A Kiss of Adventure (29 page)

He felt again the desperation that had swept over him that night, remembered how he had turned over on his stomach and clutched two handfuls of sand. Tillie had called herself water and him sand. She had said they were on two separate paths.

“God!” The word had been wrenched aloud from his heart. “God, I want to find Tillie’s path! I’m lost. I can’t find my own way anymore. Show me the way.”

That was when her words had come to him, swirling around and through him.
“Anyone who’s lost can be found,”
she’d told him.
“Anyone who’s blind can see. Anyone who’s willing to let his old self die can be born again. All it takes is surrender.”

Looking down into Tillie’s shining eyes as she watched him now, he wondered what he had ever done to deserve her. “I was devastated. I lay there, my face in the sand, and knew I couldn’t feel any emptier. All my life, I’d relied on my wits. I’d never trusted anyone. That night in the desert, I wanted nothing more than to surrender everything and hand my life over to someone I could trust.”

“Graeme,” she whispered, and he heard the cautious excitement in her voice. “What are you saying?”

“Remember what you told me? That Jesus touched you, that his spirit lived inside you, that even when you struggled you knew God’s power was real because you could feel it? You could rely on it?” She nodded, and he saw tears glimmering in her eyes—and felt his throat constrict with sudden tears as well. “I wanted to know that for myself. So I asked God to touch me.”

He could hear those words he’d spoken echoing in his heart:
“Touch me,”
he’d murmured into the sand.
“Touch me . . . Father.”

How many years had it been since he had called anyone by that name?

“Father,”
he’d said again, and he’d felt the power in that word. For the first time in his life, he had begun to understand its true meaning. Father. In that moment, lying in the cold sand, he’d been able to let go of his earthly parent, release his bitter memories of the man who had beaten and tormented him. Instead, he’d found himself wrapping his arms around a heavenly Father who loved him, who gave up his own life for him, who wanted to embrace him as a son.

“I told God I’d done a lot of wrong things in my life,” he whispered, watching the emotions wash over Tillie’s beautiful face. “I asked him to forgive me, and I surrendered everything to him. I gave him my life,
your
life. Everything. I wanted my old self to die, to be born again, just the way you’d said, Tillie. I asked my Father to make me a new man.”

She leaned back in his arms, and he’d never seen such complete joy in anyone’s eyes before. She reached up to touch his face tenderly, and he pressed his cheek into her warm palm as he went on.

“I lay silently for a long time, feeling the breeze ripple over my skin, almost as though it were cooling and cleansing me. An incredible peace filled my heart. I asked Jesus to show me how to walk on his path, how to do his work. I asked him to touch me, fill me, teach me. I knew, without a doubt, that the great Creator of the universe loved me. That no one is ever abandoned by God. And for the first time in my life, I understood the meaning of faith.” He paused, smiling at the woman who watched him with such wonder, and shrugged slightly. “That’s how it happened, Tillie-girl. That’s how I found my heavenly Father.”

Tillie stood there, her heart overflowing with praise to God, feeling the warm tears run down her face.

“I’m so glad for you,” she whispered, struggling for control. Joy swept through her, filling the places that had seemed dead only hours ago.

“I’m on God’s path,” Graeme said, his voice strong and sure. “Though I’m a long way behind you.” He lifted his head and smiled. “But I’m a quick learner.”

She turned the beaded ring on her left hand. “When I thought you were dead, I didn’t see how I could go on. Something made me keep going through the motions. I took the notes from Mungo Park’s hat and figured out Ahmadi Fatouma had hidden the chest inside the Well of Waran.”

Remembering her descent into the darkness, she pulled out of his arms and wandered toward the river. When she glanced back, she saw his tall figure outlined in moonlight. His shirt had taken on a luminescent quality. His face wore a pensive expression.

“What’s the matter, Tillie?” He walked to her side and took her hand. “Did something happen in the well?”

“It’s where I made my own decision. Ever since I was a little girl, my goal has been to find God’s will for my life. I was sure agroforestry in Mali was it. It fit perfectly into all my plans.
My
plans.”

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “In the well I finally understood that I’m not supposed to be looking for God’s will for my life. I’m just supposed to look for God’s will. Period. Wherever I happen to be, when I see him working—like he is with Khatty—I’m supposed to go there and let him do his work through me. And along the way, I need to let go of my own plans and trust him one day at a time.”

Graeme kissed her forehead. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he whispered. “Come here and see what I brought you.”

At the plane, he reached into the cockpit and took out a small, brown-paper parcel tied with twine. She loosened the bow, and the paper fell aside to reveal a soft pink fabric embroidered with tiny rosebuds.

“My dress,” she whispered. “How did you get it back?”

“The steamer arrived in Timbuktu yesterday. The steward sent it to me at the police station. I tossed it into the plane, still hoping I’d find you somehow. Do you want it?”

Gazing down at the soft dress, her thoughts went back to the steamer and the brief hours of peace they had shared there. In that respite—when she’d seen him as more than her rescuer and more than her partner in adventure—she had realized she loved Graeme McLeod.

“Yes, I want to keep my dress. And my ring. And you.” She held out her hand, and he took it gently. Turning it over, he traced a fingertip from her wrist to her palm and back—the sign of acceptance—then kissed each finger and her wrist.

“I don’t have a lot to offer a woman, Tillie. But what I’ve got is yours.”

“You know, Arthur wanted me to take some of the treasure. He thought it could build a happy life. Did you see what the treasure turned out to be?”

