Free The Ghost by Danielle Steel

to see how far he'd come. He had been driving for hours,, and he was just on the outskirts of Deerfield. He had no particular destination in mind, but he decided to try and press on for a while, just so he wouldn't have as far to drive to Vermont the next morning. But by the time he passed Deerfield, it was really snowing.
    Historic Deerfield was remarkably picturesque, and he was tempted to stop and look around. He had gone there with his parents as a child, and remembered his fascination with seeing the three-hundred-year-old houses that had been preserved there. Even as a child, he had been fascinated with all things architectural, and his visit had made a big impression. But he decided it was too late to stop now, and he wanted to press on. With luck, he might even make the Vermont border. He had no particular route or plan in mind, he just wanted to keep going, and he was constantly in awe of how beautiful it was, how sweet the towns were. He drove through covered bridges and past historical towns, and he knew that there were waterfalls nearby. If it had been summer, he would have stopped and walked, and maybe even gone swimming. New England was where he had grown up. This was his home, and he suddenly realized that it wasn't an accident that he had come here. He had come here to heal, and to touch familiar ground. Maybe at last, it was time for his mourning to end, and for him to recover. Six months before, he couldn't even imagine it, but now he felt as though the healing process had begun because he had come here.
    He passed the Deerfield Fort and remembered his boyhood fascination with that landmark, but he only smiled as he drove on, remembering his father. He had told Charlie wonderful tales about the Indians along the Mohawk Trail, which Deerfield was on, and the Iroquois and the Algonquin. Charlie had loved hearing about them as a child, and his father had always had a remarkable store of knowledge. He had been an American history professor at Harvard, and trips like these had always been a special gift from father to son, as had been the tales that he told him. It made Charlie suddenly think about him again now, and wish that he could have told him about Carole. Thinking about both of them brought tears to his eyes, but he had to stop dreaming and concentrate on the road again as the snow began to fall harder. He had only come ten miles in half an hour since Deerfield. But it was getting too difficult to see now.
    He passed a sign on the way into a small town, and saw that he was in Shelburne Falls. As closely as he could figure it, he had gone about ten miles northwest of Deerfield, and the frozen river running nearby was the Deerfield River. It was a small, quaint-looking little town, nestled on the hillside, looking out over the valley. And as the snow swirled around him ever more furiously, Charlie abandoned all thought of driving on to Vermont. It didn't seem wise to go any farther, and he wondered if he could find an inn or a small hotel. All he could see around him were small, neatly tended homes as he kept driving. And it was nearly impossible to drive now.
    He stopped the car for a minute, unsure which way to go, and then rolled down the window. He could see a street leading off to the left somewhere, and turned the car slowly, deciding to try it. He was afraid to put the car into a skid on the fresh snow, but the snow tires held, and he headed slowly down the street that paralleled the Deerfield River, and just as he was beginning to feel lost and think he had best turn back again, he saw a neat, shingled house with a widow's walk and a white picket fence around it. And the sign hanging outside the fence said simply PALMER: BED AND BREAKFAST. It was just what he wanted. And he pulled carefully into the driveway.
    There was a mailbox that looked like a birdhouse outside, and a big Irish setter came bounding through the snow wagging her tail as she saw him. He stopped and patted her, keeping his chin down