Congo Dawn Page 47

  But even as he spoke, Joseph had a sudden conviction that he would not leave the Ituri again. The thought brought no rebellion, but peace, even contentment. Youngest of siblings or not, the events of the last months, his own gifts and education, had made him a leader.

  Like his father.

  And like his father, it was his destiny to make this place his own. However beautiful, the Ituri was no paradise. Nor would it ever be the paradise he’d dreamed of making it. Not so long as human beings remained sinners, capable of evil and greed and violence. And there were things he would miss if he stayed here. Libraries, travel, tech­nology, all the offerings of a vast outside world.

  But this rainforest was where he belonged. Where he’d been called by the Almighty to raise a light in the darkness. To use the education and training his Creator had afforded him for the benefit of its people. To prepare its next generation to make a difference in the future of their country and world.

  A call from one of the blue helmets drew away the journalist. Carrying the disarmed explosives into the Quonset hut, Joseph took note of villagers dragging blackened cooking pots from the smoldering embers of the brush kraal. Others had heaped wood to start a fire, the first flames now rising to compete with the growing smudge of orange and red streaking the eastern horizon above the rainforest canopy. A file of women and girls threaded their way toward the river with water jars. Two men had unearthed a canoe and were now pushing off the riverbank to add some fish to breakfast preparations.

  “Jambo, Joseph.” The greeting came from one of the village’s young women, Adia; she’d been a child of seven when he’d left to study in Taraja. She held out a green coconut with the top sliced off. “You look tired and thirsty. I brought you refreshment.”

  Though her expression was demure, a smile dancing in wide-spaced, black eyes, tugging at a full, beautiful mouth was a reminder of why his father had been content to build his life in this Ituri Rainforest.

  The thin, white liquid of the green coconut was cool, refreshing as its imported counterparts, tea and coffee, would never be. Joseph drained the coconut in a single, long draught. Returned Adia’s smile.

  He was home.

  Robin slid the borrowed phone into her knapsack pocket. But she did not head immediately back toward the others. Her wanderings while talking to Kelli had led through the mine diggings to the base of the rocky knoll marking the encampment’s far perimeter. With a brightening sky overhead, Robin could now make out the zigzag of a footpath leading upward where blasting had not yet disturbed the rock formation.

  On impulse Robin headed up the path, not slowing until she emerged on top of the ridge. Below, the militia army had melted back into the rainforest, leaving empty the muddy field outside chain-link fencing. An Mi-17 had risen from the ground and was angling over the rainforest toward the Taraja base. The dismantling of the Ares Solutions op had begun.

  As the second Mi-17 hovered skyward, Robin scrambled over a pile of boulders to the crest, where she could look out in the opposite direction of the mining encampment. Here she could no longer see the ugly gray gash where the rock outcropping had been blasted away for molybdenum ore or the barren clearing that had once been thatched homes, fruit trees, and crop beds of a village.

  Instead, she looked across a vista so perfect her throat tightened with its beauty. A sea of tossing green billows melted unbroken into the much paler green of approaching dawn. A single bright star still marked the horizon between rainforest and sky.

  The morning star.

  Spreading out at a slightly northeast slant to Robin’s right was an archipelago of rock outcroppings. Daybreak’s paintbrush had transmuted the rock formations into a fantastic blend of shadows trimmed in copper, bronze, and gold, so that the overall impression was of some ancient lost city swallowed up by rainforest.

  Even knowing now the treasure they contained, Robin found the rock formations a bizarre anomaly to stumble upon among thousands of square kilometers of unbroken rainforest canopy, their odd geometric contours more some modern art project than happenstance. Not such a fanciful thought. Was not the Creator of the universe just such an Artist who’d filled these rocks with rare treasure and placed them in the Ituri Rainforest to be discovered at this precise point on the planet’s time line?

