2 October 1634
I've been making my rounds as always, and the only thing that's odd is that Patrik's wife doesn't seem to trust me as much as I'd like. I suppose I can't blame her; she's seen physicians her whole life, and so she wouldn't know about how us midwives work. She doesn't have the same reason to trust me most of the village women do.
And I suspect she doesn't understand my relationship with her husband. Women and men aren't typically friends. I doubt she understands, really, how him and I are friends. I'm not sure I understand it myself, albeit for different reasons.
She deserves better than this rotten world gives women. I'll give her all I can, to make sure her baby is safe and healthy.
6 October 1634
I found Nepeta sitting in front of the flower garden, carefully plucking the dead buds off the stems and collecting the dried-out husks of flowers. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, "I want to keep them warm for the winter."
"They're used to being outside, Nepeta. They'll be plenty warm."
"But we grew them. We have to keep them safe." Her voice was soft and trembling, and I realized all of a sudden why she wanted to keep the flowers safe inside over the winter.
"Alright. Let me find you a jar for them, and we can bring them back outside in the spring."
So I helped her collect up all the dead flowers and put the jar on her desk, and before I left, I told her, "I love you, Nepeta. You are the most wonderful younger daughter I could've ever hoped for."
Her eyes went big and shiny, and she nodded and pinched her lips together like I always did when I didn't want to cry, and so I left her to be alone.
9 October 1634
Mabell-Patrik's wife-is doing perfectly well. I wish every pregnancy could be like this one, easy and predictable and manageable. She hasn't needed any special medicines, just the usual herbs I give women so they can keep up their strength. Thank goodness.
11 October 1634
This should be Neolla's birthday. She'd be thirty-nine. She would be such a brilliant lawyer. She always was. I wish things hadn't gone so sour between her and Mariek. The two of them were so perfect for each other, and then…then this.
I did not see Neolla's death, but I have seen her grave when I go to church on Christmas and Easter. It's not as plain as the ones I made for my family, but it's nothing fancy like Patrik's family tomb. I left her flowers there, once. I hope wherever she is, she knows I have never forgotten her. Someone on this Earth did not cast her out of her family for what or who she wanted.
They deserved better in life. We all did.
16 October 1634
It feels like an age since the days when I woke up in the middle of the night to my baby boy crying out for his parents, since the days when I slept with my love's arms around me, since the days when I knew I was safe here and nothing could go wrong. I know it was right to leave home. I know it was right to do what we did, to change things, because we all deserved better than the world gave us and our children did too. But it ripped apart everything and everyone I've ever loved and some days, all I can do is miss them.
I woke up from a nightmare last night and it was those nightmares I used to have where I wake up alone to find out my family has left me for someone better, someone not so broken and tired as I am, and when I woke up I reached up for my love and he wasn't there. For just a moment I thought he must've woken up before me and gone to make tea and play with our little Luke, and then I remembered and all I could do was cry.
I still sleep on my side of the bed. It makes no sense. He can never come back to me, and I will never have anyone else; there is no one in this world at all like him. But no matter how I try, it's the only way I can fall asleep at all.
20 October 1634
The leaves have all fallen and I remember how my love couldn't see the colors but he loved to see Simonn and me stunned by the rainbow.
My girls know I miss my family, but I try to keep the worst of my grief away from them. I want them to know I love them more than I can say and I want them. I want them to feel wanted, never so alone and unwanted as I was. Dolora wanted me; I want them.
They are both getting better. It's been three years, and slowly but surely they are leaning into the safety of this home. Nepeta laughs more, opens herself more, lets me help her. Meulin leaves more knowing she can return, lets me care for her sister, hugs me tighter. I think they know they are safe here, and that's all I can hope for.
25 October 1634
Patrik was over for lunch today, and he seemed nervous, so I asked why.
"I-I was wondering-did you have the chance to bury him?"
"My love? Yes, I did."
"May I ask where?"
"In the clearing with the forget-me-nots, next to Luke." I could feel my throat tightening, but I didn't want to cry.
"May I go there? To offer my apologies?"
"He forgave you."
He nodded. "It is alright if you do not want me to. I feel, though, that he deserves to hear that I am sorry, and his death was unjust."
Hearing him say that felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders and rested squarely in my chest, relief and grief and affection and pain all at once. It's the most I've felt in ages.
"I'll take you," I said.
