Miss Naomi was stylish too, dressed for church or some gathering, but no match for her friend. Mercer guessed her age to be around sixty-five. Lovely claimed 1940 as her birth year, making her eighty, but she looked younger than Miss Naomi. Her eyes were a lighter shade, still brown but not dark. There was distant white blood in the family.
Around the table they struggled with the small talk. Bruce carried the ball and asked what the girls liked to read. Thankfully, Miss Naomi was a chatterbox and she and Bruce went back and forth. Steven, the lawyer, was hesitant to jump in. He was there to meet a potential client for a case he didn’t really want, and there was an excellent chance the prospective client had no use for him. At some point, Mercer would be forced to tell Lovely that she wanted to write a book about her and her island, but she wasn’t sure how to broach that subject.
Lovely sat regally in the leather chair and offered a tight smile, as if it was difficult. She seemed to be taking in everyone and everything and debating whether or not she liked what she was seeing. Her eyes glowed with a fierceness that did not spread to the rest of her face.
When Bruce began to flail, Mercer said, “I just read your book, Ms. Jackson. It’s a great story.”
The smile widened and she said, “Please call me Lovely. Everybody else does, including children. Jackson was the name given to my ancestors. They didn’t ask for it, didn’t like it, but they had no choice. For years I’ve thought about changing my name but, I’m told, that would force me to go to court.”
“Court” was the opening Steven needed, but the timing seemed bad. He let it pass.
Lovely said, “I’m so glad you enjoyed my book.” A careful voice, rich with a soft Southern accent. Mercer was floored when she said, “And I enjoyed yours. Tessa. I knew her, your grandmother, but not well. I met her once. I remember when she died. Just awful. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Mercer said. It seemed odd receiving condolences from a person whose family had suffered as much as Lovely’s, but that was ancient history now. Or was it?
Mercer continued, “If possible, I’d like to talk to you about writing your story. I find it fascinating.”
“But I’ve already written it. And we’ve sold how many copies, Bruce?”
Twenty-seven to be exact, but he wasn’t about to embarrass her. “Don’t know for sure. I’ll have to check.”
Lovely smiled again and said, “Not very many. Stories about old slaves are a dime a dozen.”
Mercer said, “Maybe, but the story is not over. Your island is about to be in the center of another storm.”
“Yes, so they say. Naomi and I have read every word in the newspaper. I don’t know why they can’t just leave us alone. The island is mine. My ancestors are buried there. I would live there if I could, but I was forced to leave many years ago. You know the story. It’s in my book.”
“I do. But I’d like to tell the rest of the story.”
“Is there a happy ending?” she asked with a smile.
“I don’t know. Maybe Steven could answer that.”
Lovely glared at Steven and the smile vanished. She had been warned that a lawyer might be present. He made eye contact, could not maintain it, glanced away, and said, “I’m not your typical lawyer, Lovely. I don’t get paid. I work for a nonprofit foundation based here on the island, and we try to protect the environment. The developer who wants your island will hire a thousand lawyers if it has to, and it will be a tough case to win. My nonprofit is willing to go to court and fight to keep these bad guys away from Dark Isle.”
“You need my permission?”
“Not really. We can join any effort to stop developers and protect natural areas, but it would be nice to have you sign a contract and hire us to protect your rights.”
“So I would have to pay you?”
“There would be a small fee up front.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know, say five dollars.”
Everyone needed a laugh and enjoyed one. Steven felt like he was on a roll and kept going, “The first step is to beat them to the courthouse and file a lawsuit to get a good title. It’s called an action to quiet a title. Legal jargon. That will start a big fight in the court and it will drag on for some time. You will be named as the plaintiff, another legal term, which means you’re the person bringing the lawsuit.”
Steven had an easy manner and talked like a layman. Bruce had never seen him in action before but had heard that he was smooth in the courtroom. He’d also found old articles that described some of his Sierra Club brawls. In his day, he had owned the courtroom.
“And there’s no way around this?” Lovely asked.
“I’m afraid not if you want to keep your island and protect it. This company, Tidal Breeze, has a long history of big developments, primarily in Florida. It plays hardball and usually wins. Unfortunately for you, and I suppose for all of us who want to preserve nature, the company has now discovered Dark Isle and is coming after it.”
“Why?”
“Because they smell money, and lots of it. This is just what they do.”
Lovely looked at Bruce, a man she trusted because he had never wanted anything from her. It was the other way around. They met when she came to his store and needed his advice about selling her self-published book. He showed her respect, spent time with her, and cautioned that such books were hard to sell. He put hers in the front window, under the “Local Authors” section, and treated her like a real writer.
“What do you think about it, Bruce?” she asked.
“It depends on how hard you’re willing to fight. Lawsuits are no fun, regardless of how strong you believe in your case.”
“If you were in my shoes?”
“I’d pay Steven here the five dollars and tell him to start the war over the title. And I would spend time with Mercer and let her describe the book she wants to write.”
She looked at Steven and said, “I’m an old woman without much time left. I don’t want to spend my final days all knotted up in a court fight. How long will this take?”
Steven smiled and scratched his gray beard. “There are two issues here, both equally important. The first is who owns Dark Isle. That will be a local fight in the courthouse just down the street and it should take about a year. If you win, the company, Tidal Breeze, will appeal to the state Supreme Court. That’s another year or so. If you lose, then we’ll appeal. So in about two years we should know who has the title to the property, who’s the true owner. If it’s you, then everything is finished, no more court fights. However, if you lose and Tidal Breeze gets title to the island, then the bigger fight will be over its development. That will be in federal court and could easily take five to ten years. But you will not be a party to that litigation.”
Her shoulders sagged and she suddenly seemed tired and older. She shook her head and said, “I just don’t understand all this. How can someone else claim our island? It’s mine because I’m the last one of my people. Nobody ever wanted Dark Isle. Nobody built schools or roads or even put in electricity. Nobody cared about us. So, we took care of ourselves and we certainly took care of our island. It was the only home we knew. Now, all the rightful owners are gone but me. Everybody else has passed. I’m the true owner of my island and it’s wrong for somebody else to say otherwise.”
Her eyes were moist and her voice cracked. The room was perfectly still.
Steven, the trial lawyer, suppressed a smile as he envisioned her in a courtroom, explaining her views on ownership to a judge. Mercer, the writer, wanted to start scribbling to capture every word.