1 January 1623

New Year's today. Dolora's been worrying about Simonn and me, and Sigmun too but not in the same way. I know she's been worrying because last night (nightmares don't recognize most holidays, unfortunately) she joined us around the fire.

"I know I've said it before, but it's coming," Simonn said.

"And we don't know when, exactly," I said.

"Soon."

"Soon?" Dolora asked, sitting across from us.

Simonn jumped about a foot in the air and immediately ducked his head, anxious. He practically radiates it sometimes.

"Simonn has been having nightmares," I said. "He's hoping they'll go away soon with some of my tea."

Dolora nodded quietly, but I could tell she didn't quite believe me. I'm a very good liar but Dolora's more perceptive than that. She's my mother.

"Can you tell me a little of what happens in these nightmares?" she asked Simonn.

"I-I'm not sure," he said. "I can't usually tell. It's dark and cold and I'm afraid."

"Kind of like mine," I said. "So we think maybe it's melancholy?"

"Well, I don't claim any expertise on melancholy," Dolora said. "But I imagine nightmares could be a part of it. Let me make some tea."

"Dolora-"

"If you won't talk to me about whatever it is you're seeing, at least let me make you some tea to help you sleep," she said, putting the kettle over the fire on that odd little iron device we use. "Wake me up any time you need to talk. If you want to tell me what's going on, I'll be here for you."

When the tea was made (St. John's wort for melancholy and the one she uses for nightmares) and she was back in her tent, Simonn said, "I don't know how much longer we can keep this from then."

"We might not have to."

He didn't say anything, but he also didn't finish his tea.

5 January 1623

A letter came today from Neolla. She doesn't write often, so I knew it was important. And it turns out it's extremely important; she and Mariek have been writing to the villages we mention and it seems that more and more people are willing to march into the city. I don't know how we're going to coordinate it, but Sigmun's finally picked a day: the first of May. If all goes well, we'll quit traveling sometime in early April and then spend that month gathering people, making sure everyone who wants to can get to the city in time. Most of them have never left home before so it'll be quite the thing.

I'm a little afraid, as always, but I'm sure it'll work out. We might just have some time left. Maybe we'll even win! I know Simonn's dreams are guarantees as far as he's concerned, but I imagine there's a world where Annabelle and Christopher and Margaret and Joanne and Isabella are still alive and there's a world where he's always wrong.

It's terrible that I want him to be wrong, but I don't want to die.

8 January 1623

We leave this town in two days. It's astonishing how quickly time seems to move. We're only going to visit six more towns before we set the bigger plan into motion. Obviously we haven't been able to visit every town in the country, but we've seen enough. Sigmun planned out ahead of time, picking the biggest towns or the ones who were most likely to be dissatisfied. I remember when this was just a dream in his head and he had that map he didn't want me to see yet.

12 January 1623

Lessons start tomorrow. We've had to move the reading and writing ones inside the church again, but the hunting ones can really only be outside, so we're stuck with that. If I can turn the animals we catch into more warm furs so more people can practice hunting, all the better. My one nice pair of gloves are really starting to wear out from all the use.

15 January 1623

A speech today, like every Sunday. I did what I always do-wrote it down, translated into a few languages I can do more quickly (French and Russian and German, that sort).

Candas sent another letter. She keeps sending letters, and the tone of them…I don't know what to think. She seems genuine. Before, when she wrote or talked to us, she seemed a little artificial and scary. But now…maybe Sigmun got through to her. It's dangerous to entertain hope this way, when Simonn's still having his dreams, but a part of me wants so badly to believe that she's changed and is on our side.

19 January 1623

I sent Neolla a letter yesterday, asking her if Candas has changed at all lately. They see her more often than we do, so she and Mariek might have some insight as to whether or not she's changed.

It would be nice.

22 January 1623

This is going to sound insane, but I think Simonn's stopped having nightmares. I usually notice when he wakes up, and when I wake up on my own he's not around the fire. He looks better-rested and less ill. Maybe it's just the tea.

