“Just like that?” he asked.

“Just like that,” she said.

“Do you ever see him anymore?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” he said.

“Don’t be. I’m better off without him.”

“So when did you know it was over?”

“When he handed me the divorce papers.”

“You had no idea they were coming?”

“No.”

“I knew I didn’t like him.” He also knew she hadn’t told him everything. She smiled appreciatively. “Maybe that’s why we get along so well. We see eye to eye on things.”

“Except, of course, about the wonders of small-town living, right?”

“I never said I didn’t like it here.”

“But could you see yourself staying in a place like this?”

“You mean forever?”

“C’mon, you have to admit it’s nice.”

“It is. I’ve already said that.”

“But it’s not for you? In the long run, I mean?”

“I guess that depends.”

“On what?”

She smiled at him. “On what my reason for staying would be.” Staring at her, he couldn’t help but imagine that her words were either an invitation or a promise.

The moon began its slow evening arc upward, glowing yellow and then orange as it crested the weathered roofline of the Travis-Banner home, their first stop on the ghost walk. The house was an ancient two-story Victorian with wide, wraparound porches desperately in need of painting. On the porch, a small crowd had gathered as two women, dressed as witches, stood around a large pot, serving apple cider and pretending to conjure up the first owner of the house, a man who’d supposedly been beheaded in a logging accident. The front door of the home was open; from inside came faint sounds of a carnival funhouse: terrified shrieks and creaking doors, strange thumps and cackling laughter. Suddenly the two witches dropped their heads, the lights went out on the porch, and a headless ghost made a dramatic appearance in the foyer behind them-a blackened shape dressed in a cape with arms extended and bones where hands should have been. One woman yelped as she dropped her cup of cider on the porch. Sarah moved instinctively toward Miles, half turning toward him as she reached for his arm with a grip that surprised him. Up close, her hair looked soft, and though it was a different color from Missy’s, he was reminded of what it had felt like to comb through Missy’s hair with his fingers as they lay together in the evenings. A minute later, at the muttered incantations of the witches, the ghost vanished and the lights came back on. Amid nervous laughter, the audience dispersed. Over the next couple of hours, Miles and Sarah visited a number of houses. They were invited inside for a quick tour of some; in others they stood in the foyer or were entertained in the garden with stories about the history of the home. Miles had taken this tour before, and as they strolled from home to home, he suggested places of particular interest and regaled her with stories about homes that weren’t part of the ghost walk this year.

They drifted along the cracked cement sidewalks, murmuring to each other, savoring the evening. In time, the crowds began to thin and some of the homes began to close up for the night. When Sarah asked if he was ready for dinner, Miles shook his head.

“There’s one more stop,” he said.

He led her down the street, holding her hand, gently brushing his thumb against it. From one of the towering hickory trees, an owl called out as they passed, then grew silent again. Up ahead, a group of people dressed as ghosts were piling into a station wagon. At the corner, Miles pointed toward a large, two-story home, this one devoid of the crowds she’d come to expect. The windows were absolutely black, as if shuttered from the interior. Instead, the only light was provided by a dozen candles lining the porch railings and a small wooden bench near the front door. Beside the bench sat an elderly woman in a rocking chair, a blanket draped over her legs. In the eerie light, she looked almost like a mannequin; her hair was white and thinning, her body frail and brittle. Her skin looked translucent in the flickering glow of candles, and her face was lined deeply, like the cracked glaze of an old china cup. Miles and Sarah seated themselves on the porch swing as the elderly woman studied them. “Hello, Miss Harkins,” Miles said slowly, “did you have a good crowd tonight?” “Same as usual,” Miss Harkins answered. Her voice was raspy, like that of a lifetime smoker. “You know how it goes.” She squinted at Miles, as if trying to make him out from a distance. “So you’ve come to hear the story of Harris and Kathryn Presser, have you?”

“I thought she should hear it,” Miles answered solemnly. For a moment, Miss Harkins’s eyes seemed to twinkle, and she reached for the cup of tea that sat beside her.

Miles slipped his arm over Sarah’s shoulder, pulling her close. Sarah felt herself relax beneath his touch.

“You’ll like this,” Miles whispered. His breath on her ear ran a current under her skin.

I already do, she thought to herself.

Miss Harkins set the cup of tea aside. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper.

There are ghosts and there is love,

And both are present here,

To those who listen, this tale will tell

The truth of love and if it’s near.

Sarah stole a quick peek at Miles.

“Harris Presser,” Miss Harkins announced, “had been born in 1843 to owners of a small candle-making shop in downtown New Bern. Like many young men of the period, Harris wanted to serve for the Confederacy when the War of Southern Independence began. Because he was an only son, however, both his mother and father begged him not to go. In listening to their wishes, Harris Presser irrevocably sealed his fate.”

Here, Miss Harkins paused and looked at them.

“He fell in love,” she said softly.

For a second, Sarah wondered if Miss Harkins was also referring to them. Miss Harkins’s eyebrows rose slightly, as if she were reading Sarah’s thoughts, and Sarah glanced away.

“Kathryn Purdy was only seventeen, and like Harris, she was also an only child. Her parents owned both the hotel and the logging mill, and were the wealthiest family in town. They didn’t associate with the Pressers, but both families were among those that stayed in town after New Bern fell to Union forces in 1862. Despite the war and the occupation, Harris and Kathryn began meeting by the Neuse River on early summer evenings, just to talk, and eventually Kathryn’s parents found out. They were angry and forbade their daughter to see Harris anymore, since the Pressers were regarded as commoners, but it had the effect of binding the young couple even closer together. But it wasn’t easy for them to see each other. In time, they devised a plan, in order to escape the watchful eyes of Kathryn’s parents. Harris would stand in his parents’ candle shop down the street, watching for the signal. If her parents were asleep, Kathryn would put a lighted candle on the sill, and Harris would sneak over. He would climb the massive oak tree right outside her window and help her down. In this way, they met as often as they could, and as the months passed, they fell deeper and deeper in love.”

Miss Harkins took another sip of her tea, then narrowed her eyes slightly. Her voice took on a more ominous tone.

“By now, the Union forces were tightening their grip on the South-the news from Virginia was grim, and there were rumors that General Lee was going to swing down with his army from northern Virginia and try to retake eastern North Carolina for the Confederacy. A curfew was instituted and anyone caught outside in the evening, especially young men, was likely to be shot. Unable now to meet with Kathryn, Harris contrived to work late in his parents’ shop, lighting his own candle in the store window so that Kathryn would know he was longing to see her. This went on for weeks, until one day, he smuggled a note to Kathryn through a sympathetic preacher, asking her to elope with him. If her answer was yes, she was supposed to put two candles in the window-one that said she agreed, and the second as a signal for when it was safe for him to come and get her. That night, the two candles were lit, and despite all the odds, they were married that night under a full moon, by the same sympathetic preacher who’d delivered the note. All of them had risked their lives for love. “But, unfortunately, Kathryn’s parents discovered another secret letter that Harris had written. Enraged, they confronted Kathryn with what they knew. Kathryn defiantly told them that there was nothing they could do. Sadly, she was only partly right.