3 October 1642
I've wanted children since I was small. I keep thinking of what I'd name them if I gave birth to a child of my own, or adopted a little one before they were named. If it were a little boy, I've always liked Peter, or Benjamin. For a girl, I think Bridget, or Cecily.
I haven't named any of the babies I've lost. There are people who don't name their children until they're a year old for fear of losing them–most of them. But my mama told me that she'd talked to women who named their babies before they were born, named them out of desperate hope and optimism that everything would turn out alright. If we hadn't disagreed like we did, maybe I would've named our first child that way, before all this.
I miss my babies. I know that's silly; I never knew them. But I think I might be allowed to grieve the loss, at least when I'm alone. There is a life I could've led with my husband, and I didn't, and I mourn that.
7 October 1642
A letter came today from Horuss, but not in secret. It was to my husband and I, inviting us to Horuss's wedding. He's marrying a woman named Annes, apparently, from a family I don't recognize but my husband says I should. I've never heard of her, so it's probably a more typical marriage, especially for the upper classes.
My husband put it on the desk between us after dinner, and wrote, "We'll attend, of course."
"That sounds nice," I said.
"It will be," he said. "And it will be nice for your family to see you're well."
I nodded. I couldn't tell if that was a threat, or a lie, or if he just doesn't realize that I'm not well. I haven't been in months. "It'll be good to see my sister."
"Yes," he wrote, and then nothing. I felt a tension in the air, and I wasn't sure what to say next. Does he not want to go? Is he only going for my sake, or for the sake of politeness? Is he upset I brought up my sister? I probably shouldn't have said that, when I know he doesn't like hearing about her.
I am looking forward to seeing my sister. I don't know how long it will take for me to get back to her, and to my home, but it will be good to see her. I can remind myself that she's still real, that my other friends are still real, that there are people outside this castle. There is a life outside this castle.
11 October 1642
I'll never hear my sister's voice again. I was thinking about how lovely it would be to talk with her, and I realized–I'll never hear her speak to me again. I can hear a little bit, and I can understand her, and of course she can write, but I will never hear her speak again like I did. Maybe her voice has changed since I left, but I'll never know.
I'm crying. I'm trying to be quiet but I don't know if I'm succeeding. From the moment she was born I loved her. She drove me mad when we were children and there were times I could've strangled her, but I've loved her for so long. We used to tell each other stories all the time, and her sweet, high voice was such a delight when we were small. She sounded like an adult when I left, and I'm sure she does even more now, and hearing her grow up made me so happy. I won't know what she sounds like now that she's an adult woman.
I wonder if she looks different. I saw her once, almost a year ago, and she looked so much more grown up. How much older she must look now! I'm sure she'd say I look different, too. Besides the weight I've lost, I think I'm paler now than I was. I haven't spent much time outdoors in months.
I'm worried I'll never look the same, that there is nothing I can do to make this better, that this is permanent. I want to believe I can get well again, but how can I be sure?
14 October 1642
I had a headache yesterday, almost as excruciating as when the injury was new. My husband came to wake me, and his face was a thunderstorm, but I think he saw in my eyes that I couldn't move. I could hardly speak enough to say that I couldn't move. I couldn't stop crying, either. It wasn't like sobbing or wailing–the noise would've been too much. It was like all the pressure and pain was leaking out through my eyes, making my pillow damp and my face blotchy.
No one came to see me the whole day, and I'm not sure why. Before, when I had my headaches, someone would come to check on me, to try to feed me or help me. This time, no one came. Did my husband ask everyone to leave me, because he knows how I can't stand any light or sound like this? Or is he keeping everyone from me so I feel alone? Or does no one care, or did anyone even notice I was gone? My ladies care about me, of course, but they can't exactly ask after me too much without risking their own safety. I'd never want to ask that of them.
I sound so melancholy. Maybe I'm such an unhappy person to be around that no one wants to see me anymore. It's my own fault, isn't it? This is all my fault.
18 October 1642
All Saints' Day is coming up, and my husband today brought me a bouquet of roses and wrote, "My love, I know you've had a hard time lately. So please, tell me how to make the holidays wonderful for you."
I could've cried, and I nearly did. My hands were shaking and my voice felt strange as I said, "I just want to spend them with you."
He smiled, soft like the sunrise, and wrote, "Thank you. But is there anything else?"
I tried to think of the things that made the holidays so wonderful when I was a child, when I lived with my mother and sister. Really, it was the village. It was everything–the lantern light, the music from Mrs. Topham, the tables of food from each family, the warmth from having my friends and family with me. It was the feeling of being part of the community, of belonging. I don't belong here, and I don't think anymore that I can or should change that.
