2 April 1634

The weather is warming up, finally. The worst of influenza season should be past us, and most other illnesses to. I'll feel better about letting my girls go into the village once I know fewer people are ill there. I know they've had pox and all, but I still worry. You can get influenza more than once, not to mention your typical fever.

I am turning into a worrywart. Is this how Dolora felt every day? I can't imagine she didn't worry about us, what with how irresponsible we were. What were we thinking? My goodness, I can't imagine being half so brazen now as I was then.

6 April 1634

Patrik was over for tea today. He let me make the tea, but insisted on offering me something for my trouble. I suspect he has more money than he knows what to do with. And I know he feels bad about what he did to my love.

I suppose he thinks he owes me. I understand why, but I wish he wouldn't. I don't want him to do these things because he owes me; I want him to do them because he wants to be my friend. I want him to be my friend.

9 April 1634

This time of year does tend to make my melancholy worse. I don't know if it's the weather or the memories, but it…it hurts. It hurts to remember to my family when it hurt so much to lose them.

Sometimes, not this time of year, I can remember them and feel happy. I remember my love's beautiful face and soft eyes and kind way, and I remember my best friend's contagious laugh and quick wit and deep-down compassion, and I remember my mother's kind face and incredible intelligence and genuine care. And when I remember them, I can feel happy.

But I can't do that this time of year. Not when I remember how they died.

13 April 1634

I remember this day, eleven years ago, I was in prison and dying, in pain and bleeding and knowing I was going to die soon. I remember how my love screamed to me, terrified I was dead or dying, and I remember how scared I was.

I was so afraid.

16 April 1634

Eleven years ago today, I lost my love. I remember seeing his face contort with pain as he burned, blood dripping from his mouth. Oh, Simonn's eyes…his eyes were gone, just bloody holes where they used to be. And Dolora's empty, tired eyes…

I can't harp on this. I can't let my daughters see me like this, bawling my eyes out late at night over a picture of my love's kind face.

I'll be find for them. I'll cry when I'm alone.

20 April 1634

My elder daughter came up to me today, looking nervous and tense, and said, "Mama…can we plant a flower garden?"

"A flower garden?"

"Like the garden for herbs and vegetables and everything but for flowers!" she said, all in a rush. "It's alright, we don't have to, but Kitty and I could take care of it-"

"Little love, of course we can. I'll help you."

"Oh," she said. "Um. Thanks!"

"Let's make a plan," I said. "I'll help you."

So we drew up a plan of which flowers would go where and marked out where in the front yard it would go. It will have to go in the front, because the back is taken up with Dolora's garden. I thought it might also be nice to make the front of our house look pretty.

23 April 1634

We started hoeing the garden today, Meulin and I. Nepeta doesn't like the feeling of dirt on her hands, so she made sure the lines were straight and in the right places. It'll be a bit of a project digging up all the brush and grass, but it will be worth it when the flowers grow.

We're going to take some flowers from the forest and grow some from seeds, both ones I have preserved and ones from the village. The apothecary has some flower seeds, and I'm sure I could organize a trade with some of the women I treat.

It's going to be lovely.

28 April 1634

Meulin brought some of her friends over today to show them what she'd done, the rows all turned up and ready for planting.

Nepeta will help with the planting and tending a little bit, mostly the watering. She helped a good deal with the planning; she has a fine eye for color. I think this garden is going to be beautiful.

31 April 1634

With April ending, I'm already starting to feel better. And my daughters and I have been planting the seeds and flowers where we said we would, so in a few months we should have a beautiful garden.

I told Meulin and Nepeta that I was always glad to help them, but that this garden would be primarily their responsibility to care for and weed and water. Part of me knows that taking care of something is good for them, so they can learn to take care of themselves someday, but part of me is just too tired to take care of anyone or anything else.

3 May 1634

There's plenty of little green shoots where the flowers will be, bright green like my Nepeta's eyes. She has brighter green eyes than Meulin or me, but then, Meulin looks just like I did when I was her age. She even likes the same shade of green I did, and she reads the same books.

She's just like me. It frightens me, because when I was her age, I was so full of melancholy I didn't realize anything was missing. I don't want her to be so melancholy as I was-as I am. I want better for her.

I worry about Nepeta, too, because she's not as much like me, and I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to help her if she felt that way because I don't know what she might need as much as Meulin does.

I worry.

7 May 1634

It was such a lovely day today. I've been remembering my tea most days and when I do, it's as if the world is a bit brighter and more real. It's easier to feel soft, easier to be kind to myself and to the world.

It's good to have my tea. It helps.

11 May 1634

The shoots are starting to grow little leaves, turning into the tiniest versions of themselves. Meulin and Nepeta spend time every day weeding and water and thinning and tending to them, making sure their flower garden is as lovely as it can be.

They decided against forget-me-nots. That's probably for the better. Forget-me-nots aren't really happy flowers for me anymore. They should have a garden full of happy things.

16 May 1634

Patrik was over for tea today and he commented on the garden.

"It's quite lovely."

"Thank you. My daughters are tending it."

"Are you going to tell them?"

"That I adopted them? They certainly know that."

"No. Who you are to them, by blood."

I shook my head. "No."

"Why not? Blood is thicker than water, is it not?"

"Their birth parents were terrible to them. I can't let them think I would ever hurt them."

"I cannot imagine they would fear you solely because of your blood."

"They might know what we did. What happened to us. Don't people talk about it? I've heard them mention the Signless and the Disciple and the rest of us."

"I have not heard much tell of the Signless," Patrik said carefully. "But I have heard of him."