25 January 1623

A new town today. Usual teaching, usual speeches, usual people. Unusual high amount of guards. I thought Candas was supposed to keep them off our trail, but maybe she doesn't have enough influence. Or maybe she thinks she's protecting us. I don't think she knows that the man who attacked me was a guard. I only ever told my family that.

Simonn's definitely been having fewer nightmares. I haven't, but then mine are connected to the past rather than the future. Maybe we've changed something? Maybe somehow we've avoided the future that we all dread so very much.

I can only hope.

29 January 1623

We're sleeping on the sanctuary pews, as usual, and teaching in the church, and my backache is just getting worse and worse. Dolora tried to give me some of her blankets, but she's older than me and her back must be aching too. I sleep better when I sleep cuddled up with Sigmun, and it does seem to help the backache, but the pews are narrow and anyways, we have appearances to maintain.

It frustrates me, this image of a perfectly chaste couple we keep up. I know that since I can't have children it would be sin in the eyes of the world if we weren't, but isn't it our goal to disturb these harmful ideals? I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable talking to people about my personal life quite openly, because it's mine and his and no one else's, but at least we could sleep close together and be comfortable.

A woman named Abigail was at the talk today. Afterwards she came up to me and we chatted some, about the things he says and our big plan and about little things, too, about our own lives. She laughed when I told her about all the silly quirky things my family does, and I laughed when she told me about her sisters and how they can be. Sigmun doesn't always like it when I tell people about these little things, but he understands it makes us more real to them.

1 February 1623

I talked more with Abigail today, and with a friend of hers Rachel. The two of them were very interested in our plan to march to the city, and of course in lessons. I quite like Rachel; she reminds me a bit of Catherine. And Abigail reminds me of Etta-she liked the philosophy books I read from to teach.

I'll be sad to leave them, like I always am. I'm usually sad, anyways, so it doesn't mean much.

4 February 1623

I asked Simonn about his nightmares last night since we're traveling.

"I mean…I haven't been having them as much lately, if that's what you mean. Not as often, not nearly as bad. I've been sleeping nights through."

"Lucky."

"I'm lucky?"

"Sorry," I said. "That's not what I meant. I just haven't slept the night through in a long time. I don't much these days…"

"Are you dreaming about it, too?"

"No. Just the usual nonsense. Sigmun's been noticing. He's gotten good at waking up even when I don't wake up crying."

"You sound irate," he said dryly.

"He shouldn't have to deal with the mess that's my mind-all the shit it throws me on a daily basis."

"He's your husband."

"And you're my best friend."

"So's he."

I rolled my eyes at him but acquiesced because he's right. I love Sigmun in a dozen different ways and we swore to be there for each other. I know I should confide these things in him but I don't want to worry him.

I don't know what to think.

5 February 1623

I feel awful.

Last night, I went to talk to Sigmun-to tell him about my nightmares and all. So we sat together around the fire and I told him how I've been having nightmares and also how I worry about worrying him with them, and he reassured me that it was alright.

"Is there anything else, love?"

"No," I said.

"Dianna, my love, I know you're not telling me something." He said it gently, not an accusation, but I felt attacked nonetheless.

"Leave me alone."

"What could it possibly be that you can't tell me?"

"Nothing! I'm not-why are you so nosy?" I know I shouldn't have said that.

"I'm not trying to get gossip out of you, jeez! Clearly there's something bothering you and I want to know what! I want to be here for you, but I can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong!"

"Maybe there is something wrong, but I'm not going to tell you about it!"

"And who will you tell, Simonn?"

"What the hell are you implying?"

"Just that for a group of three best friends, it sure seems like two best friends and one left over!"

"Sigmun, you're-you're both my best friends!"

"Then why don't you act like it?"

"Maybe if you could clear your busy schedule for long enough to act like you loved me I'd feel a bit more motivated!"

"What the hell do you expect me to do? We're starting a damn revolution-I'm sorry if I don't spend all my time making you feel special!"

I was so furious with him that I could hardly speak. "Pull your head out of your sanctimonious ass before you even think of talking to me again. Fine saint you are, preaching to the world about compassion and kindness when you can't show some to you own damn wife!" That wasn't fair of me to say. I was just so angry.

