Page 48 of A Ghost of a Chance

Thoughtfully, Peter nodded. “Which is why you returned year after year—to see her.”

“It is. Every year, we only have one night but each night feels like a lifetime.” They walked in silence. “And every year I fall more deeply in love with her.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. He nodded again. “You purchased the Great House to be near her.”

“Indeed. But also, because Madding Hallow has become home. I care about the people. I feel a sense of purpose here that I have not found elsewhere.”

Peter’s eyebrows drew together in thought as he probably wrestled with the thought that his friend might truly be insane.

Rafe said quietly, “I know it sounds fantastical, and I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me.”

“What I believe does not matter. You believe it.”

A curious lump formed in Rafe’s throat. He had never found such a supporting friendship in anyone other than Benjamin.

After clearing the lump, Rafe glanced at Peter. “I’m not certain which is more mad; that I see a ghost every year, or that I love her.”

After a moment, Peter moistened his lips. “Perhaps you love her, in part, because it’s safe to do so. You need not worry about losing her.”

Rafe blinked. “How do you figure?”

“It’s possible you’re afraid to commit yourself to a living woman who you might somehow fail.”

“But I lose Osanne every year at sunrise.”

“She comes back every year, does she not?”

“She does, but it’s a poor substitute for seeing her every day. And one day, she might go into a light that appears through which no soul returns.”

“Ah. So, if she does leave you, it will be to move on to the next life—not because she is abandoning you, and not because you failed her.”

“Yes. What are you saying?”

Peter held up a placating hand. “It may be exactly as you have described, my friend. But before I returned to Madding Hallow to assume my current position, I counseled with many former soldiers and sailors, all who carried terrible wounds deep inside. Everyone expresses and works through that pain and grief in different ways. I only ask you not to discount the possibility that you have created a perfect woman whom you cannot harm and who cannot harm you.”

“I also can’t touch her for more than a moment,” Rafe grumbled.

Peter halted. “You can touch her?”

“It takes great effort on her part, and we cannot make it last.”

A thoughtful line created Peter’s brow. “Perhaps this is all because you believe you are paying your own kind of penance for past failures.”

Rafe winced. “A valid point. But trust me, if I were to create the perfect woman, I would be able to see her every day and touch her as often and for as long as I want.”

Peter clapped him on the shoulder. “I believe a solution exists, if you have the courage to seek it.”

A tactful way of telling Rafe that he might truly have created a grand illusion. As they reached the vicarage, Rafe said, “Give my regards to the missus.”

“Indeed, I will.”

Rafe continued walking, his footsteps taking him through the woods back to the gypsy camp. He stopped. Did he dare?

Footsteps crunched and the foliage parted. Madam Miska stepped out, smiling. “I’ve been expecting you.”

They sat side by side on the fallen log. The bark had crumbled further and new mushrooms had sprung up since he had last visited.

Madam Miska made a gesture. “You love her, this ghost of yours, and you have come to me for answers that I fear I cannot give you.”