Gold Trap

by Lilly Maytree

  “I don’t normally go around hitting people,” she began to explain. But then there was a break in the canopy of trees above them, and the sudden intensity of sunlight made her pause long enough to open the umbrella. It gave her an immediate and rather cooling sense of shade. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what’s come over me, lately. I’ve broken half the standards I’ve based my entire life on, just since I got here.”

  “Pretty ingenious way of dealing with it, though,” he teased. “Just cross out the part that isn’t working for you and write something else.”

  “They’re my own rules, not traffic regulations. I only write them down as a form of commitment to myself.” She tipped the edge of the umbrella to look him in the eye for emphasis. “Myself, Tom Anderson. Aren’t you the least bit ashamed for invading a person’s private thoughts?”

  “Not your thoughts.”

  “Oh, yes, the criminal treatment. But now that you know I’m an ordinary person with decent intentions, you could at least apologize.”

  “I don’t apologize for things unless I mean it. And you, Megan Jennings, are the farthest thing from ordinary I’ve ever run up against. As for your private thoughts…it was a pleasant journey, and I’m glad I took it.”

  “Well, just because you barged into my soul, doesn’t give you the right to stay. You weren’t invited.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m in, though, does it.”

  Meg retreated back into her personal shade, having had quite enough of looking him in the eye. Only to have him tilt the edge back up. “The channel runs both ways, you know. Seeing you dressed like that in the cafe was something of a shock. Sort of like stepping off into the deep end of the ocean. Feels like I’ve been treading water ever since.”

  “But you said I looked like something out of a low-budget movie.”

  “That was the second time. When you were wearing that crazy hat and wild print shirt. Tourists are always dressing up in their own version of safari outfits. I didn’t realize it was you. Besides, you had me all riled with that phone call. I couldn’t figure you out. Then when Pop wasn’t even there…”

  “And I did have all his things.” She sighed, feeling a weight of disappointment in the decision to take them, now that she was looking back on it. Hindsight might always be perfect, as the saying went, but why hadn’t the Lord tapped her on the shoulder about that? She didn’t even feel a prick of conscience to warn her it might be wrong. Yet, that one false step seemed to be the beginning of this whole ordeal.

  “Then, again…” He shifted her duffel to the other shoulder and moved to her opposite side. “Now that I’ve come across some explanation about the way you think…”

  “In a very unmannerly way,” she reminded him.

  “Don’t be so stubborn, priss.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

  “What’s it going to take for you to forgive me? For the journal thing, I mean. I can’t quit calling you priss, it suits you too well.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

  “In a pleasant sort of way.” He lifted the edge of the umbrella to look under it, again. “Would it help if I answered your big question?”

  Oh, dear. She had forgotten about that long tirade she had written down a few weeks ago describing her continuing determination to avoid relationships with anyone who wasn’t a believer. Not only that, but how that very decision was often the source of her lonely days. The thing had come dangerously close to self-pity (or, at least, crying in her soup). And while it had been something of a relief to express it back then, it now felt as embarrassing as having someone walk in on you in the shower. And Tom Anderson…of all people!

  “The answer is, yes. I’ve been a Christian for a little over a year, now.” Then he let go of the umbrella and continued. “I wish I could say it’s been longer, but we weren’t raised that way. The search seems harder when you have everything you want growing up. Pop’s always been a spoiler, and the rest of us didn’t mind taking advantage of that. That is, until Mother ran into this group of people who were different than anyone we ever met. Did a complete turnaround. Before that, her only goal in life was to retire quietly into the secure and predictable life of the rich and famous.”

  “And you?”

  “I watched her for a long time, thinking it was just a phase. She’s always throwing everything she’s got into something, or other. The type that’s easily led. But it’s been nearly two years now, and she just keeps getting more and more stable. Pretty wonderful, really. A little over a year ago, I followed suit. We all did. That is, everybody but Pop. It’s been harder for him, because he’s always considered himself wonderful enough, already. Does that answer it?”“

  Meg felt herself in the glare of his spotlight, again, and tried to return the subject to him. “So, did you just accept a different set of standards to live by, or did you truly sense a change? If you did change, that is.”

  “For me, it was more of a relief than a change. I’d grown pretty cynical wondering what the point was all those years. Like, why should we try so hard to right the world’s wrongs if it was going to make so little difference in the over-all scheme of things? By the time I’d been all the way around the world, I was fairly disgusted with most of it.”

  “Maybe you just didn’t see the right things,” she offered.

  “Which adds to your list of proofs that there’s somebody out there trying to keep us from those things, doesn’t it?”

  It was a lightning leap directly into a subject Meg tried mostly to avoid, simply because it leaned toward fanaticism in the more conservative circles she normally traveled in. A distinct effort at following rule number ten: I will not try to talk others into believing the way I do, but accept wherever they happen to be on life’s road at the moment. And number eleven: I will only give opinions when asked. “Well, I’m not one of those people who sees demons around every corner, if that’s what you’re thinking. Believe me. I consistently manage to miss out on most of life’s good things by causing enough trouble all by myself.”

