1 July 1619
I can't believe it! I lost my journal for a whole month this time. It was just in a drawer, too; I guess I forgot I put it away. Or someone else put it away for me and forgot to tell me. Usually my family knows not to touch my journal but I can imagine Sigmun cleaning and being distracted and forgetting to put it back or tell me.
I trust they wouldn't read it but still, the thought makes me nervous. I keep my old ones in the bottom drawer, not locked, and I just trust that my family would ask me. I wouldn't read their journals if they had them. I guess that's how it works: sometimes you just have to trust people.
3 July 1619
Twenty-two months. Almost two years old. I always thought if we could just get to a year, then two years, everything would be okay. We just had to get through the first year or two and it would be okay.
I wish he was here right now. I wish I was writing about how he's learning new words and how to eat on his own and how to run, and about the other children he plays with, and about how much I love him. I still do love him, but nothing can change that he is not here anymore and he never will be again. I wish for many things but I don't think I've ever wished for something that's come true. I know most of the things I wish are impossible, but sometimes I need to believe they could happen.
I think I'm starting to worry some of my coworkers. Not Johanna, of course, but Susan and Catherine and definitely Agnes. I can sew a damn buttonhole, I've been making my own clothes since I was seven, but I guess I've been making mistakes lately. Agnes seems grumpy but she really is kind under all that, so she just talked to me right before I left and told me to just be more careful.
6 July 1619
When I was walking home with Patrik today he said the strangest thing.
"Your child. Your son."
I bit my tongue before I said, "Yes. What about him?"
"Was he a cheerful child?"
"Aren't they all?"
He nodded. "I find it odd that you feel the need to be unhappy when your child was happy."
"I can't choose to be sad!"
"Certainly not. But I find it odd you feel you must be unhappy."
"I don't!"
"I suppose."
"I'm not choosing to be sad. I can't stop being sad."
"Probably not," he said, still staring straight ahead like he does. "But someday." He looked down at his feet, then let out a sort of a sigh. "My mother passed when I was young, and my father is ill. When my mother passed, I was sad. Or perhaps there is a better word in English."
"Grieving?" I suggested. "Or mourning?"
"Perhaps. I do not know. My tutor did not see it fit to teach me some vernacular words in English." And yet he knows vernacular. "I was unhappy for a very long time. But later-perhaps a year or somewhat more-I realized I was sad because I believe it was the appropriate thing to do. I have not forgotten my mother but after I was sad, I was sad because I believed it to be the right choice."
The sadness still feels awfully endless sometimes and so I said, "I appreciate it but I don't think I can choose grief right now."
"Time heals all wounds," Patrik said, and I had the feeling he was thinking about something else. (There must be a word for that.)
"I hope so."
"Myself as well."
"What is your first language?" Then I added, "I'm sorry. That was rude."
"Not at all. It was German. I much prefer it at times. Your language is complex and words do not flow so easily."
"We could speak in German if you like."
He looked at me with something akin to surprise.
"I speak it," I said in German.
He nodded and we walked back to my home in silence.
8 July 1619
We went to the river today. Simonn was able to leave work early and so he and Sigmun (back to job-searching) and I went down to the river like we were children again (where has the time gone?) to swim. It frightens me that I don't remember when we stopped playing here, when we stopped building rope structures across the waters, when we stopped studying every day instead of working, when we stopped being children. When was that? I know it must be before I was married, but after my mother left. When did we stop being children?
It was odd swimming again, but I liked it. I suppose we're old enough to be embarrassed about wearing soaking-wet clothes plastered to our skin but I couldn't summon anything but a sort of nostalgic feeling of something lost at the expense of something gained. And I really doubt there's much left to be embarrassed about, considering how long I've known them and how close I've been with Sigmun.
10 July 1619
I hope this counts as progress. I felt that odd wanting feeling again last night, for the first time in months, and I suppose he did too. It was nice, even if I am tired and somewhat numb, still. And of course he had his own commentary.
"You can certainly curse up a blue streak when you want to, love."
"You can certainly be frustrating when you want to," I shot back.
"Should I apologize?" He said it smiling, and then he kissed my neck.
"Not if you keep doing that."
"Alright, love."
