A/N: Hullo! I've finally gotten rid of all my homework (hooray!) and this is the result! ^_^. It's a bit short, but I'll try to make it longer in the future chapters, so you people will bore your eyes out when you read them :P. Thanks for reviewing (really, I love you guys!)
Merky: Glad that you like my story. And guess what? There IS a letter from Fillan this time! Hope you'll enjoy it!
Gueck Thea: I like Fillan too! J Maybe I should kill him too - to make the story more tragic !_!
Christine: I dunno if I want people to know they're engaged….. that would not be fun! But yeah, I know it's a bit frustrating that nobody knows about it! Just wait and see. Have fun in the meantime!
Mrs. Rogers lay sick on her bed for weeks. This new worry, plus the previous ones, pressed upon Abigail so badly that she felt there was no way she was ever going to survive. But survive she did, and when Fillan's letter arrived a week after that, she felt her heart getting slightly lighter, for she had expected someone to call and tell her Fillan West too, was shot dead.
'I saw him die, Abigail. I saw Patrick die', wrote Fillan, whose letters had once been so light and mischievous now held neither traits. 'He was right beside me. Just over at my left, shooting and yelling away - and suddenly, he was down on the muddy ground. He was muttering your name, and your mother's….. and I told him.'
'I told him we were engaged.'
'He looked shocked at first, and I thought I had killed him for sure (somehow, I do not think being shot down and being shocked mix well together) ….. but then he smiled and told me he had suspected it all along.'
'Then he slipped away.'
'It was… indescribable…. seeing your best friend of fifteen years die…. I pray you will never experience such a thing, Abigail.'
'I hope you're coping well with everything. This is hard on you, but whatever happens, please take GOOD care of yourself. I know a soldier whose fiancé starved herself to death when her uncle died at battle. Please feed yourself well.'
'Is your mother all right? Tell her Mr. Rogers died a very easy death, not as how people have exaggerated. He wasn't shot down, he wasn't captured and murdered (this is what you were told, wasn't it?). He didn't suffer. He died quietly and peacefully.'
'And yes, both Patrick and I were by his bedside.'
'Take care now, and hold on to your senses - a girl had jumped from a cliff when she found out her cousin had been shot, and another one placed her house on fire and was burned to death after she received a call - someone in her family must've had a tragedy.'
'What I am trying to say is: Don't be stupid.'
'I need you.'
'If you ever get those dark moments such as I have, Abigail, then think of me - and live for me, as how I live for you.'
'Yours only, Fillan.'
*
All week long Lunar Cottage was flooded with sympathetic visitors. Mrs. Hunberg came with Georgia and James, who ran after McKitty as soon as he stepped foot into the grounds. Mrs. Trent and Wendy came too, although they weren't much help for they'd listed down why it was good of Mr. Rogers to go - "Why, Martha dear, he has experienced enough to last him forever", "Oh, Martha, it is time he goes. Perhaps it is for the better. Perhaps something horrible was in his path, and the al-Mighty decided to save him before it occurred" - to which Mrs. Rogers burst crying and howled on for ages.
Wendy too, had attempted to comfort Abigail - and would have succeeded if she hadn't added: "My, I am glad Robert didn't go and get shot dead."
Even Mrs. Gardion, the village's busiest busybody, found time to come over and stay for tea, all the while muttering things such as: "It is a relief that that Patrick of yours isn't here to make more trouble, Martha, like when he tripped over my foot and twisted it ten years ago" "My, don't you wish you had pushed Arthur to go to church more often, Martha? I suppose you would want to push this Abigail here too? Before she too, goes dead?"
Mrs. Rogers acted deaf and snuggled deeper into her quilt, and Abigail somehow managed to slip out more than one sarcastic comment every time Mrs. Gardion spoke to or of her. Soon, she annoyed Mrs. Gardion out of the house and out of her life - for Mrs. Gardion never spoke to her or dropped by after that.
One evening, Abigail had seen Derrane walk down the lane towards Lunar Cottage, and her heart skipped a beat. The last time Derrane had done so, Abigail had screamed at her, and she regretted it.
But when Derrane saw Abigail standing over at the front porch, she hesitated and then quickly spun around and headed the opposite way, going furiously red. Forgetting the existence of pride, Abigail ran after her, looking absurdly funny as she hastily pulled her skirt up and held it.
"Derrane! Derrane! Wait!"
Derrane turned to halt and twirled around nervously. She had wanted to go and see how Abigail was doing, and then had remembered at the very last second that Abigail and she weren't on visiting terms with each other.
Abigail stopped and struggled to breathe furiously. "Tell me -" she panted heavily, holding up a hand in the air. "Tell me more about your dream, Derrane."
Derrane's eyes widened. "M-my dream?"
"Yes, your dream. What else did Patrick say? How did he look like?"
"He- he didn't say much," Derrane struggled to keep herself still. "He said his time had come. Said he had done as much as he could. That he knew your sacred secret…. Wished you luck, I think. Your father was right behind him.." Derrane saw Abigail flinch. "Did they die at the same time?"
"No." Abigail answered, apparently toneless. "Father died first. He wasn't shot dead. He died quietly. Patrick got shot hours after that."
Derrane nodded.
They stared at each other for a few moments, half expecting the other one to yell out and say: "Let's be friends again!" But then Abigail's pride returned to her and-
"Thank you." She said curtly.
Derrane's brows joined together in a slight frown. "Whatever for?"
"For preparing me for the worst." answered Abigail simply. Then she turned and walked away.
*
The next few weeks saw Mrs. Rogers' health failing her. At nights her sobs filled the eerie emptiness of the atmosphere, and in the mornings, it was nothing unusual to see her eyes red and bulging.
