Carolina frowned. Now she felt even more rotten than before.
“I’m sorry,” she said, a little more gently this time. “All this time alone in this big house... I think I’ve completely forgotten myself.”
“It’s all right,” the little boy said. “Is it scary to be a ghost?”
Carolina thought for a moment. She didn’t want to be false with the boy, but she didn’t want to scare or worry him. Truth was always the best policy, even if the truth, in her case, was that she was indeed a ghost, and that something sinister lurked in the gnarled orchard surrounding the manor. Her thoughts flashed to the sinister cloud of gray that billowed at the edge of the forest waiting to consume her, and she swallowed down her own fear.
“It’s not scary to be a ghost,” she said, lowering herself onto the bed. “But it is rather lonely.”
“Sometimes I wish my mother was a ghost,” the little boy said, his voice wavering. “Then I could still talk to her.”
That familiar, pushed down pain made itself known in Carolina’s heart again. She wanted to wrap the boy up in a hug in the darkened drawing room and calm him. Here she was after all this time with someone to finally talk to and all she could do was make a little boy cry. She was truly a miserable person, indeed. A miserableghost,as it seemed.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’ll talk to you, and you talk to me. And then we won’t be so lonely anymore.”
The boy sniffed again and looked up under his beautiful curls. A hint of a smile returned to his cheek.
“Can I tell my dad?”
Carolina shook her head.
“Perhaps we should keep this a secret,” she said. “I’m not too happy with your father and what he’s doing here, but... I like you.”
“I like you too,” River said, smiling fully now.
“It’s settled then,” she said. “Whenever you’re feeling lonesome, you may come to my room on the third floor. Just knock three times on the door and I’ll know it’s you.”
She reached out a hand to pat him reassuringly, but quickly jerked back. She didn’t know whether or not the boy had felt her presence, but decided it was best to keep a respectful distance just the same. Even if all she wanted to do was wrap him in a hug and comfort him, she knew that it was not her place. She smiled at him just the same and rose from the bed.
“Dad says I’m not allowed up there yet,” River said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Hmm,” she said, looking over at the fireplace. Though many of the original furnishings and fixtures that had graced the first floor of Jacaranda Manor were now long gone, her mother’s prized Westminster mantel clock had remained.
“See that clock up there?” she said, motioning to the fireplace. The little boy nodded. “Set the big hand to twelve and the little hand to three, and I’ll come to you.”
“Okay,” he said, still smiling.
“Now, I’m sorry that I woke you, but you must go back to sleep,” she said, trying hard to affect a stern, authoritative voice. “Little boys need their rest.”
“It was nice to meet you Carolina,” the boy said with a yawn. He pulled his covers up over his shoulders and sighed deeply.
“It was nice to meet you too, River,” Carolina whispered. She sat there in the dark and watched until the boy’s breathing grew slow and heavy again. His little shape gently rose and fell, nearly causing her heart to break with affection for him. In that moment, she vowed to always watch over him and protect him, this small and beautiful little thing.
Carolina wandered out of the sitting room and back into the foyer in search of the little boy’s father. She sensed that he was on the other side of the French front doors where he always spent his evenings hunched over a book on the steps of the porch. Because of the dark, rolling fog that menaced her and surrounded the grounds, Carolina was too terrified to even look out into the depths of the pine scrub beyond Jacaranda Manor. However, curiosity overcame her fear that night when it came to Joseph Moore.
It had been a long time since Carolina had crossed the threshold to the outside. She had forgotten how beautiful the stained glass inlay on the entrance to her home was, and how calm and peaceful the night could be. She effortlessly passed through the door to the front porch, and as she expected, saw the man reading a book in the lamplight. The noisy dog named Boomer was peacefully asleep on one side, and a half-finished beer stood foaming and forgotten on the other.
Carolina paused and stared at the man’s back, inspecting and assessing him. He was younger than her father, but older than herself, perhaps in his thirties. Sparkles of silver framed his face, beautifully salting the darkness of his hair. His nose was elegant and sloping, and he pursed his full lips pensively as he read.
Carolina leaned over his shoulder and peered, intently trying to get a closer look at him and atThe Complete History of St. Augustine. If she had cause to hold her breath at that moment, she would have. She looked down as he turned the pages of his book and caught the glint of a gold band on his left hand in the soft moonlight. She looked down at her own left hand where a slim platinum band still remained with a single sapphire at the center.
Richard.
She shivered at the memory of the man that had given her that ring. Her Richard. Lost. Gone. Carolina realized she was still hovering just above the man's shoulder as her sadness gave way to annoyance. She turned to the man and parted her lips with a scowl.
“Boo,” she whispered in his ear.
To her surprise, the man jumped and turned his head at the sound. A hand flew to his ear as his hip bumped the bottle of sudsy beer, tipping it on its side. Her voice was forgotten as the glass bottle clattered loudly through the quiet of the night and the man cursed at the state of his soaked pants. The dog began to bark in her direction and Carolina smiled to herself as she retreated through the double doors, up the staircase, and back to her room on the third floor.
