Chapter Three
Sharing a house witha man was something that Carolina Braun absolutely, positively despised.
Certainly, in life she had shared her home with her father, but Theodore Braun had been an unusual and reserved man. He had spent most of his days in the orchards working alongside his groundskeepers, grafting new variants of cocktail trees and taking in the fresh air. In the evenings he would retire to his study to indulge in his vices, leaving the majority of the house to Carolina, her sisters and her mother. Jacaranda Manor was an estate predominantly run by and enjoyed by women. Until now.
With every passing day, Carolina’s annoyance with her new house guest grew. Though she was admittedly fond of the boy and the dog, the man who was ripping her beloved home apart at the seams simply couldn’t be endured. For one thing, he openly belched as he worked, drinking gallons and gallons of cheap beer as he primed and painted and stripped away the interior of her home. He also listened to awful, loud music that sounded like nothing but screaming. She only found relief when the boy returned home from school and the man put down his paintbrush or hammer and was done with his work for the day. For Carolina, there was no escape; she was bound to the walls of the estate and would be forced to endure whoever or whatever transpired.
The intruder appeared to at least be a good father by all accounts. Andyes, he was also handsome, at least when he wasn’t scratching himself or when he managed toshave, for goodness sake. She appreciated the way that he patiently read to the small, sad-looking boy at night, and how gently he cared for his son. She couldn’t help but be warmed by the way that the man helped the boy to brush his teeth, and how patiently he eased him into bedtime clothes after an evening spent throwing a ball or horsing around outside. Perhaps the man wasn’t all bad, but hewasin her home. And he was making an awful mess of it.
More men in varying uniforms came and went through her home, trampling around and generally making too much noise and mess. A team of two men came to put new wires in the walls, and the man—Joseph, she heard him say—helped to rip up the wainscoting and crown molding that her mother had imported from England. Another team of men installed new pipes in the walls to update the plumbing. The process took a long time, and with every inch of plaster and wood that was removed, Carolina found herself growing even more annoyed and disgruntled with the man responsible for ruining her home.
It was the young boy that noticed Carolina first. As late summer turned to proper fall, the days grew shorter and darkness swept across the manor grounds earlier and earlier. Things were quieter at night, and she enjoyed watching the young boy drift off to sleep while the man sipped at his nightly bottle of beer with the dog. The boy was rather like a doll with soft cheeks and dark curls that fell into his eyes like a curtain. Carolina had never considered whether or not she would have been a mother herself and felt indifferent to the idea, if only for the fact that she was robbed of the opportunity to ever make that choice. Now, as she watched the cherubic boy sleep, something sharp wiggled into her heart. There was something about the child, so small and innocent, that made her want to protect him. Without giving it much thought, she indulged in the urge and planted a motherly kiss on one of his big, soft cheeks.
The boy's eyes flew open wide and his lips parted ever so slightly as Carolina jumped back. They stared at each other for a moment as she froze, not sure if she should make any sudden moves. In all of her time alone in the manor, Carolina hadn’t been able to make contact with anything, her body passing through walls as though she were made of vapor. Did the boy feel her touch? In that moment she knew that she had made a grave mistake as his shining topaz eyes met hers in the dark. Just as before when he’d caught sight of her through the attic window, he could see Carolina now, and she knew that there would be no turning back.
“Don’t be scared,” she said, straightening her back. “I won’t hurt you.”
“What’s your name?” he whispered, sitting up.
“Carolina,” she sniffed. “What’s yours?”
“River,” he whispered. “I knew you were real.”
“River? What kind of name is that for a little boy?”
The look of wide-eyed wonder on the little boy's face fell, and Carolina immediately regretted her choice of words. It had been so long since she had talked to anyone, especially a child, that she had forgotten her manners.
“I like my name,” he said, wiping his nose.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That wasn’t very nice. It’s a good name.”
“Are you a ghost?” the boy said, moving toward the end of his bed.
Carolina blinked. She hadn’t really considered that before. She knew that she was trapped in her home and that time was moving along without her. She was aware that she was no longer living, not in the traditional sense at least. But to be a ghost would mean that she was really and truly dead. A lost soul. A wandering spirit. And that was a fact she was certain that she didn’t want to accept.
“What do you think?” she asked, clasping her hands in front of her.
River nodded his head.
“Well, all I know is that your father is making a terrible mess of my house,” she said, raising her voice. She was desperate to change the subject. “I don’t like it one bit.”
“Dad bought this house for my mom,” he said, playing with the blanket. “He’s going to fix it.”
“Well, you tell your father that he’s gone too far!” Carolina said, stopping herself in her tracks. “Did you say your mother? Where is she? I would like a word with her. Perhaps I can talk some sense into another woman. White paint in the sitting room! How awful...”
“She died,” the little boy said, his little fists wringing the blanket.
