2 July 1642
I think my plan is working. Today my husband wrote me and asked if, as the midwife, I could tell if someone was infertile. I lied and told him I could. You can't tell, really, before someone starts trying to have a baby. Of course if someone is sickly or otherwise weak I'd tell them not to get pregnant, but that's because giving birth is hard on a body.
I didn't know I'd have so much trouble having a baby. I worried that I'd have the same problems my mother did, but I was sure I'd manage. I hoped, anyways, that I'd be able to have babies when I wanted them. Maybe someday I'll have a child of my own, but for now it seems like I can't. It's not safe, for me or for my baby. I can't raise a child like this. I just can't.
5 July 1642
I had one of my headaches today, but I had to go to court anyways, so I took some more laudanum. It certainly helps the pain, even if it also makes me feel like I'm hardly real. Sometimes it's nice to not have to be real. When I take the laudanum, I don't have to think about the absolute mess I've made of my life. For just a little bit, everything is alright.
I have made a mess of my life. If I had been a little smarter or a little more careful none of this would have happened. Instead of having babies with the man I love, I'm alone in a huge castle with no one to turn to, and it's all my fault. If I could've been a better wife, none of this would've happened.
I miss my mama. Isn't that pathetic? I'm twenty-two years old and I miss my mother. It's been five years. Shouldn't I have dealt with the grief by now? No wonder my husband is acting this way. I'd probably be upset if my spouse was like I am.
8 July 1642
My husband talked me into taking the laudanum for a couple of weeks. I do feel better. I haven't had one of my headaches and I've had no trouble sitting through court. My husband has even been smiling more. Of course he's happy when I'm happy. That's how a marriage is supposed to work! My mother used to talk about how happy she was when her husband was happy.
Grace told me today she thought I was acting differently. I asked her to write when it's just us. I told her it helps with the headaches.
"Meulin?" she wrote. She's the only one of my ladies who calls me Meulin consistently. "Are you alright?"
"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You're acting…different."
"How do you mean?"
She hesitated, then said, "It's as if you're walking through a dream."
"I feel just fine." I paused. "I have been taking medicine lately. I've been having these terrible headaches."
"I'm sorry to hear that," she wrote. "Is it because of when you were ill?"
I forgot we told everyone I was ill when I hit my head. But I didn't have the headaches before that, so I nodded. There's something different about getting hit on the head. I've treated people who have head injuries who've lost anything from their words to their ability to eat. "My husband worries terribly. He's been having me take laudanum lately, to stop the headaches before they start."
"That's good," Grace said. "If there's anything I can do for you, just say the word."
"Thank you. But mostly what I need is rest."
I have been getting lots of rest lately. I hope it helps. Maybe I won't have headaches anymore if I can just rest and take my medicine.
10 July 1642
It's so hot out, I just don't feel like doing much of anything. Today I went to court, of course, and after that my husband wanted me to rest in bed. I felt sleepy and weak, so I agreed. He was so sweet about it. He walked me to my room, even though he has plenty enough to do without me, and kissed me so softly before he left.
I don't like the feeling of being outside myself very much, and sometimes the medicine makes me sick to my stomach, but those headaches…and besides, it makes things so much more bearable. When I think too much about how I can't seem to have children, or how I can't hear, or how my marriage doesn't feel quite right, the world can feel heavy as lead. When I take my medicine, it feels like I can handle these things, like they're not as serious as I thought.
I should write to my sister. I hope she isn't worrying about me! My goodness, she's my younger sister. She shouldn't be worrying about me.
13 July 1642
I'm trying not to let on how little I can hear, so I'm practicing figuring out what people are saying from how their lips move. Since I can hear a little bit from my left ear, I can manage. But I need to be looking at them to understand, and it doesn't always work. I just don't say much these days.
Katherine noticed I've been quiet. She asked me today if everything was alright. I told her I still felt a little bit ill, that was all. I told her I'd be better soon. I hope that's true. I'm not sure I'll ever get my hearing back, at least not how it was before all this. I've been having the headaches less, and since taking the medicine I've only had a couple of small ones, but I'm not sure those will ever go away, either.
