1 November 1613
All Saint's Day today. It was lovely in the village, not a cloud in the blue sky. I wonder if the sea is actually the color of the sky like people say it is. Obviously I've never been to the sea. I've never even been to a lake. Clearly the sea and lakes exist, but I wonder if the sky and the sea are really the same color.
At any rate, Neolla came back! She said she wouldn't in her letters, but then today she said she wanted it to be a surprise. She was dressed like she normally is, too, with that teal skirt and the black bodice. I've never met anyone else who wears a black bodice. And she was wearing those red-tinted glasses, too. I saw something in Mariek's eyes, a sort of fulfillment, like she was missing a piece. I still think her and Neolla need each other more than they realize.
We played horseshoes again, and a few of the youngest children asked us for dried flowers and sweets. I still have plenty of dried flowers, so I gave them some. I saw some of them making flower chains. I don't have any money left over from that strange birdcage, but I found a few pennies around the house (who knew my mother dear had a jar of pennies in her room) and bought a few sweets from the man who sells them in the market for my friends. It was just a lovely day and a lovely time and I don't think I've ever felt so happy, with no one puppeting (if that's a word) me into being the perfect daughter to show off to the other mothers.
Dolora made such a delicious dinner, too. It's amazing to me, the similarities between cooking a meal and creating a remedy for smallpox (not that anyone's ever really cured, but there are ways to make them more comfortable or reduce the scarring. My own pox marks aren't so bad because of Dolora). She made mashed potatoes and that stew with the onions and the celery and chicken broth, instead of vegetable and a sort of bread she says she learned to make when she was a child in school. It was all very good.
I'm staying the night again, of course. I like staying somewhere warm and safe like Dolora and Sigmun's house, though I know I must go to my own house because I keep my things there and because if I don't stay there, someone else will. But it was such a nice holiday and I don't think I've ever had one so nice, even when I was a child.
I wish it could be like this every day.
2 November 1613
I still don't like that mirror, or any of the other heirlooms my mother left around her room, but I also don't want to sell them all at once. I'll save selling the silver for an emergency, but I think that strange old painting I might want to get out of my house as fast as I can. I also found a jar of pennies yesterday and it's not much relatively speaking, only about twenty cents in total, but that is more than enough for what I need. I don't know why my mother kept a jar of pennies, and though the jar is perfectly intact, it must hold some sort of sentimental value for her, because it's not terribly lovely.
I also found an empty crystal jar that's quite pretty. I might keep it. It'd be a prettier savings jar, anyways.
3 November 1613
Today we went to the clearing with the forget-me-nots (even though they're all dead because that's what happens after the first frost) and sat around for no good reason, just watching the day go by.
"How come days happen?" Sigmun asked.
"What do you mean?" I said.
"I mean…why does the sun rise? Why does it set? Why does time…happen?"
"Because the Earth spins on its axis and—" Simonn said.
"I know that," Sigmun waved away. "But why? Times just goes by, and we live our lives, regardless of our perception or understanding of how the sun and the moon and the Earth work, and in a hundred years, we're going to know so much more, but that doesn't change what happens here and now, and it never will, because by then now will be then and 'the future' will be their 'now'. Why does that all happen?"
"No need to stir up some great humanist crisis or anything," Simonn said.
"Not sure that's quite what humanism is," I contributed.
"Well, the point still stands. I don't know. Nobody does. The only thing to do is just keep living and hope you'll find some sort of purpose in this forsaken world," Simonn said.
"I think everyone has a purpose," I said. "I mean, nothing in nature exists without purpose. And since people are part of nature, we all must have a purpose."
"But who, or what I guess, gives us a purpose?"
"Maybe we give it to ourselves," Simonn said.
"Maybe God gives it to us."
"God?" Simonn asked.
"What about God?"
"You believe in God?"
"Of course I do. Do you?"
"No," Simonn said. "I don't think any God would let children die."
"I don't think God's too happy about the dead children either!"
"I find it strange that you believe in God after everything with your mad mother."
"Well, I made it out alive, didn't I?"
"But you've never seen God."
"You've never seen the ocean, how do you know that exists?"
"Because other people have seen the ocean and they can tell me it exists."
"Guys, that wasn't my point," Sigmun said. "Look, you're both right. Maybe God exists, maybe God doesn't exist. I'm wondering why time just happens."
"Because it does. Time and space, they just exist," Simonn said. "And no one knows why."
"That's comforting," I said.
"It's the truth."
"Maybe someone, or something, put everything here," Sigmun said, lying back and looking at the sky. "Maybe God. Maybe not. But it seems to me that someone went to all the trouble to make people, so we must have some purpose."
"I guess." Simonn lied down and I did, too, so all our heads were in a circle. "I don't know. We might just be random chance. We might just be one star in the sky to someone else."
