1 January 1632

I could be the midwife. I could go into the village and take care of people, quieter than Dolora ever was, but enough. I could be the person I once admired so much, a person who the village needs. I've never really been part of this village. It might be my last chance.

3 January 1632

We definitely sold the skates, but I took my girls down to the river to show them to slide around on the frozen surface. They had such fun, slipping and sliding all over the place. Nepeta was laughing aloud, the first time I've heard it. It was such a good sound, to hear her laughing. The both of them laughed, really, and I couldn't help but feel relieved. They know how to laugh. They haven't lost everything.

The snow is beautiful.

6 January 1632

I've found that part of the reason I thought Nepeta didn't talk about her parents until just now is because she doesn't frown, or cry, when she talks about them. Sometimes she'll even giggle when she talks about being starving. I don't know if it's because she's afraid to show how she really feels about it, or if she doesn't know how, or if she just expresses herself in a strange way.

It's alright, for now. She'll be okay.

8 January 1632

Meulin loves hugs, long hugs too, and it's quite something to hold my little girl like I once held my baby Luke. I know she is my daughter when she has nightmares and comes to me and curls up against my side while I comfort her, tell her she's safe with me and I love her and I won't let anything happen to her.

Nepeta's different. She has exactly as many nightmares, I think, as Meulin does, but when she comes to me she sits cross-legged on my bed and quietly tell me what she's dreamed. Usually she doesn't inflect much, but it's not difficult to read her nonetheless. She's hurting from it all.

I wish I knew the medicines to cure them. I wish I could just mix up some herbs and make it all better, but I can't. It'll take time and effort.

But it's going to be okay. I know it. It has to be.

11 January 1632

I've been practicing, making medicines Dolora used to make and boiling bandages and thread and all. I don't feel…I don't feel very safe, going into the village. They might hurt me. They might…some guard might see me, and recognize me, and he might kill me. I'm so afraid of the guards. Besides those days in prison, which I can never forget or even avoid thinking about, I still remember what happened in March 1614, and every time I saw them while we were traveling.

My daughters have been noticing, and asking. I told them I was thinking of joining them in the village someday, to give other people my medicines. I can't imagine anyone will benefit much, but I want to try to help. I want my daughters to learn how to help people, too.

14 January 1632

I'll go in spring, when everything's coming back to life.

But people get sick more in the winter-I know that as well as most, when my baby boy died of winter fever. Maybe I should go into the village now. Someone's baby could be dying, and I'm not going to the village right now to help them.

But some days, even leaving the house is to terrifying to contemplate, much less walk into the village. When I was so empty I wanted to die it was easier, because I wasn't afraid of a guard seeing me and killing me. Now I have things to live for, and I can hardly stand to leave my home.

Soon. I'll do it soon.

18 January 1632

I tried today. I really did. I told myself I'd go to the village and put on my nice dress and laced up my good winter boots, and when I started down the road I couldn't breathe and I was so afraid I thought I'd faint. I ran back inside and I was trembling all over and my daughters could see something was wrong, so I told them I just had a headache.

I can't. I just can't.

21 January 1632

Meulin loves going into the village, even when it's cold. But Nepeta does not like the cold, so she only goes once a week. The other day she used to go with Meulin, her friend Equius will come to our house, sometimes with another friend.

I don't mind, really. My girls should have friends. It just makes me feel like such a failure, that my eight-year-old daughter can do so many things I can't.

23 January 1632

I wish so badly that my love was still here. Whenever I needed to feel brave, he told me he knew I could do it, he believed in me, he loved me. I need that right now. I was so afraid to leave home, and I was so afraid in prison, and I was terrified when he died. But he's gone and he can't comfort me, not anymore.

I miss my love. I loved him for almost my whole life and now I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do.

26 January 1632

I sat Meulin down today and explained to her about her bleeding and having breasts and all the rest of it, and she seemed alright with it. She said she hasn't gotten any bigger yet in her chest, but it's also true that she was starving for a long time before she and her sister ran away. If someone doesn't eat, Dolora told me, they lose their breasts and their bleeding. It might take some time until she starts growing that way. Anyways, she's just twelve. I only started growing that way when I was thirteen or fourteen, and I didn't notice much until I was fifteen.

Well, either way, I think she'll be alright. I'll tell Nepeta when she's twelve, too, so she can be ready for it too.

I'll explain to them about marriage and men and all that nonsense later, when they're older. I'll tell them it's nothing to be ashamed of, to want someone like that, and tell them that it's okay if they love women. Oh, and I should tell them about Isabella, just in case they're actually boys and haven't figured it out yet.

I should do that sooner rather than later. I can't keep calling them my daughters if one of of them is my son.

29 January 1632

It looks like we'll have enough food. I hunt every other day, because somehow I'm not afraid of the woods like I am of the village, and with the vegetables and herbs we preserved, we're going to be okay.

I've never felt more relieved. I would starve to feed them, but I'd be afraid that wouldn't be enough. I just want my daughters to be okay.