I've had lots of time to practice my skills in my room alone lately, though. I think I am getting better at watercolors. I was getting better at harpsichord, but I can't tell if I still am. I practice it, and I can feel the vibrations in the instrument sometimes, but I can't hear how well I'm playing. My darling says I sound beautiful, but he always says that. He did say I sometimes sing too loud, and he can't hear the music over my singing. I've never been much of a singer, so it's no great loss to stop singing I think. Anyways, I really only know the old ballads by heart, and when I take my medicine, I'm not in the mood for ballads.
17 July 1642
I felt terribly sick to my stomach today, and I'm not sure why. It could be the medicine, but it's worse than normal. I could of course be ill, but I hope that I'm pregnant. It's been really lovely in bed with my darling these past few days. He's always been kind to me, but since I've been so relaxed it's been better.
I don't think I'm going to tell my darling just yet, though. I don't want him to get excited and then disappointed if I lose another baby. But I can hardly bring myself to be scared of losing this baby, not now. I think this is the one for me. I think this time I'll carry a baby to term and give birth and surely it'll be a son, and everything will be fine.
My husband hasn't been asking as much about if I'm pregnant lately. Maybe he's getting more patient as we go, understanding a bit more that I can't simply will a baby into existence. I think he also understands that I was getting annoyed with him asking so much. I do wish I had been more patient with him myself, though. Of course he needs us to have a child. I should try to be more understanding of the pressure he's under. I'm still new to this life, and I'll never understand what it's like to grow up with that kind of weight on your shoulders. My mother always told me things that marriage and children were my choice, and I never had to have either. My darling had a different kind of childhood.
19 July 1642
I didn't take the laudanum today and I feel awful. I hurt all over and I'm sweating like a pig. The wonderful feeling of my life being together is gone and all I can think about is how I gave up my baby. I might've lost that child anyways, but I will never find out. It frightens me that I don't feel safe enough with my own husband to carry his child.
I wrote to my sister today and I told her what I did. I just needed to tell someone. Our mother raised her, too, and she also knew that no one should ever have to carry a baby they don't want. And I don't want to lie to her. She's helping me, and she'll help me even more when I do leave. She deserves the truth.
I'm too tired to write much more. I don't know why I'm so tired. I almost fell asleep during court today, for goodness' sakes! Maybe I just need a good night's sleep and I'll feel better tomorrow. Maybe I'm just ill. Maybe when I feel better this will all go away and everything will be alright again.
23 July 1642
My husband noticed how ill I felt today and he was so sweet. When I left my bedroom so we could go to court, he noticed right away that I was pale and had dark circles under my eyes.
"Do you want to go back to bed?" he asked.
"No, I should go to court," I said.
He frowned, fiddled with his pen for a long moment, then wrote, "I'm worried about you."
"I'm just tired," I said.
"You just haven't gotten better from when you were ill in May," he said.
"In May? I wasn't ill then."
"Yes you were, remember? You had those awful headaches, and you lost your hearing."
"I didn't lose my hearing from an illness," I said. "I lost if after we had a fight."
"We did argue around then," he said. "But it wasn't serious. Then you fell ill."
"You hit me!" I burst out, and then I felt I might faint from the fear. I never know how he'll react when I say something like that."
"I admit I lost my temper," he said. "But it was definitely an illness. I called the physician for you, remember?"
"I…I think so," I said, but I wasn't sure. People can forget things when they get hit on the head or when they fall ill. Mr. Zahhak thought I was my mother once when he had a fever!
"Will you let me call the physician again?" he wrote, with big, worried eyes.
"Alright," I said. "But I'll go to court today."
He nodded and we left.
I just don't know. I know we had a fight, and I know he hurt me. But was I sick, too? Did I lose my hearing from an illness, and is that why I have headaches? I can't remember anymore.
26 July 1642
The physician came to examine me today. My husband stayed in the room for propriety's sake, of course, and he was wearing this worried little frown. When he looks at me like that, it's hard to believe he threw me against a wall so hard I lost my hearing (if that is, in fact, what happened).
