A/N: Just to let you know, I wrote this chapter when I should have been studying - so you'd better appreciate my sacrifice! L J/k. I'd go crazy if I don't write anyway. This is the seventh chapter - hope you've been enjoying it so far (cuz I have!).
Gueck Thea: What made you change your name? But never mind, I liked the previous one better, so don't mind if I call you by that, ok? ^_^. Thank you for following the story - trust me, I'd just kiss you if I could : P. Who do you like better, Mark or Fillan?
Christine: Yeah, somehow I can sense that you're fanatic about Derrane and Abigail getting together. But don't you think Abigail's ego wouldn't allow that? ^_^. I still don't know if Fillan should die or not. I mean, if he died, it would make the story much for dramatic, wouldn't it? But then again, I don't want him to die either ^_^. Anyway, just enjoy this chapter, ok?
Mark announced his departure for war the very next day, and Aunt Margaret fainted, slumping to the floor with a soft crash, making them think - for the first few minutes - that she was dead. Deborah howled and bowled and begged and stalked Mark for the rest of the day, and was annoyed that Abigail Rogers wasn't making any effort to prevent his going.
Of course, she thought haughtily, glaring at Abigail who sat on the couch transfixed as usual - she seemed caught in a strange trance these past few days. That idiot of a woman didn't care for anything but herself. Refusing Mark, indeed, when Mother had kindly asked her!
Tension rose up to its very peak. Abigail, flat and empty and lacking her soul, worked herself what seemed to be some kind of an unnoticeable suicide. In a day, twice she washed the curtains, three times she scrubbed the floor, and twice she cut vegetables two times the amount than what was needed. It wasn't nice - the maids were getting angry with her and accused her of stealing their jobs - but it helped.
Aunt Margaret, recovering from her faint, was extremely snappish. She spent her time in the bedroom, and goodness knows what goes on in there. Sometimes, in the cold winter, Abigail would hear cries and thunderous pacing from her room, and realised for once, that Aunt Margaret was human after all. But human or not, Aunt Margaret's reception to her didn't alter. She highly believed that Mark was going to war because of that frivolous Abigail - heartlessly breaking his heart like that! Now look what her poor darling took to his head!
Deborah wasn't any friendlier. She too, believed what Aunt Margaret believed, and it seemed as if the more she saw Abigail, the more she hated her. It was shocking that Abigail could still work and work as if nothing is happening! Really, Deborah thought Abigail would have had more tact! Why, she couldn't possibly work! She would cry and cry and cry till Providence stops her!
But Mark, knowing the truth behind Abigail's blank face, looked upon her with respect, admiration… and perhaps, a slight bit of resentment. So, there was another. And a lieutenant at that. If he, Mark Mist, had been a lieutenant, would Abigail have answered differently?
No news about Lieutenant Fillan West came that week and neither did it the following week - Abigail read the papers often now. She worked harder. On one silent night, Abigail had a dream. She dreamed she was standing in the middle of nowhere in particular, and there was a pole faraway. The pole exploded, and sent bits flying into the air. One huge bit landed near her and rolled quietly to her feet. Abigail looked down and froze at the sight of it - a bleeding head with familiar dark hair and enchanting green eyes looked back at her. Abigail screamed in her dream, and she screamed in her wake. Aunt Margaret came, stomping like a big version of Spot and screamed at Abigail from the hallway - "You foolish girl! What do you think you're doing, screaming in the middle of the night like that?!"
Ever since she saw Fillan's head dripping with blood looking at her with those vivid eyes in her dream, Abigail didn't dare go to sleep. She didn't have second sight - she was sure of that, but still, she wasn't going to take chances. And so, she spent the dull and quiet hours of moonlight on her knees, praying hard and furiously - for there were times when she found it hard to keep faith, even on the Almighty.
Abigail didn't kill herself. Neither did she jump from a cliff - there wasn't one in Bloomsworth, anyway - and neither did she burn The Mansion. But she died the day news of Fillan's disappearance came, and now it is as if she is merely existing.
It would break Derrane Frank's heart if she had been there to see the conditions of Abigail Rogers, whose soul was gone, along with its mirth and laughter.
*
The day of Mark's departure came, after sickening days of much pampering by Aunt Margaret and Deborah. They, including Abigail who came out of respect to the family more than anything else, were in the Bloomsworth train station at early dawn. Abigail, who had once been so sick of train stations that she was sure she would lose her top deck if she was forced to go one more time, felt particularly nothing as she stepped into the platform with Aunt Margaret and Deborah weeping shamelessly beside her and Mark, walking with a grave air but a face fixed with determination.
