Thanks for all the nice reviews.

As for a Peter/Spidey appearance, I am not going to say, you will have to just wait and see.

Note – I don't know much on the Civil War, nor do I live in Virginia, so please excuse any mistakes I may have. The diary as you will see is some time after The War Between the States, and President Abraham Lincoln's death.

Part Two

Secrets

- O – O – O – O – O – O -

She was falling. The dark water was coming closer and closer. This is it, she thought. Spider-Man chose the kids. And that was fine with her, but still, could anyone save her?

She was about to hit the water, when someone's face did come to mind. A man with blue eyes and the sweetest face. Just as she hit the water, she thought, I love you, Peter.

Mary Jane sat up in bed with a gasp. She felt like she couldn't get in any air. Her bedroom was dark, there was no moon this night.

Shaking, with her heart beating fast, the nineteen year old tried to breathe in a lung full of air, and let it out slowly. "It was just dream," she told herself softly. M.J. breathed in again. Then exhaled.

She felt her heart start back to normal speed. The nightmare Mary Jane had wasn't a new one. But she hadn't had this dream in a long time. M.J. figured it was behind her, and for the most part it was.

Every now and again, the nightmare would haunt her sleep.

But the nightmare had been real ten months ago. Unlike the nightmare, Spider-Man had saved her, as well as those kids.

Looking at the clock next to her bed, Mary Jane saw it was 3:30 a.m. Turning on the nightstand lamp, M.J. threw back the thin quilt. There was no way she was going to be able to go back to sleep. Whenever she had a nightmare, it was impossible to get back to sleep.

Getting up, she put on her slippers and robe. Walking out to her small kitchen, Mary Jane put filled the teakettle with water, and put it on the stove to get hot.

Turning on a lamp, she sat down in the armchair, putting her feet under her. Shivering, M.J. took the throw that was on one of the arms of the chair and shook it out covering her lower body.

Sighing, Mary Jane saw the diary sitting on the table, where she put it yesterday. Picking it up, she returned to the first page where she left off.

This is a little strange. I am not use to writing my

thoughts on paper, but I need to write something down.

I don't have anyone I can talk to, no one seems to

understand.

But I suppose I should say something about myself? My

name is Anastasia Peterson. I am seventeen, with

blonde hair and hazel eyes. Odd, I feel like I am

telling about myself in a letter to someone I never met.

Why am writing in this diary? I keep asking myself. It

has to do with my father. He wants me to marry Eric,

but I don't love him. Papa says that love is the for

fairy tales. If that is true, did my parents even love

each other?

My mother died when I was eight. She died giving birth to

my baby brother, who died two days later. I miss her

sometimes. And I do now, because I want to talk to her

about the questions going through my mind.

Mary Jane stopped reading there. She felt a connection with this young woman in this diary. But Anastasia was so young to have lost her mother.

Her mind turned from her deceased great grandmother to Peter. His parents had died when he was very young too. If Mary Jane remembered right, she was told that he had been only four, and a plane crash had taken his parents.

But Peter had his uncle and aunt who lovingly took him in, M.J. said to herself. Uncle Ben and Aunt May raised Peter as their own, until Uncle Ben died about a year and a half ago. Peter had lost a lot of important people in his life.

The teakettle's shrill whistle brought her out of her thoughts. Getting up unwillingly out of her warm cocoon, M.J. went back to the kitchen to get her tea.

Once M.J. was sitting back down, with her feet tucked under her, she sipped her tea. It was too hot to enjoy, so she put it on the table next to her and put the throw back over her legs. Mary Jane picked up the diary to continue reading.

She felt like she could relate to Anastasia in some ways. But as Mary Jane read the diary she didn't realize how so.

- O – O – O – O – O – O -

Peterson Plantation

Richmond, Virginia

June 17, 1865

Pausing in my writing, I sighed. It always made me ache to think of my mother. It has been about ten years since her death, but could anyone get over the loss of their mother? I, Anastasia Peterson, did not think so.

A knock alerts me that I must put my newly purchased diary away. My father, Edgar Peterson, comes in just as I stuff the thin volume in my desk drawer. My father is not an overly tall man, now in his mid-forties looked older then his years with his graying brown hair thinning at the sides.

"What are you still doing up here, Anastasia? Eric should be here any moment."

"I am ready." I said quietly, standing up.

"Good." Papa nodded and left my room.

When I walk out of my room, I see my father had not gone back downstairs, but was waiting for me.

One of our servants came up to tell us that our visitor was here.

"Wait in the drawing room, Anastasia. We will be there shortly."

Nodding to my father, I descend the stairs.