"I miss my mother's Yorkshire pudding," I finally said. "And there was this song we used to sing together…I don't remember the name, but I remember how it sounds." I hummed it for him, and I'm sure I was off-key and the tempo was all wrong, but I could feel the notes in my throat. I can feel it when I talk, but I could feel the humming even more.
"I'll tell the chefs and the musicians," he wrote. "If you think of anything else, just let me know. I love you."
"I love you too," I said. And when I looked into his lovely grey eyes, so kind and gentle, I meant it with all my heart.
21 October 1642
I had another headache yesterday, and my husband begged me to take the laudanum. So I did, and today I just felt so much better. The pain is just…unbearable. It's like my head is going to explode, like somehow the world is screaming even though I can't hear. Sometimes it's like the hunger from when I was a child, but in my head instead of my stomach.
I haven't been hungry in a long time. It's the strangest thing–I've been eating less, and I'm sure I've been losing weight, but I haven't been hungry. Especially when I take my medicine, I find I hardly want to eat. I asked my husband if I look thinner than I did when we married, and he said I don't. It's nice of him to say. I'm almost certain he's lying, but it's nice of him to pretend I look just as lovely as when he first fell in love with me.
I think he's planning something. I'm not so sharp when I take my medicine as I am without it, but I like to think I'm reasonably clever, and I know my husband. He's been sneaking around, hiding papers on his desk when I walk by, whispering conversations with the maids. I don't know what exactly, but I'm sure it's to do with All Saints' Day coming up, since he asked me about it.
Maybe he's trying, like I am. He's trying to make our marriage happier, to make me happier. Maybe all the times I've told him I want us to be happy together and enjoy our lives, he took to heart. I know I love him, and I'm sure he loves me–of course he wants me to be happy. I've done sweet things for him, and I can't exactly complain if he wants to do something kind for me.
Can I forgive him? How many chances do I give him? Not seven times, but seventy-seven? I believe in God, and I believe in kindness and compassion and forgiveness. So when do I stop trying?
24 October 1642
I'm looking forward to Horuss's wedding. My ladies and I worked on needlepoint today, and I told them about it. I've decided to tell them half the truth–that I have trouble hearing now because of a fever I had. Everyone knows fevers can do that to you, and now they know some of the truth. I can't let on how serious it is, how little I can hear, but if they know some, they can compensate for me.
"It's going to be great fun, I think," I said.
"They're good families," Katherine said. "The Zahhaks and the Wilsons."
"Do any of you know the bride? Annes?" I asked.
"I've heard of her," Magdalena said, which makes sense, as it is her job to know everyone. "She was educated in all the traditional arts. I've heard she's an excellent musician. I believe she spent a couple of years as a lady-in-waiting for an earl nearby. She seems like a good match for a Zahhak boy."
"I hope they get along," I said. "Horuss worried about his future spouse so much when we were young."
"You know him?" Magdelena asked.
"I do. His father and my mother were close."
"Oh really?" Magdelena said, raising her eyebrows.
"Not like that. They were friends. He helped her after…" I wasn't sure what to say, or how to say it, or if I should just say nothing, or if I should lie. "After my mother fell ill."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Grace said. "My mother was ill, too. We're lucky we had our governess to help us."
"Thank you," I said. "Anyways, Horuss and I have known each other a long time, and I want him to be happy."
"It sounds like it'll be a lovely affair," Grace said. "I hope you have a good time!"
"I'm sure I will."
I'm glad I can talk to them a little bit, although I have to look at their faces to read their lips and focus hard on the little I can hear. I can't really talk to them like I want to, but it's good to just see other people besides my husband and his relatives. I like having lots of friends. Kitty was always happy with just a few close friends, and I always preferred knowing lots of people. I wish I could still talk to my old friends.
28 October 1642
I wrote to Latula and Mituna today. I miss them. They were always such fun! They had the maddest ideas, and between the two of them they always got in so much trouble. I haven't spoken to them in a long time, and I wish I had. I want to know how they are, if they've started having children, how Latula's laundry work is going and if Mituna's still working at the same farm. I should never have let my husband keep me from them. How could I let him stop me from seeing my friends? They helped me so much when my mama died, when I needed them. How could I abandon them like that?
I hope they're not too upset with me. I left them behind when I married. I told Latula once that I'd deliver her babies when she decided to have them. I promised her I'd be there for her, and for Mituna, and for their children.
After writing my letter, Katherine had me stand very still in my room while she pinned things together and tutted to herself, working on a festival dress for me. She didn't want me to look at it, said it was a surprise. I wonder if my husband asked her to make something for me? He's been trying so hard to make All Saints' happier for me, and it would be awfully sweet of him to have a new dress made.
He's trying so hard. How can I think of leaving him when he's trying so hard?