"How do you mean? No one knew his real name. They called him Signless when you killed him."

He winced visibly and said, "In the village and the city, they call him the Sufferer."

I choked on my tea. "What?"

"Sufferer."

"I-what? They-they-" They don't remember what we did. They don't remember what we stood for, what we wanted, what we tried to do. They only remember how we suffered and died. They don't remember my love for his all-consuming love and kindness. They remember him for how he screamed and bled and died.

"I need you to leave," I said.

"Pardon?"

"Please. I need you to leave. It's nothing personal. But I need you to leave."

He stood and left, leaving his teacup on the counter, and everything hurt and burned and I grabbed his teacup and saucer and smashed them on the floor. The tea went everywhere and the porcelain shattered and the flower pattern Dolora loved came apart and everything was broken, everything, and I collapsed to the ground and sobbed.

And then I found my broom and swept it up and threw it out, and I sat very still on the couch and cried.

My love broke a vase when our little Luke died. I didn't understand then what he said about being angry, but now I do. I can never fix that teacup. It will never be the same.

20 May 1634

The flowers are growing nicely, and my girls are tending to them with a certain fervor I remember having at their age. I had a passion, once. I was going to make the world a better place.

Oh, I'm getting melancholy again. I'm happy for my girls. They can tell I've been different lately, but I have been doing my best to be happy for them. They will always know I love them. They have to.

24 May 1634

The flowers are starting to look like proper plants. Every morning after breakfast Nepeta runs outside to see how they are, and she talks to them like old friends. I asked her why and she told me that she felt one ought to be kind to one's flowers, so they can feel appreciated. I love her imagination. It reminds me of when I was her age and I thought snowflakes were made by angels and thrown down as gifts for humans.

The garden is going to be lovely.

29 May 1634

Patrik was over again today for tea at my invitation. I did feel bad for sending him away, but I just needed him to leave. He killed my love. He made my love the Sufferer, instead of the Signless. They stole his very name from him.

I told him I was sorry, but I had needed to be alone for a bit. He said he understood, and it was alright, and he handed me a pence for the tea.

"You don't need to."

"Mi-Dianna, I have plenty for myself and my family. I would not want to see you hungry." He still tries to call me Mrs. Vantas sometimes.

"I'm not hungry."

"I know this. But circumstances change."

I nodded and accepted it. He still feels like he owes me, and I can't seem to change that.

1 June 1634

It is getting awful warm out. My girls are tying their skirts up and putting their hair up all the time, even when they're home. We do have awfully thick hair in this family.

The garden looks lovely. Some of the flowers even have buds on them! In just a few weeks we'll have blooms.

I can't wait. It's going to be beautiful. This old world could use more beauty.

4 June 1634

I took my daughters swimming today. It's certainly warm enough for it. Meulin wants to bring her friends swimming, and I told her she could as long as I went with them. I know better than anyone how dangerous the current can be. I want to be around if something happens to her or to one of her friends.

I am a worrywart.

8 June 1634

A woman in the village, Liza, has been having some trouble with her pregnancy. She can hardly keep down water, nevermind food. She sent her husband for me and I went to her and she's not ill, as near as I can tell. Dolora mentioned this to me once or twice, that some women when they're pregnant start throwing up and can't stop.

I went through her book for treatments, and so I did what I could. I'm going to check on her tomorrow and see how she is. Most often it eases up after a few weeks, although that itself can be too much, but it can last longer.

I don't feel so nervous now as I did, but I'm not exactly confident either.

11 June 1634

Liza isn't doing very well. She's pale and losing weight fast. I've been treating the nausea, but nothing seems to help her much. I've been leaving her with boiled water (clean and all, like Dolora did) and telling her to drink as much as she can, and I've told her husband how he can help, but there's not much more to be done.

I hope she'll be alright.

15 June 1634

The first flowers bloomed today. They're these lovely pink peonies with big blooms, right next to the house. They are gorgeous. My girls were thrilled, of course, and Meulin immediately went to draw a picture. She's been learning to draw right now, or teaching herself at any rate.

The flowers are going to be gorgeous.

20 June 1634

The daisies are blooming now, too, bright bursts of white and yellow against the pink. Nepeta loves the colors. The two of them are tending the garden with the utmost care, weeding and watering and carefully thinning what's left to bloom.

23 June 1634

Liza seems to have hit a sort of stopping point. She's not getting better, but she can keep down water and some broth and she isn't losing any more weight. I hope it eases up later. Most often it's better by the fifth month, and she's in the second, and three months is a long time, but it isn't the longest.

I've had days that felt like months and years that felt like weeks, and I suspect these will be some of the longest months of her life.

27 June 1634

Patrik is a kind person at his core, I think. He brought me over a few yards of a nice cloth and said, "My wife does not want this. I thought you might have a use for it."

"Oh, yes," I said. "This could be a lovely skirt. A bit narrow, but that's alright."

He smiled just a bit, like he was relieved, and said, "I am glad you like it."

"Thank you very much, Patrik. Come in, I have the kettle on."

He came in and I folded the cloth and put it in the library and we just sat and talked for a little while.

30 June 1634

Today my girls came inside from tending their garden and Nepeta was holding a big bunch of flowers and she said, "Mama, we picked you flowers."

"Oh, girls, you didn't have to, I know you worked hard to grow those-"

"But we wanted to!" Meulin interrupted. "And they'll make the table very pretty."

I couldn't help but smile at that, and I took them and put them in a vase we have that looks uncannily like the one my love broke all those years ago. I set it in the middle of the table and when we had dinner, the flowers were bright and cheerful and happy, things I have not been in a very long time.