2 February 1622

More lessons today. It's better in the church, but it means we have to walk from camp to the church every day. I really hope the next town lets us sleep in the church. I don't care if it's on the floor, if it's in the church.

I've been chatting with a woman named Isabelle, and I love talking to her about sewing. Obviously most people I know sew, but she and I like to talk about technique-something I picked up from my job. I tend to baste pretty loosely, and believe it or not I had an interesting conversation about which way to baste is better.

I think I actually like sewing, now that no one's making me do it.

4 February 1622

I may like sewing and talking about it with Isabelle, but I am infinitely grateful that Sigmun does all the knitting. I don't like knitting. It just makes me irate, I don't know why.

Also, Sigmun knits these cute little bobbles on top of my hats because he knows I think they're cute.

5 February 1622

It's odd having just shown up halfway through our time here, but at least I have some time to meet people in this town-unlike the last time Simonn and I traveled. And I like Isabelle. We get along.

7 February 1622

We leave tomorrow and I'm looking forward to doing this in a new town. I remember when I could hardly sleep for fear of what would happen in each town. But now I'm just excited, because I know that what I'm doing matters. And I don't think I'll ever be scared again if I have my family with me.

9 February 1622

Simonn had a nightmare last night, but not like his normal future-nightmare. It reminded me more of the nightmares right before Isabella and his parents died.

I was sitting next to him by the fire, wrapped in my coats and in some blankets, and he said, "Dianna, this is it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, no one's really tried to stop us before now, right?"

"Except the townspeople."

"Okay, yeah. Various preachers and townspeople have tried to tell us we're wrong or something, but no one's…tried to hurt us, you know? No one's been a real, true danger to us or to our safety, or our secrecy."

"Yeah, I see what you mean."

"Well, that's about to change."

"Someone's going to attack us?"

"I don't know. But…I think the last town we were in was the last safe town for a while."

"So we're not going to be able to visit home again."

"I think maybe once more. But yeah, it'll be a while."

"We can write letters."

"I know we can. But it's not the same."

"Of course not," I said. I rested my head on his shoulder and he rested his head against mine and we just sat there for a long time, until I heard his breath deepen and lengthen and I woke him up so we wouldn't freeze to death in the cold.

10 February 1622

We're staying in the church this time, thank heaven. It's at least a little warmer.

I don't really know if this is what Simonn's talking about, but today I thought I say some guards in town. I hate seeing guards. I wonder…there's no way anyone but Candas and Orvill and Grantt could know what seeing palace guards does to me. Could there? I didn't report it to anyone, and even if I did, I would've used my real name, which I don't here.

Maybe they're just catching up to us. Maybe they're finally understanding that we might actually be a threat. I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse.

11 February 1622

I started reading lessons today in the church, and after teaching a smaller group than usual one woman named Penelope mentioned that she'd never seen guards in their town before.

"I'm sorry, it's probably our fault."

"Your fault?"

"I think the king sees Signless and Psiioniic and Dolorosa and I as a threat. So he's sending guards after us."

"Well, your fault or otherwise, I don't think they'd ever hurt us. They're just guards."

I didn't want to tell her about everything that happened, so I just, "You're probably right. But best keep an eye out-men like that don't always know what courtesy is." Which is a very gentle way of putting it, all things considered, so I give myself some credit for restraint.

"They've seemed civil so far."

"Maybe they are, but maybe they're just good at acting."

She frowned a little and said, "It's quite sad to think everyone you meet might just be acting."

"Not everyone. Just the guards."

"How come?"

"There were guards in my hometown who were…less than kind to us."

She frowned. "Palace guards?"

"I don't live far from the palace. So there were guards in my town more often than not."

She nodded. "I see."

"What say we get back to reading?" I said, and luckily she didn't press the issue. It hurts to talk about.

Sigmun noticed I was tired after lessons and so tonight he just cuddled me until he was asleep. I think he intended to stay up until I was asleep, but he's exhausted too. So I slipped away to write, as I do. I'm not sure he always notices.

13 February 1622

I wish I could say the ground was thawing, but that's not true. It's still freezing. I swear it gets colder each winter, though I suppose I could be wrong-I am only human. I'm no farmer, so it doesn't matter much to me. But it is important for most people, because heaven knows most of the world farms, and right now it's my job to care about everyone.

Except the royals. I'm sure they're getting along just fine, no matter if the ground freezes or thaws.