Anyways, the physician examined me as much as he's allowed to, and asked my husband a few questions I couldn't hear, and then sighed. After he and my husband talked back and forth a few minutes, the doctor left and my husband sat down at his desk to write.
"The physician says you're hysterical," he wrote.
I nodded.
"For you to be healthy, we need to have a child," he said. "He feels you have an imbalance of humors, and thinks the best treatment is for us to continue having regular relations and for you to be pregnant. In the meantime, if you aren't feeling well, you can take laudanum if you like."
"Not now," I said. When I take the laudanum, I forget about how things are. I forget that I need to leave if I want to be safe, that I can't raise my children here, that I'm not safe here. The temptation is great; if I just take the medicine, I know I'll feel wonderful, like nothing is wrong. I won't have to think about how much everything hurts. I feel like I understand Gamzee a little better now. If I'd been born and raised in a home like this, I think I'd need something to make me feel better once in a while.
29 July 1642
I think I'm pregnant. I can't be all that far along, but my stomach turns every morning and my breasts ache. I want to carry this baby and give birth and raise them in a happy home, and I know that's not possible. But I'm not going to stop this just yet. My body may give up on me, as it has done so very many times before, and this child will stop another from growing.
I have the strangest feeling these days that my body is not my own. I know it is; I've lived in this body my whole life, and I can't very well get another. But sometimes it feels like I'm living inside of it, not inhabiting it. It feels like my feet are too far away and my hands are too small. It's worse when I take the laudanum and there are times it can be frightening.
I don't think I can tell anyone. If I tell my husband he'll tell me it's hysteria, and I just need to have a child already. My ladies wouldn't know what to say, and even then I'm not supposed to let on how unwell I feel.
Maybe I'll write my sister, or Porrim. Goodness, maybe I'll write Horuss. He tried so hard to take care of us. We didn't really need him to, but I was seventeen and my mother had just passed away. Of course he wanted to take care of us. I wish I'd appreciated it then. I hope he'll still be willing to help me after all of this, because I think I'm going to need help. I can't do anything on my own anymore, apparently.
1 August 1642
It's Kitty's birthday in a few days. She'll be nineteen. I've missed so many of her birthdays, and I can hardly stand to miss another. If nothing else, I need to leave so I can see her. She doesn't need me anymore, but we're still sisters. I still miss her.
Sometimes I feel bad for my husband, for his relationship with his family. I don't always get along with my sister, and my mother had her own problems weighing her down, but I love them and they love me. We were a happy family together, and I always had someone to help me when I needed it. My husband's mother passed away when he was small, and his father has been busy all his life. His brother is off in another world with his intoxicants. I asked him once about his nanny or his tutors, like I had Miss Leon, and he said they've all long since left this castle.
Maybe that's why he sometimes loses his temper with me, because no one showed him how to love. Kitty and I learned how to love from our mama, who loved us kindly and warmly. I think no one ever taught my husband how to love. How can I resent him for that? My mother traveled the country trying to teach people things they never learned. I can't hold against my love something he was never taught. Goodness knows he's put up with plenty of my ignorance.
4 August 1642
I had one of my headaches yesterday, so bad I could hardly stand. My husband took one look at me and told me to stay in bed. I don't know if it's because he was worried about me or if he didn't want anyone to see me like that. I saw myself in the looking glass–I was wan with dark circles under my eyes, and my hands were shaking. I looked like some sort of specter.
It's hard to be sure what he meant. He saw me lying in bed, huddled under the covers, and wrote, "Just don't get up today." I don't know if he meant it kindly or not. I could barely look at his face–the entire world was just too bright. I'm surprised I managed to read, frankly. Maybe it's a good thing I can hardly hear, because even the vague murmurs from my left ear can be too much when I have a headache.
Today I still felt pretty miserable, but I didn't look as bad, so I went to court. The headache itself usually lasts about a day, but I feel sick and confused for a couple days afterwards. It's like my head is foggy and distant. But I don't need to concentrate in court. I'm not expected to speak or have any opinions of my own. I'm just supposed to wear a pretty dress and look like a proper lady next to my husband.