  “Like checking into a hotel with a perfect stranger, and then…”

  “You…of all people”—she interrupted him—”should know that sitting next to your father for any longer than twenty minutes relegates you to personal levels. I was trying to do the decent, Christian thing. Besides, just because a person isn’t perfect doesn’t mean they can’t try to be. Or at least believe in the hope that it really is possible to change from…”

  She stopped talking because, once, again, Tom Anderson had enticed her into revealing the most personal things about herself. Things she had never dared mention to anybody. They sounded so wildly audacious when she said them out loud! No one else in her world had ever seemed to be the slightest bit interested in striving for the sort of things she did. They were all too content with the “nobody’s perfect” philosophy, and inclined to leave any changing “from glory to glory” entirely up to God. Yes. Come to think of it (and oh, dear!), she had written a good long tirade about that subject, too.

  “From ‘glory to glory,’ Meg?”

  She gasped. Had he just read her mind? She peeked at him from under the umbrella, again, as if looking him in the eye would help her to explain.” Just because I have the habit of making lists and thinking on paper doesn’t mean I’m entirely convinced of the outcome myself, you know.”

  “But it does go a long way toward clarifying things, doesn’t it. Writing down thoughts, even your own questions, can bring things into a better focus, somehow.”

  “Maybe you should try it sometime.”

  “I have. I’ve been keeping a journal for years. Mostly for compiling a book of my travels one of these days. But yours is different. It’s almost as if…it isn’t just your journal.”

  “Of course, it’s mine. Whose else would it be?”

  “Where do the answers come from, Meg? Some of those discussions come close to being a two-sided conversation. Do you hear voice
s, is that it?”

  “No, but I wish I did,” she admitted. “It would certainly make things easier. The questions I write down…well, they always get answered sooner or later. I’ll remember something or hear some bit of wisdom from somebody…but most of the time they come through my own thought process, and I…somehow…just know. Like figuring it out, I guess.”

  “You must do an incredible amount of Bible study to find that many scriptures to fit so perfectly into each subject.”

  “Not really. They just sort of pop into my head…like remembering a song I heard somewhere. When I go to look one up, I’m often amazed to find it’s even in there. It would probably be a great improvement on the process if I did do more Bible study, though. Then, again, there’s always something, or someone, getting in the way of that.”

  “Which brings us to your ‘enemy of your soul’ theory.”

  “You certainly didn’t skip any parts, did you?”

  “I’m only bringing it up because I believe the same thing,” said Tom. “And do you want to know why? Because when you add that one factor to life’s equations, all the rest seem to make sense. All the struggles over everything, the constant clashes between good and evil. It’s the reason for everything. The whole point. It’s also the reason all hell breaks loose whenever you bring up the subject. Literally. It’s like blowing an enemy’s cover. You’re going to get a fight one way or the other.”

  “Doesn’t seem to be any way around it. None I’ve found, anyway.”“ She began walking, again, and he moved back to her other side, as if there might be a better view under the umbrella from there.

  “I think there is. It’s by people working together. And considering you and I are not on opposite sides, Meg, we can at least agree to stop fighting with each other and put our heads together on this thing. Our meeting might possibly be a divine appointment, do you realize that? Seems we’re a perfect match for something, you and me. Not just in the kind of work we’d like to do, but even in the way we think. We could be called to the same purpose, what do you say about that?”

  “What do I say? I’m still praying you’re not the devil, that’s what I say. A perfect match, how should I know? You might have everything about me figured out, but all I have to go on about you is a list of good points and bad points that have turned out just about even over the last two days.”

  “What about always trying to believe the best of people?”

  “For heaven’s sake! Is that how it’s going to be from now on? You holding me accountable for my own ideals?”

  A smile came first to his eyes, then the corners of his mouth, before he made a concerted effort not to give in. “From now on, Meg? I’ll take that as your vote for me being part of your destiny. And I believe in divine appointments, too…very much so.”

  “You could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” she accused. “Talking like this just because you read my journal.”

  “Didn’t I say I was a Christian?”

  “So did Judas.”

  “And he regretted his mistake, didn’t he? Besides, if I am a wolf, it will show. You have to agree with that.”

  “And why should I?”

  “Because it’s what you do that proves who you are. A person can say anything. But what they do…that comes straight out of who they really are.”

  “I don’t have enough time to test out that theory. Under the circumstances.”

  “What if I could prove it to you in the next few minutes?”