14 February 1622

More lessons today. My love's been looking more stressed and tired than usual, and he asked me to talk tonight in Russian. He'll do French if he doesn't want us to be heard, but Russian means he's truly terrified of being overheard.

I'm only a little nervous, I think.

15 February 1622

I didn't write last night, but I need to write about this.

Sigmun was sitting up in the sanctuary, reading one of their Bibles, when I joined him.

"What's wrong, love?"

"You…you've had melancholy for a long time, right?"

"Years."

"Do you ever…" He swallowed. "Sorry. Do you ever…hear things that aren't there?"

"No," I said.

"Oh."

A long silence. "Do you?" I asked.

He nodded. "I…I hear voices. And I don't know where they're coming from, but they're so cruel and they don't leave me alone…" He buried his face in his hands and I reached out to touch his shoulder.

"My love," I said. "My love, there's no one after you. I promise. No one's trying to hurt you."

"People are after us. People do want to hurt us."

"I know, but we're safe from them. They're not in your head."

"Dianna, we're not safe!"

"No," I said. "We're not. But we knew that, didn't we?"

"We did," he says. "I always knew this wouldn't be safe. But I…I hate being able to hear them all the time. I hate it."

"They're not there, my love. They're in your head."

"Your melancholy is real," he said reproachfully. "That's in your head."

"I-you're right. I'm sorry," I said. "Either way, my love, I'm here for you. And the voices in your head-they're just trying to hurt you. They're not telling you the truth."

"I know that," he said. "But I can't help but be scared."

"I know," I said. "I understand."

He nodded, and we sat there in the pews looking up at the altar and the stained-glass window for hours, until the light started to filter through the glass and his lovely eyes. For a moment, when the sun was at the angle just right, I saw his eyes flash red like they did when we were children and we played until the sun went down.

17 February 1622

More lessons today, as usual. I know Sigmun's hearing his voices, even if he doesn't talk about them. Sometimes his eyes go unfocused and he turns his head like he's listening to someone else, and I know he's hearing someone who's not there. I don't know what to do when he does that. When my melancholy is hard, I drink more of my tea and talk to my family later, when we're alone (sort of, anyways). I don't know what to do with him hearing voices that aren't there.

The women I'm teaching are so wonderful to talk to. Not about my private concerns, but about lighthearted things and our ideals and the ways we want to change things. And I love hearing their stories. I call myself Disciple, and I suppose I really just like to listen to everyone.

18 February 1622

Sigmun's been sleeping early like he does, so when I heard rustling in the sanctuary last night I knew it was Simonn.

"Simonn, what's wrong?"

"You tell me."

"What?"

"Sigmun's acting different. I know he told you something, what is it?"

"It's his to tell."

"We don't keep secrets from each other!"

"It's not my secret to keep or tell!"

"I know something's wrong! Why won't you tell me?"

"Because it's not mine to tell! How would you feel if I told everyone how your parents thought you were a witch when you were born? Or that you have an illegitimate daughter?"

"I-how dare you! I wouldn't go around telling people about Luke or your melancholy!"

"And I won't tell you what's his to tell!"

"It's different for us-we're best friends!"

"Not that different."

"You just want to have some little secret between just the two of you, so you can leave me out!"

"How old are you? We're not children! I don't like to keep things from you! Just ask him yourself!"

I heard footsteps and we both turned to see Sigmun walking into the sanctuary. "What's going on?" Sigmun asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Nothing," I said.

He looked between the two of us and then said, "If there's anything I can do…"

Simonn and I were glaring daggers at each other still and I said, "You ask him."

"Ask me what?"

"Simonn wants to know what's wrong."

"Do you mean…?" He tilted his head sideways and gave me a look. "Simonn, I wanted to tell you, but you're never alone! Let me tell you now, please. Sit down. You, too, Dianna."

We both sat down, and I think it's because we were both feeling ashamed of ourselves for fighting.

"Simonn. I've been…hearing voices. That aren't there. They're cruel and mean and vicious and…I can't stop hearing them. I told Dianna because she came to find me. You're never alone when I'm awake, but I did want to tell you."

Simonn frowned.

"Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?" Sigmun asked.

"I'm fine."

I didn't say anything, because it's not my secret to tell.

"I know you're not, but I won't press," he said. "Tell me whenever you like. I'm going back to bed." He kissed me gently, touched Simonn's shoulder, and left.

