25 February 1620
Again, I lost my journal. But this time it was in my dresser, under my shirts. It must've gotten caught up in laundry or something. I get so easily distracted when I do the laundry sometimes, because it's so monotonous. Nothing much has happened. Catherine is still on the fence about Edward, I am still feeling a bit better every day, and my job is still alright. My family is still okay.
3 March 1620
A letter came today for Sigmun and me and it was the one Simonn wrote a year ago when he borrowed my pen.
Dear Sigmun and Dianna,
I'm so sorry. I'm sure it hasn't been nearly long enough, in fact I'm sure it'll never be long enough, but I have to get this off my chest.
It's my fault. I don't know what you think about it, but I know it's my fault. I knew from the moment I woke up in cold sweat from a nightmare about a little boy, maybe a year old, with blond hair and hazel eyes and blue lips, dead in someone's arms. I knew all along and I just couldn't bring myself to tell you because you were so happy with Luke and I just couldn't bring myself to breathe a word. So whatever you may think about it, the entire time it was my fault. I should've done something, should've told you or I don't know what. I'm sorry.
That's also why I had trouble being around him. I didn't want to be the one holding him when he passed. I didn't want to be the one to pass on an illness. I didn't want to be the one to blame. But the whole time, I knew that the guilt would always be mine and I'm so, so sorry.
I know you always loved him and always talked about how he had the prettiest eyes and the softest hair and the sweetest voice and every time you said that, I prayed that by some miracle his eyes had turned blue or his hair and turned brown or he grew a foot taller because then my nightmare was just a nightmare. I can't stop thinking about how sorry I am, about how nothing I ever did changed it. Because I knew and I never said and the guilt eats me alive every second I see you crying or yelling or remaining utterly silent. Every full bowl of stew and every book out of place and every pot or pan left in the sink, every time I hear someone crying when it's late and I'm not sleeping, every time I hear something shatter and someone stammering an apology, every time I wake up and I know I have to face everyone all over again, every single time it just gets worse.
I just thought I'd write to you and tell you. Do what you like; I'd understand if you two never want to see me again. I'll take it with dignity like I should because it's my fault and I'm so, so sorry. I don't think I've ever been sorrier in my life. I don't even know if I'll send this letter, but I need to at least pretend that I'm telling someone. I'm sorry, I'm sorry a million times over and a million more. Please forgive me.
-Simonn
I just heard the door open and close and from the sound of the footsteps, it's Simonn. How can I not forgive him? He didn't do anything wrong. He didn't spoil the year of happiness we did have. I don't know what Sigmun will think, but I think that he wasn't to blame.
3 March, Later
Sigmun read the letter too, and we both agreed and so after dinner in the library we both told Simonn it wasn't his fault. He seemed about ready to cry, and I felt so bad for him, because it's no one's fault, what happened, and he shouldn't feel guilty for dreaming about it, my goodness!
"But I could've-"
"No, stop that. With your siblings, with your parents, it happened anyway-there's nothing you could've done," I said.
"But with him, it could've been different."
"It was an illness. There was nothing we could have done," Sigmun insisted.
Simonn shrugged. "I guess, but…"
"Simonn, don't worry about it. No one's blaming you," I said.
"Except me."
"Well, stop that," I said. "Because it's not your fault."
Simonn crossed his arms at us. "Have you guys seen Principia?"
"It's in our room. I was reading it the other night," Sigmun said. "I'll go get it."
"I'll start dinner," I said, and I left so Simonn could be alone. He's better at being alone sometimes. He's a lot less social than I am. I like people; I couldn't stand to be alone for long. But Simonn likes being alone, or at least resting alone. It's kind of different, and I don't mind at all, but sometimes I worry because I want to help him. It's hard to know that helping him means letting him alone.
6 March 1620
Catherine gave up on Edward today.
"He's just not getting his act together. I don't want to work my whole life. If he was serious about this, he would be finding work and making money. He's not even planning on taking over the family business-that's his brother!"
"Do you like him?"
"I…I do, but it's not just about that, you know? He has to be someone who will support the children, and take care of me too, and all that."
