Phoebe shook her head, perhaps in prolonged disbelief, perhaps in an effort to empty her mind of the ghoulish images she felt sure would haunt her for the rest of her life. How could it have happened? How could such a huge, strong aeroplane have fallen from the sky with so little warning and caused such devastation? Phoebe could barely fathom such a catastrophe, and yet she knew it to be true, because she had lived through it, the sole passenger to walk away from the wreckage on that fateful day. There had been no explanations forthcoming, no reasons given to help her make some sense of it all. No-one seemed able to clarify the events of July 15th in any way, and Phoebe found this almost the most difficult thing to come to terms with. Why had she survived? What was so special about her that her life had been spared when so many others perished? The influx of thoughts and wonderings made Phoebe’s head hurt, and she sighed in exasperation as she had done thousands of times since that fateful day.
“I need some air”, Phoebe thought, glancing out of the window of her bedroom in Thomas and Rose Quill’s home. She was truly grateful to the Quill family for the way in which they had taken her in. As soon as she had been physically able and mentally ready to fly again, she had returned to Ireland, and Ella and her parents had driven to meet Phoebe at the airport. Ella had run to greet her friend, tears of sympathy and disbelief and heartbreak streaming unabated down her face. There had not been much conversation during the drive from the airport back to the Quill’s home, and Phoebe had been so grateful that none had been necessary – there was an easy and instinctive understanding between them, and immediately Phoebe felt like part of the family. The Quills and the Wrens knew each other through their local church, Emmanuel Fellowship in Arles, and had been firm friends from the outset. Phoebe and Ella’s close bond of friendship had served to strengthen the link between the two families, and they had visited each other’s homes often, taking it in turns to cook for each other, or host summer barbecues, when the Irish weather permitted.
Phoebe pulled on a light summer jacket. The August sun was shining, but there was a nip in the Irish air, and she somehow found herself feeling the cold more acutely after ten years of living under the African sun. She went downstairs, out through the back door, and ventured into the sprawling back garden. The Quills seemed to live at one with nature in so many ways; their garden was unobtrusive and fitted in beautifully with the rolling Irish countryside. As she walked, Phoebe was aware of her heart beating, and consciously breathed the clean country air deep into her lungs, wondering if somehow its purity and wholesomeness would act as a balm for her broken heart. She was thankful that she was able to do this, and yet the same thankfulness made her feel guilty as she thought of her parents who never got to drink in the fresh beauty of Ireland, never got to stroll through the wild green meadows, or enjoy a reunion dinner with the Quills. Phoebe’s eyes filled again with familiar tears as she thought of her lovely daddy, Jack. He had been so looking forward to returning to work at Castletown Hospital. And precious Eva – her book would have been a best seller, Phoebe was sure of it.
Phoebe snapped back to reality, and continued to wander somewhat aimlessly out through the wrought iron back gate which lead her from the Quills’ back garden and into green fields. The vibrant green of the trees and the crisp blue of the sky was not lost on her, and Phoebe found herself beginning to say thank you… To who? Abba? She had not really given Him much thought during the weeks after the accident, and now a pang of remorse jabbed at her heart. Phoebe recalled the way in which her parents had lived their lives with the Atoner firmly at the centre, and how they had always taught her that in the Atoner, she would find everything she needed, the answers to all her questions.
“What about this, Abba?” Phoebe said out loud to no-one in particular. “Is this last month part of your plan for me? Did you mean to take my parents, or was that a mistake?”
She felt a hot tide of honest anger begin to build in her soul, and could easily have given in to a tirade of tears and accusations, but something caught her eye. Across the gently billowing grassy field, where the hedgerow ran into the forest, Phoebe saw something glimmer. Perhaps it was a tin can or a rogue piece of glass glinting in the autumnal sunshine. She saw the glint again, more pronounced this time, and curiosity got the better of her as she made her way across the field to the source of the light. As she got closer feelings of injustice and anger began to subside, and Phoebe realised that the light was not in fact the reflection of sunshine off metal, but rather seemed to be a curious funnel of light, radiating up from the forest bed, and growing in size and intensity as she approached.
Phoebe slowed her pace, a nervous fear tugging at her heart. She looked around and could see that she was entirely alone in the meadow. “Perhaps I should wait until Mr. Quill gets home, bring him out here to see this…” she wondered, aware that the little nervous knot in her stomach was tightening.
She paused, looking around her, then her eyes fixed again on the glow at the mouth of the forest. Strangely, Phoebe was very aware that her feelings of fear and dread had subsided, and had been replaced instead by a warmth and a sense of well being she could not explain, but which, to her surprise, she recognised. It was the inexplicable sensation of being protected which she had experienced in the midst of her despair at the site of the plane crash. Suddenly and instinctively, everything became clear and Phoebe knew what she had to do.