The station was fairly empty, except for a redheaded family, none in khaki. They looked at Mark curiously, and at the shaken bodies of Aunt Margaret and Deborah up to the stony Abigail, who stood as still as a castle's guard at one side. Their gaze somehow made Aunt Margaret and Deborah even weepier and Abigail even stonier.
"I woul' never 'ave dreamed of 'is 'appening (sob!)!" Aunt Margaret said between choked sobs. "My Ma'k! My 'arlin' Ma'k!"
Abigail scowled. For heaven's sake, she screamed at Aunt Margaret quietly, have some courage, woman! I have lost my fiancé, and your son has barely stepped on the train!
Mark looked embarrassed, and he ushered Aunt Margaret to a seat at the end of the platform, for Aunt Margaret looked as if she was about to faint again. Deborah followed suit, crying worse than a baby, and Abigail fought not to look disgusted. Deborah was pretty, Abigail agreed, but if that girl hadn't a speck of bravery in her, then Abigail didn't see anything in Deborah worth seeing!
Apparently, Mark seemed to think so too. With one look of utter helplessness at his family seated like a crumpled mess on the seat, he walked back to Abigail. "Take care of them, will you?" he spoke formally, the business-like tone which he had used in the early days of Abigail's arrival returning. "Mother wasn't this bad when Father died. She seems to take it harder than she should."
Abigail nodded absently.
"Take care of yourself too," Mark said, afterthought.
Abigail looked up, and for a fleeting moment, as she stared at the grim blue eyes of her cousin's, felt a sudden small voice in her head telling her that she had been a fool to refuse Mark Mist. After all, Fillan was as good as gone.
But no! screamed Abigail at herself, so loudly that the small voice was taken aback and didn't reply after. She didn't love Mark, and she never could marry him. Fillan was the one, and he will always be. It wasn't confirmed of his death and until that, she would wait as patiently as her patience would allow.
"Mark," she said suddenly, caught in a fiery passion that had been missing for so long. "Save him. Please save him and return him to me."
Mark's eyes turned dark. "Fillan West?"
"Yes."
There was hoot from the train, which was coming steadily through the railway. Mark's eyebrows perked up, Aunt Margaret and Deborah howled even louder and Abigail bit her lower lip in agitation. Mark turned to leave, but Abigail quickly grabbed him by the arm. "Promise me you will, Mark."
He hesitated, but nodded slowly at last. "I'll try." He walked again, but then abruptly turned around and walked back and looked at Abigail straight in the eye. "Abigail, do you remember the day Spot attacked you, and I accused you of stealing?"
Abigail hadn't any idea why Mark was bringing the fretful incident up, but she nodded, nevertheless. The memory was rather hard to drop. "I did not steal anything, Mark. I'm sorry if you find that hard to believe b-"
"Oh, but you did steal something, Abigail." Mark said solemnly. "You stole my heart."
And Abigail watched as he slid away from her and into Aunt Margaret's open arms. Soon, he was gone, the train slipped away, and Aunt Margaret fainted. Abigail helped Deborah heave Aunt Margaret's weight to where it was safe for fainting people and watched as the train vanished out of sight.
Mark will find Fillan, Abigail told herself resolutely. Fillan would come back to her. And then everything will be cleared up and she will be back in Hoofburg.
A small bit of Abigail's soul had returned to her, and it couldn't be anything else but that faint glimmer of hope that helped her through the next several months.
*
Mark wrote to Aunt Margaret and Deborah almost every week, but not once did he write to Abigail. But still she held on fast to her faith, and worked and prayed even harder.
"That Abigail Rogers," Hannah Stewart once said. "She refused Mark, so what on earth is she killing herself with all those workload for?"
Abigail had gone very thin, and she was unrecognisable for the plump, glowing maiden in her early Hoofburg days. The glow in her cheeks was gone, and her gaunt face and tired eyes looked hungry and worried. She walked alarmingly like one who might drop dead any second, and she barely talked as the winter passed and spring arrived.
Aunt Margaret, like Mrs. Rogers, stopped buying newspapers from the very day that Mark went. Too much untrue and exaggerated things, she claimed. Although Abigail agreed heartily to it, it was rather devastating knowing that now she would never find out if Fillan had been found and saved. The hours got darker, the air bleaker and her faith weaker.