1 November 1642
It was All Saints' today, and it was so wonderful. My darling had a lovely new dress made for me, and that was only the start of it. He insisted I take my medicine so I wouldn't have a headache, then brought me to the ballroom. It smelled heavenly. He'd asked the chefs to cook some of the "peasant" dishes I've always enjoyed at the festivals in my village, along with the usual fancy palace fare with sugar and exotic spices. It was different from the food I used to make with my mother and sister, but it was delicious in its own, new way. I think the chefs here make Yorkshire pudding correctly, and if I went to Yorkshire and made my mother's recipe there, I'd be run out of town. But I like it.
They also played some of the songs I remember. They didn't play the fast ones I like, since the dances are different, but there were tunes I remember from the first festivals when I was twelve. I can't hear so well, but I can feel the music sometimes, and sometimes my darling hums along so I can hear better. We danced together until my feet hurt and my cheeks were flushed. He looked at me like I made the sun shine just for him.
It was a wonderful festival, and such fun. I miss the festivals from my childhood, but things do change. I can love something new as much as something old. I don't want to get so stuck in my ways that I can't enjoy something new. This festival was lovely and I had such a wonderful time, and we were happy. My darling and I were happy together again, like when we were first married. I love him so much.
After it was all over, we went back to our room together, a little silly from the wine, and we went to bed together. It hasn't felt so good like that in months. I miss that feeling, when all in the world I wanted was to have him close to me. I know that no marriage lasts just on that sort of love, but it'd be nice to have some of it. Maybe this is the start of fixing things, and getting that back. I hope so.
4 November 1642
I wish I could go to the library more often. My husband always wants to make sure there aren't any men in the library when I go, and he doesn't always have time to accompany me. I spend most of my time with my ladies, making tapestries and painting and such, but I sometimes have a few hours to myself. These days I've been using those hours to have my headaches, but when I take my medicine, I don't have the headaches. So maybe I can get back to reading.
Part of me wishes my children could grow up this way, with all the books they could ever want to read. We have our little library at home, of course, but the library here…my goodness, I've never seen anything like it. Books in every language I've ever heard of, books on every subject I've ever imagined, every novel I could ever imagine.
Maybe I should stay. There are so many advantages my children would have. They'd never go hungry, never be cold, never be alone. They'd have the best education and opportunities, and they'd always have someone to look out for them. I'd be able to be there for them in a way I couldn't if I had to hunt and work for my child. Is that enough? If my children will gain so much from my staying, shouldn't I stay for them?
I don't know. I took my medicine today, and sometimes that makes it hard to think. It's like my mind is full of the Megido family's sheep, and I'm shoving past them, trying to get to a clear thought. They're not beef cows, they aren't going to hurt me, but they also aren't going to move politely out of the way.
I miss having a cat. It'd be nice to have a cat here.
7 November 1642
I've been taking my medicine most days, but today I got one of my headaches anyways. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, not like when I can't bear the light from a single candle, but I ached all through court. For once I was glad no one there cares what I have to say, because I think if I'd had to speak a single word, I'd have fallen over from the pain. I tried to tell my husband, but he didn't seem to understand.
"How can you have a headache if you're taking your medicine?" he asked.
"I don't know, but I do."
"You must've forgotten to take it yesterday."
"I didn't. I know I didn't."
"You've been forgetful," he reminded me. "Remember how you lost your pen the other day? And your hair ribbons? You could've forgotten your medicine."
"I suppose," I said, although I was very sure I'd taken it.
"Can you go to court today?"
I nodded, and we went. I'd rather have stayed in bed and felt sorry for myself all day, but I didn't think my husband would let that happen today.
9 November 1642
Horuss's wedding was today, and we went. I was worried I'd have one of my headaches and have to sit through the whole wedding with my head splitting open.
I didn't have one today, though. A maid helped me dress in one of my nicer outfits, laced up my corset, and did my makeup. I don't like the way the makeup feels on my skin, but I can't very well go out without it these days. I have to be a noblewoman, and that means fancy dresses and makeup and my corset sometimes a bit tight. My husband and I took a carriage to my home village and the church I went to when I was a child, and we attended Horuss's wedding.
The wedding itself was lovely. Annes looked beautiful, and Horuss radiated happiness. They're not marrying for love like I did (didn't I?), but they smiled at each other, and I'm sure they'll grow to love each other. I hope Horuss is happy with her. I wish him all the happiness in the world, no matter what happens, and I hope his marriage is as wonderful as can be.
The reception was wonderful, too. It wasn't quite as formal as the events I go to in the castle I live in, and I knew more of the people there, so it wasn't as uncomfortable. The Zahhaks are good friends, and I knew I'd be comfortable with them.