I do like the feeling of his kisses on my neck, so I let him continue until we both fell asleep, and I felt comfortable and safe. I felt alright. I forget sometimes that I can feel okay, that I still have all the same feelings I did before all this. It's easy to forget that I can feel anything but sad sometimes, and even though it's hard I can feel alright, sometimes.
When I woke up this morning he had his arms wrapped around me and his heart was beating soft and steady, and it was comfortable.
13 July 1619
I saw Neolla and Mariek today in town, and we chatted for a while about not much. About family and friends and work and all that. Mariek told me again how men were absolutely impossible sometimes, which makes me think she's back with Sumner (which is odd because she was holding Neolla's hand the way I hold Sigmun's). I suppose it's different when they're your friends, anyways. I found David's behavior perfectly confusing and bizarre, but Sigmun and Simonn make perfect sense to me. (Or, at least, as much sense as another human can make.)
14 July 1619
Today was my love's birthday. We were…well, Dolora wanted us to celebrate, said moving on with life is the most important thing but my love and I weren't really in the mood to celebrate. (I couldn't tell with Simonn because he was concealing his mood, something he's been doing more often lately.) We tried for Dolora's sake and possibly Simonn's but after we had dinner and all that Sigmun cried.
I hate to see him cry, so I just held him and tried to calm him, even though I knew I couldn't. (When I'm like that nothing can calm me.)
I don't know, though, if I regret it, because like it or not time marches on and we can't stop it, much as I wish we could. I wish we could stop time so I could cry for as long as I needed to and no one would be the wiser, except my family. And I trust them.
17 July 1619
We left for the city today. Candas offered us two rooms in the palace, either misunderstanding Simonn and Dolora's relationship or misunderstanding Sigmun's and mine. We had four beds-the nice kind, so soft it feels like a cloud-so for the sake of simplicity with Candas and the others, I shared with Dolora and Sigmun shared with Simonn. They have some strange ways of working in the palace, and one of them is the way they sharply divide things by gender.
Either way, the party is on the twenty-fourth and we leave on the twenty-sixth, except Simonn's leaving on the twenty-fifth for work. Candas wants us to wear court fashion so we all have to be fitted, or something. I've got a nice dress I wear to parties in the village so I'm not sure what exactly she wants from us. But palace etiquette is different from ours, and as long as we're here I figure we should be polite by their standards.
Besides the comfortable beds, the stone walls are confining. I don't know if it's because there is still a part of me that is afraid of being trapped after what my mother did to me or if it's because sometimes the sun makes the sadness feel lighter, but the thick stone makes me nervous. It makes me feel trapped.
I hope I don't have nightmares tonight.
19 July 1619
I feel awful about it but Simonn had his outfit today and it looked so silly on him! Perhaps I'm used to seeing him in farm clothes (filthy) or his own favorite clothes (clean, but patched, and certainly fine enough), but he looked so uncomfortable and I wanted to laugh.
"Don't laugh."
"I'm sorry. But you look silly."
"So will you!"
"I'm sure. But you've seen me in good dresses before."
"Hoop skirts, though."
"Oh, don't remind me," I said. "I don't even wear a proper bodice."
He looked confused.
"I made mine too big. So I can breathe."
"Oh." Then, "You made your own bodice?"
"I altered one I bought. You try making a bodice sometime, see if you like it."
"I'd rather not, thanks. I'd like to change, actually."
"Go ahead. We don't have to dress up until the actual event."
"It feels weird wearing 'peasant clothes' around here," Simonn said, putting a sort of verbal quotes around "peasant clothes" like someone else was saying it.
"You look fine in them."
"I look out of place."
"Don't we all. Do you think they were peasant dresses here?"
He shook his head. "I don't like it here. It gives me a bad feeling."
"I don't either. Feels trapped."
"No, it's more than that. I feel…I feel like something bad is going to happen here. Not now, though."
"Simonn, you're not making a lot of sense."
"I just feel like we shouldn't be here. Like this place is dangerous, and it's going to get worse. Like something awful is going to happen here. Like when I knew about my siblings, like that."
"Well, she wouldn't invite us here to kill us. We haven't done anything."
"Hannah-"
"Hannah was never caught stowing away and there's no way she could be. And she's not here."
