Transformation: The Hidden Mystery

By Ewanga Sakwe

An incredible and fascinating journey of a boy Kenzie, who was indoctrinated to maintain his aristocratic childhood. He was further brainwashed by his friends, and accordingly, he became an active gang member with extremist ideology.

He inherited much wealth from his parents and grandparents, and he happened to set up successful multimillion companies. Family feuds ripped them apart when his only daughter, Anna defied his philosophies, failed to boss his companies and had a child out of wedlock.

Tormented by succession of calamities, he’s determined to keep up the dogma that had brought him too much pain. Thus, he made an advanced directive to his attorney, a true reflection of his disturbed conscience.

This novel is a fantastic and an inconceivable revolution.

‘Will Kenzie’s life experiences result to a transformation?’

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legend Press
• Release date: Apr 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781787197619

Book preview

Transformation:

The Hidden Mystery

EWANGA SAKWE

Published by New Generation Publishing in 2018

Copyright © Ewanga Sakwe 2018

First Edition

The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

www.newgeneration-publishing.com

Kudos for: Transformation:

The hidden mystery.

A fast-paced, interesting story through the generations of one family, with a thought provoking twist

Wendy Pritchard.

Sensationally gripping tensed and extravagantly entertaining. Ewanga’s masterful mastery of story- telling is extraordinary. The reader finds him/herself gasping for breath as the plot twist and cascades to the point of arm chair satisfaction. The story outline is clear and simple, the plot develops from page to page –until the reader is left bemused and thoroughly entertained. What a book!

Rev. Jones Ebot Ayuk.

The transformation, by Ewanga Sakwe: A story line of racism, romance, joy, sadness and ideological mutation skilfully narrated by the author. It is a must read!

Justice Chief Sakwe Martin. E.

A novel crossing generations, prejudices and taboos, whilst Pondering self-reflection and underlying stamp of God the Almighty and his enemy. Be ready for an abhorrent emotional ride with shocking truths and twist to life.

Carol Truby.

This book is a must read! The suspense of the story keeps you wanting to savour till the last line. The fascinating story line, is a great contribution to the literary world. Kudos to the Ewanga Sakwe.

Rev. Dr Perpetua Fonki

The experience that this beautifully crafted literary work of art paints is what could happen to those you desire that a stronger force penetrates into their being. In a world divided into zones between the haves and have-nots, poor and the rich, humble and aristocratic, one must be confronted with strong winds of transformation. True to the title, transformation is a perfect hidden mystery. True transformation warrants us to embrace the mightiness of God. Our present situation may be so enchanting. But Kenzie experiences what each one of us needs. A self- surrender of all ego and be converted into a new being. It is a revolution and a powerful reminder of the force of God. Spoilt as each one may be in their upbringing, there is a need for a second chance to turn to the truth of life. God is king.

Rev. Elangwe Namaya.

A message for today when wealth, power and prejudice destroy families and nations in the world that God wants to be as one. The writer cleverly shows that when all is said and done there is just one thing that matters- we are all the same and depend upon one another. A good read with an unexpected twist in the tail.

Martyn Bradley

Transformation: The Hidden Mystery, captures a family profoundly battered and buffeted by class, wealth, tragedy and hidden truths. It is a superb novel with plenty of life lessons. Strongly recommended for big screen to ensure the story reaches a wider audience.

Olive Kepe.

Magnificent, self-reflective piece of fiction that provides much more than entertainment--- Ewanga Sakwe is a brilliant storyteller. Transformation reflects everyday life and current thinking.

Patience Nkelle.

Realistic depiction of the human mind- easily brainwashed---. Transformation has helped examine, question and enrich our understanding of society.

Jane Bilap.

The book Transformation: The hidden mystery by Ewanga Sakwe is an amazing effort. Through the characters and events, which she describes in graphic details, the reader gets an insight into the writers rich moral psychological and spiritual ideas. Ewanga 's book has the hallmark of a promising writer. It is a must read.

Rev. Father Lucas Ngwa.

Myriad themes run through this novel. One is the powerful role of brainwash. It depicts a philosophy of a community that promotes: propaganda, divisiveness and hate towards humankind. Kenzie had endured years of conflicting views, but later realised the damage brainwash has impacted his entire life. Transformation: The Hidden Mystery, is a master story for every family. This novel is a self-reflective piece that challenges all of us. Well done!