His face was redder than I've ever seen it. "I'm not sure we're even married anymore! You're keeping secrets from me and-"

I stalked off before he could finish. I know that was immature, but I also knew we were only going to get angrier. I found a good tree and climbed it and just sat there until it started getting dark and I had to walk back. We don't have another bedroll, so I bunched up most of Sigmun's blankets on top of him and slept on the floor of the tent. It wasn't comfortable, but I wasn't going to sleep curled up with him. Not in a million years.

I'm still angry. I know we have to put on a nice face for the next village, but I'm so angry I'm trembling. Simonn and Dolora can both tell that something's up, but neither of them will say anything, and I can't talk to either of them. I don't know how to…how to handle this. I know I should apologize for the things I said, and I know I should at least own up to keeping something from him, but I'm still furious with him for saying those things he knew would hurt me. He knows with everything my mother did to me. He knows that I never feel good about myself and that being with him is one of the only times I don't feel like a failure. How could he?

I'm not going to be able to write anymore. I think I might cry.

7 February 1623

Sigmun and I haven't spoken except about our work since we fought. It hurts more than I thought it would. I know I should apologize but I'm scared to, and I'm so afraid that this is the end for us. What if we can't fix it and we end up like those couples in the village who hate each other but can't leave?

I have to talk to him. I…I'll do it tomorrow. I'll tell him sorry and if he apologizes, too, then maybe we can work this out.

8 February 1623

It's very late, and I'm up by candlelight, but I could cry from relief.

Today after everyone had gone and it was just us, and Dolora was cooking, Simonn took a walk like he does so it was just Sigmun and I. I fidgeted for a moment and then blurted, "I'm sorry!"

He looked up at me with the oddest expression on his face and before he could say anything, I squinted my eyes shut and said, all at once, "I have been keeping something from you and it's not fair of me to expect you to be here for me when we have all this to do and I'm sorry I don't act like I love you and-and I'm sorry."

"I-Di-Disciple, I'm sorry too-I know you and Simonn love me and it's not fair to be jealous of your friendship. I'm so sorry I said such awful things to you and it's not fair of me to act like you wanting to feel loved isn't important and I'm sorry I pushed you to tell me whatever it is, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

I wanted to cry but instead I just leaned forward to hug him and he hugged me back and I was just so relieved, because we were going to be okay.

"We need to talk about this," I said quietly.

"I know," he said. "Whatever it is that you won't tell me…I just want to know if there's anything I can do."

I shook my head. "I'll tell you after we go to the city. I swear I will. I just…I can't, right now. I need to think through it. Write about it and all."

"Alright," he said. "Alright. I…I think we need to do this differently. Be married."

"What do you mean?"

"We can't do things the same we did at home, when we were there. We can't be married that way anymore-but it doesn't mean I love you any less, or that you love me any less. It's just that we're starting a revolution and we can't do things the same way we always have, you know?" His words kept spilling out, tripping on each other, and I knew he was right.

"Yes," I said. "We keep trying to pull ourselves back to the way it was, but we can't. We need to move forward."

He nodded and leaned forward to kiss me, and I kissed him back, soft and sweet. "I love you so much. I'll never stop loving you. I wish I could show you I love you like I used to…"

"I do too," I said. "I know I don't act like I love you sometimes and I just wish I knew how. My love, just tell me you love me. Please."

He looked at me, so sad like he might cry. "I'm so sorry. I never realized I stopped…"

"We can do little things for each other," I said. "We don't have the time for anniversaries or dinners, but…" I plucked a dandelion from the grass and tucked it behind his ear. "I think you are as bright as this dandelion and I love you."

He blushed and then kissed the tip of my nose. "I love you, too."

It felt like a long conversation, but we were laughing at each other and throwing dandelions at each other by the time Dolora had finished dinner.

We can't go out into the woods, but my goodness I wanted to. Maybe the next town the local reverend will let us stay in his home. I sure hope so!