He nodded and let me lead him to the clearing where I buried my love, where his grave is. The forget-me-nots are dead this time of year, and I do my best to trust that they'll come back when spring comes once more. Patrik looked a bit unsteady, but he stood in front of my love's grave and looked down, hands folded like he was praying. I could see his lips moving, but my hearing isn't what it used to be and I couldn't tell what he was saying. I don't think I should have. He could use some privacy.
He looked up when he was done and said, in the timidest voice, "Do you believe in God?"
"Yes," I said. I think I do. I don't believe in the God of the church who doesn't love everyone with all his heart, but I believe in the God of my family and my love, who loves each and every one of us and is still listening to me when I cry for being all alone in the world.
"Do you believe in forgiveness?"
"Yes."
"Thank you," he said, and there was so much in the words than I could hope to understand.
"Of course," I said.
We walked back to my home, and then he left, and when I read with my daughters that night it just felt a little bit different.
29 October 1634
All Souls' and All Saints' are coming up. My Meulin wants a new dress, but I can't afford that right now, unfortunately. Being the midwife does not pay exceptionally well, and neither does selling miscellaneous herbs. I can't afford the fabric or the thread.
She can wear an old dress, or spruce up an old one. She'll have to.
31 October 1634
Meulin is unhappy with me about her dress, but I know what I have money for, and a new dress is not it. We need things like good boots and milk and warm winter cloaks. She's been sulking a little, as children her age are wont to do, but I'm sure she'll come around. Dolora told me no sometimes and I loved her all the same.
The festival was beautiful. I saw my girls with their friends, laughing and eating and dancing, and I knew they were okay. I stood in the shadows like a specter, like the ghost or witch this village thinks I am, and although I danced a few songs with Patrik, I mostly just watched the young people dance in their bright clothes with their bright smiles. I hope they're happy, the young people of my village. I was, once, and I want that for them.
1 November 1634
Meulin made a new few friends from the city at the festival yesterday. She said they're the son of a duke, the daughter of our esteemed queen, and the son of a general in the army. I can guess who they are-Candas's daughter and Orvill and Grantt's sons. A part of me wants to keep her away from them, but I know children don't have to be like their parents. Maybe they can be good.
The festival was twice as lovely today. My girls were happy, and I danced for a few dances with Patrik and one or two alone. None of the ones as fast as I used to do, feet just barely touching the ground and arms flying out to balance, but still old dances I used to love.
7 November 1634
It's been sixteen years since my baby boy died. He would be seventeen today, old enough to have his own job and plenty old to have friends. Maybe he'd be courting some lovely girl or boy, blushing red when he gave them wildflowers from the woods. I'm sure he'd be twice as brilliant as I've ever been, kind as my love was, funny and sweet and full of life.
I'm sure he'd also be sulking and wanting things he can't have and avoiding me like children do at those ages, but it would be okay. It would be.
14 November 1634
Sometimes I completely forget to write for days and days at a time, and I'm not sure why. Most often when I write less, it's because I'm better, but sometimes it's because I'm tired and confused and I forget things too easily these days.
Patrik has started coming over every week exactly, always on a Thursday. I want to ask him why, but I'm afraid if he knows I've noticed he'd stop, and doing this the same way every week helps keep me sane. Maybe he keeps his schedule the same like I do, so things are the same and I can remember them.
It's good to have tea with him, because he's my only friend who isn't also my patient. It's good to know one person in this world likes me for something other than my medical services.
20 November 1634
Advent is coming up. My girls are helping me gather pine boughs to make a wreath, and I'm going to get out Dolora's old candles to light. Three purple, one pink, and the middle one for Christ candle.
Advent isn't really until December this year, but I want to be prepared so we can have Advent even if I have bad day. I'll decorate the house at the start of December and then we'll have Christmas, us three. My little family will have a lovely Christmas.
23 November 1634
Patrik was over for tea today, and he brought more of those nice herbs I can hardly ever find and certainly never in the winter. He acts like he owes me something. I wish he wouldn't. He doesn't owe me his friendship, and it makes me more lonely to feel that's the only reason he might be my friend.
It can't be the only reason. I'm doing better because of my tea, and the soft, kind voice that lives in my head is reminding me that he respected when I didn't want to be his friend. I'm sure there's more to it than owing. He's my friend.
30 November 1634
My daughters and I set about decorating the house today. We put pine everywhere and set the colorful candles around the library and made a wreath for the door and one for the Advent candles. They're not as excited for Christmas as when they were younger, but they are looking forward to it. So am I! For the first time in a long time, I have something to look forward to.
