I didn't find his eyes that alluring when he tried to apologise for throwing McKitty to the ground from my bedroom window. My bedroom window! McKitty could have been killed!'

'I predict more visits from James from now on.'

'And I predict that McKitty won't live long!'

'Yours forever and ever (I suppose I can slip up from time to time, can't I?),'

'Abigail Rogers.'

*

On one very windy and very late May night, where all the souls of the dead seemed to be coming out from their graves and mourning along with the horrible weather, Derrane Frank woke up with a start.

Her eyes were as round as saucers, and her lips quivered restlessly.

The next morning, she headed for Lunar Cottage at the crack of dawn, oblivious to her straggly hair and the fact that she was still wearing her nightgown. The villagers were all still asleep, and only the sounds of Derrane's rushed footsteps broke the eerie silence as the sun slowly rose from the eastern side of the world.

Derrane knocked on Lunar Cottage several times nervously, as if she would rather be somewhere else, but yet had to brave through it for it was her duty.

"McKitty!" there was a yell in the cottage. Derrane's head snapped up in shock. "I saved your life from a horrifying death and this is what I get? Poop all over the house?" There was a stampede. Derrane knocked again, and the door swung open to reveal Abigail Rogers in her nightdress with cats fur sticking out.

"Derrane Frank," murmured Abigail, eyes narrowed the sight of her lost friend, and a tone as cold as the morning breeze. They stared at each other awkwardly and uncomfortably.

Then Derrane, remembering what she was here for, attempted a fake cough and shivered slightly, not at the temperature, but at the gaze Abigail held on her, as if she was Oliver Kirk instead of Derrane Frank. "I-I had a dream, Abigail," she said hoarsely, and winced at the look Abigail gave her which clearly stated: And what does your dream has to do with me?. Why did Abigail Rogers have to be so good in facial expressions? Derrane wished Abigail hadn't a face to play around with! "It was a - a nightmare…. I-I.."

"What was it about?" Abigail asked coldly and flatly, rather as if she was asking it out of politeness, and not out of interest.

Derrane didn't dare open her mouth. Why, why, why did she even think of doing this? Won't she be better off sipping tea at home and leaving Abigail with her own worries? "It was about your…."

"My what?" It was snappy, but Derrane thought it was less colder.

"Your father, Abigail…." Derrane looked away. Oh, can she possibly do this? "And- and your brother."

"What about them?" Abigail had taken a step to the front. The coldness had disappeared. There were concern and anxiousness as she stared at Derrane in the eye, waiting for the next blow. "What, Derrane? WHAT?"

Derrane's face betrayed her and if only her legs could move, instead of staying glued to the grounds of Lunar Cottage, she would have run away by now. "I dreamt that- that they were…. Shot…… To death."

"DERRANE FRANK!" Abigail's face was a shimmering colour of magenta, and never had Derrane seen her so stiff before. "I should have known! You're still mad at me, aren't you? Aren't you?" Derrane stepped back as Abigail took warning steps to the front. "Well, Miss Frank, you can say it to my face! You don't have to drag my father and brother into- into this idiotic fight that we had!"

"Abigail!" wailed Derrane vainly. "It was a dream! It was only a dream!"

"Get out, Derrane," Abigail hissed.

"Abigail-"

"Are you deaf, Derrane Frank? I said get out."

Derrane sobbed wildly. She was dying to go home and cry till the end of her life, but there was one more thing she must acknowledge. "Abigail," she begged with choked voice. "I will go, I will go. But Patrick - I saw him, Abigail! I saw him! He was standing there, with your father… he told me to tell you …. said he knew - knew your scared secret - said he was going now - had done his duty -"

"GET OUT!"

Derrane burst out of the front gate and ran as fast as she could, oblivious to the stares that the early people getting out of the houses shot her. She didn't care. She only wanted to go home. Yes, go home - and cry - and fade away like Patrick Rogers did in that vivid dream she had had last night.

That stupid dream!

It was only a dream! It couldn't be true! Why was she such a fool to go and upset Abigail so? Abigail would think she was doing it on purpose and out of grudge! Why, Abigail did think she was doing it on purpose!

It couldn't be true. It couldn't! Mr. Rogers and Patrick Rogers are fine - they are out there fighting. They couldn't be dead…. That was her father, Mr. Frank. Derrane rushed into her room and sobbed restlessly, shaking with a slight fear at the vivid dream she had had, and at the fact that she, Derrane Frank, was probably going raving mad.

Back in Lunar Cottage, Abigail sat on the edge of her bed stiffly - so stiffly you would think she had frozen - and stared at the floor underneath her feet. Her face showed no emotion, but underneath that, her brain twisted, debating on Derrane Frank's statement and her heart sank to the bottom of her legs.

Abigail remembered once when she and Derrane were mere five-year-olds and Derrane had owned a kitten named Ginger, who disappeared one evening. Derrane had had a dream that it had got lost and now lay dead stiff near the coastline. They had hunted Ginger down, and found him exactly in the spot and the condition that Derrane had dreamed it.

Of course, then they were too young to know what it meant. But now, Abigail saw, saw it so clearly that Derrane Frank had 'sixth sense'. Could this dream possibly mean…?

No, Derrane Frank was lying. She was only saying that to upset her, only saying that to avenge her, only saying that to scare her. And yet, it bothered Abigail. Bothered her so greatly that she stayed put on her bed till nightfall, her stiffness never lessening, and her eyes continuing to stare at the empty space between her and the floor.

Derrane Frank was lying, repeated Abigail to herself. That no good daughter of a … of a man hadn't anything better to do. Derrane still hated her, still grasping the grudge since last Christmas. Father and Patrick are all right. They hadn't been shot down. They are somewhere north, still alive, still fighting.

But when Abigail looked at the dark sky that night, she discovered something that made her gasp silently and shake with fear.

The Father and Patrick stars were gone.

A call came at midnight. Abigail listened to it, still stiff. She heard Mother slipping by the door saying aloud so Abigail would hear her: "It is just too sad that I have daughter who doesn't know how to pick up a phone when's it is supposed to be picked up." Nevertheless, the ringing stopped. Mrs. Rogers had answered it.

Then a horrified scream rang across the corridors of Lunar Cottage, and Abigail hung her head and slipped into the darkest corner of her room and sobbed till sunrise.

A/N: Me again. Hope you enjoyed that. I'm loaded with homework nowadays and I can only write a chapter a week (kinda shows how stressful school can be!). So please be patient. Anyway, thanks again for the reviews (and don't stop!)