12 February 1623

A speech today, like every Sunday. Lessons, like always, and hunting for dinner, as usual. It's a little frightening how routine this whole thing has become. We're starting a revolution! Shouldn't it be more exciting?

Sigmun gave me a bunch of wildflowers today-snowdrops, mostly. They were lovely and I braided them into my hair and when Jen asked about them, I told her the flowers were from my husband.

It's not like it was before. It never will be. But it's different, and it's going to be okay.

16 February 1623

Sigmun and I held hands while we were traveling today, something we haven't done for a long, long time. I don't know why. It's a nice feeling, and we're usually not so rushed these days. It doesn't bother Simonn or Dolora and it makes me feel close to him.

Simonn hasn't been having many nightmares. I wonder if this means that we've done something right. Maybe we managed to avoid that terrible future he feared so much.

On the other hand, Sigmun's voices are getting louder. When they're at their worst, he'll lie down in the tent and refuse to come out-either from exhaustion or from fear. People ask and so I've been telling them that my love has been dealing with a fever lately and needs lots of rest. The truth of it is that when the voices are loud, it's like…it's like he's not quite there, sort of like when something sets me off and I can feel my mother's hands around my throat and smell her breath on my face.

I worry about him. I know it's getting worse and I don't think Dolora has herbs for this, whatever it is. I wish I knew what to do to help him, but he doesn't know himself. I just try to be there for him; I'll hold him close and tell him he's safe with us, but I'm not sure he can even hear me.

I'm scared.

19 February 1623

A speech today, as usual. When he's speaking the voices quiet, he says. He says when he's talking to people he knows that the voices are wrong. He always stops short of telling me what exactly they say, maybe to avoid worrying me. But I know they tell him awful things.

I wish I could help him. But I don't know how.

23 February 1623

Simonn had one of his nightmares last night.

"Simonn?" I asked, when I saw him sitting by the fire. He was trembling all over.

"I had a nightmare," he said. "I haven't had one in weeks."

"Do you still think we're going to fail?"

He snorted. "Of course. I've never had a dream that didn't come true. But…we have more time, I think. We have more time than I thought."

I breathed out a sigh of relief. "Not this year."

"Not this year," he agreed, and the relief was fantastic. I sighed out my breath and leaned against his shoulder, feeling so immensely tired. I'd spent so long thinking we were going to die any day and now I'm sure-we're sure-that we have time. There's time to love my husband and time to comfort Simonn and time to see Dolora grow old. We have time.

26 February 1623

Today was one of his speeches, and since we're staying in the preacher's house, my love and I have been sleeping together much more often. It feels…odd, somehow. He preaches about religion in the morning, a Sunday no less, but the things he'll whisper to me at night when we're trying to hard to be quiet (for the benefit of Reverend Smith, and the rest of our family) are most certainly sinful at best. I know this is silly, but I feel like this week has been us making up, coming to terms with the fact what it will never be like this again. Until it's over, until we have our own home again, we're not going to have the chance to be together this way. I know it's selfish to think this way, but it feels so wonderful to be with him, and I have already given up so many simple pleasures of life.

I know that it's not fair of me to want these simple pleasures when so many don't even have them. It's not fair for me to want my own bed in my own home, my own room and that lovely garden, the good food we made and the beautiful forest for my backyard, the wonderful nights with my love and the comfort of having my family around me…everything.

It's selfish and awful and terrible but I don't want to give up all these small things.

28 February 1623

I spoke with a woman named Rosamond today. It was the usual: lessons, do I really believe all this is possible, is he really my husband, is it going to be dangerous to go the city, all that. She's very kind, and she invited me home to see her garden and meet her family. Her husband reminded me of Simonn-he's the oldest of his family, sharp as a tack, and quite tall. She also had two little daughters, named Madeline and Winifred. They were so active and squirmy, hardly able to sit through dinner.

I'm back in the room now, and Sigmun's waiting for me to finish writing. He's reading one of the romance novels we brought with us, probably for the fifth or sixth time. He looks so…peaceful, I think. His face is calm, smiling ever-so-slightly, and he turns the pages quietly and consistently.

It's never going to be like this again.

I wish it could be like this again.