2 July 1632

My love's birthday is soon. I don't always remember things these days, but it never used to rain on his birthday and now it does every year. I wish it wouldn't. It just reminds me that he's gone and he can't ever come back to me. But there's nothing to be done about bad weather, and nothing I can pray or say that will change it.

My daughter's birthdays are also soon. I can't believe they've been with me for more than a year. I didn't notice the day of, because heaven knows my memory's not what it used to be, but they have birthdays soon, and I can remember that.

5 July 1632

I'm managing a little better. I don't feel like I might die at the end of every day, and I've been treating women who need me. Although I mostly have to work in my home, because going to the village is exhausting. I can't let my guard down even when I'm just trying to measure out the amount of pain medicine to give a woman whose bleeding is unbearable. I always feel like there's a guard just behind me who's going to recognize me and turn me in, and this time Candas would certainly kill me.

I can't help but worry about my daughters, too, when I'm in the village. I know they go to the village all on their own, but I'm worried someone will connect them to me and then they'll be in trouble, too. Someone might even send them back to their birth parents, and I can't let that happen.

9 July 1632

My Meulin brought her friends home today, like she does sometimes. They're sweet, although I have a sense there's more of them now than there were at first. That's good, I suppose. It's good for her to have plenty of friends, I think. Nepeta just brought over her friend Equius. She has quite a few friends, but she's very close with Equius. I think it's good for her, because she likes to do the same things every day and he doesn't mind that.

They're alright. Meulin worries about me, sometimes, but I think it's getting better. She doesn't keep making me tea, which is good. Nepeta is too young to pick up on all that-she's only eight-but she can tell when I'm not doing especially well. Those days she gives me flowers she picked in the woods, and it's so sweet of her. It sounds absurd, but having those lovely flowers in a cup with water makes me feel just a little better.

13 July 1632

Tomorrow is my love's birthday, and today it was cloudy. I think it's going to rain tomorrow.

14 July 1632

It did rain today, and I was so tired I could hardly get out of bed. I always get a headache when it rains these days, and today I just had this awful headache and I missed him so much. I did what I have to do, like I do every day, but I miss him so much. I missed my best friend and my real mother and just…everyone. I missed my baby boy. I see him in my daughters, and some days I think it might just kill me. Nepeta has Luke's sweet smile, and Meulin has his curly hair. I suppose…they are related to me. So I suppose they must share some traits with him.

Meulin asked me today if I was alright because I was acting strange today, and I told her that today was my love's birthday, and I missed him. It's more than that, and I try very hard not to let on how much I hurt because it would worry them.

I prayed today. I prayed for my love's soul, that wherever he is he's alright. I want him to be in heaven, and I don't know if me asking God to keep my love safe even means anything but I have to try.

17 July 1632

I asked Meulin what she wanted for her birthday.

"Um…can I have a book?"

"Sure, little love. What kind of book?"

"A book about a girl on an adventure! Like all the other books about boys."

"I-I will look for a book like that, little love, but I don't know if I can find one."

"What? Why not?"

"I don't know, little love. Most people who can write are men, I suppose, and they don't write stories about girls."

"Why not? I can write a story about a boy if I want to."

I couldn't explain to her that men don't think women are people, that men hurt us and no one stops them, that men think we're more emotional but claim to feel things more deeply than we do when they call us coldhearted, that men say they love us but they don't even respect us. I just couldn't bring myself to say it.

"You could, and those men could. But they don't. And so I will try my best, but I can't promise you."

"Then I'll write it," Meulin said, her jaw set firm and determined.

"Good, little love," I said. "I'll read it, and it will be wonderful."

She smiled and said, "Where's the paper, Mama?"

"I'll show you," I said. It's a lot of paper, but if she wants to tell her own story who am I to stop her? Maybe I'll get her a blank book like mine. She might like to keep a journal. Heaven knows it's kept me sane.