5 August 1642
My husband insisted I start taking my medicine after my headache two days ago. He was right, I think. I already feel much better. I think he was just worried about me the other day, when I woke up ill. If I went into his room and saw him curled up under all his blankets, shivering and sore, I'd certainly be worried. He's not always the best at showing he cares, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love me. We all have our own ways of showing our loved ones we care.
Speaking of, I wrote my sister today. It's her birthday. She's nineteen now, my goodness.
I wish I could've been there. I'd love to bring her a cake like we have here, or a lovely gift I can afford now. Whatever I've worried about here, it is a weight off my shoulders to not have to worry about money. I spent so long counting pennies and praying we'd have enough to eat, and here I always have enough. My husband takes care of me. It's been a damn long time since someone took care of me, and it's nice sometimes.
8 August 1642
I saw my ladies today. I haven't been seeing them as often lately, what with my headaches and responsibilities. We worked on a new tapestry today and I put a rosebush in one corner. I don't think I'll ever had Ellen's instinctive artistic talent. That's alright; she has her skills and I have mine. I am a little bit envious, though. I wish I'd had a formal education sometimes. I know plenty, and I'm very lucky in that respect, and I know that. But I will never have a piece of paper or what have you that grants me access to the things education brings you. I can't change the past, and I can't very well go to school now.
Maybe I should talk to my darling about that. I haven't been able to talk to him about changing things the way I want to–he doesn't like to talk about politics when it's just the two of us and we're trying to relax. Everyone should have the chance to learn what I did, I think, especially how to read and write. Nothing has changed my life more than learning to write.
11 August 1642
I've been having the strangest dreams. It must be my medicine. Last night I dreamed that I was swimming in the river, except not in the little eddy where it's safe. I dreamed I was swimming against the current, towards the mill. I was wearing the nice clothes I wear here and I remember thinking they were awfully heavy. Also, there were bees everywhere. I'm not scared of bees, but they do make me a little bit nervous.
My husband, sweetheart that he is, could tell I was shaken up by the dream. He brought me my medicine and called for a cup of warm tea before I was even out of bed. I love him very much. Maybe I should tell him I'm pregnant. I have this whole elaborate plan, but he's so kind to me most of the time. I don't want to hold it against him, the few times he's lost his temper. Nobody is perfect, and it's not fair of me to expect that of him.
I'll think on it for a couple of days. I want so badly to trust him and stay with him, but that question keeps coming back to me–"Is he mistreating you?" I'm not sure, still. When I take my medicine, it all seems so far away. How can I be sure?
15 August 1642
I turned twenty-three today. My husband had the chefs make a special dinner with a chocolate cake like he knows I love. He held my hand when we weren't eating and he gave me the sweetest smile when I told him how lovely the cake was. He's so kind to me.
But I still haven't told him that I think I'm pregnant. He's so kind most of the time, but I can feel the tension under the surface when he's busy or stressed. He's shorter with me, only writing a few words at a time, and he sometimes looks at me with eyes like daggers. If I told him I was pregnant, he'd be so thrilled, and when I either lost the baby or gave it up, he'd be furious.
I wish we could talk. I wish I could tell him that I worry about him, that I think he has more grief inside him than he realizes, that I miss my sister and my old friends so much I think I may die from it. It's never worked before, but I want to believe that this time it would. I know it wouldn't, and I know it would just make him angry with me, but I love him. I want to believe that somehow, we could fix everything if only I could find the right words.
I'm so very tired.
18 August 1642
I had one of my headaches today. I tried so hard not to be, but when I'm in the thick of it, I get so irate with everyone. Everything hurts and I just want to crawl in a hole and die. When my husband asked how I was, I snapped at him that I felt awful and it was his fault. He pressed his lips together and wrote, "It isn't my fault you were ill."
"I wasn't ill."
"Yes, you were," he said. "You were in bed for days. You were near delirious with fever."
"I–I don't remember that," I said.