  Robin had climbed high enough now that rounded treetops lapped at a ledge just below her, easily fifty meters from the rain­forest floor. When she’d flown over this jungle by helicopter, those trees had appeared a uniform bed of giant broccoli, any sights, sounds, smells of life they might have cradled eclipsed by the roar and diesel fumes and sheer distance of the helicopter.

  When she’d run and walked and fled beneath that same canopy, those treetops had been so high overhead, she’d glimpsed only brown and black tree bark and shadows and the muck beneath her feet.

  But here at such close range, Robin was at once above and ­intimately drawn into the rainforest canopy. A breeze had set the treetops to swaying in stately rhythm, filling Robin’s ears with the rush of waves crashing upon a beach. As leaves tossed in a wild dance of their own, she could see that what had appeared a uniform green was indeed countless hues of that color.

  Rich, dark greens.

  Emerald-green leaves so shiny they sparkled in the light.

  An almost silvery-gray olive green that was the undersides of leaves as the wind lifted them.

  Yellow-greens of palm fronds.

  Bright greens of lianas looping from bough to bough.

  Other hues were brightening into full color in the growing light. Flowering trees dotted the canopy with mustard yellow, flame red, white, and the palest of pink. A cascade of orchids spilled from a tree bough, creamy petals tapering through shades of lilac toward the heart of each blossom, a deep, rich lavender. A silvery ribbon far to Robin’s right was a waterfall spilling down the side of one of the most distant outcroppings.

  Robin felt as alone in this beautiful scene as Adam when his Creator awoke him to life. Until a loud chitter below was followed by a furry black-and-white face thrusting itself from among the leaves. Another joined the first, then another and another, as though called together to gawk at this strange intruder into their world.

  The troop of colobus monkeys scattered as a neon-green rope Robin had assumed to be a liana released its grip on a nearby branch to slither away. A reminder that the original Paradise had not been without its dangers. But Robin didn’t allow the viper to spoil her mood. Until this moment, if by her own choice as she could admit now, Robin had seen only the darkness of this vast equatorial kingdom.

  Today she saw its beauty.

  Its myriad, incalculable variety of tree and blossom and fruit.

  The lavishness of life it held.

  As she slid and scrambled down to the ledge to better relish that exquisite panorama, a truth hit Robin like a dousing of cool springwater in the heat and thirst and exhaustion of the forced desert march her life had so often seemed of late. All this splendor and magnificence. The sheer vastness of it. The wealth and variety of color and sound, plant and animal. The music of water and wind and birdsong. Even the gorgeous hidden shimmer of jewels and metals placed within the earth itself for discovery as though in some over-the-top extravagance of gift giving.

  All this could have been birthed of nothing but similarly extravagant and measureless love. Love of an almighty Creator for his creation. Love of a heavenly Father for his children.

  Suddenly, spontaneously, Robin flung her arms wide as though in a fruitless attempt to embrace all she could see. I love you, Father God. And I know now without any shadow of doubt just how much you love me. How much you must love every human being whose body, mind, and soul you’ve knit together with such care. You created such a beautiful playpen for your children. You didn’t need to make it so beautiful. So many colors. So much variety. All to surprise and delight us the way I love surprising Kristi with something special when I come home from a trip. Except a love that could create all this is as
far above my love for Kristi as your amazing creation is beyond my homecoming gifts.

  And you gave us this world so we could enjoy it and each other. But children can’t grow up if they can’t make their own mistakes—and learn from them. And we’re the ones who’ve made such a mess of your beautiful world. If it hurts me to see what a mess we’ve made, how we’ve grabbed and kicked and punched for ourselves instead of working together, how much must it hurt you! You had every right to leave us wallowing in the consequences of our own bad choices.

  But you didn’t. You sent a Light into the world to show us the way back to you. Yesu, nuru ya ulimwengu. Jesus, Light of the World. I could still wish there was some way for you to carry out what you’re doing without ever giving us the choice to do wrong. That people could be strong, true shining lights for you without ever going through fires of suffering. But I’m finally ready to admit in my stubborn, limited brain and heart that you know what you’re doing. You can and will bring forth the beauty of pure, refined gold from the ugly dross we’ve made of the earth.

