2 July 1634

I don't know why I can't remember anyone's birthday anymore. I always forget Simonn's birthday these days, and I hate it. I want to remember him every year, how he'd be thirty-nine by now and maybe married to Hannah with their daughter and their other lovely children.

I hope they'd be married. I like to believe that had we succeeded, it would be alright for them to marry like they always wanted to. They deserve it.

6 July 1634

I took my daughter and a couple of their friends swimming again today. I'm glad they like swimming as much as I did. My mother never approved, but I always loved the feeling of floating in the eddy where it was calm and I knew I could float forever.

I didn't used to get so cold from swimming. Maybe it's because I've lost so much weight. I'm trying to gain some back, but it's hard when I'm so rarely hungry. It's hard to force myself to eat when chewing and swallowing just feels like too much work, when the idea of putting food in my body is just too much.

I'm glad my girls gained weight. I was so worried that it was too late for them.

9 July 1634

If he were alive today, I'm sure my love would've adored my girls. He would've been with me that day in the market and he would've helped me carry Meulin home, and he would've helped me nurse her back to health. He would've gone with her to get Nepeta and he would've known how to help her.

But then, if my love were here, Dolora would be too, and she would've of course taken care of Meulin and Nepeta better than I ever could. She would've known it wasn't too late for them, and she would've known exactly which medicines to use when Nepeta had the pox. And Simonn would be here to be kind and wonderful and brilliant, and he would surely love my daughters too.

14 July 1634

Today would be my love's thirty-ninth birthday. He might be going gray, just from the stress of it all. Heaven knows our lives were stressful. I suppose there's no shame in acknowledging that, anyways. My whole life I've been balanced on a knife's edge, right about to fall over or fall apart, and…I suppose there can be no shame in acknowledging that it has been hard.

I remember that rope bridge we built over the river, and when we first built it how hard we had to work not to fall off. The last time I stood on a stone bridge was before my little Luke passed.

Perhaps it makes some sense that I'm tired. I've had a tiring life.

18 July 1634

It was so hot out today. My Meulin had some of her friends over and I took them swimming in the river, where the eddy is. I went with them in case one of them got in trouble, because heaven knows the time I fell into the current I was petrified, and I was worried about them. I can't help but worry. If one of her friends was hurt, I would never forgive myself.

They were alright. All her friends were okay. Nepeta stayed at home with Equius, so she was alright.

My goodness, I am turning into Dolora.

23 July 1634

Jane is six months along and only now thought to come to me for care. My goodness! Don't people know how dangerous it can be to be pregnant? So many things can go wrong, so early! Well, at any rate, she's here now, and I can give her all the herbs she needs to stay healthy.

I made my rounds today, as I do, and everyone seems to be alright. No one came to me with new symptoms or diseases, and no one else has gone and gotten pregnant (oh, that sounds more judgemental than I want it to. Heaven knows I did it often enough).

27 July 1634

My elder daughter, lovely girl she is, asked me about the graveyard again today. I wish she wouldn't, but I know she's curious. She asked me about the verses I picked for my family.

"They were verses that meant a lot to me, little love. Verses that meant a lot to my family."

"Oh, alright."

"Little love," I said, as gently as I could. "I know you're curious, but this is hard for me to talk about. I'd much prefer not to talk about it anymore."

She frowned and looked down, but said, "Alright."

"I love you, Meulin."

"Love you too, Mama."

I wish she wouldn't ask.

31 July 1634

Patrik was over for lunch today. I made a simple stew, and I'm sure his wife cooks him much nicer food but this is what I have the money and time to make. Caring for the entire village is quite the job, and worrying as much and as often as I do wears me down.

Not to say I don't enjoy my work, or to complain about it. It's just that it's a hard job. It's a lot of work, and the reverend glares at me whenever I go to church, and sometimes it feels a bit thankless. It's expected of me to do what I do, and while the women I work with are grateful, there are times when they act like they know more about medicine than I do. They know their bodies much better than I can, but I know medicine.

Oh, it doesn't matter. I need to do what I do. Otherwise women and children would die, and besides that I would never be able to live with myself.

I'm thinking of it because Patrik brought more of those expensive herbs and medicines from the city I could never afford. I tell him he doesn't have to, but he does anyways. I suppose he feels he owes me for the food. I'm not at his home often, because it makes me nervous to be in such a large home with the man who killed my love, so I end up cooking most often. I don't eat much, so it's not much work, but I suppose he knows I don't have much.