My sister was there, too, of course. I wanted to talk to her, but my husband kept his arm on mine and he kept pulling me away to meet some noble or another. I don't know if he was doing it on purpose, but it didn't feel quite right. Once Kitty got close enough that I could've said something, and I opened my mouth, but I wasn't sure what to say, and I wasn't sure what my husband would do later. I feel terrible. She must think I hate her now. I must write her soon and apologize. It's my own fault–I should've told my husband that I needed to speak with her, instead of letting him lead me around.
Mr. Zahhak, though, we did talk to, since we couldn't very well avoid him! And he has some power in his own right. He's nowhere near as important as the duke–as my father-in-law–but he isn't a nobody like my family. So when he walked over to us, my husband couldn't ignore him like some of the other people around.
"Hello, Lord and Lady Makara," he said with a little smile. (As far as I can read his lips.)
"Hello," I said back, afraid to say more. My husband nodded his greeting.
"I heard you have taken a vow of silence," Mr. Zahhak said. "And you?" he asked me.
"I have not," I said carefully.
"Good, good," he said. "Well, I hope you're taking good care of her."
Kurloz nodded again.
"She has probably told you I was close with her mother," Mr. Zahhak said.
My husband nodded, and I said, "I have."
"Your mother was a remarkable woman," he said, like he always does. He thinks the world of my mother. "Did you ever meet her, Lord Makara?"
Kurloz shook his head. He never met my mother. I wonder now if she would've noticed something and told me to stop. She was very good at telling when people were hiding something, and she once laughed and told me she was a very good liar. Maybe she would've noticed something.
"Many years ago, I promised Mrs. Vantas I'd always protect her daughters. I'm glad to see you've been treating Meulin well. I might have to intervene, otherwise." I couldn't tell his tone, of course, but from his face…he seemed to be halfway to a threat.
Kurloz nodded again.
"Lord Makara, you must know I used to work with your father, correct?" Mr. Zahhak asked.
Kurloz nodded.
"Has he told you much about our work? I think some of it may interest you," Mr. Zahhak said, with the perfect politeness of someone who is inches away from snapping.
"Pardon?" I asked, because my husband gave me a look that I knew meant to ask.
"You know this story, Meulin," he said. I was startled for a moment that he called me by my first name, but then, he's known me since I was eleven. He took my hand and squeezed. I think he meant to be gentle, but like his sons, he doesn't always know his own strength. "I am sorry for the grief I caused your mother."
I understood all of a sudden and I felt cold to the tips of my fingers. I nodded.
"Enjoy the celebration," Mr. Zahhak said. "I hope I see you soon."
I think he meant to help, but I was more scared than ever. I didn't know what my husband would do with a man with real power threatening him over me. Mr. Zahhak killed a man once. Maybe more than once, I don't know. I don't know if my husband understood what Mr. Zahhak was saying, but he could probably figure it out if he asked his father (or me, for that matter. I'm not a good liar). I don't know what he'll do if he works out the threat. I don't even know if he has and decided not to do anything! I never know. This time, he didn't hurt me, but I never know when it'll happen.
It is good to know, though, that Mr. Zahhak is there for me, that he still wants to keep me safe. If I need help, if I leave, he'll be there, along with my sister and Horuss and Porrim and my other friends. But I don't want him to hurt my husband.
12 November 1642
I had the strangest dream last night. I dreamt I was back home with Mama and Kitty and Button, but it wasn't quite our house. There were more rooms, and they didn't really make sense with each other, but I knew where I was going. I was looking very hard for something in the house, something that seemed terribly important but that I can't remember now. I asked everyone about it, but they didn't know, and I just couldn't find it, no matter how hard I looked. By the end I was running through rooms I'd never seen before, frantic to find this thing, whatever it was. I woke up frightened and breathing hard, scared of something I'd never seen. I think something was chasing me, but I'm not sure. I just know I was scared.
I think I was distracted in court today, but no one commented on it. I gave charity in the afternoon with my mother-in-law, but as long as I nod whenever she pauses to sip her tea, she hardly even notices I can't hear a word she's saying. I hate this way of trying to be kind. I always helped people because it's the right thing to do, and someday they'd help me back, and it'd all come out in the wash. This feels like doling out scraps to the people my married family is taxing to death. I thought I could help here, but I don't know if that's true.
16 November 1642
I got a letter today from Kitty. She told me the Zahhaks will help me if I need it, and she will too, when I get home. She wrote me to tell me she loves me and misses me and is looking forward to seeing me again. I just about sobbed when I read that. I ignored her the whole wedding, the only time I've seen her face in months! She should be furious with me. She should hate me.
