2 October 1632
All Souls' and All Saints' are happening soon. I suppose I'll go with my girls into the village again, which terrifies me slightly less than it used to. (I feel as if these comparisons I make mean nothing. I used to not be able to force myself to go into the village. I suppose getting there and being utterly drained of energy after an hour is progress.) They'll have fun, anyways. I'm not sure I'll do much of anything.
8 October 1632
Today Mary told me that Caroline told her that the reverend wants to speak with me. It's not old Reverend Rydberg-he passed years ago-but some new fellow named Maxwell who heard about Geraldine's little one. Apparently he's upset with me.
There's nothing to be done about it. I'm terrified of him and I don't know what I can say that will make this any better. Children die sometimes and I did my best-I tried so hard. I tried everything I know. I tried everything I'd ever heard of, and the little one still died. I don't know how I can tell him without breaking down crying myself.
15 October 1632
I suppose Reverend Maxwell just got fed up with my reclusive old-ladiness, because today he knocked on my door (three times, very sharp) and called, "Is there a Mrs. Vantas here?"
I opened the door, and although I was sure he could see me trembling, I said, "There is. What do you want?"
"My name is Reverend Maxwell and I'd like to know what your business is."
"My business is helping the women and children of this town. I've lived here most of my life; I ought to help the people who live here."
"And yet Geraldine's child died."
"Sometimes children die, Reverend Maxwell. You're a learned man; surely you must know that." I could hardly speak through the tightness in my throat. It was like I'd swallowed a prickly pear leaf.
"You're in the business of countering God's punishment to Eve for the original sin."
"And you're in the business of preaching. Are you working the land like Adam?"
He went a bit red, but said, "This world needs preachers. We help other men talk with God."
"And this world needs midwives, too-we help women. I have work to do, sir, and my daughters need their lunch. May I show you the door?"
"I don't suppose I have much of a choice," he said bitterly.
"No," I said. "You don't. Have a nice day, Reverend."
He left, looking like he'd let his tea steep too long, and I collapsed into a chair and didn't move for an hour.
I know I'm right. I know I'm doing the right thing to help women. I don't know why he can't see that.
23 October 1632
It went better today with Elizabeth today. It was her second child, so she knew what was going to happen, and it was easier for her. Her baby lived.
That's good, I suppose. It is good that the baby lived. I could not be more relieved about that, especially with this new reverend in town. I don't ever want to speak with him again. He does not seem like a cruel man, but my goodness, he's the reverend, and he has more power than I could ever hold.
I'll help Mary out over these next few days, and hopefully her baby lives.
I don't know how I'm going to do this if children keep dying.
30 October 1632
Tomorrow is All Souls' and of course my little girls want to go into the village for the festival. So I said yes, and I'll go this year with my hood over my head. I normally wear my love's cloak when I need to cover my face, because he was taller than me (isn't everyone) and so his cloak's hood pulls low over my face.
My girls don't question it, although they see their friends' parents walking around without fear. They don't know much about my life before them, and I'm alright with that. It's better that way.
31 October 1632
The festival was lovely as it always is, with Mr. Jacobson and Mrs. Topham playing fiddle and the lights and the food and the dancing. And although I used to dance my heart out every year, I contented myself with watching as I do these days.
That's not important. What is important is that while I was watching, I noticed someone else trying hard not to be seen. The person was tall, and kept their head down, and didn't speak to anyone else-much like me, a specter in a brighter world.
I think I know who it could be. I hope it isn't.
1 November 1632
All Saints' today, of course. My girls had their fun, but I…I had quite the day.
I was right-the figure in the square was Patrik. Today while I was watching the dancing and tapping my feet to the tune, I felt someone behind me and turned around, and it was him.
"Don't talk to me," I said.
"I'm sorry."
"I said not to talk to me," I said again. I never wanted to see his face again.
"She made me," he said, desperate. "I had no choice."
"You had a choice," I said. "You let me go."
"He was dying," Patrik said, and I was so furious with him I could hardly breathe.
"Maybe he was," I said. "But you never gave me the chance to find out. Leave me alone."