  “You look happy.”

  At the quiet baritone, Robin whirled around with such precarious haste her boots scrabbled on the edge of the rock shelf. A strong hand shot out to grasp her wrist, pulling her to a safer distance from its precipitous green drop-off. Which only brought her up close to a trim, muscled frame.

  “Michael! What—what are you doing here?”

  Robin had made that same startled, breathless exclamation less than a week ago. But this time the emotions behind it were totally different. She smiled as widely as she’d flung out her arms.

  “I am happy! This world is still full of darkness. The war is still raging. The end of human evil and human suffering is not yet. But on this day at least, light won out and goodness prevailed. God prevailed. Whatever happens next, for Joseph and his people, for the Congo, for me, I can now trust that God is love, even when I don’t completely understand. His purposes will not be thwarted. However badly we humans behave, God will turn it ultimately to good.”

  Robin broke off, reminded to ask, “Speaking of which, did you get through to your sister? Is Ephraim okay?”

  “Yes, I did.” Michael released Robin’s wrist. “A flesh wound, no fracture. He’s already insisting on getting back to his patients, Miriam says. I thought you’d want to know. Saw you heading up this way and followed. I hope you don’t mind. And your sister and niece? I assumed that’s who you wanted to call.”

  “Oh no, of course I don’t mind. And Kristi and Kelli are good. Better than good.” As Robin filled him in, Michael lowered himself to the ledge, leaning against the rock face. Robin settled herself beside him. They should both be getting back to the encampment. People would be looking for them. But for this brief interlude, to be alone in this glorious place with Michael was another gift she would simply savor.

  “It’s funny. For so long I’ve had to be there for Kelli, take care of her and Kristi. But now—all she’s been through with Kristi, especially this recent crisis, has really changed her. Made her stronger. More beautiful than she ever was as the family homecoming queen. She’s finally ready to be Kristi’s mother without me tagging along. And a good man’s wife.

  “Your sister was so right about everything. I’d have done anything to keep Kelli from going through these last horrible five years. But then I’d have held her back too from developing all that character, perseverance, and other things in the verses Miriam quoted.” Robin’s pleasure trailed into regret. “Maybe I did hold her back when I always insisted on stepping in to save the day every time there was a ­problem.”

  “Hey, you can’t beat yourself up over past mistakes. If they were mistakes. In any case, your sister was hardly the only one going through a fiery furnace these last years. Or coming out as pure gold!” A vibration in Michael’s voice pulled Robin’s gaze from the sunrise. Beside her, a strong-boned profile was tilted skyward, long lashes narrowed thoughtfully on a dissipating orange and purple streamer as though it held every mystery of the universe.

  “Jini, you mean? Joseph? Yes, even to the very end there, when I knew the truth of his story, I wondered if he’d choose to follow the kind of path Makuga and Wamba have done. He was angry enough. And he certainly had every excuse—some might even say every right—to want revenge. To become as much the monster as Trevor Mulroney made him out to be. Instead he chose to offer up his own life to try to save the others. Just as Miriam hoped and prayed for that sweet little boy she used to know, Joseph chose to follow the Light, to become a light in the darkness.”

  “Yes, he did. But I wasn’t thinking of Joseph.” The long frame leaning against the stone shifted position so that Michael was no longer studying the sky but Robin’s face.

  “I was thinking of you, Christina Robin Duncan. Do you realize what you did out there today? You didn’t just manage to bring Birenge and his people here in the nick of time. You stepped—no, rushed into danger to face down one of the most powerful men on earth. To place your own body as a human shield to protect Joseph and his people—and me! We’d have all been dead when the cavalry finally arrived if not for your intervention.”

  Something Robin read in the glow of his gaze, the approval of his tone, was making her heart race. But she could not let him believe a falsehood. “That wasn’t really me. I didn’t really plan anything. I didn’t even think about it. I just . . . reacted.”