"You wouldn't. Come on, we have court."
I think I may be losing my mind. He is right. I wouldn't remember being that sick. I've treated people who go a bit mad with fever, Mr. Zahhak for one! For all I know I did lose my hearing from an illness I can't remember. Who knows? I can't exactly ask anyone. The only person who'd know for sure is my husband, and I don't want him to think I don't trust him. Anything I tell the physician he'll tell my husband, so I can't very well talk to him, even though he would've attended me. I've been lying to my ladies for months, so they certainly wouldn't know.
I wanted to be friends with my ladies when I married. I tried to be kind and friendly and approachable, and now I'm too scared of what rumors might spread to tell them much of anything at all.
Grace still gets letters for me. I can trust them that much.
22 August 1642
Today was my mother's birthday. She'd be forty-seven today. The older I get, the more I realize that she wasn't all that old when she died. My father-in-law is her age and he's plenty vigorous, enough to have shouting matches with my husband once a week or so. I don't think my husband means for me to hear his arguments with his father, but I can't really do much about it when they're shouting so loud I can make it out even with my bad ears.
My mother hated the duke. She didn't say it in so many words, but she hated him. I don't know why, but I'm sure she'd have told me not to marry into this family. She'd be so ashamed of me. I've made such a mess of everything and I'm losing my mind and I keep having these awful headaches. No mother would want a daughter like me, much less my mother, who was so good and kind. I haven't seen much of my mother-in-law lately, and I'm sure it's because she doesn't want to see me. Why would she? I'm not the noblewoman I should be by any measure.
The bottle of laudanum tempts me. I know if I took it I'd feel better the world wouldn't feel so unbearably heavy. The shame and grief and guilt wouldn't hurt so much, and I could pretend that things were alright. But I need to keep my head clear if I'm to free myself, and I can't afford to pretend I'm doing fine when I'm not.
It is terribly tempting.
25 August 1642
I got a letter today from my sister. She wrote me telling me she loves me and I'm always welcome home. I almost cried when I read it. I miss her so much. I miss the life I had with her and my mama and Button.
I wish I didn't have to leave. There are so many wonderful things my children would have if I stayed. They'd never have to worry about food or clothes or warmth, and they'd have an education like I don't. They would live in safety and luxury and they would never, ever go hungry. But they wouldn't be safe in other ways. Their father…I can't trust him to treat them well, and I don't know if he'd love them or ignore them. And I can't raise children like this, when I'm so scared and tired. My mama had a lot of sadness in her, but it was an old sadness, and she wasn't frightened. And I don't think she could've cared for more than just the two of us.
I might never have children. I might never marry again and if there aren't children who need me, I might never get to raise a child. I feel like I'm mourning something I never had, or a possibility I've lost. I miss the babies I can't have. That sounds completely mad. Maybe I am hysterical.
28 August 1642
The doctor came by today and told me to take the laudanum for a full two weeks for my hysteria. I think he must be right–I must be hysterical. I don't remember being sick and losing my hearing, and I have these headaches, and I'm tired so much of the time. I feel a lot better now that I'd taking my medicine, and I know that taking medicine is what you do when you're sick.
My husband cares about me, and he wants me to be well, so of course he wants me to take the medicine that makes me feel better. He smiled so lovely when I told him I felt better today, and held out his arm for me to hold when we walked to court.
We can't talk like we used to, but he wrote me today that he's been terribly stressed about court lately. The politics he has to work with can be so high-stakes and serious. The tiniest thing can cause a diplomatic incident. Of course he's sometimes short with me–everything else in his life is so much. I love him, and I can forgive him a few lapses.
1 September 1642
My mother-in-law and I had tea today. She knows my hearing isn't as good as it used to be, but she doesn't know how serious it is. I could tell some of what she was saying from how her lips moved, and I could hear a tiny bit, but it was hard. So I mostly just nodded along and said something quietly when I had to. She did ask me if I felt quite alright, and I told her I was just a bit tired, and that I might be pregnant. She congratulated me, and I remembered that I still have to tell my husband. I can be awfully forgetful when I take my medicine!