He opened his mouth to say something else, but I turned away and I suppose he understood what I was saying, because he finally left me alone.
I don't think I hate him. He was my friend when we were very young. But my goodness, I'm so angry.
7 November 1632
Rebecca brought a sick child to me today and I recognized it right away as winter fever and today is the day my little Luke died so many years ago, and I thought I might cry. I don't know what to do. I don't know what I can do, and I don't know if I can even treat this child without breaking down in tears.
Maybe I'll ask Meulin to help me. If she's around I can't cry, and normally I'm better at dealing with things if I have to keep up appearances for my daughters.
I know I should be able to do things on my own, but I don't think that's going to happen any time soon. I just can't.
13 November 1632
Rebecca's little one is getting better, thank heaven. She's not a year yet, so she doesn't have a name, but Rebecca wants to name her Margerie.
A name will come in time. It's not safe to name a child too early, and I know I shouldn't have done it. I just believed so much that it wouldn't happen with me, not when I had Dolora and everyone to help me.
He was fourteen months when he died. He would've had a name no matter what.
20 November 1632
I don't know how I'm going to do this come winter. More people get sick in the winter, especially with winter fever, and I'm not sure I could stand it if someone died if winter fever-especially a child.
I truly don't understand how Dolora did this. I can hardly stand to see one child ill, much less the dozens of them in the village. And my little girls worry, too-they can tell how hard this is for me.
I try to do everything Dolora did when I was young to keep them safe from the illnesses I encounter. They're old enough, now. And if Nepeta lived through smallpox, she can live through most anything.
28 November 1632
First Sunday of Advent today. I lit the candle for hope at supper and told my girls that there is always hope, always something. I didn't tell them how I once wanted to die, about how I never really had nothing-I always had myself. But I told them that there's always something.
5 December 1632
Second Sunday today, for joy. I tell my daughters to be joyful, to take pleasure in small things, to let themselves enjoy the world unreservedly, but I do none of these things myself.
I try, of course. I try every day to feel happy, but it's so tiring after too long. After all these years of feeling sad, it's tremendously difficult to be happy. One of these days I imagine it will be natural to feel happy, but not now.
Merry Christmas, I suppose.
12 December 1632
Peace today, the pink candle. I suppose peace could apply to my life right now. No one's actively trying to kill me (including myself) most of the time, and things are sort of alright.
But then, having to help someone give birth once a month could hardly be described as restful, under any circumstances. And the fact that children and mothers die is almost unbearable. I've just seen so much death…I'm exhausted.
I suppose a deep sleep of exhaustion is its own kind of peace.
19 December 1632
Christmas is in just a few days, and today is the last Sunday of Advent-love. I do love my daughters, more than I can say. And I love my family, still, after all these years. I don't think I'll ever not love them. I don't think I'm capable of that.
25 December 1632
Merry Christmas! We made Christmas supper today, my daughters and I, and it was delicious. I didn't eat much, of course, because I can never eat much. I need to put on some weight, considering I know how much I'm supposed to look and this is not it. I look ill; sometimes women who come to see me for medicine are concerned I am ill.
Well, it was a nice day. I did make myself eat more than I initially thought I would be able to, and my daughters ate a good amount too. I know it's been more than a year, but I'm still so relieved they're not so skinny anymore. Nepeta's still thin, but I think that's just how her body is. She looks healthy; they both do.
I have to hunt more often now than I did before, but I'm alright with that, I think. It gets me out of the house, and it's good to keep in practice so I can teach my daughters when they're older.
I gave them presents, too. I gave Meulin a blouse with the best embroidery I could manage, and Nepeta a necklace on a chain for her to zip back and forth. The two of them were so delighted, and then they gave me a nice spool of thread from the village. It was just so sweet, I thought I'd cry.
I love them. They're my family.
31 December 1632
Tomorrow is the new year. Soon it'll be two years since I found my girls. My body still aches every day and I still wake up every morning with the worst headache and my whole mind still hates me, but now I have a family.
Now all I have to worry about is helping them grow up to be healthy and happy, with options other than marriage.
That's all.