Would I hate her, though, if she were in my place? I don't think I would. She's my sister, and I've loved her since she was born. I went back for her, and I'd do it again. I'd have gone back to our first home a hundred times if that was what it took to get her out. Is that what she's doing now? Coming back for me? Do I even deserve that? I got myself into this situation; there's no reason for her to try to get me out. We didn't ask for what our birth parents did to us. This is all my fault.
I think my husband could tell I'd been crying, but he didn't ask about it. Maybe it's because I'm nearly always crying these days. I must look unwell, or something. I didn't think about it before, but how did Mr. Zahhak know to talk to my husband and me like that? He might've asked Kitty, but she promised me she wouldn't go telling everyone. Maybe he could tell just by looking that something is wrong.
I miss Kitty. I miss having people I could talk to about nothing but still feel close, and I miss my mother, and I miss feeling like myself.
19 November 1642
I wrote my sister back today. I wasn't sure what to tell her. I apologized for not talking to her at Horuss's wedding, told her that I was frightened. I hope she understands. She deserves better than that, and I hope I can be a better sister after this. I told her about the good things, too, so she wouldn't worry so much. I told her how my husband had the chefs cook something special for the festivals. I took my medicine today, so I am feeling better about the whole situation, and I don't want my little sister to worry. She's still only nineteen.
I also worked on another tapestry today with my ladies. I have completely lost track of how many we've made or what this one is supposed to be. I just put some flowers on the border and try to listen when they talk. I haven't painted in a while, and I certainly haven't been horseback riding. My husband promised me I'd have leisure time when I married him, that I wouldn't always be hunting or chopping wood or working in the garden. But my goodness, I am losing my mind never going outside. I have so much time on my hands, and I can't use any of it to just go for a walk in the woods the way I used to.
One day I'll go for a walk again. It'll be nice.
22 November 1642
Advent is approaching, and this year we're going to have a whole host of guests for Christmas. I have a lot to do to prepare for them. It's strange asking other people to do things for me. I suppose I feel strange asking someone else to do something when I could just do it myself. But then, I couldn't decorate this entire castle by myself. I could decorate my own home, or cook for my sister and myself, but I can't do these things for the whole castle.
My ladies are very helpful, though. They know what to do with fancy, elaborate events and formal gatherings. I couldn't ask for better friends right now. There's a lot I can't tell them, but they know I'm not well and are trying their best to help. Grace especially has been wonderful, handling my correspondence and not asking questions about the letters I trade with my sister. She sometimes uses her hands to talk to me, to make things easier. My hearing doesn't seem to be coming back, so maybe I should work with her to learn to listen another way. She acts things out, like when she was telling me a duchess was pregnant, she patted her stomach the way pregnant people do. It's much easier than trying to read her lips.
At least I can read and write. My mother insisted I learn, and I always liked reading, but I never realized how important it could turn out to be. If I couldn't read, I don't know what I'd do now.
I'm glad I can still talk and sing. Even if I can barely hear what I'm saying, I can feel it in my throat and my lips when I hum.
25 November 1642
My husband asked me today if I was pregnant, and of course I told him I'm not. I'm fairly sure I'm not–I haven't felt sick, and my breasts don't hurt. Even if I was, I wouldn't tell him. I can't.
"How is that possible?" he wrote, frustrated.
"I don't know."
"You were a midwife. You should know these things."
"I still am a midwife."
He rolled his eyes and said, "Either way, you should know about pregnancy."
"I don't know why I'm not pregnant."
"You can have a child, though," he said.
"I can," I said, and I tried to make it sound like I was lying.
"And you'd know if you couldn't."
"Yes, most likely," I said, and even though I was lying, I tried to sound like I was telling the truth. This is getting very confusing.
"So you know if you can get pregnant, and you don't know why you can't," he wrote, raising his eyebrows at me.
"I mean, I think I know," I said. "What's this all about?"
"You knew I needed to have children when we married," he wrote.
"I did. I always wanted children."
"Then you wouldn't have lied to me and told me you could have children when you knew you couldn't?" he asked, poking a hole through the paper on the last word.
"Of course not," I said. "I want to have children, too."
"Then try harder," he said. "I don't care what you have to do. Just get pregnant and give me a damned child."
I nodded, and he walked off to do whatever it is he does when he's not thinking about me.
I don't know if it's working. I don't know if he believes me, or what he believes. He's very good at hiding what he thinks, probably from years of living in a court where no one ever says what they mean. My goodness, this would drive Kitty mad, and she's right! People should just say what they mean.
But then I'm a hypocrite, because I'm not saying what I mean to my husband. I'm lying to my own husband! What the hell kind of wife does that? What's wrong with me?
28 November 1642
My husband asked me today if there was anything I'd like for the Christmas season, like he did for All Saints'.