My girls aren't afraid of him, so I suppose I haven't given away how I feel about him or what he did. I don't want them to be afraid of him, not the least of which because of Nepeta and Equius's friendship. I've never seen two children get along so well as they do, except perhaps my love and my best friend and I when we were children.

There are so many things my girls don't know. Maybe I'll tell them someday.

3 August 1634

The flower garden is beautiful. It turned out so much nicer than I feared it might. It makes the front of our house look so much happier, brighter. A woman who came to see me that it looked nothing like a witch's house, which must be the strangest compliment I've ever received.

My girl's birthdays are soon. I best get ready.

5 August 1634

Nepeta's birthday is today. She's eleven. I'll have to teach her to shoot soon, when she's twelve I think. I still have the small bow and arrows I used to teach her sister, so I'll use them again to teach her.

I will teach my daughters everything I learned that kept me alive, and they will never have to rely on a husband for their livelihood.

Anyways, I made Nepeta baked apples for her birthday, with cinnamon and everything, and she brought her Equius over, and while it wasn't as loud and bold as Meulin's birthday, I think she enjoyed it immensely. She smiled, small but genuine, and thanked me for her present-a new pair of nice boots that fit correctly.

She is such a sweetheart. My daughters are big-hearted girls, both of them, and I couldn't be happier. I lost that part of myself when I was little, and I want them to hold onto it. I was a little girl with a big heart, and I want them to keep their big hearts when they're adults. That was what I admired most about my love.

9 August 1634

Martha came to see me today with a deep cough in her chest, and I can't help but worry it might be consumption. Consumption can travel through a village like nobody's business, and it's so painful to go through. I wouldn't wish some of the diseases I've seen in my time as the midwife on the Condesce herself.

I'd wish cramp colic on her. It's pretty awful, but it might not kill her. And no one seems to know what to do about it, so none of her dozens of physicians would be able to help.

I don't trust most physicians as far as I could throw them. They don't know what women need, not really. Every midwife I've known has known better how to deliver a baby than every doctor. No physician knows how to deal with eclampsy or flux or how frightening it can be to have a baby.

I gave Martha something for her chest and for her throat, and I hope I don't see her again.

15 August 1634

Meulin is fifteen today. She'll be getting her bleeding before long, since she does weigh enough and lives relatively healthily, considering I am the midwife.

I gave her a journal for her birthday. I think she might benefit from keeping one, and I started one when I was just sixteen, and going back to read it is such a delight. I can't believe how silly my love and I were! My goodness, how did it take us almost a year to kiss for the first time? Perhaps someday she'll look back on these days and smile.

I made her those puff pastries with pears, and she and her friends thought they were delicious. She brought all her friends over and they went to play-as much as fifteen-year-olds can be said to play-in the front yard, in front of the flower garden. Her friend Damara complimented us on it, so I suppose we've done something right!

20 August 1634

Martha came back today and there was blood in her cough. It must be consumption. I don't know anything else that do that to a person. I told her not to touch anyone else, to stay in her room and away from others, but who knows how long that will last or how well it will work. I don't know if it's already spread, and her husband is the blacksmith, so he sees plenty of people every day.

I can't help but worry. I have no idea how Dolora lived with this sort of stress every single day, thinking things would be alright for just one nice birthday and then suddenly thrown back into an outbreak of something or other. I have no idea how she did it.

22 August 1634

I turned thirty-nine today. I am getting old! My daughters gave me a bouquet of flowers from the garden in a nice vase and told me they loved me, and I could not ask for a better birthday. I love them more than I can understand or explain, and knowing they love me back is more than I could hope for. It's all I can hope for, these days.

27 August 1634

Patrik was over for tea again today, and it was…quite nice. We just talked about nonsense, gossip and such, and he tried to pay me again for my trouble even though I tell him not to. He always shakes my hand when he visits me, all formal and stiff, and I wish he wouldn't, but I can't greet him with a hug like my real family and friends.

We're forever stuck like this, Patrik and I. We do this dance of formality and pretending we haven't known each other almost our entire lives. I can't be as close to him as I was to my family, because he killed my love. I can't hold him as far as I once did, because he is my friend. We're stuck like this.

30 August 1634

Of course more people have consumption now. Why wouldn't they? Why wouldn't people be sick, needing me, nigh constantly? I'm so tired. I could sleep for a year, sometimes, just lie down in bed and not stand up for days and days. I wish they didn't need me. I wish there was someone else. I wish the physician treated people who don't have as much money. I wish midwives weren't treated like witches. I wish Dolora was still here, because then at least there would be two of us. One is just not enough, some days. Especially one tired woman with two daughters and lifelong melancholy.

