I paused when I saw the feather on the ground, propped up by the rocks. “Daddy? Is Momma OK?” I brushed the hair from my eyes, and looked at the clouds. “She’s safe up there, isn’t she?”
Daddy knelt beside me, “Yes, Abbey. Momma’s safe.” He picked up the feather.
“Is it from an Angel, Daddy?”
“I don’t know, Abbey. I can’t tell.” He held the feather out, stared at it, and then looked at two seagulls as they flew by, right along the beach. “But I don’t think so.” He pointed at the gulls. “I think it’s from a seagull.”
I nodded, slowly. “Is Momma in the fight, Daddy? Do you know?”
Daddy smiled. “I don’t know. I’m sure she’d let us know if she was.”
I took the feather from him. It was soft, like my shirt, but softer. And so smooth. I couldn’t feel any bumps on it. And I’d never realized how light feathers were. I ran my fingers across its length, “But how do Angels talk to us?”
He nodded, and watched the ocean waves a moment, as if searching for something he’d lost. “They can talk, you know.” Daddy took my hand, “Just like we do.”
“Angels can talk?”
“Oh, yes. They can. They talk among themselves all the time.” With me still holding the feather, we resumed our walk along the ocean. “But they don’t talk to people so much.”
I squeezed my Daddy’s hand, “How can you tell if you’ve heard an Angel?”
He didn’t answer for a while, as we walked along, and all I heard was the ocean, and the seagulls. Until I answered for him. “Is that what that small voice is?”
“Yes, Daddy. That small voice. The one that’s always right.”
Even his eyes smiled. “Yes, I do think it is.”
“That small voice no one listens to. You know. The one that tells you to do your homework, or put the dishes in the sink, or make your bed. That one.”
He nodded, “The same one that tells me, turn here, instead of going straight when I’m driving?”
I bounced up and down, “Yes, Daddy! Yes! That voice.”
Daddy picked me up, and carried me as we walked. “Yes, Abbey. That voice.”
I held the feather out. “So, Momma talks to me every day, doesn’t she?”
Daddy nodded, and I promised to listen more to Momma. She was, after all, an Angel. And they know how to stay out of trouble really well, don’t they.
Miranda Kate‘s weekly short fiction challenge is in it’s 7th week. You can read about the challenge here. I’ve enjoyed writing for it every week so far. I never know what’s going to happen when I start to write. I just have to get out of my way, and let the story happen. Please, go read her short tale this week, and any others that show up.