Reaching the drawing room, I walk over to one of the ceiling to floor windows.

The War Between the States had changed much of our way of life as well as our neighbors' lives. It was mainly now that the southern states could not have slaves.

My father has always been a fair man, never overly abusive to our slaves, now servants. Many of ours did not know any other way of life, so they stayed on. Now my father has to pay them a small wage.

Luckily Papa's plantation was one of the few that was not destroyed by the Union army. But my father lost much money because of the war, and now that things are different, it is going to be harder still.

Hearing the door open, I turn to greet my father and Eric Watson.

"Miss Peterson, it is always a pleasure to see you." Eric said to me giving me a slight bow.

"And you, Mr. Watson." Though the man was pleasant enough, my heart did not jump every time I saw him.

"Would you care to go for a stroll?" Eric asked me. I would be rude to refuse so I simply said, "Yes."

Turning to Papa, Eric asked, "Would that be alright with you, sir?"

Papa smiled and nodded. Something told me that my father knew something by the look on his face. Why did it give me an unconformable feeling?

Eric took my hand, tucking it in the crook of his arm when we started walking through the garden. The garden was in full bloom now that it was summer. But wondering what Eric had to say made me miss the beauty of the flowers today.

I did not have to wait long to find out what was on his mind. When we reached a bench in the south part of the garden, he seated me and sat down next to me.

Eric Watson was a good looking man. He had brown hair with blond highlighting in it, brown eyes, and a mustache. I would guess he was in his late twenties, but no more then ten years older than I. I would be eighteen this coming fall.

Taking my hand in his, he started to speak. "Over the past few months I feel I have come to know you, Anastasia. And I-"

I tried to remove my hand from his, but he held it firmly, but gently in his. "I do not think you have known me that long or that well to be calling me by name, Mr. Watson." I interrupted him. "Now release my hand, please." Though I was polite, my voice was firm.

Eric chuckled at that. "Sadly, Miss Peterson, the Confederacy lost the war. So you are not in position to tell me what I can and can not do."

"You can not really say that can you, Mr. Watson? You did not even fight. From what I understand, you had some poor soul paid to fight in your stead." I knew what I just said was uncalled for. Not to mention, that what I heard was something, as a woman, I should not have concerned myself about.

Letting go of my hand, Eric grabbed my chin with his hand. None too gently, he kissed me. I did not know what I was expecting, because I had never been kissed before. Eric's lips crushing and bruising mine was not what I expected my first kiss to be like.

I was too shocked and taken aback to try to resist. Once he released me, I found I was breathing hard. "How - how dare you!" I raised my hand to slap him across the face.

The blow never reached Eric's face. He grabbed my arm in mid-swing. Pulling me to him he said, "My dear, I do not think slapping your future husband across the face would win his affection." Eric's voice was quiet, but had a coldness to it.

"My…what?" I asked looking up at him with astonishment. Surely Papa had not…or had he?

- O – O – O – O – O – O -

June 21, 1865

Papa had accepted Eric's proposal for my hand in marriage.

I tried to talk to my father, but to no avail. His decision was final, I had no say in the matter.

To escape the confines of my room, I rode my mare, Daisy, across Papa's land.

Looking around, I let Daisy have a run. She had been chewing at the bit telling me to let her have her head. Galloping with the wind hitting my face, I felt free for the first time in days. If only I can ran from my upcoming marriage…

The main reason I did not wish to marry Eric was how he treated me the last time I was with him. It was like now that he had my hand, he did not have to be as kind as he was before. And even if he had not been cold before, I did not love him. After what happened I am not sure if I ever could now.

I knew I could not let my horse run like she was, so I got her to slow down. Stopping, I did not recognize the area of land we were on. Had I gone too far from Papa's plantation?

In the distance I heard the rumble of thunder. I had to get back home before it started to rain. But which way had I come?

Turning around, I nudged Daisy where the way home was. Or at least that was what I hoped.

The thunder sounded closer. I felt drops of rain on my face. I had not bothered with a bonnet for my head when I left earlier.

Daisy was getting skittish with the sound of thunder. I knew she wanted to be safely in her nice warm stall. I was getting wetter and colder by the second, the rain falling faster now.

I heard another clap of thunder, closer now. That was enough for my horse. She reared, I lost my seat and fell. I do not know if I heard my horse running, because as soon as I hit my head, blackness took me.

- O – O – O – O – O – O -

I awoke when I felt something cool touch my forehead.

The first thing I saw was a ceiling that did not look familiar to me. It looked more like a log roof than a ceiling.

"Good, you woke up."

Turning my head, which caused it to ache, I saw a man standing next to where I laid.

