Bastian let the journal fall to his lap. His eyes burned, and his throat was tight. He almost felt he had been there, the sea breeze playing with his hair as he kissed the only woman he would ever love, never knowing he would lose her in just a short while. Barely a year later, Isabelle would be dead, and Richard would follow her to the grave a few months afterward.
Goose bumps covered his arms. He flipped the journal closed and set it on the nightstand. He didn't know what to think. The story of his ancestors' lives filled these pages. Details of Isabelle's death might be in here somewhere. No wonder Jane had ferreted the diary away. It was the perfect primary source for her dissertation. As a fellow historian, he knew its value and had to acknowledge the truththat not letting her have
