The old church soon came into sight, and Finn exhaled slowly as his heart started racing. He was thrilled to say the least. He hadn’t been able to see Rachel for a week now, with the busy schedule he had at the tire shop. He couldn’t make his parents suspicious either, considering how often he used the excuse of meeting Puck. They were bound to understand that something was up soon.

However, that day wouldn’t come yet, Finn was glad to know. Maybe he wasn’t the sneaky type, but at least life had thrown in plenty of distractions to help him out. Tonight it had been the VCR. His dad had come home with one, surprising Carole and Finn both. They were never the family to have the latest in technology, but Carole had wanted that new machine that could record things from the TV. Finn didn’t understand what it was good for though, and was sure it would just be another invention that people would forget about in a year or two. It would never be popular.

But it had made his parents happy and distracted them from thinking too much when Finn called that he was going out for a walk. Now he was meeting Rachel again in the old church – their secret meeting spot that no one but them went to anymore. They were safe and alone there. The church was fairly small, but it was more than enough for the two of them. After all, they lived in a small town.

Finn put his palms against the cold wooden door to the church, and pushed it open. It whined softly under his touch before revealing the interior of the old building.

The first thing that always hit him when he went to the church was the smell. The church was fully built of wood, and the old boards had a certain characteristic smell to them once they started decomposing. The air in the church was always muggy and frowsy, and it took some time before your nose and lungs were used to it. Most of the times he and Rachel would leave the church door open, though.

That was one of the reasons why the church was no longer in use – it was made of wood. The material wasn’t nearly as reliable as marble or granite, it aged quicker, and then there was always that risk of it burning down. According to the church’s old files – if you were interested in that sort of history – the church had actually almost burned down once during an attack in the First World War. Finn himself thought it was kind of cool that you could know stuff from that far back.

The second thing that always hit Finn about the place was the sight. The small windows, for a church, weren’t painted, but instead a standard transparent color, though they looked a bit yellowish from years of dirt and dust. They weren’t see-through either, which was a very good trait for a secret hangout, because they were handmade. The glass was wobbly as hell and all you could see on the other side of them were a blur of green and gray.

The floor, the benches, the walls and the ceiling were all made of the same, green gray looking wood. When the evening sunlight shone through the windows as it did now, it cast the whole room in a golden, warm glow. Under the direct sun, particles of dust danced around dully. There was a long, broken balk covering one of the windows, leaning steadily against one of the rafters.

Rachel was sitting on the floor under one of the windows, wallowing in sunlight wrapping around her like a Gloria, while picking absentmindedly on a thread on her long, red skirt. Her chocolate brown hair was braided across her forehead and all the way to the back of her neck, where it blended together with the bun. Most women these days had a head of obnoxiously curly hair, but Rachel kept refusing to get a perm no matter how much her mother wanted her to. She preferred the simple and laid back 50s hairstyles. Finn sometimes swore that those times were where she really belonged. Nevertheless, she was one to stand up for herself and speak for what she wanted. He loved that about her.

Finn watched her profile lovingly (and he saw her profile because the entrance was oddly placed at the right side of the church instead of in the back).

She looked up with a bright smile as she heard Finn enter. He was quick to copy her happy smile, feeling a sense of relief within that he hadn’t for the whole past week. She was practically glowing, and it made her eyes shine even more, made her skin light up and her features lighten. God, how Finn loved her.

Rachel couldn’t contain her excitement for long, especially under Finn’s loving gaze, so she quickly stood up – not even bothering to wipe her skirt for dirt – before she ran into his arms.

At least, that was she’d intended to do.

As she ran mindlessly, she wasn’t very aware of where she put her feet. When also wearing her new pair of heels, it was harder than normally for her to walk straight. Therefore, she didn’t notice the slightly wobbled floorboard before her foot got caught in the splice and she fell to the floor.

“Rachel!” Finn yelped in surprise, rushing to her side to help her up.

“I’m okay,” she assured, accepting his helping hand to make her sit up straight. “It’s just these stupid old floors. Ugh, I swear, the last thing I need is a splinter in my knee.” She looked up at Finn as he sat down beside her, her smile re-appearing. “I guess I’ve just really missed you, a lot.”

Her brow furrowed, because Finn wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at something past her, not paying attention. “What is it?” she asked in concern.

“What’s that?” he asked back, nodding his head toward something by her leg. She looked down to see the board she had stumbled on, lying with one end up in the air, much higher than the other ones.

Rachel shrugged. “I guess it was loose,” she mused, minding the rough splinters in the board as she nudged it with her hand, trying to rock it into motion. Finn was quick to help her, lifting the small board and taking it into his hands. He examined the wood in his hands, wondering how they’d never noticed before that it was loose. The nail holes were since long gone, so it must have been that way for a long time.

“Finn,” Rachel suddenly said, and the way she said it made him snap his head up instantly. He saw her, hand deep down into the hole the missing board had created. As she withdrew her hand with a shaky breath, he saw the object she was holding.

“What is that?” he asked.