  “Yes, you just reacted. And it’s how you reacted that shows the person you are. The person you’ve become. The Lt. Chris R. Duncan I knew in Afghanistan was a girl. Beautiful. Maddening. Chock-full of ambition. Determined to show up every male member of her ­family tree. A girl who stole my heart so completely that five years later I still haven’t found it again.”

  Michael reached to take Robin’s left hand in both his own, smoothing her palm flat with a thumb before intertwining strong fingers through her own. “But the Robin I ran into at that Uganda-Congo border crossing had grown into so much more. A woman who gave up her lifetime dream for the well-being of her sister and niece. A woman with so much compassion for the hurting and destitute, even while she’s tried to convince herself and others she doesn’t care. Who didn’t hesitate to lay her own life on the line when push came to shove.

  “I know the risk it took to send that evidence once you knew Mulroney was on to you. Not just for you, but Kelli and Kristi. You could have walked away. Made the excuse you were only obeying orders. Standing up to Mulroney took more courage and steel than any Marine platoon heading into combat. Every Duncan on your family tree should be proud of the woman, daughter, Marine you’ve proved yourself to be.”

  Robin kept her gaze on those entwined fingers as she admitted shakily, “Mulroney told me he’d pay everything for Kristi if I’d just walk away. But even if I’d believed him, there were kids in that prison mine. Families who loved their children as much as I do Kristi. I couldn’t trade Kristi’s life for theirs. That’s when I realized it wasn’t up to me to save Kristi or anyone else. Their life paths are in God’s hands, not mine. Nor could I try to read the future, to make the right choice, so everything would turn out the way I wanted. All I could do was the right thing in front of me.”

  Michael’s grasp had relaxed enough for Robin to tug free, pushing to her feet. “In any case, it’s all over. Really over now that Kelli and Kristi are taken care of. I can’t even begin to think where I’ll go from here. After this op, I’m done with private contracting. And though I’ll always love the Marines, somehow I don’t think a female Duncan general is anywhere on the horizon. I guess I’d better start writing some résumés. There’s got to be something out there worth doing with the rest of my life.”

  Robin halted as she realized how her words might be read.

  Misread.

  Hastily, she added, “Of course I’m sure I’ll find something soon. And since I’ve got a wedding to help plan, it’ll be good to have some free time. Meanwhile, we’d better be getting back before a search party comes lo
oking.”

  “Robin, stop!”

  One boot was already on the path when Michael cut through Robin’s babble. She turned straight into a tall, lean frame. This time when Michael took possession of both her hands, there was no pulling away. He flattened her palms under his own against a hard torso. Through spread-out fingertips, Robin could feel his heartbeat, its rapid rhythm belying his easy, relaxed stance. Michael stepped closer so that only their entangled hands were between them. His breath stirred a loose strand of red-gold hair.

  “Christina Robin Duncan, do you really think I’m going to let you just walk off into the sunrise again after all this? You told me down there when we were about to get blown up that you should have come after me five years ago. Well, that goes both ways! When I came out of that coma, even when I heard that voice message from your sister and believed it was you, that you didn’t want to have anything further to do with me, that you blamed me for your brother, I should still have hunted you down. Made you say what you had to say to my face.

  “Instead I’ve wasted five years. Okay, maybe they weren’t really wasted. Maybe this was all part of God’s plan for our life journeys from the beginning. But I’m not leaving this ledge without finishing what was interrupted on the bank of that Band-e Amir lake five years ago. Robin, I love you. And I know beyond every shadow of doubt that you love me.”

  Across the restless treetops from the ledge, a shiver of light had now become a distinct curve above the horizon, burning away the last streamers of red and orange. Somewhere in the far recesses of Robin’s consciousness, beyond the ridge, down in the mine encampment, a sharp staccato was growing too loud to be ignored any longer. Lengths of wood, empty fuel drums, metal barrels converted into an impromptu percussion section. Then voices joined in. Freed prisoners singing in celebration of an unexpected new day.