Most of her time was spent in bed, worrying and fretting and mourning. Abigail often watched her mother eat breakfast on the bed from her bedside, and wondered silently what was troubling her mother? Abigail had painfully gotten used to the fact that Patrick and Father had gone and won't be coming back. Hadn't Mother got used to it? Perhaps it's much harder to accept when it is your husband and son, rather than if it's your father and brother?
As fate would have had it, Mrs. Rogers passed away in the still July evening, so quietly that Abigail didn't notice it until she poked her head into the room to ask if Mother wanted anything and turned blue at the sight of her grey face.
Abigail didn't cry, and neither did she scream. It was as if she had had enough of crying and screaming, and only wanted to watch someone else die without saying a word. And of all people, it had to be Mother.
Everything that happened after that - Mrs. Hunberg and Georgia arriving in the middle of the night after receiving Abigail's call - the small funeral held for the memory of Martha Rogers, attended only by the three of them, Abigail, Georgia and Mrs. Hunberg - the frequent calls that came pouring into Lunar Cottage - Georgia coming over in the evenings and staring at Abigail from the corner of her eyes, as if expecting her to burst crying or reveal a speck of emotion (for Abigail had been unusually flat and emotionless ever since that night) - were only a mere daze.
That fortnight, Abigail received a call she had been expecting - and dreading - from Aunt Margaret, who lived over harbour and rarely visited unless it was important enough to fit her standards. "Is that you, Abigail?" croaked Aunt Margaret over the phone as Abigail stared emptily at the walls ahead. "Now, dear. Don't you be sad now. I am here to save you. Do pack your bags this very night - Ernie, the caretaker will be picking you up at noon tomorrow. Abigail? Abigail? Are you listening?"
"… Yes."
"My, it is horrible isn't it? These things happening to such little girls like you. Now, now. Everything will be all right once you come to my mansion. Come now. I will see you tomorrow. Is that clear, Abigail?"
"Yes."
"Very well. I will see you tomorrow then. Goodbye."
Abigail placed the receiver down and found her way to the nearest seat, her face as blank as ever, but with blotches of red on the cheeks. Aunt Margaret had called - had ordered her to come and stay over, in fact. And hadn't even bothered to ask for Abigail's opinion or agreement, come to that.
But at least she had called. And had offered a home.
Of course, Lunar Cottage was home. It will always be her home. But Abigail felt she couldn't live there anymore, what with ghostly figures of Father and Mother and Patrick popping up in every corner that she turned to. They made her feel queasy, made her feel as if she should be a ghostly figure too, and go get drowned.
But worst of all, it made her feel alone. And Abigail Rogers isn't used to being alone.
*
The next morning came faster than Abigail would wish for. It seemed as if it wasn't more than a minute after Abigail had finished packing and laid her head on her pillow that the sun was already hovering over the eastern side.
She was done packing now. Her room stood empty and dull as she dragged her luggage downstairs. Lunar Cottage was quieter than it had ever been, interrupted frequently by McKitty's lazy purrs as he snuggled deep into a pincushion and watched Abigail huffing and puffing all over the house.
Lastly, when everything was done and double-checked, and the sun was reaching just over her head, Abigail stepped inside and walked to every crook and corner of the house, deep in thought, stopping sometimes to stare at things that reminded her of whatever they remind her of. Then the sound of Ernie Cognate yelling at the top of his lungs for her - "Oi! Abigail! Good Scott, we dun have all day!" - startled the poor damsel and she walked back out, somehow determinedly.
Well, she's leaving Lunar Cottage now - with its beauty and charm and fond memories - perhaps she will come back, perhaps she won't. And McKitty - that poor thing hadn't an idea of what is happening, thought Abigail with a spark of amusement, pray that blessed thing will be fine here, Aunt Margaret would never agree to him.
Ernie loaded everything up and hastily settled himself beside Abigail. "You sure you ain't leavin' anything behind, young Miss Rogers?"
Abigail looked at him solemnly. "I'm leaving everything behind, Ernie."
Ernie simply nodded, although he hadn't understood a word 'young Miss Rogers' had said. "Giddy up, boys!" he yelled to the brown and black horses.
The rounded the curve and into a long road twisting around the shore. Abigail caught a glimpse of the Deserted Tower and her heart sank miserably.
She was leaving Deserted Tower.
And she was just as close as to leaving Fillan.
Abigail grimaced. But she had thought long of it ever since Aunt Margaret called. She was leaving Hoofburg, unknown. Nobody will know where she had gone to - maybe they would even think she had gone mad and jumped into a well. But whatever it is, Fillan didn't need to know - Abigail was sure no one would write to him about her. They won't think she is of any Fillan's concern.
Maybe she would see him again someday… and maybe she won't.
Abigail shook her head furiously. She was about to start a new life now. And if Fillan West would please stop intruding her thoughts, it would-
Abigail's eyes widened.
Derrane Frank was standing at the side, apparently walking home. Her head snapped up at the sight of Abigail in a carriage with a stranger and half-a-dozen bags in the cart and her mouth dropped open.
Abigail looked back at her, mouth wide open as well. Ernie, who didn't realise what was taking place over his left, patted the horses' lean backs and yelled: "Giddy up, boys! That's it!" and happily went past Derrane, who watched the carriage like one dazed.
Abigail frowned helplessly. She hadn't expected this at all.
"Goodbye Derrane." She called out softly. Derrane's hand flew to her mouth. Abigail turned around and looked straight at the road and felt the crazy urge to look back at Derrane and possibly jump off the carriage to run over and hug her.
But instead, she focused her attention on Ernie's whistling.
