As she entered her third floor space Carolina’s eyes traveled to the accumulation of paintings stacked against the wall. Her life's work, hidden all these years under a tarp and away from the eyes of critics. A plan began to formulate in her mind. Perhaps there was a way that she could help Joseph, and herself in the process. Perhaps she stilldidhave the means to make Jacaranda Manor the beautiful centerpiece of St. Augustine once more. Perhaps Carolina wasn’t so powerless after all.
Chapter Eight
The ghost named Carolinakept her distance for the rest of the afternoon as she and Joseph had mutually agreed upon. When the sky outside grew dark and the song of the early autumn palmetto forest all around began to creep in through the open kitchen door, Joseph finally decided to pack up his work and call it a day. Around eight p.m., the sound of Melissa’s van tires crunching on the gravel drive caught Boomer’s attention. The dog barked happily as a tired and contented River was deposited at the front door. After brushing the boy’s teeth and only one bedtime story, his son was fast asleep in his bed in the sitting room.
It was only nine p.m. and Joseph was still wide awake, despite a full day of hard labor and a belly full of beer and gas station sandwiches. If sleep was impossible in the house before Carolina’s appearance, there was no way that he would get rest now. Despite the fact that they had made a pact, he still felt her eyes on him with every move that he made. The thought occurred to him that maybe it was time to move into a rental and admit that living in the estate as he renovated it wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Around ten p.m. as Joseph read by the light of his lantern on the front porch like always, a subtle thud from inside caused his ears to perk to attention. Instantly, his heart began to race and his thoughts fell to River. He was constantly worried that something bad would happen to his boy, especially after Rachel’s accident. He held a burning breath in his throat as he lunged through the foyer and into the sitting room where River was still peacefully and blissfully asleep with Boomer at his side.
Another thud from overhead caught Joseph’s attention as he exhaled a long, slow breath. The sound, of course, was coming from the third floor. Joseph took one more look at his sleeping son and locked the front door behind him. Curiosity, more than anything, led him up the stairs with his heart fluttering rapidly in his chest.
Joseph wasn’t afraid of Carolina—not really. At this point, he was more worried that she didn’t actually exist and that his eyes and ears were deceiving him. Though he was not spiritual in any way and didn’t believe in the supernatural, he couldn’t deny that Carolina’s presence at Jacaranda Manor was very, very real. If it turned out that he was wrong, and that he was seeing things, then he and River would have to return to counseling sessions again, something he did not want to do. Grief counseling, though he knew to be necessary, had been hard on him and the prospect of telling a therapist or counselor that he had been speaking to aghostof all things certainly would not bode well.
As Joseph ascended the stairs with his lantern, he couldn’t help but chuckle darkly at himself and his current situation. He felt like a character in an old black-and-white movie ascending a creepy staircase with a candelabra in hand. With a ghost in the attic of his crumbling old mansion of a home, all that was missing from the scene was lightning, thunder and an eerie organ music soundtrack.
When he finally reached the third floor, Joseph was surprised to find the door to the attic already swung open wide. The moon that night was full and bright and just barely illuminated the small studio space through the all-seeing double dormer windows. Carolina herself was also faintly illuminated, and was busy buzzing around the room when Joseph reached the door.
“What’s going on?” he asked, shining his lantern in the dark attic space.
“Joseph,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Good, I’m glad you’re here. There’s something I want to show you.”
Carolina moved over to the corner of the room where a tarp had once been draped over a series of objects. The protective cloth had now fallen away to reveal a stack of some twenty-four canvases of varying size.
“I tried to move them myself, but I’m afraid I’m still working on that skill,” she said.
“What is it?” he asked, moving further into the room.
“Well, it’s my oeuvre, you see,” she said. “My life’s work. More than twenty paintings of St. Augustine.”
Joseph looked over at the specter who, for once, was smiling ear-to-ear. The usual sarcastic smirk that was typically spread across her face was now a full, genuine grin and her entire being glowed even brighter than before.
“I want you to sell them, Joseph. Then you can use the proceeds from my paintings to properly renovate the manor.”
Joseph placed his lantern on the desk by the window and removed the first painting stacked against the wall. The canvas was painted in a clearly impressionistic style with soft pastel strokes featuring the image of the St. Augustine lighthouse. At the bottom of the painting, Carolina had even signed and dated the work “C. Braun, 1916.”
“I was no Monet, and I don’t know what these will be worth of course, but if the art market is anything today like it used to be then they should bring in a little money,” she nodded confidently, looking over his shoulder.