"I'm sorry," Simonn said. "I-you were right not to tell me."

"It's alright," I said. "I know why you wanted to know, and it's okay."

He sighed. "This is hard."

"What is?"

"Being away from home. Dealing in human misery. Trying to make change, and knowing that we aren't going to win."

"It is hard. There are times when I want to quit and go home and go back to sleeping in my own bed with my family close by and my baby in his cradle. But…we're doing good work. And no matter what, we will always have each other."

He nodded. "Yes," he said. "I think we will."

"You don't."

"I know we won't have each other forever-physically. I also know that we will always have each other in our hearts, ridiculous as it sounds."

"It doesn't sound ridiculous. I know that even if you're right and we do fail, I'll always hold you all dear."

"I hope it's that easy."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, I don't want to see you get hurt. And I know that it's going to hurt you when…when this all ends."

"I appreciate it. But I can handle it. I'll survive."

He sighed. "I hope so."

"I'm going to sleep, Simmie. I'm exhausted."

"Okay," he said. "I'm going to stay up. Sleep well, alright?"

"I will. Sweet dreams."

He cracked a smile. "Sweet dreams, Deedee."

As if it's something any of us can say anymore.

20 February 1622

Today's our last day here. I said my goodbyes to Kelly and Sarah (it still feels odd to address adults by their first names, even though I am an adult-I'm twenty-seven!). I hope we can find something for Sigmun, because I know it's bothering him, even if he doesn't talk about it much.

I tend to find Simonn these nights sitting up in the sanctuary with his old Principia in one hand and a Bible in the other. I don't know which he's having a crisis of faith about.

22 February 1622

Simonn was up last night and I went to sit with him, and he told me something surprising.

"I think I have an idea."

"About?"

"About his voices."

"What is it?"

"I remember hearing about a book that said that…it's not demons or whatever. It's just natural. Like your melancholy."

I felt a shiver of relief through my whole body, because I know that if anyone else found out they'd put him to death-even if we weren't starting a rebellion. "What book?"

"That's the trouble. I can't remember. I'm not even sure it was English."

"I'll find it, then. Do you remember anything about it?"

"I think the writer was Weyer."

"German. I can find something in German."

"Won't it raise questions? Anyways, how exactly do you plan to get to a library?"

"When we go to the city to talk to people there, I'll go out at night to the university library. I'll dress up as a matron or someone, and just find the book. I'm good at going unnoticed, you know."

"That seems insanely risky just to get a book."

"Reading that book about melancholy was the best feeling in the world. Just knowing that it's real means the world." After a moment, I said, "You should read it."

"Read what?"

"The book on melancholy."

"I'm doing fine, Deedee."

"You're not. You can't tell me about how you know grief, and how much it hurts to see those you love die, and then pretend that you're fine."

He glared at me, closed Principia and the Bible (my Bible, actually), and said, "Fine."

I got the book from where I keep it with my things and handed it to him. "But read it tomorrow. Get some sleep tonight."

He shot me a look.

"I'll make you some of my tea."

"I like chamomile."

"My tea has my medicine, for the melancholy."

"Fine."

I put on the kettle and made two cups of my tea, and then we both went to bed.

I hope he reads the book. I really think he and I have some of the same things wrong with our heads. (If "wrong" is the right word to use.)

23 February 1622

We asked the priest today if we could stay in his church, and he said we could, and he invited us to dinner. He's a young fellow, perhaps younger than I am, and he told us to just call him Henry.

"I was just assigned this town. May I ask who you all are?"

We gave him our names-our fake ones, of course-and he offered to cook us dinner.

"You all must be tired from traveling."

"Not so much," I said. "We've built up some stamina from traveling all the time."

"All the time?"

"We've been traveling for almost a year now," Sigmun said.

"My goodness," Henry said. "You must care very much about something."

"We care very much about our cause," Sigmun said. "Fairness and equality for all people."

"It sounds like a wonderful idea."

"We want to make a world where people support each other and everyone has a fair shake," I said. "It's important to us."

"You are doing God's work, then," he said seriously.

"Thank you, Henry," Dolora said. "We'll take care of the dishes."

"But you are guests in this place."

"We're here to help," she said, and nodded at us three. It feels odd to talk to people this way, in a group, because it makes me feel like we're one mind. I know we're presenting a unified front and also these are things we all believe, but it's still odd.