  Gold Trap

  13

  Dangerous Ground

  “ What you have to do with him is to be very thankful you have had the honour of knowing him. ”

  Mary Kingsley

  “I can’t imagine anything you could say or do that would change my mind that quick.” But inwardly, she wasn’t so sure, because she suddenly found herself wanting very much to believe him. Oh, why did things have to be so many shades of gray instead of simple black and white? If only there was some sort of sign (did God still do that these days?) not lightning, or anything, just the smallest little hint of…

  His only reply was to unzip one of his smaller vest pockets and take something out that flashed a reflection of the sun when he held it out to her. “You left it on the table at the cafe. The waiter gave it to me because he thought we knew each other.”

  Meg slowly took the antique pen she had so carefully selected for her journey into the past, and felt her emotions begin to churn. The Lord had just answered that thought as quickly and easily as if He had been walking, here, between them. “For I know the thoughts…saith the Lord…” (what was the rest of that scripture?) And if this was her man in the rain, the dashing prince, then Tom Anderson must truly be her divine appointment. A divine appointment! But to what extent and for what purpose?

  “I…went back there, you know.” She began rather hesitantly because she found herself having to reign in the sudden desire to tell him everything she was thinking and feeling at the moment. She couldn’t just throw herself at him. What had gotten into her? “But you had left already, too.”

  “I was drenched and my grandmother insisted.”

  “That was your grandmother?”

  “Mm-hm. She likes to eat there when I’m in town. But if I’d known you were coming back…” He lifted the edge of the umbrella to look under, again. She was struggling with her emotions and clutching the pen close up against her as if it were a lifeline. “What’s wrong, priss? Disappointed that it was me?”

  “It’s just that this whole situation is so complicated and confusing! You thinking I’m a criminal, and I…”

  “I said I didn’t, anymore.”

  “And I don’t know anything about you! Who you are, or where you come from…and why you would have the slightest interest in someone like me!”

  “Maybe I can clear that up for you, too. I’ll start by telling you what I’m the producer of.” He let go of the edge of the umbrella when she put the pen away and began looking for that package of tissue. “Ever hear of the Adventure Company?”

  “The one hosted by Bertram Hunter? Of course. I love that program.”

  “Bertram Hunter is my oldest brother, Bobby.”

  “Well…my goodness… no wonder you looked familiar when you put that hat on.” Now it was Meg’s turn to tip the umbrella up and look at him as if she were just seeing him for the first time. “But you don’t have the same name.”

  “Bertram Hunter is just a stage name. His real name is Robert Anderson.

  “So, there really is another Anderson son named Robert. Is there a John, too?”

  “Johnny’s the youngest of us. Anyway, it’s more or less a family business that we’ve been at for quite a few years. Moving back and forth across the continents, trying to inform the public about the state of things in the natural world. We’re actually due in Akosombo next week to do a follow-up on the dam.”

  “But what’s the dam got to do with the state of the natural world?”

  “It’s the largest manmade lake on earth. You can see it from space. Besides breaking up the cycle of life along the riverbanks I was telling you about, the sheer weight of the thing is the problem. It’s actually causing earthquakes.”

  “Earthquakes! I should…” Meg returned the tissue to her bag, grateful for the switch to a lighter topic and more than a little relieved she hadn’t burst into hysterics, again. What an effect all this was having on her! “I should think something like that would be all over the news.”

  “The tragedies of third-world countries have never been first choice topics for the nightly news.” He helped her over another rockslide. “Which is exactly why my father started the Adventure Company in the first place. To familiarize people with people instead of problems.”

  “The human connection. I quite agree. I’m…” She realized he didn’t let go of her hand after she stepped down. “I’m trying to make something of a human connection myself with this film project.”

  “Probably why you caugh
t his attention. Pop’s always been a soft touch for anyone trying to reach for something.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m usually the one who has to follow up behind him and make things work.”

  She self-consciously pulled her hand free and offered him her umbrella. “Would you mind?” She searched through her bag for the digital camera. “I’d really like to get some pictures of this steamy fog before it all drifts away.”

  His only answer was to close the umbrella and hang it from one of the straps on his backpack as he walked along.

  “Tell me”—she stopped to look through the lens—”What was your reason for wanting Mary Kingsley as a film subject?”

  “Love of the human spirit, I guess,” he replied. “What it’s capable of. I’ve got an insatiable interest in heroes of any kind. Seems to be a shortage of them these days.”

  She filled a frame with Tom’s hat and the back of his head as he continued walking, and then snapped a picture when he turned around to see what she was doing.

  “Pretty handy with that thing.”

  “This camera has been one of my best friends for a long time.” She took a few pictures of the steaming trees and then caught up to him. “What made you settle on Mary Kingsley?” She took the umbrella, again.

  “Well, a little over two years ago, I happened to be killing some time during a layover in London, waiting to connect up with my film crew. We were headed down here to shoot a documentary about the gorillas of the Cameroons.” He glanced down through a brief opening in the nearby brush below them and then pointed. “Look, the hippos seem to be traveling along with us, but it’s the same bend, actually. We’ve just come around to the other side of it.”

  Meg stopped to watch for a moment. “Am I seeing things…or is that really a pink one down there?”