3 January 1619

He would be sixteen months old today. I bet he'd be talking, too, saying our names as best as he could and listening to us read to him and learning his own name. He'd be walking more, too, starting to actually get around better than toddling. He'd probably be throwing fits, too, but I think he'd be sweet otherwise. He was always close to one of us, could barely stand not to be touching someone, would crawl on anyone's lap if they sat still long enough. He loved sitting on my lap when I read to him. I remember when he'd take naps lying on Sigmun's chest while Sigmun would just look at him with the mixture of befuddlement and unconditional love.

I miss him so very much.

7 January 1619

I finally confronted him about the broken dishes. I know I should've done it earlier, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"Sigmun."

"Hm?"

"Found this in the desk drawer." I held up the pieces of a plate wrapped in scrap cloth.

"Huh," he said. "And…?"

"And you're a bad liar."

"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

"I mean I want to know why you've been breaking things and hiding them!"

He dropped his head. "I didn't want you to know," he said. "I was just…I was really angry and I had to do something and so I broke that vase and some dishes…and I didn't want you to know."

"You had to know I'd find out."

"I did, but I didn't want to."

"My love, why-?"

"I don't know," he said. "I just don't know anymore."

He started crying again, and it was so hopeless and so awful that I held him close to me and we cried together once more.

12 January 1619

I keep forgetting to write. Am I sad? Am I scared? Am I trying to believe this is a dream, because I do not write in my dreams? Or am I just forgetting things? Will I forget the curl of his blond hair, the sound of his laughter, the feel of my baby boy's tiny weight in my arms, the feeling in my heart when he reached for me like I was his guardian, his mother?

I failed. I failed him. I should have protected him, should've kept him safe, should've kept him alive. I was his mother. I was supposed to keep him safe. I know I failed. I know that no matter what I do I failed my baby boy when he needed me most.

14 January 1619

I contemplated opening the closet under the stairs today, but I decided against it. Mostly because Dolora was looking at me like she knew what I was thinking, but also because I guess I knew it would be bad for me. I can't keep trying to bring him back by staring at his clothes and toys, much as I wish I could. I can only cry and mourn and pray and hope that someday I'll see him again.

I still dream he's there. I still wake up thinking I have to dress him and kiss him goodbye before I go to work, and sometimes when I open the door coming I half-expect to hear Sigmun coaxing him to walk across the floor, scooping up our baby and kissing his forehead and telling him how good he's been doing when he makes it. I know it's not healthy, but I can't help it. I miss him.

17 January 1619

Catherine offered to bring over more food today at work, because she said she knew how it felt. I don't know if she does considering she's never been married, but I appreciate the thought. It's nice to know she cares.

Neolla and Mariek were also in town today. I haven't seen Mariek with Sumner in a while and I wonder if Mariek is still with Sumner or if she's with Neolla. I know Neolla doesn't quite look at men or women the way Mariek or I do, but I know she does like romance. I think they'd be good for each other; they balance each other out and they make each other happy.

I found one of his onesies in my drawer and it just made me feel like crying again. It was a new one Sigmun sewed for him when Luke started outgrowing his old one. I wish he'd had a chance to wear it.

22 January 1619

I've never drunk a drop before in my life but I considered it today. Dolora keeps alcohol around the house, mostly for pain but also to thin blood, and I found myself holding a bottle today and wondering if I'd ever drink it. I almost did but then Simonn came home in a very emphatic fashion (he threw the door open and shouted, "I'm home!" and then slammed the door again) and I almost dropped the bottle (I didn't) and started on dinner.

I don't know if I would. I refuse point-blank to ever be like my mother. I remember the way Sigmun was when he was drunk (he's drunk since, but that time really stands up because he hasn't been properly drunk since). I don't want to end up like that. But I'm just so sad. I really don't know.

24 January 1619

We went to his grave today but it was buried in snow and we couldn't find it. I know where it is, or where it's supposed to be, but the snow kept us from finding exactly where it was. So I took the winter flowers back home and put them in a vase with water so we can take them back later, when the snow is gone and I can find his gravestone again.

27 January 1619

I think this is the coldest winter yet. I'm not sure if it's cold because of absolute and unquestionable low temperatures or if it's because I feel so cold. Normally I'd ask Simonn but I think he's cold, too. I think we're all cold.

I wonder how I could possibly be warm again after this. It's been almost three months and still I can hardly breathe. I wonder if I'll ever breathe normally again.

1 February 1619

I'm considering talking to Sigmun about having another baby, because I don't want to, not yet. I don't want to touch him any more than a kiss (I don't know why, I just don't feel like it. Nothing to do with him), but I don't feel as repulsed by touch as I did, so I assume that someday the issue will arise. I just don't know. I've wanted children for a long time, but I don't know if I still do. I don't know if I want to risk it again. I also don't know if there's any way to avoid having children.

I could ask Mariek. Maybe some day I will. But right now I just want to figure out how I'll ever feel normal again when my baby is gone.

3 February 1619

Seventeen months old. Almost a year and a half. He'd really be talking by now, probably starting to ask for things as best as he could. He'd be walking enough to scare us and we'd be putting everything dangerous on high cabinets to keep him safe. Sigmun would be teaching him new words and reading to him and singing him rhymes like I used to and taking him to the stream to play with water in bowls (Dolora says it teaches spatial something-or-other). He'd probably be fussy sometimes like toddlers are but he'd be a cared for little boy with a loving family, and I know we'd be giving him the best we could.