"Why not? Is that another motive? Separating us from Hannah?"
"Like Candas said. She could only bring four, and Hannah already turned her down. No ulterior motives. Simonn, take a breath. Maybe it's just the walls."
"What?"
"The walls. Make me nervous. Too thick, you know. I couldn't shout and hear you shout back."
"On the more optimistic side, I couldn't hear you and-"
"Hush, there's people we don't know around."
"I was going to say I couldn't hear you and Sigmun trying to calm down Luke, Deedee. What were you thinking?"
"You weren't going to say that, first off. Second, I think Luke was the loud one, don't you? Little one had a big pair of lungs."
"He certainly did." Simonn looked at me, a bit oddly, and then said, "I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"Sore subject."
"It's alright," I said. I felt a little teary, but it was true; Luke could cry loud enough to wake the world. "We can't pretend like he never existed."
"Or, we can, but that would be really unhealthy."
"I know."
"Alright," he said. "I'm going to go change."
He's right, and I know that, even if I'd rather not.
21 July 1619
Today I was fitted for a gown, which consisted of standing very still while someone measured me and made tutting noises, muttering things about an uneven something ratio and what parts of me were better than others and what colors might look good on me. I know I look good in green because it matches my eyes but when I tried to mention that the seamstress shushed me and told me not to worry, she knew I'd been wearing peasant clothes for my whole life so I could just let a proper seamstress do the work this time. What the hell does she think I am? I spend my days sewing buttonholes and I've been sewing my own clothes my whole life.
At any rate, I was given a dress with about fifty layers of skirts, including a hoop skirt, and the worst bodice I've ever encountered. Sigmun said I looked lovely but he was laughing, and Simonn just laughed outright. I had to get Sigmun to undo the bodice before I could change back into my regular clothes. How can anyone dress like this every day?
23 July 1619
Tomorrow's the big event, and we've all got our clothes ready to go. Sigmun's costume looks a bit less silly than Simonn's but not by much, and I felt bad for laughing. I'm somewhat excited, but a little nervous, too. I don't know very much of the etiquette or manners here, not the way I do at home. I don't feel comfortable here, either. It's such a maze here that I hardly know which way to turn. I'm glad I'm not here alone, though. That would be awful.
Sigmun got me red roses today. I don't know where he found them but I put them in a vase with water like I always do and it was comforting, because red roses remind me of home and of him.
25 July 1619
Well, last night was the ball. As it turns out some other nobles invited their miscellaneous commoner friends, and so we were all seated together at a table of uncomfortable and vaguely confused people from local towns. At least they were mostly kind enough. I sat next to another woman who looked as lost as I felt.
"Hello. I'm Vantas, Dianna Vantas. You?"
"Keating. Christabell Keating. Nice to meet you."
"You as well. So you were invited?"
"Yes. By the princess Mary. And you?"
"The heir, Candas."
She looked surprised.
"She visits our town with that duke, and the general's son." I dropped my voice. "To tell you the truth, the lot of them are quite intimidating."
She giggled and I did, too. "They are! The way they look at our town!"
"I know! Like we're savages," I said, still smiling. "I can tell you my village has the best midwife around, and the best fabric stores."
"Mine has the most wonderful foods. The Savoys on Sterling Street make these amazing pickles."
"Who are you here with?" I asked.
"My family. Mother, father, and sister. You?"
"My husband, my mother-in-law, and my best friend."
"Who's who?"
"This one's my husband," I said, touching Sigmun's shoulder. "And then next to him is my mother-in-law, and then my best friend."
"What is it, love?" my love asked.
"Just introducing you. This is Christabell Keating. This is my husband, Sigmun Vantas."
"Nice to meet you," my love said, holding out his hand (sort of, considering we were sitting).
"And you," she said. "So where are you from?"
"South, about a day's walk," my love said. "You?"
"A day and a half from the west," she said.