"That's a scary prospect," Sigmun said.
"I don't know. It's kind of scarier to imagine that there is nothing else alive among all the stars but us," I said.
"What a strange thought," Simonn said. "Other worlds, I mean."
"Yeah…"
"What about an afterlife?" I posed.
"Oh, I think there's an afterlife," Sigmun said. "I mean, why go to all the trouble of making people just to let them die in sixty years? I think there's a life after this one."
"I don't know," Simonn said. "I mean, I'd like to believe in an afterlife, but I'm not sure what it's like or any of that. I just…I'd like to believe all my other siblings are safe somewhere."
"I believe in an afterlife," I said. "Not heaven and hell and purgatory. And certainly not 'offering up Earthly suffering'. But…something."
"I don't know what it is," Simonn said, taking my left hand and Sigmun's right. "I just don't want to face it alone."
I took Sigmun's left hand and squeezed Simonn's hand tighter.
"You'll never face anything alone, as long as we're around," Sigmun said with a sort of confidence that covered up much more emotion.
"Thanks," Simonn said, very quietly. He squeezed my hand tighter.
"You're welcome," I said.
4 November 1613
This is the last page of my journal. I better find that gift one from Sigmun.
It was a good day today. The sun was out, and I had to wear my cloak because it was cold, and it rained, but only at night.
12 November
I found the journal today! I thought I'd lost it forever.
Oh, and I sold the last of the heirlooms and I put all the money in the crystal jar, which I hid under my bed in a pile of old clothes I'm using for a new quilt. I don't know why Mother kept all those creepy things, but I got rid of them. My mother's room could be a guest room now. If someone I'd never met came to my house, there would be no clue she or Father has ever lived here.
Strangely enough, it almost makes me sad.
13 November 1613
The strangest thing happened today.
While I was eating dinner, someone knocked on the door. So I answered it, and a strange woman was standing there with a regretful look on her face.
"Does an Elizabeth Sailor live here?" she asked.
"You just missed her," I said. "She left late in August."
"When will she be back?" the woman asked.
"As far as I know, never."
"Is she…Is she dead?"
"I don't know."
"Who are you?"
"Dianna Leijon."
"Who?"
"Elizabeth and William Sailor's daughter."
She stared.
"And you are?" I asked.
"Smith. Jennet Smith."
So this was the Jennet Mother hated so much. Jennet Smith. The number of times I heard Mother screaming about her, who she hated for something I never quite understood.
"Why are you here?"
"I'm here to speak with your mother."
"Elizabeth Sailor is not my mother."
"You said you were her daughter."
"She and I lived together until I was eighteen and she did attempt to raise me for six years of my childhood. But she is not my mother except by the loosest of definitions."
"That's irrelevant." A city girl, I could tell by her mannerisms. "I would like to speak with her. Do you know where she is?"
"No."
"I just want to speak with my sister!" Jennet snapped. "Where is Elizabeth Sailor?"
"Your sister," I repeated skeptically.
"Yes. My sister."
"I'm sorry, but I really don't know where she is." I paused. "Would you like to come in for tea?"
She nodded and I put a kettle on the stove to boil. "Green or black?"
"Green, please." So I brewed a cup of green tea and one of black tea and I brought them over to her and contemplated the fact that I did have family and that Mother lied about having no siblings.
"Did she tell you about me?" Jennet asked, sipping her tea. Definitely a city girl.
"In a sense."
"In a sense?"
"When she was drunk, she would sometimes think I was you and scream at me for something I didn't do. I don't know what."
"Oh." She paused and thought about it. "Well, it wasn't my fault, what happened."
"What did happen?" I was curious.
"Oh, everything. I didn't agree with what she wanted out of life, she thought I was just following the rules…She wanted to be a biologist. She was insane. I wanted her to get married, like any reasonable city girl…" Jennet sighed. "I told her marriage was the only way, she didn't listen, now she's probably raising you alone and unmarried—"
"Actually, she is married. William Sailor, didn't you hear me? I was adopted anyway. My name is Leijon."
"Leijon?"
"Yes. Like the noble family." I don't know why I was defending Mother. I don't know why I wanted to prove Jennet wrong.
"Well…I just wanted to make up with her. Tell her it was alright. I never married anyways." Hypocrite.
"Good luck, then," I said brusquely. "But I need to finish some sewing. Good evening."
"Good evening," Jennet said, standing and leaving. I guess she heard my icy tone.
So that's Jennet. I guess I know why my mother hated her so much. It seems to me that she is a part of the reason Mother insisted I get married; she must've thought that her sister was right and she was wrong when she didn't reach her ambitions and it must've been crushing.
I wonder if some of my miserable childhood was Jennet's fault.