I hope Meulin has someone to help her, if she decides to do this work. She enjoys it now well enough, but that might not last as I teach her more. Heaven knows helping someone giving birth can be tiring at best, and depressing at worse. She's blood related to me-for all I know she'll inherit my melancholy.

That, I think, is the most frightening thing. I am so afraid of my children inheriting everything that has made my life difficult. I don't want them to suffer.

3 September 1634

The leaves are lovely this time of year. I remember walking with my love and just staring at the foliage, astounded by the beauty nature could create. My love would turn to me in the fading light, and his eyes would flash red in the sunset, and when he kissed me I could've sung.

I remember that first kiss on the log in the clearing. He was so shy! But oh my goodness, it made me dizzy. I can't believe I made it home before I collapsed into a heap on my bedroom floor.

Missing him aches, sometimes, deep inside. He was my dearest love, and he…he shone, sometimes, with that smile. And I know it's selfish, but the way he looked at me could've melted me-so affectionate and kind. I hope I made him even half as happy as he made me.

7 September 1634

I don't feel very well. I woke up today and felt even more tired than I normally do, and I was shaking awfully. I don't understand it. I don't get sick often-really, at all. Not since I was a child. And I'm not old enough to be catching that sort of cold. How can I be ill?

I can't afford to be ill. I have my daughters.

11 September 1634

I couldn't get out of bed yesterday. I just couldn't. My Meulin had to take care of me and I feel awful about it. She's my daughter! She should not have to take care of me. And of course Nepeta was worried, although Meulin insisted on doing the work.

I've reassured them I'm alright now, but I'm not sure if that's true. I'm worried that this is something else, something worse. I thought I was healed from my time in the dungeon, but that might not be completely true.

I just need to stay healthy long enough for them to grow up. I can't die before they're ready to live without me. I just can't.

15 September 1634

Today I sat in the library with Nepeta and read with her for most of the afternoon. It was so lovely. She was so happy and content, curled up on the couch with a book and our Button. And the sun through the window at the afternoon angle-I could see every flyaway in her curly hair and I couldn't help but smile. It reminded me of myself when I was a child.

I am glad she's happy. I'm her mother now; I want her to be happy and safe in my home. If that is how she feels, then I think I've done my job.

20 September 1634

I suppose I am getting old. Getting up today, I could feel each of my joints creaking. I swore I sounded like a creaky old door. Button greeted me with a dead mouse, and when I bent down to pick it up my back ached like mad.

My girls are sad to see the flower garden going, but they know the flowers are preparing for winter just like we are, and they'll be back in the spring. We can plant more bulbs in March, and the crocuses will bloom once more.

The crocuses will always come back, I think. Like the forget-me-nots.

24 September 1634

I went to the clearing today where my family is. I sat in front of their graves and cried among the dying forget-me-nots and hurt all over. I miss them so much.

My girls don't worry about me when I'm gone because of my work, so they didn't come looking, so I could be alone with my grief for a while. I wish I wasn't alone, but that is the source of the grief.

I haven't seen Patrik lately. Apparently he's had duties in the city as some noble or what have you. Maybe he'll be by again sometime soon. He's the only friend I have left.

28 September 1634

Patrik did finally come by today for lunch. He said he was sorry for being gone, but he had duties he could not neglect.

"And my wife-she is pregnant."

"Oh, congratulations!"

"Yes, thank you," he said, although he did not sound particularly enthusiastic. "I was hoping you could take care of her. We can afford the physician, of course, and for the birth I suspect we will have him, but…"

"I'd be happy to," I said. "It's my job." I'm privately glad, because I don't trust physicians with the work of childbirth, but I didn't want to say that to him.

"Thank you," he said softly. "I…I do not wish to lose her."

"I am sure you won't." I can't be, of course, but it's best to say these things.

He nodded and sipped his tea.

So I'm to see his wife soon, to check up on her. I hope she's alright.

30 September 1634

I saw Patrik's wife today, and she's a lovely woman-kind and patient and intelligent. She's soft-spoken and quiet, a bit like Patrik, and I can see how they're a good match. I sense they don't love each other as my love and I did, but they are companionate, and that's what you really need. They aren't my parents.

I hope I can keep her well, because if I don't, I worry what might happen to Patrik, and he is, despite it all, my friend.