Veronica Mande.

An expressive, candid, sensible and affectionate novel. It portrays an extensive ordeal through Kenzie’s experiences and shared by his wife and daughter. The novel transcends the pain and loss of a family, but it also turns out to be a transformation and an inspiration.

Tessa Malike.

Wow...!!! What a labour of love! The conviction and commitment absolutely radiate through its pages. God bless you on such a major undertaking and such an investment of time...and well done!!

Dave Ryder

For:

Mum and Dad. Your Souls Live Forever...

My Cherished Husband & Children.

PREFACE

If literary pundits were looking for a place which was most likely to produce some new ground – breaking piece of literature, it definitely wouldn’t have been Cameroon. Surprisingly out of that seemingly barren terrain, comes a brand new work that is entertaining and soul searching.

Transformation;The Hidden Mystery is a compelling story about change. It is the tortuous journey of Kenzie. From his aristocratic antecedents, he lands on a group of wild friends with extremist beliefs on how to change society. He rises to become the leader of this rebellious group and eventually begins to discover the folly and futility of their raw idealism. Kenzie had inherited a rich estate from his grandparents, which he uses to build a massive business empire

Then all hell broke loose. A combination of family feuds, envy, betrayals, red tape etc shakes the very foundation of his existence, tearing him apart from his only daughter Anna. Tempted and tried, Kenzie stands firm against his adversaries. These prevailing vicissitudes not withstanding Kenzie refuse to give up and stubbornly holds on to his childhood values. Eventually Kenzie survives the storm and finds himself riding high on the crest of success. Conscience is the greatest judge of the human soul. Thus, under the constant prodding of his conscience Kenzie sued for peace with friends and foe. But it was not until he made a full confession did he find genuine rest and peace.

To transform is to make a visible change in one’s outward life or in his inner being. Transformation leads to a drastic change of character. Families have been torn apart because people have rejected the still small voice that speaks to reorient their direction on the gruelling journey of life. Best friends have been ripped apart because, the love of wealth and property has overwhelmed the transformative power of the soul. Some prominent business men have lost all respect in society because they rejected the clarion call to transformation and made themselves hand – maidens of the devil. Let the young people, especially those in diaspora, who are sitting on the ashes of their shattered dreams know that all is not lost. With hard work, proper focus, a humble heart and faith in God, they too can overcome those huge mountains of despair on their horizons.

This book demonstrates that where there’s a will, there’s a way. God can make a way even where it seems impossible from human eyes.

Transformation: The Hidden Mystery is a nice story, well-conceived and beautifully crafted. Ewanga Sakwe has a huge talent that still needs to be tapped. With a biographical insight, she has created a character, which many can identify with. Ewanga, has a sharp pen, a critical mind and a huge reservoir of wisdom. Her style is lovely and her prose is fascinating. The world is still anxiously waiting to usher in their new literary comer, Ewanga Sakwe. She writes with the candour of an intellectual and a deep concern born out of her motherly instincts.

Married to a highly respected clergy – Man of the Presbyterian Church in Cameroon, now serving in the Methodist Church of Great Britain, Ewanga and Edward Sakwe have 3 nice children.

Very Rev. Dr. Nyansako – Ni – Nku

•   Moderator Emeritus, Presbyterian Church in Cameroon (PCC)

•   Former President, All – Africa Conference of Churches (AACC)

Acknowledgement

I would like to express my gratitude to the Rt, Rev, Dr Nyasoko-Ni-Nku, Moderator Emeritus- of the PCC in Cameroon for his reflection on this novel. Besides, his decision to appoint my husband, Rev Edward Sakwe on secondment to the Methodist Church in the United Kingdom. His virtuous deeds had helped to open many doors for my family and several others in Cameroon and globally. My family join me to say, we didn’t take your kindness for granted, we are grateful.

My sincere appreciation for my mother, daughter, sister and friend, Lucella Kepe, and husband Dauda Swaray. They worked tirelessly to print the entire manuscript, this helped to facilitate my proofreading. Also, whilst spending time at your home, you showered me with love, attention, and comfort. At times when you realised that I was experiencing low mood, you patiently toured me around Minnesota’s country fields a therapeutic environment, given me the opportunity to calm down and reflect on my writings.