Anyways, he showed us to two guest rooms, presumably because the house assumes a few priests or a family with children, and we decided that Sigmun and I would share one and Simonn and Dolora the other (it had two beds-a room for two children in the nice house of a priest).

I'm glad to share a room with my love again. We'll get some long-awaited privacy, I think.

24 February 1622

I do not consider myself to be out of shape but I was tired and a little sore when I woke up this morning. I don't mind, really-it was a good night and we've been waiting for months. Anyways, my love kissed my neck and told me I was the most wonderful person in the world, and he loved me to pieces.

"I love you, too."

"You're just saying that because you like my body," he teased.

"You are too!"

"I'm kidding," he said, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you very much. I would love you if I could never touch you again. I would love you if I could never see you again."

"I would love you if I could never hear you again. Or if I could never talk to you again."

"I know you would."

"And I know you would."

He kissed me again. "We should get up, you know."

"I know. But we could also stay here. And you could start kissing me again."

"Mm, we could."

But we had work to do, so he just kissed me and then we got up and started the day. I've missed sleeping in a bed with him. It's so nice.

Promoted lessons today. I hope people show up-I do like teaching. And teaching reading and writing makes me happy.

25 February 1622

People did show up for lessons today, luckily. Henry watched from the back for the most part, and he seemed to be interested.

After the lesson, he had some questions.

"What do you expect to teach them in two weeks?"

"The most basic skills so they can help each other and keep learning."

"But you won't be able to help after you leave."

"Henry, my friend, that's your job."

He looked stunned. "What do you mean?"

"You're the most powerful person in this town. If you want to help, it's your job to keep teaching."

"What will I teach them?"

"What you know."

"I have only studied the Bible."

"Don't you think people should know what they believe in?"

He looked at the Bible in his hands and said, "Yes, I suppose they should."

"Henry, I don't want to take over your church. This is your town, and we're only passing through. But I can't imagine not being able to read and write, and I can't imagine believing without knowing what I believe in."

"I think I feel the same way," he said contemplatively.

"I admire how much you care about your town," I said. "Especially since you're new here."

"It's my job."

"I've met many a preacher who doesn't even try."

"After all my studies, I have come to the conclusion that we are put on Earth to help and love each other. As a man of God, it is my job to show that love to everyone."

"I'm glad to hear that. I know many who come to the conclusion that some people deserve salvation more than others."

He frowned. "Indeed."

He's a good man, I think. We could use more of them in the world. I just hope he doesn't age like the priest in our hometown.

27 February 1622

Lessons went well today. Afterwards I spoke with a woman named Rita who'd fallen on hard times when her husband was killed in a farm accident (a not uncommon fate, I'm finding).

"I don't know where I'll work, or who I'll marry. I'm already pregnant," she said, touching her belly that way pregnant women (including myself) do.

"I worked as a seamstress for a long time in my hometown. Maybe you could get work that way."

She shrugged. "I'm not a remarkable seamstress."

"But a man who isn't married probably can't sew at all. And richer people don't want to waste their time." My mother hardly ever sewed her own clothes.

"I'll think about it."

I nodded. "It's worth it to have your own money."

"Aren't you married?"

"I worked before I was married. After, too, but my family pooled our money for expenses."

"Doesn't he own everything, though?"

"Legally, yes. But we respect each other. He doesn't read my journal and I don't go through his desk. And when money was an issue, we'd talk about it."

"You're lucky," she said.

"I know," I said. "Mine's one of the few good ones. I love him to death."

"Maybe I'll find myself a man like that."

"I hope you do!"

She laughed a little, and it felt very warm and comfortable.

28 February 1622

I've been sleeping very well lately, but last night when I was in town running errands I saw a guard. He wasn't just standing there-he was scanning, looking for something. I pulled up my hood and ducked my head, because I knew he was looking for us-for me. I felt my heart pound and I barely made it home before I was completely panicking.

"My love, what's wrong?"

"I-I saw a guard-I was alone-it hurt-"

"I-I'll go get Mama! Hold on, love, let me-"

"No, nothing-he didn't even see me. I…got mixed up. I'm okay."

"Okay, love." But he sat by me and held me for a long time, anyways, because he knew I was still afraid. And once Simonn and Dolora were home, the four of us sat in the sanctuary and they three took turns reading aloud until dinner.