"Ligh'en up, Abigail," Penny Stewart told her as she stitched an apron. "Whatever yer worryin' 'bout."
"You wouldn't say that if you were in my shoes, Penny." Abigail said solemnly.
"For Scott's sake," Penny laughed. "I won't fit into it anyways. Yer feet are too big, I'd say. I am surprised it didn't shrink along with your body, Abigail."
"I didn't shrink."
Hannah shook her head as she carefully untied a knot that had just gathered at the end of her string. "You didn't look at yourself in the mirror either, I'd say. I can only give you a three worded advice, Abigail Rogers, and it is: Eat up, woman!"
Abigail pursed her lips and decided to ignore Hannah. "Have you in any case, Hannah, came upon anything about the four missing soldiers being found in the papers?"
Hannah smiled. "No," she said empathetically. "That is the fifth time you asked me in three days, Abigail. What is it with the four soldiers that attracts you so much?"
"Nothing." Abigail lied. "I keep imagining how dreadful it must be for the people who are connected heart and soul to these soldiers. Aren't they doing anything to save these soldiers?"
"It ain't good to stretch your imagination, Abigail," Hannah sighed. "And I honestly don't care if they have done anything to save the missing soldiers."
Abigail's stomach clenched. Hannah didn't care, eh?"
"Well," Penny spoke. "If you're so worried, why don't yer join the V.A.D?"
"The what?" Abigail said before she could stop herself.
"V.A.D. Some kind of a Red Cross too, I suppose. I heard my mother talkin' 'bout it," Penny flapped the parchment of cotton. "They're all over the world and some near the battlefield, so yer can just rush over say someone gets wounded."
Abigail's mouth dropped open. Be near the battlefield? In case someone gets wounded? In case Fillan gets wounded? "Where do I sign up?"
"Oh, hush, Abigail," Hannah laughed. "Don't you know that V.A.D are only for those above nineteen?"
"I'm eighteen." Abigail said defensively, but she looked severely disappointed.
"Haven't you heard of the latest news?" Hannah continued. "Our line up north is barely holding on. I don't see how we can get out of this safe."
"Providence will find a way." Abigail stated.
"I doubt that," Penny said bravely. "He hasn't made any effort, has He?."
"Penny!" Hannah wailed.
Abigail smiled. "Sometimes, Penny," she reached out and tapped Penny's hands. "I feel it that way too."
"Abigail!" wailed Hannah again. "You two! It won't do to lose faith in the Almighty!"
"Oh, I'm not losing faith in Him, Hannah," Abigail waved a bony hand carelessly. "I just wish He would hurry up and spare us all the hurt and agony."
*
No news came. Abigail felt that it would never come and that she shall be stranded in the tangle of confusion and anticipation for the rest of her lonely life. Indeed, life was getting lonelier, although Penny and Hannah dropped in occasionally to resume their mission to fatten Abigail up.
Abigail did put on some weight, much to the delight of the two girls, but still she looked frail and weak, as though a gust of wind would be able to blow her to the ends of the world. And Penny and Hannah kept feeding her with blueberry pies so often that Abigail felt her face was turning into one!
"Oh no," groaned Abigail on one March morning as she saw Hannah making her way across the Mansion's lawn. But this time however, there wasn't a pie in sight, and Hannah's face was as flushed as a face can be.
"Oh, Abigail!" she gasped as she waded into the kitchen, where Abigail sat cutting ladyfingers. "Something heavenly just happened to me!"
"And what could it possibly be?" Abigail asked, piling the remaining ladyfingers in her hands. She lifted them up and turned to look at Hannah, who grinned from ear to ear. "Really, Hannah, you are acting strange."
"Do you know Martin Angle?"
"That red-headed boy who talks of nothing but being a lawyer?" Abigail raised an eyebrow and started making her way across the room. "Yes. Why?"
"He proposed to me last night."
Abigail tripped over her skirt and the ladyfingers went flying all over the kitchen. "Hannah Stewart!" she gasped. "And what did you say?"
Hannah looked annoyed. "I said yes, of course."
Abigail rushed to Hannah, carelessly squashing the doomed ladyfingers on the floor and pulled her into a hug. "Oh, that is wonderful! Congratulations, my dear."
Hannah beamed. "We will be marrying next week, before Martin goes off to volunteer."
