Gilda Joyce: The Bones of the Holy (9 page)

“iPod, Mom,” Darla corrected.

“Whatever you call it. There's always some gadget stuck to the girl's head.”

“Most of the kids I know are the same way,” said Gilda, who often preferred writing letters on her typewriter to sending text messages, partly because she had read somewhere that cell phones can interfere with the ability to perceive ghosts. “Some of my friends have developed radioactive halos around their heads from all their electronic devices,” she joked.

Mary Louise laughed. “Oh, look,” she said, glancing out the window. “The rain stopped—at least for now. Shall we get something to eat and then do some ghost hunting?”

“Sounds perfect!” said Gilda.

“Can't we just go out for ice cream?” Darla whined.

“Maybe we can do both,” said Mary Louise. “Gilda is visiting from up north, Darla, and we need to be good hosts.”

“We don't have to go on the tour if you'd rather not,” said Gilda, secretly hoping that Mary Louise wouldn't back down.

“It's okay, Gilda,” said Mary Louise. “Darla will survive. She hasn't been dragged out to one of the ghost tours in ages.”

Gilda, Darla, and Mary Louise headed outside and walked in the direction of the Old City gates. As they approached the entrance to the Old City, Gilda noticed that Darla put on her headphones and sunglasses, as if trying to shield herself from things she might see or hear.

A
s Gilda, Mary Louise, and Darla walked through the Old City gates leading to the historic center of St. Augustine, Mary Louise told the story of a girl who died of yellow fever. “Her ghost still stands here by the city gates, waving to people who come into old St. Augustine. Remember when Evelyn told us about her, Darla?”

“Mmm.” Darla's eyes were fixed on her cell phone; she was busily tapping out a text message.

I'm surprised she hasn't crashed into a tree or a wall yet,
Gilda thought. Darla had scarcely looked up from her phone since they left the house.

“My friend Evelyn Castle runs one of the ghost-tour companies in the city,” Mary Louise explained. “She's such a wonderful lady, and a true Minorcan. She's from one of the oldest St. Augustine families around.”

“She probably has some great stories,” said Gilda.

“Oh, she knows absolutely everything about the history of this place.”

Maybe she'd be able to tell me whether Eugene's house might be haunted,
Gilda thought. Eugene himself was obviously unwilling to discuss the idea, but someone whose family had been in St. Augustine for generations might know some old secrets or stories about the neighborhood.

Gilda followed Mary Louise and Darla into a bustling café on St. George Street. “There's Evelyn in the hat,” said Mary Louise, waving to a middle-aged woman who wore a striking black hat with a broad brim. “Oh good, her daughter Debbie is with her, too!”

“Hi, Evelyn!” said Mary Louise, leading Gilda and Darla to their seats at Evelyn's table. “This is our friend Gilda Joyce; she's visiting from Michigan.”

Evelyn was a petite, older woman dressed completely in black. Something about her reminded Gilda of a queen from a storybook. Was it the way she sat so straight, as if facing her court from a throne? Or was it her perfect manners as she delicately shook Gilda's hand?

“Lovely to meet you, Gilda,” said Evelyn. “This is my daughter, Debbie.” Evelyn gestured to a cute young woman whose freckles, bright-red hair, and pink Civil War–era dress with petticoats contrasted with her mother's pale, sallow appearance. “Debbie works part-time as a ghost-tour guide,” said Evelyn, “but she's also a student at Flagler College.”

Gilda remembered seeing a group of beautiful buildings that reminded her of a postcard from some European city. Eugene had explained that it was Flagler College—originally built as a luxury hotel for some of the fanciest rich people in the United States. Surrounded by fountains, the elegant buildings now housed college students dressed in baseball caps and flip-flops.

“What's your major at Flagler College, Debbie?” Gilda asked, wondering if there might be some kind of professional development for ghost hunters down in St. Augustine.

“Right now I'm focusing on archaeology and drama,” said Debbie. “I'm leaning toward archaeology because I'm assisting one of the city archaeologists right now, and it's just so amazing seeing how all these layers of artifacts and bones are right under our feet. You keep uncovering more and more stories; it's like solving little mysteries about the people who lived here long ago.”