3 December 1634
First Sunday of Advent today, hope. My Meulin said at dinner how she felt full of hope these days, when there were so many lovely people in her world who loved her and who she could trust. She said she knew her life could be whatever she wanted it to be, and she knew she could fall back on her family when she needed to.
I'm glad she can be safe with me.
7 December 1634
I went to the clearing today, even though the snow was starting to fall, to talk to my family. I brushed the snow off a patch of ground and sat in front of them, and I told them softly how much I miss them. I told them I love them, I'll never stop, and I want them to be happy. I told them how my life is, about my daughters and my work.
I do miss them. I think they're the only people who ever knew who I am, the broken person I am deep down and not just the put-together midwife I am to the village and my daughters and Patrik, too. They knew I was too shattered to fix like that vase my love broke when our little Luke passed and they loved me anyways.
I will never have that again.
10 December 1634
Second Sunday today for joy. Joy, I can hardly remember what that's supposed to feel like. I was joyful once. My baby's laugh could've made sun rise for me. My girls' smiles are bright enough to light up a room. And I remember when learning a new language made me happy and full of life, ready to take on the world.
I should teach my girls French and Russian. I doubt they'll learn languages like I do-or did, perhaps-but my love could speak those two and he had no special talent for languages.
15 December 1634
They already know a little French, it turns out, and so it's been building on that. Nepeta is good at the grammar and the new words, and Meulin can express herself with careful organizations of words she already knows. They are both so brilliant. I don't know how anyone could not love them.
Patrik thinks it's wonderful, that my girls are learning French. I asked him if he'd like me to teach them German, since we most often converse in German, and he said he'd rather I teach them the languages that meant the most to my family first. So I will.
17 December 1634
Third Sunday today for peace and the pink candle. The pine boughs are going a little brown, but we just replace them if they get too brown and dead. This house looks so festive and lively these days, with the number of candles I'm letting them light and the kindling we're putting on the fire. I have quite the stockpile from all the years I kept buying candles and cutting wood without thinking, and hardly using any of it.
Nepeta said she feels at peace here, in this home. She said her room is a quiet place, where things are alright and she can breathe. She's a bit different, and she said she feels like that's alright here.
I've done my job as her mother if that's how she feels.
20 December 1634
Mabell is doing very well, but starting to grow tired. She's about eight months along, so she'll be having her baby sometime in late January. I told her to put a pillow under the curve of her back when she sleeps to keep the pressure off it, and to sleep a lot, and drink boiled water.
She'll be alright. I asked her about names and she said she liked the name Alexander, or Henrietta. I asked her about breastfeeding and she said she remembered how. I asked her about her fears and she said she isn't afraid. She's going to be just fine.
25 December 1634
It was Christmas today, and it was wonderful. My girls helped me cook our Christmas feast, a roast and Yorkshire pudding all wrong and the green beans with the nuts and stuffing and rolls and all that. And I bought them presents, of course! A new dress for my Meulin like she wanted, and a book about plants for Nepeta like she loves.
They bought me a few chocolates from the man in the village, which were delicious. It's so sweet of them. I don't want them to feel responsible to me, but it's nice to know they love me, too.
Church was nothing special, but the festival was beautiful. We're not the richest or fanciest village, but we can put on a good festival when we put our minds to it.
I haven't called my village "we" in a very, very long time. I don't know what that means, but I think it might be good. Maybe I'm learning again how to be part of something.
28 December 1634
Patrik was over for tea today, and I told him about the chocolates, and he smiled this soft smile and said, "Your daughters are like you."
"What do you mean?"
"They are kind and generous."
"I hope so, but I don't see how that makes them much like me."
"You are also kind and generous."
I smiled a little and shook my head. "I'm not, Patrik."
"How do you mean?"
"I don't know. I'm just not."
"I am not sure I can persuade you otherwise, but I find you to be an extraordinarily compassionate person."
"Thank you."
He nodded. "You are welcome."
I don't know what to make of that. I'm glad my daughters are growing up to be the sort of person my love was, but I'm not like he was. I don't know why Patrik thinks that.
31 December 1634
Tomorrow begins a new year. I will turn forty years old, and my girls will turn sixteen and twelve. I began keeping a journal when I was sixteen. I said I would teach Meulin to hunt when she's sixteen. Nepeta will have to hear about her body and how it will begin to change. Who knows what else this year might bring?
I will keep drinking my tea and talking to Patrik and doing my work and caring for my daughters, and all I can hope is that this means things will be alright.