We conversed about little things like that until the dancing. I never thought I'd be glad I know the minuet, but I was. And I was very glad I'd taught Sigmun and Simonn, even though at the time it felt silly. It felt strange to be dancing in that awful hoop skirt and too-tight corset contraption in those restricted steps. At our festivals we have big dance moves, skirts swirling and people moving every which way. It was all very controlled here, like even their dances were political. I know they play games of politics and power in the palace and among the other monarchs, but I assumed they'd have fun sometimes. I had the feeling everything everyone did there was for the sake of appearances, and for the sake of their power games. What a sad way to live. I can't imagine it. I've had some hard times but every Christmas the whole village dances to Mr. Jacobson and Mrs. Thompson playing the fiddle and every Christmas I dance, too. I can't imagine living my whole life in tiny, controlled steps, never quite sure what the next game will be.
I suppose that explains why they seem so odd to me. We have gossip and rumors in the village but in the end there's nothing to be lost besides a reputation, not a throne or a country. Candas and her lot must be expecting more from us.
I saw Grantt at the party, actually. It made me a little nervous because I was wearing a red rose in my hair from Sigmun (I took off the thorns) and I suppose he saw it, because when I took a break from dancing and Sigmun was off with Simonn he walked up to me and said, "Hello."
"Hello, Grantt."
"Pretty flower."
"Thank you. It's from my husband."
"Oh?"
"Yes. He gets me red roses."
He nodded. "May I have the next dance?"
"Thank you for the offer, but I'm resting for a little. Maybe later." I couldn't think of a polite way to tell him that besides frightening me, I didn't like the feeling of his hands on me. When he was in town for the festival a few years back we danced and I just don't like the feeling. Maybe that's silly.
It was late by the time the party was over and we got back to our rooms. I tried to go to Sigmun's room out of habit, but he was even more tired than I was so Simonn had to pull him to his room and I made it to my room, exhausted. I barely got my outfit off before I collapsed. Those palace beds never felt so nice.
Simonn left today but the rest of us leave tomorrow, so tonight I ought to pack my things. Soon I'll be back home for real. It'll be nice.
27 July 1619
I came back from the city last night early (because Sigmun and Dolora stayed a little longer to pick up things for Dolora's medicine, a task we forgot earlier in the week) and I was exhausted, so I basically fell into bed and slept the night through. But this morning, when I woke up and went downstairs, Hannah was sitting there with Simonn and they were eating breakfast.
Simonn's face went from pale to crimson in all of two seconds.
"I'm not supposed to be here yet, am I?" I asked, trying not to laugh. Simonn started stammering something and Hannah ducked her head, trying to hide her face with her hair. I went back upstairs and sighed. They're such a nice couple. They really ought to get married. I'll suggest it again tomorrow.
28 July 1619
Catherine was worried about me today at work, like she does. It's good to know she cares, even though she's not family. It makes me feel a little better to know I'm not so hopeless and so repulsive as my mother said I was.
But it feels so lonely sometimes, this grief. It feels like being fifteen and alone and afraid, hardly knowing which way is up and what I can do to avoid her wrath. I was so afraid of her back then. I wonder how I ever survived that alone.
30 July 1619
It was boiling hot today but I couldn't bear to go to the creek after work like sometimes I do. It's just too hard, remembering the way he used to love the creek. He played in the water like it was heaven. Like nothing could ever go wrong. Like nothing ever would go wrong. I never took him to the river, but I bet he would have loved it there too.
So I just sat in bed with a book and no blankets and tried not to think about it. And when Sigmun came home he and I sat there together and thought about our baby and life and I wanted to cry again but I didn't and I'm not sure why. Sometimes it all hits me again, just when I think I'm feeling better, and I feel like I'm falling down a deep, dark hole again. I act normal but sometimes I feel like I'm drowning again and this time I won't resurface.
3 August 1619
Twenty-three months. He would be almost two years old today. I can hardly believe it. He'd be running and talking and he'd be playing, too, playing with the other children in the village (much as I love children their smiles make my heart ache with loss). We'd be teaching him to eat on his own and he'd be laughing and smiling. I'd be reading to him every night and Sigmun would be playing with him and teaching him during the day, and we'd be teaching him lots of languages so he'd grow up with just as many languages as we have. Our money might still be tight but we'd all be happy.
12 August 1619
I only lost my journal for perhaps a week this time, under the bed somehow, but I still don't like it. I get jittery when I can't write and it makes me feel better when things start hurting-writing does, that is.
Nothing much happened today but Patrik and I have been talking in German, the only language I speak my family doesn't. The only problem is that according to them I mix languages more when I'm stressed and they don't understand German.