I think she likes me better when I'm quieter like this. I should know by now that not many people here share my opinions, and it's probably best if I keep them to myself. I feel strongly that people should have the same chances in life, that everyone deserves food and water and safety, that everyone deserves an education. But people here, they tend to be awfully keen on keeping their position–status, money, power. I want to change things, but I think it's best I keep quiet for now. It's much safer.
4 September 1642
I haven't had a headache in nearly a week. It's a wonderful relief. I'm a little worried about one thing–what if I have these headaches for the rest of my life? I think they've been getting better, but I'm not sure what I'll do if they never go away. I don't want to need this medicine for the rest of my life, since it makes me feel so strange and it makes my head foggy. But I don't know what I'll do if the headaches don't go away.
I have other medicines for pain, but I can't get my herbs when I'm here. I can't ask anyone for them, of course, because I can't let anyone know about my midwife work. And I don't know where I'd get them on my own, since I can't leave to go to the market. I suppose I could ask my husband, since he knows who I was before we married, but he'd see no reason not to take my laudanum. I don't think he understands why I dislike taking the laudanum all the time. It seems odd, though, since he's seen what it's done to his own brother.
Maybe I'll ask him anyways. It's worth a try.
7 September 1642
I think I've lost weight. I don't look at myself in the mirror very often, but today I noticed the maid tying my corset a little tighter, and Katherine told me she'd have to take in some of my dresses. I'm not sure why. I have plenty to eat here and I don't go hungry, so there's no reason for me to be losing weight.
I suppose I look older now, though. I always had a round face, like my mother and sister, and I always looked a bit young. It's nice to actually look my age for once, even if it does mean my dresses seem to hang oddly on me. Well, they can fix my dresses (I'd do it myself, but I'm not allowed), and all I can do is eat when I'm hungry. Sometimes the medicine makes me feel sick to my stomach, but without it, my headaches make it impossible to eat some days.
I think if my husband doesn't mention it, and the physician doesn't say anything, I won't worry about it. No need to worry myself unnecessarily.
11 September 1642
I miss knitting. Isn't that strange? It is nice not to have to make my own clothes, but there can be something comforting about knitting. Button used to love the cat toys I made for her, stuffed with scrap yarn and fabric. It's nice to make something and know it'll keep me or someone else warm.
The needlepoint I work on here with my ladies is also nice, even if it's a little different. It's good to make something, especially with other people. The women in the village make quilts together, and I thought when I'd get older I'd join them. I guess now I'll get old and make tapestries with my ladies. There are worse fates.
13 September 1642
I feel awful. My whole body hurts and I can't sleep. My head hurts, although I don't think it's one of my headaches. We had court today and I went, but I spent the whole time sitting as still as I could and trying not to cry. It is a bit insulting, but they don't ask me anything during court. I don't need to think or speak during court; I just need to sit there and look pretty. So all I needed to focus on was the willpower to stay upright, and I didn't have to do anything else.
I don't want the laudanum again. I can't afford to feel so distant and dizzy when I need to leave, when this requires so much planning. It's a risk, but I think I'll ask my husband if he can get me some of my herbs. I know he doesn't want me to talk about my old work as the midwife, but I wouldn't be telling anyone else. I could even tell everyone I was taking laudanum, even if I wasn't. There's no reason not to.
16 September 1642
I lost my baby today. I didn't even have to try for this one; my body simply gave up. It was at supper, and there were people everywhere, when I felt a wave of pain crash over me. My husband noticed, even though I was trying not to react. He gave me a questioning look and I tried to say I felt fine, even though I didn't, but he could tell. He knows me very well.
He wrote something down and passed it to one of his servants, who I supposed told everyone I would be retiring early. My husband explained later that he told everyone I had been unwell lately and needed more rest than usual.
He walked me back to our room, then left me there. Part of me wanted him to stay and hold my hand while I lost another baby I wanted so badly, but I knew I couldn't ask that. I never even told him I was pregnant. He'd probably be furious anyways.