Dr. Leonard Nyadong & his wife, Mrs Odilia Nwancha in Oklahoma, I give you a standing ovation for driving five hours to pick me from Chickasha and to be your guest in your beautiful home, even though you never knew me. I spent those quiet days to write some chapters. It gladdens my heart to know that there are some good people in this world, who are prepared to sacrifice everything for others, I would say you are an exceptional family. I extend my gratefulness to Jacqueline Yufeh, my childhood friend, who responded spontaneously to my call for help and facilitated the connection.

I wish to present my special thanks to Njungwa Susankembling Oben, also a novelist, whose advise has helped me to finalise this project in 2017.

Irene N and Caryl Leese my editors, I whole-heartedly express that your professional advice and assistance in polishing the manuscript proved to be a landmark effort towards the success of my project.

To the members of the Methodist Churches in Chadsmoor and Hednesford, under the pastoral oversight of my husband, I send my gratefulness to all of you for your fervent prayers and support when I was very poorly. Without your intercessions, I wouldn’t be here today to complete this project. Moreover, your support to my entire family has been tremendous, my family joined me to thank you.

My daughter Jemea Jung-Su, whose insights into psychology helped with the pseudonym names used, it helped to polish and breathe life into my characters. Although, some of the names are weird, I used them anyway because it’s part of your imaginative cognition. I salute your effort.

Author’s Reflection

The air we breathe is made up of Colourless gases, it surrounds planet earth like a blanket and it’s beyond any human eyes to perceive.

Air is also the most essential element of all living organisms, and it is also a natural virtue on earth which sustains life. Consequently, without air nobody will exist.

That’s why the power of God is awesome, He made its availability infinite, untainted and its circulation free to all nations.

Therefore, no Race, Elites, Noble, Country, Religion or Kingdom has the Authority to Reserve or Contain it Exclusively for their own purposes, Otherwise, it would have been used as a Weapon to Extinct Certain Category of People in this World.

Transformation:

The Hidden Mystery

ONE

QUENTON COTTAGE

An ancient architectural structure built in 1856, it stood isolated with a large sweeping rooftop and supported by three to four columns of internal poles. This outlay made it look patchy at first glance. The gateway at the rear opened into a large hall and the stairway led to the living room adjacent to the six bedrooms. The large window in the lounge gave us a glimpse of the porches that led to the rectangular farmyard.

The steep hills were beautifully laid out and the field blessed with animals of varied species. The farm was approximately 100 to 200 acres. As the years progressed with increased stock on the farm, my parents acquired more land. The village was small and sparsely populated and was crystal clear at nightfall. The light that popped out from each house was dotted and looked very faint when viewed from another house. Locals knew each other’s name and the children were very few too.

Chimneys were uncommon at the ancient building, and as a result, the smoke from the central fire made the house very warm as it filtered through the thatched roof. The paintings and portraits on the ancient cupboard made the house look bright. At times, I had wondered all day who those people were and why they had not called at ours for a visit.

‘Kenzie! Kenzie!’ I heard, then glanced at the ancient wall clock half-awake, I saw hazily its minute hand appeared to be at 12 and the hour hand at 4, 4am? No way, I can’t wake up so early. At least 6am? Yes, it would have been better. I turned quickly to face the wall away from the beam of the bright morning light that intruded.

It was a pain to accompany my parents to the fields where the cattle were fed and watched after against an intruder. Hence, I hated the mornings and particularly the evenings. As I fell asleep again and started to snore, my feet suddenly felt chilled. I woke up and saw my mother standing over me, fixed like a portrait on a billboard. I pulled in my feet, held my blanket tighter and closer.

‘Wake up!’ she squawked. ‘We’ve got to hurry; it’s 6.30am and we are late to feed the animals.’

I wondered why God gave me parents such as mine, I asked aloud: ‘Why this type of parents? Why are they too old, ancient, and poor? Why do they often dress funny, even when it is Sunday, formal occasions or when they came to pick me from school?’

Jamar, my friend, had parents who were younger and radiant. His Mum wore suits or long dresses with designs that puffed out like pigeon breast over her narrow waist. Her skirts were equally long, with trajectories of embroidery at the hem, and would brush the floor as she walked along. His Dad wore a tuxedo and suit for most formal and semi-formal occasions. He had so many of such outfits that at every occasion he wore a different one. My parents dressed in the same outfit on almost all occasions. Sad! I wished God could change my parents.