“She digs in the dirt all morning, then she gets beautiful for the theater in the evening,” said Evelyn.

“It's not digging, Mama,” said Debbie. “It's excavating.”

“You Castle women,” said Mary Louise. “I don't know how y'all do it.”

“We keep busy,” said Evelyn, rather dismissively. “Oh, look, I see Tina and Captain Jack over there.” Evelyn waved, catching the attention of a young woman whose style was a study in contrasts: Her romantic-looking black-lace skirt and corseted bodice were juxtaposed against a jagged, punk hairstyle, heavy black eyeliner, and a sullen expression. She was talking to a much older man who was dressed in a pirate costume complete with gold earrings, a long, scraggly beard, and colorful tattoos that decorated his muscular arms like sleeves.

As Tina and Captain Jack approached the table, Evelyn explained that the two were longtime ghost-tour guides, and that “Captain Jack Rattlebones” was actually Professor Jack Hollins—a retired University of Florida professor. “Now Captain Jack is our resident ghost pirate,” Evelyn explained. “He takes kids out on his sailboat on the Matanzas every evening and scares the daylights out of them with his stories.”

“A wench from the North!” Jack joked, greeting Gilda with a chip-toothed smile. “Watch your treasure, mateys; she's got a shifty look in 'er eye.”

Evelyn laughed. “If you can believe it, Jack used to be a zoology professor.”

“Turtles are my specialty,” said Jack. “In fact, I watched some hatchlings make their way down the beach and safely into the ocean this very morning. Aye, a sight for me sea-weary pirate eyes it was.”

“Hatchlings?”

“He means the sea turtles,” said Debbie. “It's almost the end of their nesting season, right, Jack?”

“Yup. From April through October, they crawl out of the ocean and lay their eggs in a sand dune. The eggs usually hatch at night, and then the turtles try to make their way to the ocean. It's an amazing sight to see, if you're lucky. Too often, they end up in some apartment parking lot or garage though, because they get confused and head toward the streetlights.”

“Good thing the turtles have you to protect them,” said Debbie.

“I do what I can. The other day I scared the bejesus out of a couple kids who were out there with their flashlights at midnight. They were sitting there, dropping cigarette butts into the sand and trying to start a campfire and who knows what other kind of nonsense when what do they see but a ghost pirate walking out of the ocean.” Jack let out a deep belly laugh. “Oh, it was priceless. They almost fainted!”

These are my kind of people,
Gilda thought, her mind brimming with questions she wanted to ask about what it was like to lead ghost tours in such a haunted city. The notion of moving down to St. Augustine suddenly seemed quite appealing.

“If you don't mind my asking,” Gilda ventured, “have any of you actually seen a real ghost?”

“I've personally never seen one,” said Debbie, “but I've had lots of people in my groups capture some very weird images on their cameras while we're walking through the city at night. I mean, you just can't explain some of that stuff. And I know they couldn't have doctored the photos, because I was standing right there when they took them.”

The other tour guides nodded in agreement.

“I've had some kids get pinched by ghosts,” Tina commented.

“I've heard that happens around the Huguenot Cemetery a lot,” said Evelyn.

“It does,” said Debbie. “And Tina has even had someone faint from fear at the Tolomato Cemetery during one of her tours. Of course, your tour
is
the scariest one, Tina.”

“I just tell it like it is,” said Tina. “If you're not up to it, stay home.”

“See, Tina doesn't like kids very much,” said Debbie, directing this explanation to Gilda with a wry smile.

Gilda expected Tina to either deny or laugh at this comment, but instead she readily agreed with it.

“It's true,” she said. “I really don't like kids.”

Gilda glanced at Darla, wondering if she was offended by this comment, but she was busy pulling apart a biscuit into about a hundred pieces, and seemed completely oblivious.

“But the funny thing is,” Debbie continued, “all the kids always want to be in Tina's tour group!”

“Because they know mine will be the scariest one.”