"Anything at all, my dear," he said. "I want this to be a wonderful holiday season for you."
I couldn't think of anything I hadn't already told him about, my mother's Yorkshire pudding and my old favorite songs. I tried to think, and I came up with a few more songs.
"There are some old ballads I miss," I said. "Ones my mother used to sing. And this old song…my sister and I used to sing it to each other. The Cutty Wren."
"I'm sure I can find someone who knows the ballads," he said. "Any in particular?"
"Geordie," I said. "Um, Willie o' Winsbury. Jock o' Hazeldeen."
"I'll look for them," he said. "And see if my father approves."
"Does he have to approve the music?" I asked.
"He likes to. We don't want anything scandalous or anti-monarchist at the ball!"
"Of course not," I said, even though I didn't really believe it. My mother didn't like the monarchy and neither do I. I don't think it's right, that the nobility lives this way and the people I knew when I was a child didn't have enough. I never though much about the songs my mother sang me, but maybe they are anti-monarchist. Come to think of it, I'm fairly sure my mother told me The Cutty Wren was, as it's about feeding the poor, which they are not keen on doing here. I'm not sure about the others. I know the Coventry Carol isn't exactly dancing music, although since it's Biblical I'm sure it'd be alright.
I always thought I'd sing Coventry Carol to my children one day. It's grim for a children's song, but I didn't know the words when I was small. It just sounded like my mama comforting me.
30 November 1642
Today was the first Sunday of Advent. Church felt like it went on forever today. Normally I like Advent, since it's all about this exciting waiting for something wonderful. But I had to dig deep to find any hope in my soul this year. I don't know if this will ever work, if I'll ever be myself again, if my life will ever feel less unbearable. I don't know if I'll ever see my sister again.
I'm trying to have hope. I want to believe that things can be good, that I'm not doomed or cursed or what have you. But it's hard. I think I know what my mother felt when she talked about the melancholy, a sadness that weighed heavy on her. Sometimes the weight is too much and even though I don't have one of my headaches, it's a struggle to get out of bed.
I did get a kind letter from my sister, and that's helping some, but I can't stop thinking about how I abandoned her. I don't deserve her being kind to me after everything I've done.
My husband asked me to talk my medicine until the new year, at least, so I could have a happy Christmas. He's so thoughtful. He wants me to be happy, and of course he does! He's my husband. I feel awful about doubting him, sometimes. He's lied to me and he's been so sweet I could melt. Which am I supposed to believe?
2 December 1642
I gave charity today with my mother-in-law, and it was exactly as uncomfortable for me as every other time. There are people who are starving, so thin their cheeks are hollow, and people so sick they can hardly walk, and people so poor they can't afford shoes to walk here in, and no one but me seems concerned about it. I don't see how they can just…not care. How can you look at a hungry child and not want to help? "We'll give it all to the poor" indeed!
I thought I could help from here. I thought by marrying into this family, I could change things, make them better. I thought I could push back against the laws that hurt the people I grew up knowing, and lift some of the burden off their shoulders. But I'm a nobleman's wife–I can't do any of that. All I can do is sit quietly in court and look pretty next to my husband, and try to have a child. I thought I could persuade my husband, but I don't think I can anymore. I don't think he understands. I thought he did. I don't think so anymore.
6 December 1642
I asked my husband today about the songs I wanted.
"My father…is not keen on them," he wrote.
"Any of them?"
"He said the ballads might be alright, if no one sings the words, but not the Cutty Wren. He said it was a song about rebelling against the monarchy. He seemed shocked I'd ever heard of it."
"I don't know why he'd be surprised. Everyone in the village knows it. We sing it back and forth a lot."
"Well, I think you'd best not bring it up again."
"I won't. I didn't realize it was about that," I lied. It's a song about fighting back and feeding the poor. Of course his father would've approve.
"That's alright. You're entirely too lovely to have to worry about things like this," he wrote. "You have enough to think about with the preparations. I'll see if there are any old ballads my father will approve."
Since all the ones I know are peasant songs, I doubt any of them will be acceptable. I don't know what I expected. Why should I be allowed to bring these remnants of happy times with my family into a new family? My mother hated the duke. I don't know why, but I can speculate. Mr. Zahhak said he worked with my father-in-law, and he was definitely referring to the execution. Was my father-in-law behind the whole thing? That might explain why my mother forgave Mr. Zahhak, if the duke was the one who ordered the execution.
Or maybe I'm being too hard on my married family. Without their words, the old ballads are still beautiful music, and they might be alright with that. And the music here is also lovely in its own way. Just because it's not what I grew up with doesn't mean it's no good! I should be open to new things. I'm sure this will be a lovely Christmas.