Rachel scoffed, running a hand over the brown leather cover. “It’s a diary, obviously. A journal.” She twisted in her hands: it was so heavy! The leather threads used to wrap the book together were almost not able to keep it closed because of all the papers stuffed between the pages of the book. The back of it was almost half as thick as the front – that was how stuffed it was.

Rachel was curious. She wanted to read it, because it looked really old. She also wanted to know who it belonged to, if it was someone she knew. They lived in a small town, so the chances were high. But the only thing making her hesitate was the fact that someone could still be using it. Why would someone hide a private journal in such a public place anyway? Not that it seemed like it was intended to be found, but still…

Finn watched the journal in Rachel’s hands, brow furrowed in thought. What was someone’s journal doing in the floor of an old church? His thoughts didn’t get very far until he caught Rachel’s hands moving, untying the leather knot.

“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously. “We can’t read it, it someone’s private property!”

“Oh, come on, Finn!” Rachel sighed, but she stopped her hands in silent hesitation. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“Of course I am,” he shot back. “But that doesn’t make it right. That might be full of someone’s private thoughts and feelings. How would you feel if someone read your diary?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you what. We open it, and if it belongs to someone we know, we don’t read past the first page – no one writes secret stuff on the first page anyway! And if it’s not, what’s the harm? It’s not like it would make a difference. So if it’s someone we know, we don’t read. Deal?”

Finn bit his lip for a moment, considering it. “Okay, deal.” You can’t blame him, he was curious.

Rachel didn’t wait any longer, unwrapping the ties and gently opening the covers.

Finn and Rachel both leaned in in anticipation to what they would find. They stayed silent, Finn watching Rachel as she read the top of the page in her head.

25th of December, 1914.

Dear diary.

That’s how you begin, is it not? Since I am new to journal writing, you’ll have to be considerate. I got this lovely journal for Christmas from my mother, and I have yet to divulge in the art of writing my life down – because, I can be honest with you, my life is not all that interesting. But it would be such a shame to let this thing of beauty go to waste.

I have to admit, I do not comprehend the purpose of writing my own life down, for I am well aware of my own thoughts. But my mother, who I lean to dearly, said it could be good for me. I suppose she has caught awareness of the low spirit that I no longer can seem to shake. I love her more than anything in this world, and she does me very much good, indeed.

The fact that she could even find me this valuable gift, when she knows another pocket watch would suit me just fine, says a lot about her person. Especially considering the times we are in. The war is still going on, and I fear that we are nowhere near the end of it.

“Finn!” Rachel gasped.

“It’s someone we know, isn’t it?” he sulked.

Rachel looked up at Finn, met his eyes with hers full of wonder and amazement. She shook her head slowly. “I think this is much more amazing than anything we could’ve imagined.” Finn got an even more confused look, not following. “If the dates are correct,” she said, turning a few pages over to check more entries, “then this was written during the first world war!”

Finn was gaping now. “Are you serious?”

She nodded frantically, turning a few pages over.

I am not sure you want to hear another story of an endless battle with no winners, I presume even I have heard enough of such cruelty for a lifetime. But even so, as impossible it is to grasp in bare hands, we are still facing more death than life should allow. I am mourning as I share the news that my father’s cousin Harold McPearce II – who was like a second father to me – has fallen in battle.

“I can’t believe that this is actually real,” Rachel said pensively. “I can’t grasp it. That we found a practically ancient diary!”

Finn nodded feverously in agreement, excited and burdened all at once, burdened as Rachel read the death announcement aloud. “It’s so surreal.” He shook his head. “But what’s that?” he asked, noting the fine script at the very first page of the journal, the stiff paper that wasn’t really meant to write on. He flipped the pages back, showing Rachel what he’d caught sight of.

Both of them, already finding out things beyond their imagination, sighed in unison as they took in the tear-stained page with a fine printed sentence at the top.

To Blaine. For the love that will never be ours.

“It’s a war journal and an epic love story!” Rachel sighed blissfully. But she was surprised when the book was suddenly ripped out of her hands. “What are you doing?”

Finn gave her a stern look. “Are we sure we want to do this?” he asked seriously.

“What do you mean?” she asked back.

“This is real, Rachel,” he said harshly. “This isn’t a romance novel full of lovely sentiments and proclamations of joy while fighting a war!”

“Look at you!” she smiled. “You’ve read a paragraph and you’ve already started to use words like they did!”

“I’m serious!” Finn snapped. Rachel’s smile faded, and Finn sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t snap at you. I just… this is someone’s real story, real feelings and real life. It may be a love story, but it’s not a happy one. This Blaine guy was probably a soldier fighting a losing battle, and there might be really ugly things in this that we’d be better off not knowing. I don’t know, maybe we should just put it back or something.”

Rachel took the journal from Finn and put it on the floor next to them, taking his hands in hers. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I got a little carried away. But I want to read it, I really do. Not for the drama, but maybe because this person’s story deserves to be shared, to live on. Who are we to turn down history when it’s given to us?”

Finn shrugged, searching her eyes. “If you’re sure about this…” his voice trailed off.

“I am,” she said evenly.

“Okay.” He leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “Let’s read.”