13 August 1619
He woke me up at midnight or so last night with another one of his dreams.
"My love, wake up."
"What is it?"
"Another dream."
"Nightmare?"
"No…a good dream. You and I…you and I and Simonn and Mom were all in a museum. I mean, in the dream I knew it was a museum. It was a huge hall and we were looking at a model of trains, a model of this country I'd never been to, full of model trains. We were children, and Mama was taking us to the museum on a day off from school. Because we all went to school, everyone did, it was the law. But we had a day off, so Mama took all of us to the museum. We just…we just looked at everything, and there were these amazing moving exhibits, and it was…Dianna, I have never seen something so amazing in my life."
He sounded starstruck, and I wished I could see it too. "I wish I could see it."
"I wish I could show you," he said. "I can't imagine anything would go wrong if there were such wonderful things in the world. Why would people fight if they could see something so amazing?"
"Was it expensive? For rich people only?"
"No! It cost, but…school groups went, I knew that in the dream, and anyone could get in as long as they could pay. It wasn't more than-well, I don't remember how much, but it was pretty reasonable. Can you imagine? I wish…I wish so much that was now…"
"Pardon?"
"Oh, it was the future," he said, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "About…hm. Four centuries? Give or take."
"How do you know that?"
"I just…do. In the dreams. Someday there's going to be a huge museum anyone can go to and we'll be there to see it. Well, not us. But the ones after us, they'll see it. And we'll see it through them."
"You are so hopeful."
"Don't have a choice."
"I suppose."
"If we don't have hope, what do we have?"
"We have each other, that's what."
"But we have hope in each other."
I nodded. "Yes, I suppose."
"Some days I wake up and the only thing that gets me out of bed so I can look for a job one more day is knowing that you all are still here, and you're all still here gives me hope that one day things will get better."
He must've been tired, because he doesn't say things like that normally. "Of course we're here. I'll always be here for you."
"I know," he said. "And I for you. And that's all the hope I need."
He snuggled up to my chest, the way he does after one of those dreams, and he fell asleep just like that. I stayed awake a little while longer, stroking his hair and thinking, and when I fell asleep I think I felt pretty hopeful myself.
I only realized after he was asleep that I never asked what a train was.
16 August 1619
Catherine was over for tea today, as well as Andrew. He didn't each much of anything and I could tell Simonn was concerned, because since Catherine was there he was going by Hannah and that tends to make him uncomfortable (understandably!). But even after Catherine left I got the sense Andrew wasn't feeling well at all.
I hope he's alright.
19 August 1619
I miss so badly my little Luke right now. I don't know why. I just want him back so I can hug him and tell him I love him and he would grow up safe and loved, and when he grew up he would be happy and loved and smart and he'd have a better life than we did as children. Maybe we could even get him into a school in the city, a good school with opportunities.
I wish my son was still here. I wish he was in my arms instead of being buried under grass and dirt and forget-me-nots. I miss him so much.
22 August 1619
It's my birthday today. I'm twenty-four. How odd.
We didn't celebrate and I didn't remind anyone. I don't feel in the mood to celebrate so close to my baby's second birthday. Sigmun gave me red roses but I don't know if they were for my birthday or just because that's something he does. I know he must remember my birthday because I remember all theirs, but I don't know if they didn't care or noticed I didn't. I worry sometimes my family doesn't love me as much as I love them, and I know it's silly but it's only gotten worse since Luke.
I miss him so much.
25 August 1619
I think I might have to talk to Mariek. I talk to her and Neolla most days in the village, but I mean I should ask her about her clever little trick on how not to have children. I don't want another child, not now, but it feels good to be sleeping with my love again because it's just a nice feeling. There's nothing wrong with that, as far as I know.
Mariek's clever in a different way from me. I'm just glad she doesn't mind sharing her secrets.
29 August 1619
I went to his grave again today and it's odd, but I felt this…feeling. Like something heavy was lifted off my shoulders, but something heavier was still sitting in my gut. I missed my little Luke but the forget-me-nots still grow on his grave and I will never forget him. I can't. I couldn't forget my baby any more than I could forget my own name. And if someday I forget both, then maybe the forget-me-nots will remember for me.