On that note, Nepeta's writing is getting better every day. She reads very well, too. She's almost nine and she reads better than I did at that age. She's smart as a whip. I worry about her talking differently than most people sometimes, but I think it'll be alright. Heaven knows I don't talk like most people myself, and I'm alright.

23 July 1632

I've been writing less lately. I suppose that's good, because normally I write the most when I'm the emptiest. I suppose not wanting to be dead every time I wake up is an improvement.

Well, my daughters and the women of the village do keep me busy. I have a lot to do. It keeps my mind off things, sometimes.

28 July 1632

It's so hot that people have been getting sick from it. I remember what Dolora always did-take people to the river, have them drink water I boiled a while ago so it's not so hot, and then get them to eat a little before they go home.

I suppose I know what I'm doing, a little. I did help a child today who was very ill. I do have a sort of job, and a direction to my life. My children and my cat are both still alive. It's going to be okay.

5 August 1632

Today was Nepeta's birthday. I got her a book of embroidery patterns and thread like she asked for, and her face lit up with this huge, adorable smile. It was so precious. I'm so glad she has things she likes to do, and I'm glad there are things that make her happy. She deserves to be happy. Although, they are my daughters-of course I want all the good things in the world for them. I want them to have a better life than I've had, more chances and more happiness.

I suppose that's why we left, in the first place. We wanted a better world for our children. That's what I'm building now.

She's nine now. She's getting older. Before I know it she'll be nineteen and getting married.

15 August 1632

We celebrated Meulin's birthday today. I found a book that wasn't about a girl but it was about a woman who had her own adventure. It's not the best book I've ever read and someone else definitely had it before I did, but it made my daughter's face absolutely light up with joy.

The two of them…they're happy. They're happy in ways I can never be. I never was and never will be happy like they are, but I don't care one bit. I'm their mother. Their happiness makes me happy, and though I can never be happy like they are, I can be happy in new ways.

I don't think I'll ever truly have nothing. I never have. Even at my worst, I always had myself.

22 August 1632

Today was my thirty-seventh birthday. I'm getting old. I'm as old as Dolora was when my love and I were first caring for our little Luke. I thought back then that she knew everything, every secret the world had to offer. I love her, but I know better now. I don't know everything. I hardly know anything.

And my daughters look at me like I know everything. I don't. I don't know hardly anything.

I won't tell them. They don't need to know.

30 August 1632

I'm so tired. I helped a woman give birth last night and it was…it was exhausting. She almost didn't make it but I managed to stop the bleeding and her baby…her baby is too small. I know how big babies are supposed to be when they're born-I had one myself-and hers is too small.

I worry.

4 September 1632

Her baby isn't going to make it. Yesterday was my baby boy's birthday and Geraldine's baby girl isn't going to make it.

I might die for the grief.

11 September 1632

The little girl died today. I did everything I could but it wasn't enough. Geraldine didn't even name her baby because…because we knew. We all knew. Sometimes these things happen and there's nothing to be done.

I'm going to bed. I'm too tired to stay awake.

17 September 1632

I woke up this morning seized by panic and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. And then I was breathing too fast and too much and I couldn't stop and I needed to…I don't know what I needed, but I was so afraid I couldn't move.

Finally I managed to get out of bed and tell my daughters good morning and it was time for breakfast. They've been worrying about me, because they can tell, but this grief is too much. When my little Luke died…I broke. This is like breaking again.

I don't know how Dolora did it.

25 September 1632

My Nepeta helped me sort medicines today. I haven't left my home to treat anyone in days. She touched my hand, very gently, and said, "Mama, did the baby die?"

"Yes, Nepeta. She did."

She frowned. "That's very sad."

"It is," I said, and my eye were tearing up. "It is very sad indeed."

"Are you gonna be okay, Mama?"
"I will be, Nepeta. I will be."

I will be.

30 September 1632

Elizabeth is going to give birth in a few days. I need to be there for her. I need to keep her and her baby alive.

I need to. I don't know if I can.