Taking the wet cloth that must have fallen off my head when I turned, the man put it on the table next to me.

It was then realized I was in a bed with the covers to my chin. I was not wearing my dress. I was wearing…a man's shirt!

Trying to sit up with the covers still at my neck, "Where is my dress?" I asked him, demanding an answer. My head ached, but it was not as bad as the blush that I felt burn my face.

"Please calm down, miss." The man said, helping me sit up. He let go as soon as I was sitting upright, the covers still in place. Kneeling down, so he could be eye level with me, he spoke again. "Your dress is drying near the stove in the other room. I did not wish for you get sick in your wet clothes."

I noticed the man was young, maybe younger then Eric was. And he had the bluest eyes I had ever seen.

"How is your head?"

My head was not aching as much as it had when I awoke. "It still hurts some."

Standing, he asked, "I am going to check to see if the bump on your head went down."

Feeling him probing the area where I got my bump, I winced when he touched the sorest spot.

Seeing my reaction, he stopped and backed up a few steps. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "But the swelling has gone down."

"What is your name?" Why did I want to know that? But I was curious.

Hesitantly, he remained quiet. Finally he answered, "Jonathan."

"I am not going to call you by your first name. It is not proper."

Running a hand through his black hair, Jonathan sighed. His hair badly needed a trim, I noted.

"Call me Jon, then."

He was stubborn, wasn't he? But the shorter version of his name was cute.

"And your name is, Miss…"

"Peterson."

Smiling at that, Jon asked, "Do you have a first name, Miss Peterson?"

"Anastasia." I did not know why I told him my name, but it felt like I could trust him.

Jon pondered over that for moment. At last he said, "I will go see if your clothes are dry, Anna."

Anna? Why did he call me that?

Jon came back a moment later. "Your clothes are dry. I am going to saddle my horse, so I can get you home. Your father must be worried."

He left before I could question him.

Getting up, my head still ached, but it was a small one. Going into the other room that had my dress, I thought to myself, I must have been out for some time for my dress to dry.

The room had a potbelly stove. On the far wall was a shelf with some books. There also was a table with an oil lamp on it and two chairs. That was mostly it.

Dressing as quickly as I could, I was relieved that my dress had buttons in the front. I would have been mortified to have to ask Jon to come back to button me up.

Knocking at the front door let me know that Jon was ready. I walked to door, opened it, and stepped out into the sunny afternoon. The land looked different now then when it had rained earlier.

"Your horse must have bolted after throwing you. I did not see it when I found you. Hopefully it found the way home." Jon said leading a black horse up to me. "Raven is a bit spirited, but is harmless."

Picking me up, Jon swung me onto the saddle. Jon got on behind me. It felt weird being astride rather than on a sidesaddle. But that was not my only problem, having a man sitting right behind me on the saddle was making my heartbeat faster. I felt…I was not sure how I felt. It was something I could not describe.

"Are you alright?" Jon asked as he put his arms around my waist to grab the reins, then he nudged Raven to go.

"Yes." I was anything but.

"If you feel light headed, let me know."

I nodded slightly.

The ride was quiet. Jon started humming a tune I was unaware of.

Soon the walking horse and his voice lolled me to sleep.

"Anna, wake up." The whispered voice next to my ear woke me. Turning my head slightly, I saw my face was mere inches from his. Instinct kicked in and I turned to move away from him. That was impossible on a horse.

Without a word, he pulled me closer, if that were possible. "Stop. If you continue fighting, you will fall off."

I went still in his arms.

"We are near your home."

Why is he having some type of effect over me? I did not understand it.

We were just coming up to the main house when Papa came out, carrying a rifle. He aimed it at Jon.

"Papa!" I said in alarm.

Stopping Raven, Jon got off. Grabbing my waist, he swung me off Raven's back.

Papa had been quiet through all of this, but once he saw I was on the ground, he spoke. "Anastasia, come here."

Not knowing what I should do, I started to my father. But I stopped still half way there.

My father was not looking at me, his eyes was on Jon.

"I am going to ask this once, Parker. Did you lay a hand on my daughter?"

I may be young, but I was not stupid. "Papa!" I said appalled my face burned with a blush.

"No, sir." Jon's voice was quiet, but confident.

Not lowering his rifle once, my father said, "Get off of my land, traitor."

Turning, I saw Jon look at my father with anger, but he glanced at me for a moment. Getting back on his horse, he rode off the way we had come.

"Come inside, Anastasia Marie. We have to talk." I knew something was wrong when Papa used my name along with my middle name. What is going on? I wondered.

Coming up Part 3 Questions. Please Review. Jenn