On her fifth trip to Washington, D.C., Diane hit pay dirt. With Marlo Wagner at her side, she met with three foundations she had been cultivating virtually nonstop for months. The African-American Historical Trust stepped forward with a grant of $500,000, and it was matched dollar-for-dollar with grants from the DeWist Foundation and the Potomac Preservation Fund.
The Nalla Foundation had raised $320,000 since its inception, and Diane was already spending most of that on the architects and other preliminary matters, one of which was the clearing of a roadway from the beach to the cemetery on Dark Isle.
Lovely said the curse was lifted, and so far there had been no casualties among the white guys laboring on the island. It was the source of endless ribbing by the black guys. Workers of all colors kept a keen watch for the rattlesnakes.
With $1.5 million in hand, Diane contracted with Drs. Sargent and Gilfoy to begin the first of several cemetery digs. In early April, she finally received an artist’s rendering of the memorial that she liked, after spending almost $60,000 on several that she did not. A marketing firm took the art and produced a slick direct-mail solicitation that went to 300,000 potential donors. In addition to the art, there was a color photo of Lovely and three paragraphs about her story. It was enormously successful, generating over $400,000 in the first two months.
Also in April, Diane decided to forgo law school for another year. She had been accepted at Emory, her first choice, and the school agreed to another one-year deferment, but her dreams of a career in environmental law were fading. She was too busy with the foundation. She said goodbye to Steven and his little nonprofit and rented more space. She hired the second employee. When notified by the IRS that she had failed to list her board of directors, she quickly sent in the names of Steven Mahon, Bruce Cable, Gifford Knox, Mercer Mann, and Naomi Reed. Then she got busy and forgot to tell them that they had been elected to the board of the Nalla Foundation.
At the beginning of the legislative session in Tallahassee, the Black Caucus held a press conference to announce the filing of a bill that would create a memorial to the enslaved people who had lived on Dark Isle. The bill sought $2 million in initial funding, a modest amount for a wealthy state with an impressive budget surplus. The bill died in a subcommittee, then was resurrected only to be killed again upon final adjournment.
Diane and Mercer were at the state capitol, lobbying in a vain effort, when time expired. It was a tough loss, but most caucus members were optimistic about next year. Among the many lessons Diane was learning was that private money was preferable over local, state, and federal dollars.
The Nalla Foundation was raising money and had enough to keep it busy for quite some time. It was about to get a big boost with the publication of The Passage.
2
The early reviews were nothing short of remarkable. Publishers Weekly, Kirkus, Booklist, and Goodreads raved on and on, so much so that Viking increased its first printing to 125,000 copies. Momentum was building, and the buzz in the publishing world was that The Passage could be the summer hit on the nonfiction side.
Viking wanted to throw a launch party in New York, but Bruce Cable would have none of it. He wouldn’t even discuss it with Mercer. The book was born in the waters around Camino Island, and that was where it would be celebrated first. He ordered two thousand copies, a record for Bay Books, and harangued Mercer into pre-signing all of them the day before the launch. He rented the town’s brand-spanking-new amphitheater on the beach, a gift from the legislature to honor those who died in Hurricane Leo. He sold tickets for fifty dollars apiece, which included an autographed book, pregame rum punch on the beach, and a donation to the Nalla Foundation. The weather cooperated, the night was perfect, and a huge crowd showed up. Bruce was, of course, the master of ceremonies, and he introduced some important people to say a few words: Diane Krug, executive director of the Nalla Foundation; the mayor of Santa Rosa; the chairman of the Black Caucus in Tallahassee; and Marlo Wagner, director of the African Burial Project in Baltimore.
The star of the evening was Mercer Mann, and she spoke for a few minutes before surprising the crowd with another introduction. When Lovely Jackson walked across the stage and took a bow, the crowd stood and cheered. When it settled down, she stepped behind the podium, pulled the mike a little closer, and thanked everyone for coming. She thanked Mercer for her book, and Diane for the foundation and its wonderful work, and Bruce at the bookstore. From a pocket somewhere in the midst of her teal-tinted robe, she pulled out a paperback, her own story. She set the scene, then read:
The women held the children close to stay warm. The wind was blowing in from the ocean and they were cold. Where were they? They had no idea. They had survived a terrible storm. A storm so long and awful and violent it had broken the ship into pieces and sent hundreds of screaming people to their deaths. Nalla and the other women and children had somehow survived by clinging to a wooden post, a mast from the ship. The ship. A slave ship that had taken them from their homes and families and children in Africa. A ship that was now destroyed, sunk and at the bottom of the ocean, where it belonged, where it could create no more misery. A child cried and Nalla drew him close. She kissed his head and thought of her own son, over there, across the water. She cried too but only to herself.
The waves broke onto the beach not far away. Dawn was breaking and there was light in the east. The women were still naked. The cheap burlap skirts they had been given on board had been washed away in the storm. They had not eaten in days. The children wanted food but the women just sat there in the sand, beside a dune, and stared at the ocean, waiting for another day in which they had no idea what might happen. Could another ship come to take them home, take them back to Africa? Death was everywhere. Nalla had seen so much of it she wondered if she might now be dead too. Finally dead and finished with this nightmare, now going home with the spirits to see her husband and little boy.
Lovely read slowly and pronounced her words clearly, as if she had done it before. The crowd was silent, and mesmerized. Mercer watched from the side of the stage and knew she had a tough act to follow.
The women heard voices and drew even closer together. The voices of men, but calm. In the early morning light, the women could see men walking along the beach and coming their way. Dark men, with pleasant voices. Nalla called out and the men walked over. Four African men, one with a rifle. Behind them were three women, all from the ship. When they saw Nalla and the others they ran toward them and the women hugged and cried, so happy to see others who had survived the storm.
The men watched and smiled. They were shirtless and barefoot but wore the same odd britches as the white men on the ship. They spoke in a tongue the women did not understand. But the message was clear: You are safe here. You are with your people.
Lovely closed her book, said a polite “Thank you,” and walked away as the crowd stood again. Mercer gave her a hug, then walked, somewhat nervously, to the podium.
3
From Camino Island, the team — Mercer, Thomas, Lovely, and Diane — flew to Washington, D.C. It was Lovely’s first flight and the preparation for it had taken weeks. She sat between Diane and Mercer, kept her eyes closed most of the way, and seemed to be in a trance. She declined food and drink and said little.
The event was hosted by Politics & Prose, a long-standing independent bookstore in the area, and it was held at the historic Howard Theatre. Marlo Wagner had cracked the whip, ginned up interest in the event and the book, and a long list of African American groups bought tickets. The theater was sold out. Marlo and Diane presented a short video as an overview of the project on Dark Isle. Lovely spoke and read and once again stole the show. Mercer had a good night in front of a rowdy crowd.