She also signed a warranty deed giving her beloved Dark Isle to the Nalla Foundation, to be held in trust forever and preserved in sacred memory of her ancestors.
With the deed in hand, Diane flew to Washington to meet with some important people. Now that she had the benefit of an expense account, she stayed at the famous Willard Hotel, down the street from the White House. Her first appointment was with a black-owned architectural firm that specialized in restoring historical sites deemed important to African American history. The architects were excited about the Dark Isle project and signed on. Almost as important, they had innumerable contacts in the preservation field. They promised to start making calls, and planned to visit the island in October. They were confident money could be raised.
Diane met with the National Trust, National Park Service, African-American Historical Trust, African-American Preservation Society, Lilly Foundation, DeWist Foundation, and two of Florida’s black congressmen. She had been unable to arrange meetings with its two senators.
Late on Diane’s fourth night in D.C., Miss Naomi called with the urgent news that Lovely was in the hospital with what appeared to be a stroke. Diane canceled her meetings the following day and flew home. She hurried from Jacksonville to Camino Island and met Miss Naomi at the hospital, where Lovely was resting comfortably.
The doctor said there were several mini-strokes, all of which were worrisome but none of which caused permanent damage. However, there was a greater likelihood of a serious stroke around the corner. Lovely was able to walk just fine and insisted on going home. The doctor finally discharged her. Back on her porch and sipping lemonade, she seemed as spunky as ever.
Bruce insisted on reading the manuscript before Mercer submitted it to Viking. He saw no structural problems but had a few editorial comments, all of which she ignored. They could quarrel later. He loved the book, but admittedly was probably not a fair critic. He felt like he had lived the story, plus he was, and always would be, smitten with Mercer.
During her Christmas break, Mercer and Thomas flew to New York for a brief victory lap. The trip was primarily about food and drink. They had a long lunch with Lana Gallagher and the president of Viking. They had an even longer dinner with Etta Shuttleworth and her husband. They shopped a little, went to a concert, and enjoyed a light snowfall as they walked in Central Park.
From New York they flew to Jacksonville, then drove to Camino Island, where they would celebrate Christmas. Bay Books was decorated to the max and teeming with customers. When Bruce saw them he dropped whatever he was doing and waved them into his office where he hugged Mercer a bit too long and smacked a kiss on her cheek. He bear-hugged Thomas as if he hadn’t seen him in years. “I talked to Lana Gallagher this morning,” he said, as if he routinely chatted with senior editors at the major publishing houses. On second thought, he probably did. “She adores the book, as you know, and thinks the first printing will be a hundred thousand.”
That was news to Mercer.
“I said no way, Lana, this thing is going well north of two hundred thousand. Get the printing presses all greased up. You bought it too cheap.”
Mercer and Thomas exchanged amused grins.
“Now, we need to start planning your book tour, beginning with a killer launch party here on the pub date.”
Mercer couldn’t stifle a laugh.
So Bruce. He just couldn’t help himself.
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.