"Volunteer?!" Abigail's eyes grew wide. "Oh, Hannah! Tell me he is not leaving you after you get married!"
Hannah's face altered and turned gray. "I'm afraid it is so." she said sadly. "And I have no intention of stopping him, Abigail. He has his duty to do, he has heard his call and I will support him with all my heart."
"But having to go through months and months without your husband and worrying about him! He might die and never return! Hannah, even if you don't have the intention to stop his going, don't you think it would be better if you married after the war ends?"
"Abigail," Hannah said slowly. "Don't you think it worse if I didn't marry him and he died and I never got the chance to be his wife?"
Abigail nodded miserably. How she knew! "Hannah," she whispered hoarsely. "You are such a brick."
*
"Suppose I faint in the middle of the vow?" Hannah sat upright in her kitchen and looked fearfully at Abigail and Penny and Mrs. Stewart.
"Oh, hush, Hannah!" Abigail said impatiently. "You are breaking my concentration, and next thing you know, your wedding cake would melt to pulp!" She watched the cake baking slowly in the hot oven anxiously.
Mrs. Stewart laughed. "Hannah dear, you will be just fine!" she said soothingly, and Hannah leaned back against the chair. "I am so proud of you, and Martin is such a fine young man - oh, Abigail, you can take the cake out now."
Abigail held the cake as if it was made of glass and carefully placed it on the kitchen table. She and Penny began to ice it, interrupted once in a while by Hannah, who sat idle and nervous: "Oh, what if I say the wrong thing?" "Mother, what if my veil gets stuck in my neck?" "Penny, are you sure the delicacies are all done?" "Abigail, what if I trip and land on my face?"
"Hannah!" Abigail screamed furiously as another one of Hannah's cries made her wriggle the cream a bit further than intended. "Martin won't care if you smear your face with the icing! Now please, keep quiet!"
Hannah kept silent, but still she wriggled and shivered.
The icing was completed - "Beeeeautiful!" exclaimed Mrs Stewart - and Abigail and Penny dropped into their seats in satisfaction.
Penny grinned at Hannah, who looked as if she would explode in excitement any minute now. "I happen to know that Deborah Mist had her eyes on Martin for ages, Hannah."
"She did?" Abigail asked, astounded.
"Why would she?" Hannah frowned. "He's ages older than she is! And besides, she was perfectly fine when I told her and invited her." Hannah finished with a snort.
Penny raised her shoulders. "Dunno about that. I just knew she liked him."
"I don't care," said Hannah fierily. "I will be his wife, not Deborah Mist!"
"I don't think Deborah has anything for Martin," Abigail said. "She never showed any signs of it." But nevertheless, when Abigail arrived at The Mansion and walked wearily back to her room, she heard Deborah crying and in front of her bedroom door, lay the invitation card, torn to pieces.
*
"I cannot believe that I am already Mrs. Angle!" Hannah, or rather Mrs. Angle, breathed out, her face flushed and her eyes bright.
"Congratulations again, Hannah," Abigail grinned as she took the wet bouquet of flowers Hannah held out to her. It had rained furiously, but even the bad conditions of the weather couldn't flatten down Martin and Hannah's high spirit. "Honestly, just seeing you and Martin makes me believe in love again."
Hannah laughed gaily. "Oh, and you mean to tell me that you didn't believe in it before this?"
"Oh, I did believe in it," Abigail said slowly. "But I lost faith in it some time ago."
"Pore girl," Penny purred, linking her arms around her ecstatic sister. "Love will find a way into yer life, dearie. Now, Hannah, if ya stand here any longer, I trust Martin will leave ya behind. He's already waiting impatiently by the carriage."
"Oh!" Hannah cried. A look of pure nervousness exploded on her face. "How can I thank you, Penny? Abigail? This has been the happiest day of my life! And to think that I have to leave you sweet girls now!"
"Stop blubbering, Hannah!" Penny crossed her arms. "Honestly! As if yer going forever! Now, carry on!" And the two girls left, with Hannah sobbing in happiness and Penny looking frustrated at her sister's babyish antics, leaving Abigail standing alone at the front porch.
Martin lifted Hannah into the carriage - he got in himself - the horses whined as Martin slapped their backs - the carriage surged forward - Hannah was waving furiously, tears pouring down her cheeks like the previous rain - they rounded the curve - they were gone.
