hey! okay just one thing...to the few people who have wondered how Devora and Kirsten fit together, they do, but you won't figure out how until the next couple chapters. So, plz keep reading...also there will be more of Kirsten, this story has been finished for a short time now, so how it is, is how it is. plz R&R!


October 30, 1860

Dear Diary,

I know it has been over six months since I last wrote, but so many things have been happening. Lisbeth and her husband returned home last month. From what she has told me, tensions are high in the South. The issue of slavery is causing much turmoil, and many people talk of secession if Mr. Lincoln is elected president.

Kirsten

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As she drove Devora could barely see through her tears. She had picked up her car last night, leaving a down payment, and had spent the night in her car. She had set out after a near sleepless night for Maine. She kept telling herself to look forward, not back, but it was extremely difficult.

She finally gave up trying to see and pulled onto the shoulder of the road. She cried until she had no more tears. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she had no place to, besides her car, until she got to Maine.

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Marc awoke to the blaring of his alarm clock. He rolled over and hit the snooze button, 5am.

He could really do with a few more hours of sleep, but with his sleep came dreams, and his weren't pleasant.

Most of his waking hours and many of his dream filled ones were consumed by thoughts of Devora.

Had he pushed her to hard? Had it been wrong of him to reveal his feelings? He groaned and sat up. It had only been two days since she had left, but he missed her terribly.

She had left without even saying goodbye. The last he'd seen of her was when she had ran from the restaurant. He stood and headed toward the bathroom.

She hadn't said goodbye to Beth either. For the last two days Beth had been subtly asking questions. Questions he didn't want to answer.

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Devora looked at the piece of paper in her hand, then back at the quaint cottage. The numbers matched. She turned off her car and stepped out. Before closing her door, she snatched the thick, manila envelope off the passenger seat and opened it. She slipped her hand inside and pulled out the ring of keys Olivia had given her.

She flipped through them until she found the one labeled with the house numbers.

She walked up the small walkway and up the four short stairs onto the porch. She inserted the key into the lock, turned it, and held her breath as she turned the knob. The door opened and she stepped inside.

The entry hall was small, with a coat rack on one wall and a small mirror and table, opposite it. She moved slowly through the house, trying to take it all in. She owned this, this house and everything in it.

"Well, I thought for sure I saw someone come inside."

Devora turned toward the direction the voice came from. Who was inside?

A moment later an older woman entered. When she caught sight of Devora she smiled widely, "Hello dear, I'm Martha Coxson."

"Devora…Devora Wallace," Devora smiled and shook the older woman's hand.

At the sound of Devora's name, Martha's eyes widened, "Ar-Are you Gilbert's niece?"

Devora frowned, "Yes."

Martha smiled, "Tom…Tom, come here."

A moment later an older man, dressed in navy blue slacks and a white, button-up shirt entered.

"Martha, what's…" he trailed off after catching sight of Devora.

"Tom, the is Devora Wallace, Gilbert's niece." By this time Martha's smile was huge.

Devora smiled hesitantly, who were these people?

As if reading her mind Martha turned to her, "I'm sorry dear, you must think us crazy. This is my husband, Tom. He was your uncle's attorney. Until…well, until his death."

Devora turned to Tom, "You knew my uncle?"

"Oh, we both did," Martha said, "We've been taking care of this house for the last fourteen years."

"If you'd like, Ms. Wallace, I could go over the paperwork with you, so you could take possession of the house. If that is what you wish."

Devora smiled, "If you have the time, I'd like that, and please call me Devora."

Tom agreed and left to retrieve the paperwork. Martha bustled about the kitchen looking for the makings of tea. Devora sat down at the table, even after the ordeal with Marc, being here made her feel peaceful.