7 December 1642
Second Sunday of Advent today, for joy. I am feeling rather more joyful these days since I started taking the laudanum again. It just makes things easier. Dinner was delicious and while church was a bit dull, it wasn't so bad. I did my sister and my mother today, but it didn't hurt as much as it sometimes does.
My husband told me he'd persuaded his father to allow some of my favorite songs to be played without the words. He agreed with me that the music itself is lovely and some slightly scandalous lyrics shouldn't ruin the song for everyone. His father won't budge on The Cutty Wren, but then, his father seems the stubborn sort. I didn't really expect him to! I suppose when people get older like that, they get pretty set in their ways.
All that said, I'm glad I don't have to see my father-in-law very much. Something about him unnerves me, and I'm glad enough to let my husband deal with his own father.
10 December 1642
My husband asked the chefs to make some of my favorite foods today, as a treat he said. My medicine can make me feel awfully sick to my stomach, but I managed to eat some. After all, they're my favorite foods! Anyways, I have been losing weight for a while now. I'm in no danger of getting too thin, but I wish I were still as plump as when I was married. I liked my figure back then. My darling says I'm still beautiful, but he would say that. He's my husband, after all.
He's been especially sweet and kind lately, giving me more compliments and petting my hair softly when we lie together in bed. Maybe it's because he can't talk to me anymore, so he's trying to make up for it with these loving gestures. I wish he would talk, but I suppose that's his decision to make. He must feel awful about what he did, and this is his way of trying to make up for it. Of course he feels awful. He loves me, and I know he feels terrible about losing his temper like that. I felt terrible the time I shoved him. He's doing his best, and I love him.
14 December 1642
Today was the third Sunday of Advent for peace. As usual, we had church and a fancy dinner, and then my darling and I went to our rooms to just spend time together. He offered me a dance and we danced together while I hummed the tune for him, and it was lovely. We went to bed together and it was just wonderful. He doesn't usually like to hold me afterwards, but he did today for a little while. He's just so sweet when he wants to be.
I think he's trying to make me feel better. I'm sure he can tell how tired I've been and how hard I've been trying, and he's trying to show me he loves me. It's so romantic and kind, I hardly know what to do with myself. It really makes me want to believe in the kind man I married. He's trying so hard to be a good husband to me, and he's showing me he cares. I want to trust that he's changing, that he's trying for me. He writes so often that he loves me, and he's already sacrificed so much for me. He's trying for me. I can meet him halfway.
16 December 1642
I worked with my ladies today on a tapestry, and it was good to just be with people. I can't talk with them like I used to, but it's still good to not be alone. I put in some flowers on the border, since I don't have the skill my ladies do, and I tried to make them as lovely as possible. I can make pretty intricate roses these days! I'm quite proud of how far my embroidery skills have come since living here.
I wonder if I should get them something for Christmas. I don't know if that's a done thing. I found presents for my sister and mother and husband (even before he was my husband), but etiquette is so much more complicated here. There's things like status to consider that I never worried about much before. I know what I'd get them, too. Grace likes to read, so I'd get her a book, probably a history. Magdalena I would get a pretty piece of jewelry–she loves fun, pretty things. I think Ellen would like a book, too, although more likely about art. She loves art. And Katherine is still a bit more aloof, but I think she'd like something for her hair. I'll ask my husband if that's alright.
I also need to decide what to get for him, my goodness! My memory isn't as good when I'm taking my medicine. I'm not sure what he'd like. He can get anything he wants for himself, so what can I give him that would be special? I used to make things for my sister, but we needed things like hats and skirts and we used to make those things pretty for each other. I have money now; I could buy something. I just don't know what!
19 December 1642
I asked my husband today about gifts for my ladies.
"Of course not," he wrote.
"Why not? They're so kind to me."
"They're below your station. Gifts to them would be charity, and that would be incredibly rude."
"It's rude to give someone something nice I think they'd like?"
"It's been nearly two years, Meulin. I would expect you to understand some of these things by now."
I blushed and looked down. He's right. I've lived here long enough to understand that things are different here from where I grew up. I should know better by now. Maybe I'm not as smart as I thought I was. I should have learned something, being a noblewoman for almost two years.
"I'm sorry. I just wanted to do something nice."
He softened a little, and smiled. "You have a kind heart. You just need to think these things through a little more, alright? I don't want you to embarrass yourself or the family."
I nodded. "I'm sorry. I'll try harder."
"I know you will. You're trying to get pregnant, aren't you?"
"I am."
"I'm sure as soon as we have a child, you'll feel a lot better," he wrote with a reassuring smile. "That's what's good for you."
