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August 8, 1859

Dear Diary,

I am sorry is has been such a long time since I have last written. So much has happened in the last month, it was impossible to find time to write. I will share my saddest new first, Lars is gone. He has left for Oregon to stay with John and Mary for a time. We were all very sorry to see him go, but it was not a surprise.

Jack and I have been spending a good amount of time together, but always with some sort of chaperone. Most commonly it is Anna and Britta. We went on a picnic yesterday. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky. Jack and I talked while Anna helped Britta catch some fish. Every day that I am with him I learn something new about him. It is amazing.

Kirsten

………………………………………………………………………

Marc Stewart sat in his car, thinking. He was exhausted.

His lively sister had once again tried her hand at matchmaking, setting him up with a very annoying woman who was four years his senior. After dinner she had insisted that they got to a ten o'clock movie, knowing that he had to be up by five the next morning. But always the gentleman, he had gone, and now he was paying for it.

Sighing he started his car and pulled out onto the road. He had only gone a few miles when he saw the car.

It was an old, beat-up car with smoke billowing from its hood. He pulled off the road, behind the car, and put his flashers on.

………………………………………………………………….

Devora looked up at the sound of a car pulling off the road. She groaned inwardly, a police car, what had she done?

A young man got out of the car and came towards her. As he approached she took in his features. He was tall, at least 6'2'' or so, with dark hair and clear blue eyes.

"Do you need any help, miss?"

She smiled weakly, "Uh…yes, I'm not sure what happened. I'm not good with the mechanical aspects of cars."

He smiled, "Marc Stewart at your service."

"Devora Wallace."

"Nice to meet you," he stepped towards the car, "May I?"

"Of course."

Devora stood to one side, watching as he examined the innards of her car.

Finally he straightened, "I think you're going to need a tow truck."

She grimaced, What would she do while her car was being fixed? Where would she stay? She couldn't afford a hotel. She didn't have access to her trust fund yet, and she only had fifty dollars in her purse.

"Do you have a phone?"

She shook her head.

"I can call one for you. Would that be all right?"

"Uh…yes…"

He walked back to his car and grabbed the phone from its place in the cup holder. He flipped it open and punched in the number to his friend's garage.

"Hi Jimmy, this is Marc."

"Hey buddy, how was the date last night?" he asked mischievously.

Marc rolled his eyes, "I'll tell you later. Right now I have a job for you. I'm out on Route 60. I have a car that needs towed, the engine's shot."

"Okay, I'll be there in about…fifteen minutes.

"Okay, thanks."

He shut the phone and tossed in onto his seat.

Then turned and looked at the young woman who stood staring at her car. He didn't think she was very old, not much over eighteen, if she was even that. Her pale blonde hair was long, almost to her waist, held back from her face with a small clip, and she was tiny, just barely reaching his shoulder.

Although she was very pretty elsewhere, it was her eyes that intrigued him the most. He had heard once that the "eyes are the window to the soul" and with her it appeared to be true. Her eyes were sad and had almost a haunted look to them, as if she had seen the horrors of life, and couldn't forget.