“I saw the chest smashed on the rocks.”

She smiled. “Cowrie shells. Hundreds of them.”

A chuckle escaped his lips, and he grinned wryly. “The treasure of Mansong. We should have guessed it. The king had given Mungo shells on his first trip. Five thousand of them, worth a lot back then. Ahmadi Fatouma must have thought he’d gotten his hands on a great treasure, or he never would have gone to so much trouble to hide it.”

“Mungo must have thought the shells were worth something, too, the way he spoke to Ailie in the notes. He loved her very much, I think.”

“And I love you.” He brushed a kiss across her cheek. “Are you ready to head back to Timbuktu?”

“Wait, Graeme.” She held him at arm’s length. “What about the journal? Don’t you care what happened to it?”

“If there even was a book in that chest, I know its pages are probably scattered across miles of desert by now. The main thing is that I found you. Mungo Park’s story was important to me. It was my life’s dream. I’ll have his hat to remind me how close we came, but I can go on with my other ideas. I have three or four story assignments waiting for me—” He broke off in confusion when she turned away from him and began unbuttoning her shirt. “Um . . .” he shifted uncomfortably. “What are you doing?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, tears glistening in her eyes. “You gave me my pink dress. Now I have something for you.” She slipped the little book from its warm hiding place, rebuttoned her blouse, then turned and held her offering out to him. “Mungo Park’s journal. I took it out of the chest while I was down in the well.”

He stared at the book for a moment, as though he didn’t dare move. His gaze rose to meet hers, and the wonder she saw there lifted her heart. Slowly he reached out, took the book, lifted its stiff cover, and stared down at the scrawled handwriting. He released his breath in a soft whoosh of amazement. “This is it. It’s the last journal.” He gave a loud whoop and swept her up into his arms. “You’re incredible. I can’t believe this!”

As he spun her around and around, Tillie laughed aloud. She could hardly wait to tell Hannah everything. Graeme held her tight against him, then pressed his lips to hers. Her response was warm, filled with happiness.

“I love you, Tillie. Nothing matters now but our new life. Not the treasure, not Mungo Park or his journal— nothing but us and this path we’re on.” He paused and stepped back, taking both her hands in his. “Tillie Thornton,” he said, his voice somber, “I want you to be my wife. Will you do that?”

“Partners,” she whispered. She slid her hands behind his neck and feathered her fingers in his hair. It was sprinkled with stars, and the moon had dusted his skin with silver. “Partners for life.”

He tucked her under his arm, and they started toward the sparkling jewel of the desert, knowing they held in their hearts the greatest treasure of all.

T
HE
A
LMIGHTY WILL BE YOUR GOLD AND CHOICE SILVER TO YOU.
F
OR THEN YOU WILL DELIGHT IN THE
A
LMIGHTY, AND LIFT UP YOUR FACE TO
G
OD.
Y
OU WILL PRAY TO HIM, AND HE WILL HEAR YOU
.

Job 22:25-27

Afterword

The story of Mungo Park, from his birth to his disappearance on the Niger River, is true. The Scottish explorer was known for his physical endurance, spiritual forbearance, and hunger for learning. He was described as a dry, prickly man with fine features, wavy hair, and Byronic good looks. In 1794, Park was instructed by the African Association to gather information on “the rise, the course, and the termination of the Niger, as well as of the various nations that inhabit its borders.”

After a journey that included a sandstorm, attack by natives, hunger, and disease, Park returned to Scotland to pen his memoir,
Travels in the Interior of Africa
. He had written notes for the book on scraps of paper and stored them in the crown of his hat.

In 1805, Park went back to Africa to follow the mysterious Niger. To purchase a boat, he spent some of the five thousand cowrie shells he had been given by Mansong, the King of Segou. Again Park was beset with a variety of plagues that decimated three-fourths of his party. On November 20, Park disappeared. The story of the attack on the explorer’s boat and his death by drowning was reported by his guide, Ahmadi Fatouma.

Several questions were raised. How did Ahmadi Fatouma survive the attack? How could Yauri troops (who supposedly led the attack) have been permitted into the kingdom of Bussa, the land of their sworn enemy? How could Mungo Park have drowned when he was known to be an excellent swimmer? In Bussa in 1830, the Lander brothers were shown a book that had belonged to Park. Today this book can be seen in the Royal Geographic Society Museum in London. Oddly enough, it shows no sign of water damage.

On May 3, 1819,
The Times
of London reported of Park: “The death of this intrepid traveler is now placed [proven] beyond any doubt.” It was also reported that the “journal of his long excursion down the Niger to Bussa disappeared with most of his other belongings.”

The fictional mystery in this novel of the finding of the amulet, the journal, and the treasure evolved from my imagination and the true story of Mungo Park.

For further reading about topics mentioned in
A Kiss of Adventure
, please see the reading list that follows.

Reading List

De Gramont, Sanche.
The Strong Brown God: The Story of the Niger River.
Houghton Mifflin Company: Boston. 1976.

July, Robert W.
A History of the African People.
Charles Scribner’s Sons: New York. 1980.

Moorhouse, Griffin.
The Fearful Void.
J. B. Lippincott Company: New York. 1974.

Oliver, Roland and Caroline, eds.
Africa in the Days of Exploration.
Prentice-Hall, Inc.: Englewood Cliffs, N. J. 1965.

Porch, Douglas.
The Conquest of the Sahara.
Alfred A. Knopf: New York. 1984.

The World and Its Peoples: Africa South and West.
Greystone Press: New York. 1967.