“Oh, yours is definitely the scariest,” Jack joked. “Each night she starts the tour with ten kids and comes back with six or seven.”

Tina grinned and shrugged. “It's up to them to keep up with me.”

“If you don't mind my asking—” Gilda ventured.

“We mind,” Jack joked.

“Okay,” Gilda said, laughing, “even if you
do
mind, I was curious whether you guys ever feel scared while you're leading a ghost tour? I mean, it must be kind of spooky at times, walking around some of the old neighborhoods at night.”

“I think we all get a little chill down our spines now and then,” said Debbie.

“It's the kids that scare me,” said Tina.

“You know,” said Evelyn, “I can honestly say I've never been scared here. The first night I started my ghost-tour business, I put on my Minorcan dress and picked up my lantern. And as I was standing here on this coquina-stone street, I had an intense feeling that this was the very street where generations of my ancestors lived—right here in these old houses. I could really feel their spirits near me. And Debbie, you already know this about me: I definitely believe in guardian angels. I know some people might think that's silly, but that's how the spirits in St. Augustine seem to me—more like ancestor spirits or guardian angels. No, I never feel afraid here.”

Gilda noticed that Darla looked up from her plate, which by now resembled a rodent's playground filled with torn bits of napkin and buttered biscuits all mixed together.

I think Darla spent more time tearing apart her food than chewing it,
Gilda thought. Nevertheless, Darla had seemed to listen very intently to Evelyn's story.

“Well, it's time for me to set sail,” said Jack, standing up. “I wish you all a spooky evening.”

“Tina and I had better go, too,” said Debbie. “The early arrivers will start showing up for our tours in a few minutes. See you on the tour, Gilda!”

“Oh, speaking of history, Evelyn,” said Mary Louise, as Debbie, Tina, and Jack departed to get ready to lead their tour groups, “Gilda's mother happens to be engaged to none other than Mr. Eugene Pook.”

Evelyn's eyes grew large with surprise. “Eugene Pook is
engaged
?!”

“That's right. In fact, that's why Gilda is here; they're having the wedding this week!”

“Well, I
never
thought I'd see the day when Eugene Pook would get engaged.”

“Why is it so surprising?” Gilda asked.

“Well, Eugene is just about the orneriest bachelor there ever was, that's why!”

Mary Louise laughed heartily. “You can say that again!”

Gilda felt curious. The two women seemed to share some secret memory of Eugene. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I shouldn't say anything,” said Evelyn. “I'm not one to gossip, especially with Eugene about to become your stepdad.”

“Just tell me!” Gilda pleaded. “I promise I won't say anything to anyone.”

“Well . . .” said Evelyn, leaning toward Mary Louise and Gilda as if about to divulge a juicy secret.

“After Darla's father and I got divorced, Evelyn tried to set me up on a date with Eugene,” Mary Louise blurted.

Gilda was fascinated.
Evelyn tried to fix up Eugene with Mary Louise?!
She also hadn't realized that Darla's mother was single.
I guess having a single parent is something else Darla and I have in common,
Gilda thought
.

“It didn't work out,” said Evelyn. “I remember Eugene looked right at me and said, ‘Evelyn, you and Mary Louise don't understand. I lost my
one true love
. Do you know what that means when you find your one true love and then lose her?' And I said to him, ‘Eugene—I'm sad for you. But honey, Charlotte left you for another man.
That
isn't love.'”

“Who's Charlotte?” Gilda asked.

“Charlotte was Eugene's first fiancée,” said Evelyn. “They almost got married, but Charlotte ran off the night before their wedding day.”

In that case, it's a little strange that Eugene calls his antiques shop Charlotte's Attic,
Gilda thought.

“Anyway,” Evelyn continued, “no matter how I tried to convince him to forget about her, Eugene would just shake his head and say, ‘No, Evelyn. Charlotte is the only one for me.' Oh, it just broke my heart to see him go on like that. And he used to be such a handsome man, too, bless his heart.”

“He did?!” Gilda blurted. This was the most shocking piece of information yet.