3 March 1619

Eighteen months. A full year and a half.

I wonder how I lost my journal for a whole month.

Simonn asked me if he could borrow my pen today and I gave it to him. I saw him write a letter, seal it, and write the address. Except the address was ours, and he dated for a year from today. I don't understand. I'm not sure I want to.

8 March 1619

I was walking in Shepard's Alley today, much as I hate to, when this man came up behind me and I felt his breath and I heard him say something vile and horrible I'd rather never repeat so I elbowed him in the gut. When he doubled over (I got lucky there) I pinched his ear like my mother used to and whispered as menacingly as I could, "I have a six inch butcher knife in my bag. Do you want to know what I can do to you with a six inch butcher knife?"

I let go of his ear and he shook his head and left, looking at me like I was mad. I don't particularly care if he thought I was mad. I still feel a little mad sometimes from grief, and I don't have the energy to put up with men like him anymore.

It's a good thing he didn't ask to see the knife. I forgot it at home.

11 March 1619

I suppose some of the numb is starting to go away. I wince when my needle pricks my fingers. But in some ways the stabbing feeling of sadness and loss and grief is only getting stronger, because now there's nothing keeping it cold and numb. I think sometimes I might drown in it all, because I wake up these mornings with that familiar heavy weight on my chest that keeps me from breathing except in the most limited of capacities.

I wonder if I'll ever breathe like normal again, or if this is a new knot to untangle so the ropes can dangle among the rest of my heartstrings, much the way it was with my mother.

I hope my little Luke has someone to take care of him in the next life, where or whatever it may be.

14 March 1619

I felt happy today for the first time in months. I still think of Luke every moment, and I still miss him, but today when Catherine told me a joke, I laughed. When Sigmun rested his arm around my shoulders, I felt the weight and the warmth and it stirred something inside me, like all those years ago when he first came to my house with a letter. I don't know if I can say I felt normal, but for just a moment I felt something, and that something was good.

18 March 1619

We went to his grave today, Sigmun and I, and we put those old flowers on his gravestone. I found myself talking to him, very quietly, just telling him I loved him and I missed him and I hoped he was safe on the other side. I asked him if he was happy, if someone was taking care of him until we can meet him again. I hope if there is an afterlife, someone, some angel or guardian, is taking care of my baby.

Simonn says he believes in an afterlife, and Sigmun does, and I try to. I just find myself doubting sometimes. Simonn leaves flowers on Luke's grave sometimes, red and blue, and I think he knows that it helps to see someone else still looking out for our little Luke.

23 March 1619

Sigmun had one of those nightmares last night. He woke up crying and shook me awake and it was the strangest thing.

"Dianna, wake up!"

"Hm…what is it, love?"

"I had…another one. Another dream."

"What of?"

"I…I was in a big box, a big wooden box, and the box was moving and shaking. I was with all of you and it was taking us somewhere. When we got there they took our wedding rings, they took everything…they took us away from each other. I was with Simonn and Sumner. You and Mama and Hannah and Neolla and I think Mariek went somewhere else…and then they…they just took everything. Tall people, these uniforms like guard uniforms but sharper, somehow. And then they took Sumner away and said to go in this room for showers-they took all our clothes, I was wearing a red shirt that was a gift from you Christmas five years ago-"

"What?"

"I knew that in the dream."

"Oh."

"And then it started to smell like…well, sort of like when we had almonds that one time, but different. Worse. I felt dizzy and my head hurt and I was nauseous and I tried to get out but then the dizziness got worse and people were falling around me and I saw Simonn fall and I realized he was dead…and then I fell and the world was spinning and I woke up."

"What on Earth?"

"I think someone suffocated me with a gas. In the dream I knew there was gas."

"I'm so sorry."

He shrugged. "They hated us. In the dreams they always hate me, but they hated the rest of us too. They hated us for being born in the wrong place, the wrong religion, the wrong skin color, the wrong way to love…everything that makes us special made them hate us. And they hated us more because we got mad that they hated us" He sighed and his shoulders drooped forwards and I reached out to hold him close because he was crying and shivering and breathing much too hard. I held him close and smoothed his hair and he just kept saying it, over and over. "They hated us."

"My love, I think you should get some sleep. Think it over in the morning."

"I suppose."

"Have you told Dolora and Simonn?"

"No…"

"Maybe you should. They might know something you or I don't."

He nodded vaguely. "D'you mind if I…if I…?" He yawned and nuzzled my neck.

"Of course, love." I held him close to me and we fell asleep like that, cuddled close and safe.

I'm just glad my baby wasn't in that dream. The ones where Luke dies leave me shaking and scared until I can't sleep, even as my love sleeps.

27 March 1619

I had my own nightmare last night of the usual: my mother, that day in March in 1614 (that shiver down my spine will never disappear, I think), my baby's death. I dream sometimes about killing my family, that is, about someone taking me over so I watch as they use me to kill them. I would never tell them, but I'm so scared. I don't know why I dream that, and now that those dreams include watching myself kill my little Luke, it's worse than ever.

I don't think these nightmares will ever get better anymore. I think I'll just live the rest of my life dreaming every night of death and pain and blood and loss. They were better for a while but now…never less than two a night.

I wonder if my baby would have nightmares. If he'd cry and be scared and if it would help him if we held him. I wonder if he'd sleep better knowing his parents were looking out for him.

I think if my parents had been looking out for me, I certainly would.