15 November 1613
Today while I was hunting, I tripped on something, a branch or a rock or I don't know what, and I cut my hand open on a rock. At least it was my left hand. But I had to go to Dolora and she cleaned it and bandaged it, even though I could probably do it myself, and then she said that it really was high time I brush my hair. She's right about that, but I'll still need her help.
17 November 1613
Dolora brushed my hair today. She didn't yesterday because I forgot that peppermint oil Simonn gave me. But I remembered both that and my brush today and so Dolora brushed all my hair out until it shined and smelled like peppermint. She said if I keep brushing my hair with the stuff every morning, I should be able to keep it somewhat nice all the time. I might do that. The only thing is, I really like it when Dolora brushes my hair.
20 November 1613
I wonder sometimes what would have happened if someone else had been my mother. If I'd been given to some other family who actually took care of me, a mother who loved me, a father who was actually home, a family…
I do have a family, of course, but I wish sometimes that I had a better blood family. It's just so lonely in this house when no one's ever around.
23 November 1613
Someone came by today, some strange-looking man again, and he asked about the wolves in the woods. So I told him that the wolves weren't real, it was just a scary story everybody told, because that's the truth about the wolves. How strange.
25 November 1613
I still wonder sometimes what I did to Mother that she hated me so much. I don't think I ever hurt her. I wasn't much of a burden, or at least I tried my best not to be. I know I was a mistake to her, but I didn't try to be. I just wonder.
26 November 1613
I did my hair up again today and I think it turned out quite nice, actually. I never thought I'd see myself ink those words on a page, but I mean it. How strange, to look in the mirror and not hate the face that stares back.
28 November 1613
I only had one nightmare last night, which is a huge improvement, but it was one of the screaming ones, which isn't so good. At least I was alone when I woke up.
30 November 1613
We read some of Principia today and I'm just so glad I have them, and I'm so glad I have the books, and I'm so glad I have everything I do have.
It's also nice that when Dolora looks at me, she doesn't look so afraid, like I won't be there the next day. I'm glad I don't worry her anymore and I'm glad I'm not in so much danger anymore.
1 December 1613
I don't feel sick as this December begins. I lit the first Advent candle today and I actually got three purple candles and a pink one, and a pretty candle for the center. Today was the hope candle. Hope, joy, peace, love. I actually felt quite hopeful this time, though. I have hope that I can still perhaps live a happy life, that I won't live alone forever, that I'm not cursed to be unlovable. I have hope.
8 December 1613
I lost my journal again! It was behind that old mirror this time. I must have dropped it there after I finished brushing my hair one morning.
Today I lit the candle for joy. Considering the way I've been kissing Sigmun recently, I think joy is the proper word for how I feel some days.
Oh, that sounded so much worse than I meant it! Obviously we haven't been doing anything besides kissing, but I do like kissing him and I do like the way he feels different when he's so close to me. Sometimes I feel this strange sort of wanting, but I'm not quite sure what it is I want. It's just this huge feeling of want in my gut.
10 December 1613
I suppose I haven't been writing so consistently, because my life has been relatively stable, but there's not much to write about! It's been snowing, and we've been studying like usual, and Christmas is coming, and Simonn and Hannah meet in the market some days (because Hannah's father still doesn't know about her and Simonn), and I still feel better than I have in years.
It's nice.
12 December 1613
Dolora asked me if I'd like to help her with her work today and I said of course, so she showed me how to boil the bandages and the thread and needles for stitching (because people used to get sick when she stitched up cuts, and since people get sick more often when it's cold out, boiling the thread should reduce the risk that people will get sick). She had Sigmun sort the dried herbs and Simonn crush some of them into powder so they're easier to use in mixtures. I suspect Dolora thinks more about numbering her days than she shows. She's thirty-three, so she's probably going to have fifteen more years or so. That's plenty of time, but she could fall sick younger.
But that's a train of thought I'd rather not pursue right now.
13 December 1613
It is strange to think that someday I won't be anymore. Someday I will be a rotting corpse buried under six feet of dirt, with nothing but a headstone and perhaps children to remember me. I'm not going to do something memorable, so I won't be in those books people write about history. I'll live and I'll die and one day I will not exist anymore and that's just very strange to me.
15 December 1613
Today I lit the candle for peace. I've always wondered if it's supposed to mean peace as in the opposite of war or more like internal peace. Neither really applies right now, not with the fighting going on in the rest of the continent, or with all this confusion inside me about how I feel about Mother. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about her and I don't know how I do feel about her and it's just very complicated. I'm not sure I hate her. I know I don't love her, or like her. But I feel a little bad for her, and a little sad. I just don't know.
17 December 1613
I had that drowning dream again, except with my mother's voice in the clouds and the thunder again. I hate that nightmare so, so much. It's just too much to believe that I'm actually, properly free from my mother. How is this even possible? It's just…it's the best thing in the world, and yet I'm terrified.