There, Abigail thought satisfactorily as she walked back to The Mansion. It was a nice change to have a friend of hers going to a happily married life instead of the wet, dark trenches, for Abigail felt there would never be an end to that.
The Mansion was silent when Abigail arrived. But of course, Aunt Margaret was out doing the weekly shopping and Deborah…
Abigail frowned slightly. Deborah wasn't at the wedding ceremony, and in fact, Abigail hadn't seen her at all since last night, when she had heard her cry bitterly throughout the night. It was true, after all, that Deborah did like Martin, did want him. She was not be blamed, of course, if she had decided not to attend - that was easily understandable. But the eerie silence of the house….
If Abigail had thought the silence in The Mansion was eerie, than it was nothing compared to the sounds she heard when she entered through the front door. Spot was crouched in front of her, teeth barred and eyes twinkling menacingly. He barked.
Abigail groaned. Spot had never bothered with her ever since the day he attacked her, why now? "Go away, Spot."
Spot barked louder. Abigail felt her blood draining away from her face. "Go away!" she snapped. "Leave me alone, you bad dog! Haven't you got anything better to do?"
As if in response, Spot stood up and lunged for the ends of Abigail's skirt. Abigail screamed and tried to kick Spot away, but he held on fast and strong. "Good heavens!" Abigail yelled. "Your dinner is in the kitchen! Spot, have you gone mad? I haven't been stealing anything!"
Spot tugged her skirt, and Abigail tumbled forward, screaming frantically.
"Abigail Rogers!" Aunt Margaret came barging in through the open door, decked with bags of vegetables and smelling of dead fishes. "What is the meaning of this?" She slammed the door shut and glared at Abigail.
"It's Spot," Abigail gasped bitterly, tugging back her skirt. "He seemed to have caught on the habit of eating skirts."
Aunt Margaret turned her glare to Spot, who somehow managed to ignore it and kept on dragging Abigail by her skirt. "Oh, for heaven's sake," Aunt Margaret frowned. "Just follow him, Abigail! He's trying to lead you to something! My, you could've figured that out and not yell like a maniac, couldn't you?"
Abigail gritted her teeth. "When a dog that has once attacked you suddenly barks at you and takes hold of your skirt," she snapped. "You don't stop to think that he's probably trying to lead you to a treasure!"
Aunt Margaret glared harder. She gave Spot a soft kick. Spot released Abigail's skirt, but started barking loudly and jumped on the ends of his toes. "Now follow him." she said in such a final tone that Abigail followed Spot meekly, keeping a sure distance away so if any case Spot felt like biting her skirt again, she had time to whirl around and run for her dear life.
Spot brought them to Deborah's silent room and continued barking, thumping his paws on the mahogany door. Aunt Margaret stepped forward and knocked. "Deborah?" she called. "Deborah, dear? Are you in there? Darling?"
Deborah didn't answer, but it was the least of Abigail's care as she stared, transfixed on Spot's enormous body. "Deborah!" Aunt Margaret called again, slightly angry. "Open the door, I say! Deborah! What are you doing in there?"
Still, Deborah didn't answer.
"Abigail, dear," Aunt Margaret whispered, her face suddenly blue. "Go get the bundle of keys from the kitchen."
Abigail practically flew to the kitchen, for the thought of being away from Spot rather encouraged her. But she walked very slowly on her way back, and handed the keys to Aunt Margaret.
Aunt Margaret opened the door and stepped in. Abigail had never been in Deborah's room before, and she poked her head in curiously. The room was handsomely decorated, with thick curtains and a big drape hanging over the walls. There was a desk, made out of fine wood and the bed was left undone, its quilt dangling over one corner, and the pillows thrashed at either sides. At the other end, stood a proud cupboard, one door hanging loose, revealing a certain figure that made both Aunt Margaret and Abigail gasp in pure shock -
Deborah hung loosely in the small space, neck rounded with a thick cord of rope attached to the top of the cupboard.
"Good Lord," gasped Aunt Margaret.
There was no mistaking it -
Deborah Mist was dead.
A/N: Another person dead, but really, I don't think that's much of loss or anything, because I personally don't like Deborah anyway! : P. Anyway, just wanted to ask one thing: I already have a clear picture of the ending, and I predict that there will be another two or three chapters and then that's it. Yeah, it's a bit sad. So the big question is:
- Do you want me to end it that way ("So we can know what happened to Fillan, damn it!")?
- Or do you want me to twist the plot around again and make it longer?
Tell me, all right?