I nodded, because it's basically the same thing Jean said when I was a child, but I was too jealous then to understand. And too lost, from my mother. I suppose since I like working, and since I don't mind it, I could afford to marry Sigmun. But Catherine has no one to be like Dolora to her, and she wants to have children while not working, so she has to find someone who can support her. I wish my wages were enough to support myself on my own with a child.
When I look back at what I wrote when I was first writing, when I talked with Jean and Elizabeth and Mary because our mothers were friends, I realize they felt the same. (It's embarrassing to read what I wrote back then-I saw the world through such a lens!) It's only by chance Sigmun and I found each other. Otherwise I'd be thinking the same as Catherine.
10 March 1620
Sigmun found a job, with the cooper. He's doing the work you don't need skills for, because I suppose no one wants to apprentice an illegitimate. But he's making money, and it's going to help us. It's…it's going to be okay. It's such a relief sometimes to know that it's going to be okay, and I don't know why. Sometimes I just need to remind myself that in the end, it will be okay.
12 March 1620
I was sitting in bed with Sigmun today, reading like we do, and since I've been thinking for two months now, I said, "Sigmun?"
"Hm?"
"I was thinking about having children."
"Oh?" He sounded like he was suppressing eagerness.
"I thought…you said you'd like to have another child."
"Yes." He was careful, and I could tell he was excited.
"I feel ready for that now, if you'd still like to."
He nodded and kissed me and said, "Are you sure? You're not just doing this because I want to have a baby?"
"I'm sure. I really do want another child."
He kissed me again and I hope that this time the baby grows up healthy and safe.
13 March 1620
Normally I don't write much about my "night life", or whatever you call it when you sleep with your spouse (I suppose it's some lingering embarrassment because they do always tell us women aren't supposed to talk about it), but last night.
I was halfway done with the buttons on Sigmun's shirt and I started laughing and he said, "What? I mean, I'm glad you're happy, but I'd rather not be laughed at while I'm trying to be all seductive and everything." He sounded half amused, half offended. It's hard to tell sometimes.
"Sorry. I was justing thinking about when…when Luke was about a year old and I was undoing your buttons and he started crying and-" I started laughing again.
"Oh." He smiled a little, and then he was laughing too, and we just sat there laughing at nothing for…I don't know, forever perhaps. And then he pressed his forehead to mine, so our noses were just barely touching, and said, "I love you." I might not've heard him except it was dead silent but for our breathing.
"I love you too," I said, and I kissed him.
15 March 1620
Andrew's hardly been leaving the house lately, of course, and I feel bad for him. It's awful when you're right about to give birth. It's too hot and painful and tiring and somehow you can't sleep, and you're busy dreading giving birth, and it's just so painful. I hated being pregnant, even if I loved my baby. I hope Andrew makes it through alright.
17 March 1620
Hannah's going to be giving birth any day now. Dolora stops by every six hours or so to be sure she's not going into labor yet. I'm going to be there, of course, because I always help with births (it's not like anyone's going to allow Sigmun to, and I'm the closest woman). I hope she's alright. Childbirth is scary and painful and I hope to every higher power that may exist that Hannah lives. I'll do everything I can to help her and I just pray it works.
20 March 1620
Andrew thought he was going into labor today but then it turned out he wasn't, and I was so scared for a moment. He said he scared himself. But he's alright, and it seems that it's not childbirth quite yet. But soon.
21 March 1620
Hannah had her child today, and she named the little girl Damara after her mother.
"Damara Captor?" I asked.
"Megido. I want her to have my mother's name, because she was the bravest person I knew."
"I suppose Simonn's alright with it."
"He said I could choose any name, he was sure he'd love it."
"That's nice."
"Yeah…But she might not share her sister's name."
"Why do you say she'll have a sister?"
Hannah blushed nervously. "I just…I just know things sometimes."
"Like Simonn?"
"I guess—wait, you know about that?" She looked so relieved. "I suppose so, except less dramatic. Like…Damara will have a sister. Her name will be Aradia, and she'll look like Alice and Eleanor. You're going to have a daughter."
"What?"
"Well, you're going to have a daughter. I won't have any more children. Sigmun is going to find a book called Dead To Me in a bookstore and read it twenty times over. Simonn is going to translate Principia into English and try to get me to read it, and I'll give in after a month or two."
"Sorry, I'm still stuck on 'you're going to have a daughter'."
