Tidal Breeze had chosen the scorched-earth defense that Lovely’s story was fiction, that she had never lived on the island. And, so far, the good guys had produced no hard evidence to the contrary. A DNA link to the Jackson ancestors would destroy the corporation’s claims and severely damage its credibility.
Diane had convinced Steven before Christmas, and, though he was concerned about the costs, he gave her the green light to proceed with caution. Being cautious was not in her DNA, but she gamely tried to show restraint. She found the African Burial Project in Baltimore and paid $100 for a membership. Its mission, as stated on its website, was to locate and preserve the burial grounds of enslaved Africans, and to memorialize their lives, struggles, and contributions. Most of its work was centered from the mid-Atlantic northward. In the former slave states, where, obviously, there were far more lost burial sites, there had so far been little interest in the work of the ABP. The nonprofit had no presence in the state of Florida.
That was about to change. Diane made three trips to Baltimore, a twelve-hour drive each way, and paid her own expenses. She charmed her way into a pleasant acquaintanceship with the executive director, a former law professor named Marlo Wagner. Marlo read Lovely’s book overnight and was immediately drawn to the story. ABP was on a tight budget, but it had contacts in the archaeological world. Marlo knew researchers who did nothing but look for old bones and burial grounds that were never supposed to be found.
At the same time, through the winter, Diane had made numerous trips to Florida State University in Tallahassee. Dr. Gilfoy, the chairman of its Department of Anthropology, explained, more than once, that there was no money in the budget for a “big dig” in a place like Dark Isle. He, his colleagues, and especially his students preferred digging in more exotic places like Egypt and China. However, Dr. Gilfoy and some retired archaeologists from around the state ran a small company on the side that might be interested. Diane gave him all the maps, photos, and history she had, and he eventually explained over lunch one day that such a project would require five to seven days on-site with a team of archaeologists and students. The cost would be in the neighborhood of $30,000. A nice contingency was needed because the team had no idea what it would face, especially in the aftermath of Hurricane Leo. There was a decent chance the cemetery, if it had ever existed, had been swept away by the storm.
While Steven worked his contacts in the conservation community, Diane pecked away with a dogged determination, trimming estimates and begging for discounts, and finally put together enough money and talent to make the project happen. One team of three archaeologists from an affiliate of the ABP, and another team of three from Dr. Gilfoy’s firm in Tallahassee, would spend several days on the island digging through the cemetery, if it could be found. Any skeletal remains would be DNA-tested at a genetic lab in Austin.
Steven contacted Judge Burch and laid out the plan. Since Dark Isle was not officially owned by anyone, court approval was not crucial. However, Steven felt it was in the best interests of their case to inform all the lawyers.
Tidal Breeze, of course, objected to the idea. In a teleconference, Judge Burch abruptly informed Mayes Barrow, Pete Riddle, and Monty Martin that he found their objections frivolous and time-consuming and he had no patience with such tactics. Sufficiently burned, they got off the phone as soon as possible and reported to Wilson Larney. Steven and Diane got off the phone and high-fived. They liked this judge. He gave the green light and wanted a report as soon as one was ready.
3
The last obstacle was Lovely Jackson. Because she admired Bruce and felt comfortable in his store, Diane made the decision to arrange another meeting there. As always, Miss Naomi drove her. As always, she was adorned in a colorful robe and turban. Bruce served coffee and oatmeal cookies, her favorite. Bruce also stayed in the room, his office, because Diane and Steven thought they might need his help. They were proposing something that they had not yet discussed with their client.
Steven began with a summary of the lawsuit, or “court case” as he called it, for her benefit. The trial would begin in a few weeks, and after months of depositions and paperwork and such, it was now time for the big event. In his opinion, Tidal Breeze and the other “bad guys” had done a good job of casting doubt on Lovely’s claims of being the last rightful owner of the island. The best way to prove them wrong was to go to the island, find the cemetery, and hopefully find the remains of her ancestors. She had assured Diane many times that she knew exactly where they were buried.
To introduce Lovely to the miracle of DNA testing, Diane had, weeks earlier, told her the stories of two men who were wrongfully convicted and languished in prison for many years. They had little hope of being freed until their lawyers convinced a court to allow DNA testing of some hidden evidence. The tests proved the men were innocent, and the guilty man was identified. Lovely had been captivated by the story, so Diane told her another one. And another. Then she told her the story of Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings, one of his slaves, and the six children they produced — before, during, and after his presidency. For decades, white historians denied that President Jefferson had kept Ms. Hemings as his concubine, in spite of ample anecdotal evidence. DNA testing resolved the issue in 1998 when one of his descendants was genetically linked to one of hers.
Diane had explained that it might become necessary to use DNA testing in their effort to win the title dispute.
Steven was saying, “Our plan is to take a team onto the island and find the cemetery.”
Lovely seemed to know what was coming and was already shaking her head. She closed her eyes and said, “Can’t do that.”
No one said a word. No one knew what to say.
“Can’t do that,” she repeated and opened her eyes. “Nalla hexed the island when she got there. She painted the beach with the blood of Monk, the white man who raped her on the ship. The white man who made her pregnant and gave her a boy who was half-and-half. In Africa, in her home village, Nalla was a high priestess of African spirits and medicine, the village doctor. She was the same on Dark Isle, same as her daughter and granddaughter and all my grandmothers, all seven of them, all the way down to me. Nalla’s curse is still in the sand on the beach of Dark Isle. No white man has ever set foot on the beach and lived to talk about it.”
Bruce and Steven glanced at each other. They, of course, had heard the legend of the curse, but were too sophisticated to believe it. Now, though, hearing it described by Lovely, it seemed more plausible.
She said, “A lot of men have gone to the island, white men, and none have survived. The spirits are there and they tell me the stories. I hear Nalla’s voice and the voices of my grandmothers. I know the curse is there, in the sand. It is not wise to tempt the spirits.”
There was a long silence as the white folks in the room absorbed this. Miss Naomi sat next to Lovely, patting her arm and looking as bewildered as the others. Diane, never shy, finally broke the ice with “Does the curse apply to white women?”
A long pause as Lovely hummed and stared at the floor. “I don’t know. I’ll ask the spirits.”
Bruce had never gone near Dark Isle and was not tempted now. He glanced at Steven again, and it was obvious he was having the same thoughts.
Diane asked, “As a priestess, do you have the power to lift the curse?”
“I don’t know. It’s never been done. I’ll ask the spirits.” She looked at Miss Naomi and said, “I’d like to go home now.”