19 December 1613
Hunting is so hard and my stews don't always have any meat in them, but at least I'm eating. Vegetable stew is better than staving by a mile. I'm so glad I don't seem to be dying and it aches me (in a good way) to know that I'm not dying. I will someday, but today is not that day.
20 December 1613
Simonn recruited Sigmun and I to help him find presents for his siblings. He needs to find five this year! And Sigmun of course searched for something for Dolora, as did I. Simonn can't afford to get something for Dolora, but he said he's going to search his home for something nice.
Anyways, we found some wooden toys for Robert and Isabella, a hat for Richard, and a pair of nice new boots for Thomas. Simonn also found a nice sort of fabric and he's going to sew something to chew on for Joanne. He says babies always start crying when their teeth come in, but something to chew on helps sometimes.
Sigmun bought a bunch of candles for Dolora, and I found some lovely jade-colored fabric at the fabric store that I'll use to make a skirt or something. I bought Simonn a book when he wasn't looking and Sigmun a romance novel when he wasn't looking. This Christmas should be a good one.
22 December 1613
I lit the candle for love today and it feels beautiful, because I feel surrounded by love right now. I have Dolora's motherly love, Sigmun's more-than-friendly love, and Simonn's friendly love. I have all my friends and I'm starting to feel like maybe I can manage a little love for myself.
24 December 1613
It snowed so beautifully today. The whole world looks dipped in sugar and the woods look magical. Fairies could be living there, the way it looks now. I just love December when there's nothing making me feel sick.
25 December 1613
I celebrated Christmas with Sigmun and Dolora again this year and I still feel like crying because pure feelings, with no twisted sadness and anger and resentment behind them, still stun me sometimes. It was a wonderful meal, Yorkshire pudding and potatoes and everything else in a traditional holiday meal and it was delicious. Simonn was of course with his siblings, but I didn't have to worry about making a plate for my mother or dodging her drunken blows or anything else. I made Dolora an overskirt I sewed for her, and I gave Sigmun that book, and he smiled and kissed my cheek and then he gave me a lovely shirt with embroidery around the color. Dolora gave me a necklace with a little heart-shaped pendant on it and said it was a tradition in her family to give the eldest daughter this necklace on her eighteenth Christmas.
The meal was delicious and the house was warm and I felt so safe and so protected and so…loved. For once in my life, I feel loved.
26 December 1613
Jennet came by again today. I'm feeling very irritated with her.
"Hello."
"Hello," I said shortly.
"I would like to ask if you still have a particular heirloom."
"I may. Please come in and take a seat."
She did and then said, "Where were you yesterday?"
"Celebrating Christmas with my family."
"So you've seen her? You've seen my sister?"
"No. As I said, I celebrated with my family."
"And your family does not include your mother?" I resented her disapproving tone.
"No, in fact it does not."
"Then who is your family?"
"My two dearest friends and my dear friend's mother. I do hope you aren't offended by my familial choices."
"Not in the least. Do you still have a gilded birdcage?"
"I don't know what you mean?"
"A birdcage. I doubt she would have had two."
Oh. The birdcage I sold in October because it looked so lonely. "Oh, I know the one you mean."
"You do?"
"I sold it."
"What? Why?"
"It looked lonely without a bird."
"Whom did you sell it to?"
"I don't remember."
"Did you know that was my birthday gift to her when she turned eighteen?" Jennet shouted, standing.
"I'm sorry, I did not! Perhaps if you hadn't spent your whole life criticizing her choices, she would have mentioned it!"
"Perhaps if you had asked your mother about her past, she would have told you!"
"And perhaps if she hadn't been a heartbroken, resentful, angry drunk, I could have!"
"You were a horrible daughter!"
"As if I don't know that already!"
"You deserve to know that!"
"Get out of my house."
"Excuse me? This is my sister's house!"
"No, this is my house. Your sister is gone."
"No she is not, she can't be!" I recognized the note of panic in her voice and I realized she was afraid she'd die without ever seeing my mother again, without ever reconciling with her.
"Well, she is. Now get out."
Jennet glared at me one more time before she turned on her heel and marched out.
28 December 1613
Simonn brought all his siblings over today. Isabella and Richard had a snowball fight with Thomas and Robert while the three of us watched them from the window and read a book. Then we made hot chocolate, possibly the rarest treat I've ever had, and sat around and just hung out.
It was such a lovely day,
30 December 1613
It snowed again last night, and there were huge snowdrifts on my walk to Sigmun and Dolora's house. I almost lost one of my winter boots in all the snow, which would be quite the pain in the neck. But I didn't, though the hem of my skirt is damp from snow, as well as my socks.
31 December 1613
I feel light and free and alive. My life has never felt so free. I feel so much better without my mother around to please. Why should I measure myself by anyone's standards but my own?
My mother can go to hell. I've got my own life to lead.