‘Neena!’ my father roared with a voice like thunder. ‘What are you doing? We are late… don’t let that boy delay us, let’s go.’

‘OK, Salver, I will be there in a minute, just waiting for Kenzie to dress up.’

We headed to the farm to feed the animals. I could have disliked the early morning chores at the farm, but strangely enough, I seemed to enjoy it. Running around the field chasing the animals, seemed to be my only source of distraction. I had no friends apart from Jamar and Divvy. We met mostly at school, nothing beyond, not even at birthday parties, because it was never celebrated.

A portrait of me when I was a year old dangled on the wall, with a single candle burning, biscuits and some sweets scattered around the wooden plate. Another picture showed some adults and children I could barely recognise. I never had the courage to ask my parents who these people were and their current whereabouts. One could get a slap just by asking, so I avoided the question.

It was the year of 1940 and there were no traces of photos about indicating further birthday celebrations and on the 21 of October I would be 10 years old.

‘Salver!’ my Mum bellowed at the other end of the farm, whose voice could be heard as it echoed at a distance. ‘It’s getting dark, it’s time to go home, and I need to prepare supper.’

‘Yes, I heard you. I will be coming in a minute,’ my Dad re-joined.

He turned to me, ‘Hmm, your mum is rowdy, she wants things done her way.’

I smiled cunningly as I had always enjoyed when they argued. At times, I was the centre of their fight. ‘You give this child too much attention, you are spoiling him,’ Mum stated.

‘What do you want me to do, he is our only child,’ Dad would nit-pick.

Why stress on only child? I wondered aloud as the words echoed in my head. What of those photos of other children that were hung on the wall? I had questioned, and it was sad that they had never talked about those children and none had ever visited.

TWO

LONELY

22 June first week in the summer holiday, I woke up 7am, but lay on my bed. Thank God Mum would no longer wake me early for no longer wake me early for school or to go to the farm every morning. She had been suffering from a joint disorder that caused mild to severe inflammation, stiffness, and pain. It limited her flexibility and movement and she shrieked with pain each time she tried to lift an object. It was becoming emotionally traumatising to see her live through this tough pain; this also affected her daily chores. I was livid, as we had to rely on bread as our hot meals became scarce. My father was devastated because Mum had lost almost all her energy and skills.

Dad employed Gabriel, Sojah, AJ and a few more to work on the farm. Gabriel was a tall, broad shouldered guy like a boxer with high cheekbones. He had a firmly built structure like a knight with strong arms that looked like those which could rescue anyone. I beamed with joy that he would protect me from the wild dogs that used to attack or chase me. He was undeniably a true gentleman with a pleasant and respectable persona. Only his outfit let him down, as it was ripped, and parts of his lower body were left exposed. He had no proper shoes but rain boots. Gabriel had the looks of the guy who publishers would scramble to affix on the cover of a romance novel or vogue magazine.

‘Gabriel,’ Dad called, ‘you will head my business and be in charge of all the workers.’

Dad had become demotivated as Mum’s health deteriorated day by day. I had had less to do on the farm since Dad employed workers, I was lonely, I had nowhere to go for holiday. Mum and Dad never told me about our family history. A day for me would be to spend time in the field to chase the animals and to ride on the horse till sunset.

‘Come on! Soon it will be bedtime, it is time to go home, and your parents will be waiting for you,’ Gabriel would stress.

Sometimes the thought of going to bed scared me more than my worries of being lonely. Leading to the corridor, stood a large picture of my grandfather. His thick black moustache and big eyes always gazed at me each time I walked through the alleyway to my bedroom upstairs.

One day I saw the photo had moved and granddad appeared to have opened his mouth. I screamed as I ran upstairs quaked with fright. I was so petrified that I wet myself. My father must have heard me scream and he ran to me.

‘Kenzie, what is the matter, have you gone mad?’ Confused, I stammered as I struggled to find my words.

‘Nothing, Dad, I was just singing,’ I lied, to avoid a situation where my response might be considered offensive and incomprehensible.

I lay on my bed thinking, why does granddad’s photo always frighten me each time I glance at it? There must be something I can do to stop this? Cover it with something like a piece of cloth or better still take it away from the stairway? No! Either steps would be enough to make my parents furious because they adored this photo and it seemed to be the only image they had of him.