I nodded again, and for a moment I wondered. If I can have a child with him, will that make things better? He seems so confident that I'd feel better, and he'd be much happier with an heir. With a child, a son especially, he'd have less on his shoulders and I wouldn't have this hysteria hanging over my head. Could I stop pretending, stop this plan I'm putting into action, and have a child with him? Maybe then everything would be alright. Can't I hope?
21 December 1642
Today was the fourth Sunday of Advent, which is for love. My husband today gave me a lovely bunch of red roses, and told me that they were gorgeous, but not half as gorgeous as I am. He always says things like that! He's such a sweetheart. He loves me, and he's trying to show me that. I felt so warm inside when he gave me the flowers, I could've melted. He asked me how my head was, if I felt alright to go to church. Even if I'd had a headache, I don't think I'd have the heart to tell him when he looks at me like that.
Church was still dull, but the Bible verses about love and being kind, and they fell soft on my ears. There are a lot of people I love–my husband and my sister, for one, but also my ladies and my old friends and everyone in the village. I don't have as many friends now as I used to, but that's alright. I don't need a lot of friends to be happy.
My husband brought me a lovely little cake to our room after dinner and said it was to celebrate how much he loves me. He didn't ask if I'm pregnant, which was a relief, because I don't even know what I'd say. I have felt sick to my stomach these past few days, but it could just be the medicine. And my breasts have been sore, but that sometimes happens right before my bleeding.
The cake was delicious, and he had it made special for me to show me he loves me. Maybe I should tell him.
25 December 1642
Christmas was today, and it was wonderful! I got a letter from my sister first thing. I wrote her back just now to tell her I had a wonderful Christmas with my husband and I'd see her soon, and that I hoped her holidays were just as lovely.
Of course we had church, but it was festive and lovely with the carols. I love Joy to the World! There's something about it that makes my chest stir with the feeling I imagine the shepherds must've felt all those centuries ago. I wonder what it must've been like to have the angels come to you when you're just a poor shepherd to tell you that the savior has been born. What it must have been like to be nobody your whole life, and then have an angel appear to you and tell you, rather than any king or wealthy person, such a thing. Fear not indeed! I'm sure I'd have been petrified.
After church, we danced and had dinner, and the food was even more delicious than usual. I couldn't eat much of it, since my stomach has been turning for a week now, but all that I could eat was delicious. If I am pregnant, I'll have to eat, because I'm eating for my little one, too. Oh, and the dancing! It was such fun. I love dancing to the music with my husband. I listened for the songs I'd asked for, but I didn't notice them. But then, I only know them on the instruments in the village, not the nice ones they have here. No one in the village plays the harpsichord!
I danced with other noblemen, too, as I'm supposed to do, but I like dancing with my husband the best. He smiles at me with the sweetest look in his eyes and holds me so gently, like I'm fragile, like he wants to be careful with me. It's moments like that I know he loves me, and I remember how much I love him. I promised to love him my whole life long and I will. How can I not? He's the most wonderful man I know.
28 December 1642
I'm almost certain I'm pregnant. I'm due for my bleeding soon, and if it doesn't come I'll be certain. I think I will tell my husband when I'm sure. He'll be so happy! He's been trying so hard lately to be kind and sweet, and I want to return the favor. He deserves that from me, doesn't he? He is my husband.
I haven't been writing my friends or my sister as much lately. Perhaps I should get back to that. I don't want them to worry about me, my sister especially. Kitty and I both tend to overworry, I think. Our mother did too. I wonder if we inherited it from her? She was our blood aunt, so we could have traits from her. Goodness knows we look like her enough! I hope that's something my children don't get from me. I'm not sure what I'd want to pass to them, really. There's nothing particularly special about me. I suppose I want to teach my children things, but I'm not sure what I'd pass them in my blood.
I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but maybe this child will be the one. Maybe this is my chance to finally have a family.
31 December 1642
It's hard to believe that tomorrow is 1643. Maybe 1643 will be the year I have a child and things start going right again. My husband and I are both trying to make our marriage better and happier, and I know that loving someone isn't just easy. Loving someone and being married to someone takes work, and there are days when I have to remind myself why I love this man. But I do love him, and I think we can be happy together.
I'll write my sister for the new year, I think. I want to wish her a wonderful 1643, and to tell her not to worry, and that she'll be an aunt soon with any luck. I miss her less when I take my medicine, but I do still miss her. She's my sister, of course I do! Once I have a child I can go see her again. It'll be wonderful to visit her. Maybe I can visit my old friends, too. I miss Porrim and Latula and Horuss and Mituna and everyone else. I think once I have this child, I can have my cake and eat it too–my life here, with the man I love and my new family, working to change things, and my life with the people I grew up with in the village. I can do it, I'm sure. I just have to work a little harder.