The dinghy drifted away from the pontoon. Diane clicked on a flashlight and scanned the beach, which was thirty yards away. The shoreline and the entire island were pitch-black. She turned around and swept the light behind her to see the pontoon, as if making sure it and the team were still there. They were all leaning on the railing, watching, mesmerized. The moon came from behind a cloud and lit up the shore. Mercer took the paddle, a tool with which she had zero experience, and managed to splash some water. It wasn’t clear if her efforts were productive, but the dinghy seemed to be inching closer to land.
Lovely sat in the front, staring ahead, silent, unflinching as the boat rocked gently forward. As a child she had played in the water but never spent time on boats. That was work for the men: fishing, shrimping, trading with the merchants in The Docks and around the canneries. She had learned to swim and wasn’t afraid of the water, but that was so long ago. She thought of Nalla and her violent, horrifying arrival on this beach. Shipwrecked, naked, hungry, traumatized by the passage and then the storm. Nalla was never far from her thoughts.
Diane’s stomach was flipping, and she could not remember being so frightened, but at the same time the adrenaline was pumping. She was exactly where she wanted to be and she trusted Lovely to protect her. Mercer put the paddle away and tried to enjoy the moment.
The bottom of the dinghy scraped the sand. The waves quietly broke onto the beach. Lovely began undoing the laces on her boots, then removed them and rolled up her jeans to her knees. Her first words in a long time were “You stay here until I call. No lights.” Carefully, she worked one leg over the side, then slid into the ocean. The water was barely above her ankles. She took a canvas bag and gazed up and down the beach. Slowly, she began walking forward and was soon on wet sand.
The clouds were moving. When the moon peeked through, Diane and Mercer could see her clearly. When it disappeared they could barely see her outline.
Lovely walked halfway to the dunes, stopped, and found her spot. From the bag she removed a small tiki torch and shoved its handle six inches into the sand. When it was sturdy enough, she got another one and placed it ten feet from the first. She removed a lighter. The cotton wicks had been soaked in torch fuel and lit easily. The two lights glowed bright in the darkness.
Standing between the torches, Lovely raised both hands in front of her, then spread her arms to her sides. She spoke, barely audible even to herself, and called forth Nalla’s spirit. Once Nalla was in place, Lovely called forth Candace, Sabra, Marya, Adora, Charity, and Essie, all of her maternal grandmothers. Then she called her own mother, Ruth. When their spirits were joined she prayed for Nalla to lift the curse.
From the dinghy, Diane and Mercer watched in muted fascination. They had been skeptical, to say the least, but at that moment whatever they were looking at was undoubtedly real.
From the pontoon, the team gawked at the distant torches and Lovely standing between them. As seasoned archaeologists they had been around the world and seen many things, but they would never again witness a scene like this one.
The distant rumble of thunder jolted them back to reality.
8
Finally, Lovely returned to the dinghy and told Diane to call the pontoon. The island was safe.
Ronnie revved the engine just enough to gain momentum, then shut it off and lifted it. The pontoon glided to a stop in the sand near the dinghy. No one seemed eager to get off.
Dr. Sargent quipped, “I think you white boys should go first.”
Dr. Gilfoy replied, “We’ll follow you.”
Diane said, “We walk to Lovely one at a time, between the torches, and she will say a prayer. Then you are clear.”
“Are you sure?” asked Gilfoy.
“No, but we’re doing what Lovely says. Follow me.”
A lightning storm erupted over Cumberland Island to the north. The thunder was louder but still far away.
They walked a few steps along the beach and stopped near Lovely. Diane stepped forward, between the torches, and faced Lovely, who placed her left hand on her shoulder, closed her eyes, and mumbled something. Diane had no idea what she said, and she felt no different when the prayer was over. Mercer followed and went through the same ritual.
Methodically, and with no concern about the thunderstorm, Lovely blessed the six archaeologists, one at a time. Then she explained that the island was now safe for them, and they could get on with their work.
The first order of business was the unloading of the pontoon. Ronnie was still on it when Gilfoy asked Lovely, “Can he come onto the island?”
“Keep him on the boat.”
“Will do.”
The campsite was near the torches, a hundred feet or so from the surf, and far enough away not to worry about high tide. Dr. Gilfoy and Dr. Sargent agreed that it was best to camp on the beach and away from the dangers of the bush. Gilfoy had barely survived a cobra bite in India when he was thirty, and he preferred to avoid another encounter with a poisonous snake. Sargent knew that some of the deserted islands in the Low Country were crawling with eastern diamondbacks. He had seen some impressive ones stuffed and mounted.
One team began setting up the tents while the other scampered on and off the pontoon hauling supplies. When it was unloaded, Ronnie offered a quick farewell and good luck and said to call him when they needed something. He watched the storm as he hurried away.
The team had debated using the pontoon to shuttle back and forth each day. Staying in a nice hotel on Camino Island and eating in restaurants would be the easier route, but archaeologists preferred traveling when they had to carry their own toilet paper. They lived for the thrill of surviving a storm. They liked to sleep on the ground when on a dig, and cook over a fire. Each of the six could tell long stories of the great digs of their careers, hardworking expeditions that kept them away from the modern world.
Diane and Mercer shared a large canopied tent, the girls’ tent, with Lovely and Dr. Pennington, a researcher at Howard University and a veteran of several African burial digs. It had four cots with inflatable mattresses. At two-thirty they settled into bed and turned off the lights. There were soft whispers from the other two tents as everyone tried to get comfortable. Things were still and quiet until lightning cracked nearby and thunder followed. Then the rain began.
9
At times it was heavy and unrelenting and it didn’t stop until dawn, when they staggered out, red-eyed and sleep-deprived, to inspect the damage and see about coffee. Of course everything was soaked, but the campsite was intact. The storage tent was made of heavier canvas and a stronger frame, and it was unfazed. A pot of coffee was soon brewing on a Coleman burner. The morning was cloudy and brisk. The forecast was no rain and a high of near eighty, perfect weather for a dig, but the clouds were hanging around. They interrupted cell phone service, which was unstable at best in clear weather. Internet service was also unstable.
Three “scouts” left to look around while the others fixed breakfast and inventoried gear. Lovely managed to sleep through the noise until eight o’clock. When she emerged from the tent she thanked Diane for a cup of coffee and informed the rest that she’d had a thought during the night. They were searching for the cemetery, not the village, and, as she now recalled, the cemetery was closer to the harbor on the other side of the island. They pulled out maps again and studied them. The scouts returned with grim looks and a report that they were in for some heavy lifting. “Pack the chain saws,” one said.