Wia was my granddad’s name. It took me some years to figure out if he was my paternal or maternal granddad. My parents had profound respect for him, which was the reason his photo was in a strategic position.

I saw my parents several times utter words to granddad’s image in a way one could be convinced was a proper conversation between two living people. A glance at his photo always puts a smile on their faces. Granddad’s birthday was on the 23 of January. Each year my parents would light a candle and place fresh flowers around the picture frame. This observance was also performed at Christmas each year. I figured my granddad had died abroad during the First World War. His body was never found to enable a befitting burial and therefore our home had become his resting place. This scared the hell out of me, as I pondered about the story behind their ritual.

As we settled in the dining room for supper, Mum had managed to prepare my favourite meal of roast meat, chicken, vegetables, potatoes and rice. Only my body was present, my soul had disappeared as usual as I wondered aloud what the future held for me. How can I survive in this lonely place? I thought. Three weeks of holiday were like three years of winter. When schools were open, it was OK, as I had the chance to talk to my friends and mingled with other children. I felt like I was in prison. Divvy and Jemar were better off because they had siblings. This meant at least they had someone to play with. They also had aunts and uncles they could visit and stay with on holidays, away from this secluded vicinity. When school resumed they always returned with fresh and wonderful stories and experiences. For my part, I would replay their stories as if I was the one that made the journey. This September had been a difficult one for me. They had decided to attend a boarding school in the city. As the thought of this rampaged through my mind the more I felt like stoning my parents!

Hey! What would happen to me now that my parents were getting older? Where would I attend my secondary school? I would have liked to attend a boarding institution in the big city as it would have provided the opportunity to meet new people and make lots of friends.

Would my parents approve of this idea? Wow! How would I position my face and mouth as I communicate this proposal to them? These thoughts troubled my mind every day and I lost my appetite for food.

‘Kenzie! You are not eating, what is the matter?’ my Mum demanded.

'I don’t feel like eating, Mum. I don’t feel very well,’ I said.

‘These are your favourite traditional meals, I prepared them especially for you,’ Mum said.

'Don’t worry, Mum, I will eat tomorrow. I’m going to bed.’ I ran upstairs to my room to avoid any further conversation. I was so confused and stressed out that I could barely sleep. I could feel an increase in my pulse count as I lay still on my bed. Suddenly, I heard Mum and Dad as they talked aloud. I crept halfway downstairs, avoiding any eye contact with granddad’s picture in case it scared the living daylight out of me as was usually the case. I heard them faintly.

‘We need to invite them over this weekend, so we can discuss his future,’ Dad said.

Mum agreed. ‘Yes, you are right, we can no longer care for him, we have gotten old and he needs to attend a school in the big city. Poor child, he is very lonely here.’

Eh! What have I done? I pondered.

I found myself in search of answers as to all that they said. Though my dream was to attend a secondary school in the big city, I would not want to live with strangers. This got me more frightened than the photo of granddad.

‘I will send them an urgent letter in the morning,’ Dad reiterated in a low tone.

In a struggle to listen to their conversation, I took a further step down the staircase. It all went wrong as I tripped and ended up head faced at the bottom of the stairway. It hurt so badly, but I could not make a single sound. It would not go down well if they knew I had eavesdropped on all that had been said. I got up quickly and tiptoed into my bedroom. As I felt my face I could feel a lump on the left side of my jaw. Dad ran up the stairs to check on me, and Mum was right behind him. I had my face covered with the blanket and faked a large snore.

‘I am sure I heard a sound,’ Dad said, Mum agreed.

‘Please, let’s not forget to post the letter out to Lilly and Rowan. Is there anything you want to add?’ Mum asked.

‘No, the letter has to be in the post as a priority tomorrow,’ he responded.

Though a distance from my room, I could still hear their conversation. I had all my senses focused to my ears as I was determined to make sense out of all that they had to say about me.

THREE

LILLY & ROWAN

‘R owan, tea is ready.’ Lilly called.‘Yeah, I will be there in a moment.’

He looked dishevelled as he walked into the living room. Lilly observed: ‘You don’t seem happy, dear, what is the matter?’

‘Nay, I’m exhausted from work; it’s too much to bear.

I think I have to look for a new job,’ Rowan suggested.