Once he was gone I went to the bathtub to lose my baby in peace. It hurt. It always hurts. I don't know why I thought it'd hurt less, or I'd get used to it, but I'm not. Even if I didn't want children, even if this loss was a blessing without a curse attached, it hurts terribly. I burned my dress and changed into my nightclothes so my husband wouldn't notice and cleaned up as well as I could. No one can know. My husband is the second most powerful person in this castle of hundreds; anything could get back to him.
When he came back from dinner and entertaining, we slept together. That hurt, too, but I can't let on that anything is wrong. I just have to live with the pain a little bit longer. Or so I tell myself.
20 September 1642
It did not go particularly well.
"Dear?" I asked my husband as we were preparing for bed. "I was wondering if I could get some of the herbs I used to use for pain, instead of the laudanum."
"Why?" he wrote.
"I don't like how the laudanum makes me feel."
"That's absurd. You need it."
"But if I could fix my headaches another way…"
"You're being stupid," he said. "You're hysterical. You need the laudanum and to have a child."
"I'd just like to try something else."
"I'm not getting you some useless herbs."
"I feel so sick when I stop taking it."
"That just means you need it."
"It makes your brother unwell."
"My brother has his own problems. Just take your damn medicine."
I don't know why I said it, but I snapped, "And what if I don't?"
He stood up from his chair and he's taller than me, so he towers over me. He opened his mouth, then grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled on it, "Then I'll make you take it." He grabbed my arm, dragged me to my bedroom, and shoved the bottle into my hand. I thought for a moment about not taking it, but the look in his eyes…I held it to my lips and took a gulp.
He let me put it down and go to bed after that, but I spit the medicine into my toilet as soon as he was gone. I don't want to take it. I don't like how it makes me feel.
24 September 1642
My husband apologized to me today.
"Meulin, my love," he wrote.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said. "But I'm so worried. You're sick, and when you won't take your medicine, I worry."
"I'm sorry," I said, and I felt awful. I don't want to worry him. He's my husband, and much as he's been unkind to me, I still don't want him to worry. "I'll take my medicine. I don't want to worry you."
"It's quite alright," he wrote. "Hysteria is a difficult illness. I'm sure it will be better when you have a child."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded. I do want a child. He had no way of knowing that I lost a baby a week ago. I never told him I was pregnant the last time, and I didn't tell him when I lost the baby. I probably won't tell him I'm pregnant the next time, either, and surely I will be, because he's convinced it's the cure to my illness. I think he's trying to take care of me, but I don't think he knows how.
27 September 1642
Something occurred to me today that never had before, and I feel it should have. My husband insists that I lost my hearing in an illness, and I wasn't sure I believed him. So I checked my journal around that time, and I was right. He did hurt me so badly I lost my hearing, and that's when I started having headaches. I wasn't sick. I was injured.
He's been lying to me. He's lied to me before but this one somehow feels worse. He tried to make me believe that he didn't hurt me, that something serious that still hurts me didn't happen.
I'm scared. I can't trust him. I can't trust anything he says or does. He'll make up lies to make himself look better, or to make me forget that I have reasons to be frightened. I love him, and I thought he loved me, but why would someone who loves me do these things? I want so badly to trust him, and I do love him, but I just feel lost. Everything is so confusing. I don't know who I can trust anymore. I don't know what to do.
30 September 1642
It's getting cold and I'm getting the shivers. I can stoke my fire high and pile on the blankets, but I'm still cold. It's not just the chill outside; I'm cold inside. I'm frightened and tense all the time, and I have to keep up appearances that everything is fine. I want to leave, and I want to believe that there will be life for me past that, but I don't know how much longer I can do this. I'm so tired. Part of me wants to stop trying. If I just accepted this was my life, I wouldn't have to work so hard. I could just stop, let my husband give me laudanum until I feel fine, pray that I can carry a child.
I have more life ahead of me. I don't want to live the rest of my life frightened and sick like this, and I want to have a moment or two of happiness before I pass. I don't know how much longer this will take. I hope it's not much longer, because I don't think I can hold out much longer before I topple over from exhaustion.