"She won't be yours and Sigmun's. She'll be an orphan or a runaway, something of that sort. Sigmun will be dead by then. You'll be pretty old."
"I outlive him?"
"Sorry. I only ever see life, not death."
"Don't worry about it. I was just curious. What about Damara?" I was worrying about it but I didn't want her to. I'm terrified to outlive my family.
"She'll have lots of friends. They'll be brave and strong. She'll be shy, like me, but she'll also be kind. She'll have Simonn's brains. Her sister and her will be as close as my sisters and I. She'll be lovely, prettier than I am. You're going to be so much more important than your mother, aren't you, little one?" she said, addressing her baby.
"You're not unimportant, Hannah!"
"Maybe I'm not, but she'll be more important. She'll be very important one of these days. She'll stand up for herself. She'll have friends. She'll fall in love. She'll…she'll die young. But she'll be wonderful." Hannah cradled her little one closer to her and added, "I'm sure of it."
"Simonn hasn't had one of his dreams," I mentioned. "So there's something good."
"Oh, he had one of his dreams," Hannah said conversationally. "But he says it won't happen for a long time."
"Did he tell you what happened in the dream?"
"No, he said it was too confused for him to know. It's probably too far in the future to tell." I don't think Hannah's ever sounded so certain in her knowledge of something. "I only know this far in the future because she's my daughter." She paused. "I don't know if I'll die before she does, but we'll be separated before either of us die."
"Isn't it hard, knowing things like that?"
"Sometimes. But I can't change it. That's how it will be. I've always known I'm not going to have a happy life. I've always known any children I have will share in my misfortune at least somewhat. And sometimes it's easier to prepare yourself for tragedy."
"You are so calm about this whole thing."
Hannah shrugged. "It's amazing what getting out of a poisonous family will do for you."
I half-smiled. "I know what you mean." It seems to me that Hannah's self-confidence arises from both her separation from her father and from the fact that she feels comfortable with us. At least, she seems to.
"If you're curious, your daughter will look like you, even though she won't be yours by blood. She'll be kind and clever. She'll be friends with my daughter, but they'll never know how we were friends. Or that Damara is my daughter. She'll fall in love and marry, but she'll outlive her husband. And she'll be important, too."
"Do you know why?"
She shrugs. "Not really. But she will be." She was cuddling the baby close, looking happy and contented. "I love you, little one."
"I can leave," I offered.
"It's alright," Hannah said. "You did the same, didn't you? Sat with the baby and talked to-" She yawned.
"Go to sleep, Hannah. We'll take care of everything. Don't worry about it."
She fell asleep and I think, in the end, it was okay.
23 March 1620
I've been spending a lot of time with Hannah. Her sisters and I are doing a lot of the care right now while Dolora stops by to check up, and Hannah's still tired all the time. I don't blame her one bit. We're trying to get the baby used to Eleanor so she doesn't react badly when Eleanor starts caring for her all the time.
25 March 1620
Damara seems to be healthy, so far. She likes people, likes Hannah and Eleanor and Dorothy and Alice and Dolora and-though I still have trouble believing it-me. I'm not the child's mother, so I have no idea why she likes me enough to sleep comfortably in my arms. Simonn stops by when he can, even though work keeps him busy, because Damara should know her father.
I hope that someday Hannah and Simonn can care for their own child, and someday everything's okay for them. Of all people, they deserve it.
28 March 1620
There was an awful thunderstorm last night. I like storms, but Sigmun is deathly frightened of them, so he woke me up and he was shaking and crying. So I hugged him close and said soft things, telling him we're safe, and no one's going to separate us. I think he's worried, sometimes, that we're going to abandon him someday even though I love him more than I could ever say. Nights like this he'll ask, so quiet I don't know if he means for me to hear it, if I'll ever leave. And I say no, of course not, I love him and I'll never leave him as long as I have anything to say about it. And he'll do the same for me, when I wake up from my nightmares scared and upset and so afraid of losing my family I can hardly breathe for it.
30 March 1620
I think I might be pregnant again. It's the damn nausea and vomiting again. It wasn't the first thing for Hannah but it sure is for me. I don't like being pregnant. I want to have a baby but I don't like being pregnant.
Well, here we go again.