‘I agree with you, too much is expected from workers, but little pay,’ Lilly remarked. ‘Do you need some snacks?’ ‘Oh yeah, that is thoughtful, some biscuit, that will do.

Hay, Lilly, please come quickly, I have just seen two people pacing up and down our street, as if they are possessed,’ Rowan said.

Lilly peeped, ‘Yeah, I can see two gentlemen at our neighbour’s opposite.’

Cathy was the neighbour. She had a pale tan complexion; her eyes were piercing sharp with a shade of blue and her eyebrows were high over the curve, which dispersed onto the bridge of her dainty nose. With plump lips and curly hair and full chest of size 34DD, she was an outstanding beauty, tall and elegant. She had two beautiful girls aged 12 and 15, and she worked part time because she looked after her disabled mother. In fact, she was so beautiful that I wouldn’t dare to stay out of sight whenever she came to visit our home for tea, in case my husband fancies her. I didn’t want to take any chances. Thus, I wasn’t surprised when she opened the door the men wobbled at her appearance.

‘Please, we are looking for Mr Rowan,’ the men stated.

She quickly pointed in our direction.

The men then knocked at our door.

‘Don’t open the door to strangers,’ Rowan advised. Lilly pulled the window blind to get a closer look at the men.

‘They are postmen, we might have mail,’ Lilly reassured. ‘Oh, in that case open the door and ask what their trouble is,’ Rowan whispered.

‘Good afternoon, Madame. Please, we are looking for one Mr Rowan. He lives at No. 13, Blue Bell Street. We've spent the past 30 minutes searching for his address. We have an urgent and registered mail. It is paramount that we deliver at the right address and to the right person,’ the postman explained.

‘I am Mrs Lillian Rowan; the number of the house was blown off by fierce winds last week. We have planned it to be replaced. Apologies for any inconvenience that this may have caused.’

‘Please sign here, as it is special delivery,’ the postman insisted.

‘Thank you. ’Lilly said.

‘It has been over a year, we have not received any letter, not to think of an emergency one,’ Lilly reflected.

‘Rowan, can you please open this letter.’

Rowan opened the letter. His hands trembled, and he screamed, ‘It’s from Quenton! From Mum and Dad!’

‘I hope they are OK. What can be the urgency of their message?’ Lilly contemplated.

He was in doubt as well, and they could only find out by reading the letter:

45 Quenton Street

Quenton farm House

Eastern Region.

Mr & Mrs Rowan

13 Blue Bell Street

Nist, S.W

23 July

My Dear Rowan and Lilly,

It has been long since we saw each other. We hope you are keeping well.

A lot has changed from the last time we met. The farm business is doing great and the animals are OK. But we are not so strong health wise. The farm is more than we can control so we have employed a lot of workers to support us. Apart from this hitch, everything is OK. We shall discuss more when you people come over. Kenzie has grown so tall and very handsome. He will be attending college in September. We would like you people to come over the weekend, so we can discuss some pertinent issues. Hope to see you soon. Love you.

Salver and Neena

We sat motionless after we read the letter. Indeed, it has been almost 10 years since we last visited Quenton. This was due to our jobs. We had also moved from one city to another, which also had a negative impact on our communication to the family back at Quenton. To have a landline was too expensive, but for the privileged few and some offices of government institutions. Hence, letters were the most used means to keep a communication between friends and families. The mail men came twice a week to deliver and collect letters. Due to our busy schedule, we were not able to send birthday cards to Kenzie. The last time we saw him was on a Christmas holiday, when he was just 2 years old.

‘I bet you he will never recognise us. I wonder how he looks, though it is mentioned in the letter that he is grown now. What of Neena and Salver, they are over 70 years old, they should be weary now?’ Rowan reflected.

‘I think, there should be tremendous changes in the farms, the countryside and its surroundings. I wonder if the population has increased. Have they built new schools or hospitals? How about the families, are they still living in the village?’ Lilly imagined. The more she thought of these things, she felt anxious to go and see for herself.

‘Lilly,’ Rowan murmured. ‘We have to prepare to travel as soon as possible. I will obtain two weeks’ emergency annual leave. You start the packing while I go to the local shop and buy some items that we shall take along.’

‘It will be quite a journey by train from Nist to Quenton Village. I reckon about six hours, with the stops and change of trains,’ Lilly