31 January 1632

I told my daughters about Isabella today, and Meulin told me right away she's definitely a girl. Fair enough. Nepeta thought about it for a long moment, and twisted a lock of hair between her fingers, and said she was pretty sure she was a girl. I told both of them that if they ever changed their minds, they could tell me right away and I'd help them pick out a new name.

I hope that's enough. I want them to feel safe enough to come to me if they ever need anything.

2 February 1632

I tried again today and got a bit further but I barely made it back before I panicked, my whole body trembling and my whole mind in a terrible panic. I hate those moments. I hate them so much.

I'll keep trying. By spring, I'll make it into the village. I have to-I have to save people if I can. I have to.

4 February 1632

I read a book for fun today. I haven't done that in years. I even laughed at some of the funny scenes. It was…strange.

My daughters are doing so much better I can hardly believe it. Meulin has color in her cheeks, and fat on her arms, and strength in her movements. Nepeta has more bounce in her step, and softness to her face, and a pinkness to her lips. They look healthier, and I'm so relieved. They're going to be okay.

I love them so much. All I want is good things for them, for them to be happy and do well. I want them to find love in family and friends and maybe a spouse or partner, and I want them to be happy.

I'll do all I can to help them.

7 February 1632

I don't know what I'd do if one of my daughters was hurt in the village. I don't know if I can go into the village at all! How can I hope to even save my daughters if I can't leave the house and woods I grew up in?

Meulin chatters endlessly about the village. I don't mind, really, but I do feel a little sad when she does because it used to be me, having fun in the village and having friends. I used to be that sort of child, when I played in the village with my friends and felt comfortable and safe there.

10 February 1632

I tried again today. I tried very hard. I got almost out of the woods before I couldn't walk any further. I felt frozen solid, like I was made of ice. I felt like I couldn't breathe and I made it back to my home but I could hardly cook.

I keep making it further, but every time I feel exhausted and sick. If I make it into the village someday, will I even be able to do my work, or will I be shaking too hard to set a bone or stitch a cut? Dolora had such a steady hand. I'm not sure I'll ever have that.

14 February 1632

Meulin brought home some of her friends today and they skated on the frozen river. I swear the winters have been getting colder and longer! It's harder now than it was when I was very young to get my plants to grow when the ground's not thawed as long, and I know many farmers are struggling. Anyways, because it was so cold, I felt alright letting them skate-I wasn't worried they'd fall in.

Nepeta stayed inside and read. It was very snowy and she doesn't like snow much. She always looks very content, curled up with a book next to the fire. She reads slowly and she has to ask me for help with hard words, but I did the same when I was her age, so I'm not worried.

Well, I'm worried about things constantly, but not these little things. I suppose that's good-I'd go mad worrying about everything. (As if I'm not already mad.)

17 February 1632

Meulin found Simonn's old copy of Principia today and asked me what it was and I felt like I'd been stabbed. I managed to tell her it was my best friend's favorite book when we were younger, and that it was about physics, and luckily that was enough. I miss Simonn so much. He was so kind and funny and wonderful and he wanted to do so much more. He was going to be a father, he was going to be a husband, he was going to find a career he loved, and he was going to try his damnedest to get into university, however he could. He had so much life to live.

And selfishly, I miss having my best friend around. I loved talking with him and even though we argued, we always loved each other. I love him so much. I miss him.

21 February 1632

My mother was wrong. I know I keep writing it, but I have to believe it, because if I don't I'm going to lose my mind. She was wrong. She hurt me, and she was wrong.

It's mad. I read my old journal and the things she did…locking me in the house and hitting me and that awful hair thinner! How…how could she? How did I ever think that was fine of her to do?

My daughters smile when they see me. Meulin hugs me tight when she's afraid. Nepeta squeezes my hand when she tells me how she was afraid. They're not afraid of me.

They love me.

24 February 1632

I told Meulin and Nepeta I'd like to walk with them a little ways into the village and then go back because I had to hunt, and with my little girls there, bouncing and laughing and chattering, I felt better and made it further before it was too much and I had to go back.

I'll get there. I have to.

26 February 1632

I embroidered the hems of my girls' cloaks today while they were reading together, aloud to each other like Sigmun and Simonn and I used to. I don't want people to think they're rich and try to steal from them, but I do want them to feel beautiful even when the world is gray and cold. Feeling beautiful always helped me feel better overall, and though I hope no one ever makes them feel ugly, I hope they can draw strength wherever it is to be found. Heaven knows it's hard to be a woman in this world.

I did a pattern of ivy with little white lilies-of-the-valley for Nepeta, and a pattern of vines with daisies for Meulin. I hope they like it!

28 February 1632

I have to say, although I can't go into the village anymore and I haven't slept the night through since I was seven and I have to drink my tea every day to keep from choking on my own sadness and grief, I feel so warm inside when they smile at me. I'm their mother. They love me.

When we sit near the fire in the library, with Button purring on my lap and my daughters reading and my current embroidery project steadily progressing, I feel warm. I feel something, these days. It's not much, but it's something.

I love them, and it's warm.