A fat droplet of unusually chilly rain ran down the front of fifteen year old Phoebe Wren’s freckled nose, and plopped miserably on to the left toe of her best shiny black shoes. As she stared disbelievingly into the dark rain soaked fissure which now contained the coffins of her mother and father, the stark realisation that her life had been changed forever weighed heavily on Phoebe – gone were the happy, sunny days chasing Bushman rabbits across the dusty plains of Johannesburg, or splashing in the town’s open air pool with her parents and their friends. Those wonderful, carefree days were resigned to history, gone forever, and she was all too aware that no amount of lamenting would ever bring them back. As more black rain clouds gathered overhead, nature mirrored Phoebe’s mood and the sky seemed to weep with her on this darkest of days. Phoebe blinked back the hot tears which threatened to overflow again and taking one last stunned look at the brass plaques announcing ‘Eva Wren’ and ‘Jack Wren’, she turned and took the hand of her best friend Ella Quill, as they slowly walked away from the graveside and everything Phoebe had ever known.
It was a bright, sunny Thursday, and the ever meticulous Eva Wren was rushing around the house, checking for the hundredth time that the windows were tightly closed, the lights were all switched off, and there were no wayward books or shoes scattered on the now bare wooden floors.
“Come on Phoebe, we’ll miss our flight if you don’t get a move on!” Eva’s green eyes twinkled as she playfully reprimanded her daughter. Educated to the highest standard, Eva Wren the surgeon was professional and efficient to a fault, but when she was at home with her beloved family, she always had time for fun, and her silly, mischievous side was only ever just below the surface.
“Oh we wouldn’t want to forget anything, Mum. Maybe you had better check just once more..?!” Phoebe was as excited about the family’s imminent move back to Ireland as her mother, and they grinned at each other as they surveyed the empty house one last time… BEEEEEEP!! Jack Wren, Phoebe’s father, sounded the horn of the family’s Jeep as he waited impatiently for his wife and daughter to lock up the house and join him.
“Come on you two!” he shouted, his tanned arm waving manically out of the open Jeep window. “We really do need to move you know!”
Phoebe beamed a happy smile of expectation as Eva closed the door on their African home of ten years. The mother and daughter caught hands as they crossed the fenced-in yard to their blue Jeep, which was sparkling in the early sun.
“It’s going to be great, Dad,” Phoebe enthused as she climbed into the back seat. “I can’t wait to see Ireland again – it’ll be such an adventure! It’s been so long since we left that I can barely remember it though. What age was I when we left? Four or five?” Jack nodded and smiled fondly at the excitable teenager.
Eva got into the Jeep’s front passenger seat beside her husband and winked at him as she buckled her seatbelt. “All these years… and still no patience!” she teased, lovingly patting his arm. Jack smiled and shook his head – his wife always had a way of making him relax.
“Yes,” he concurred, “We have been really blessed these last ten years. I guess there must be Someone looking out for us.” He smiled lovingly at his wife, aware of just how blessed they really were, then pushed the gear lever into drive, as the Jeep rumbled to life and the family pulled on to the town’s main road. Phoebe watched as the home she had grown up in shrank into the skyline, and felt a quick pang of sadness despite her excitement – this place held happy memories, good memories, and she would miss the life she had known. Still, she had a feeling that life in Ireland would prove to be every bit as wonderful, and she really couldn’t wait to catch up with Ella Quill, the best friend she had left behind a decade and a million miles ago.
Unseen by the departing family, a formidable group of ethereal Beings had congregated outside the Wrens’ home.
“Neam, you and Trean stay with the Wrens – stick close, they will need your protection, the Enemy knows what it means for him if they reach Ireland…”
Cosain, an imposing warrior angel and the formidable Captain of the Heavenly Host, stood almost eight feet tall, his chiselled features resolute, powerful wings unfurled as he spoke to his angelic brothers in arms.
“Solas, Dilis, Lasair and Croga – come with me. We have work to do here before we too leave for Ireland.”
“Yes, Commander,” answered Neam.
And with an unseen blaze of colour and light, and an elegance that belied their imposing stature, the angelic troops took to the sky and were gone.