Dear Diary ...

May 14th, 1827

Dearest Diary,

I feel so silly at times writing in this journal as if you were a dear friend with whom I can confide all of my deepest fears and strongest dreams.  Yet, here I am once again.

The events of the last fortnight have been most disturbing.  The disappearance of my sweetest little cousin after she chased an errant puppy into the cellar ... Grandmother's unexpected death in the night as she slept ... then sister Elisa's fiancee's sudden suicide on the grounds! 

It has all been far too much for us.  So much sadness.  I feel as if there is an evil presence here, and truly wish we had never come here.  This house had sat empty for so long.  Who knows what kind of people lived here before, or where they went.  I know Grandpapa thought this would be the perfect opportunity for us to finally have land and a home, but I rue the day he set his eyes upon it.  There has been nothing but heartache, pain, and misery in his family and my own since we moved in with them after mother and father vanished at sea on their way to America.

I wish at times I had died with them.  My heart is so heavy with grief.  I am so weary, dearest Diary.  So weary of crying.  I long to set my eyes on happier times, but have no idea where to look.  Perhaps I shall just board a train and get off somewhere that no one knows me.  Pretend I have lost my memory and start my life anew.  It is such a tempting thought.

Catherine