1 January 1635
Happy New Year's. I thought I would die in 1631, and here I am, four years later, alive and raising two lovely daughters. I love them to death but my goodness, it's a miracle that I'm still alive to raise them.
Patrik still comes by every Tuesday. Mabell will be having her child soon, so I visit her when I do my rounds, and so I see him a few times a week. He's friendly, and a few times I've stayed for tea at his home with Mabell. She calls me Mary, like most people do, but it's nice to have friends.
At least Patrik calls me Dianna when it's just us. I miss my name sometimes, absurd as that sounds.
4 January 1635
I received a letter today from Etta, my old friend. She wrote me, telling me she'd heard what happened all those years ago and she was so sorry.
Well, here's the letter.
Dear Dianna,
I know it has been years now, but I wanted to tell you I heard about your loss. I am so sorry. I can't imagine how much this hurts for you.
I remember very little of your family, but they were kind people. They were welcoming to me and your mother-in-law, she made the most delicious tea. I remember the things your husband said about fairness and equality, what he preached and what he believed and practiced. And your friend-oh, he had the most infectious laugh, and the brightest smile.
I heard you escaped, although no one has heard from any of you since. I don't know where you might've gone, but over the years I've thought of trying to find you. You were such a delightful person, and such a good friend. I suppose after all these years of dithering, I thought i best to just write to your old home and hope.
If you are receiving this letter, I hope you are in good health. I don't know what sort of life you have had since that awful day, but I hope there has been some happiness for you.
I married to the man you met that day, Oliver, not even two months after you left. Since then, we've had four children-Mark, Verity, James, and Penelope. James passed when he was three, but the other three are ten, eight, and four. They are the most darling children. I'm teaching them to read and write, all of them, and they are doing quite well at it. My husband is the town cobbler, so he makes good money, and I manage the home and the land. We have a small farm, a few chickens, and a pig, and we're saving for a cow. Oh, and the sweetest little cat, who Verity named Harry.
How are you, if you still live here? Are you alright? How have you fared since everything that happened?
It is quite alright if you don't want to be friends anymore. I can't imagine how hard this has been for you. That said, I would be delighted to hear back from you. I hope you are well.
If you do respond, would it be alright to ask what name you use these days? I don't recall what your married name was, and I do not know if you still use your first name. I would like to call you the name you like the best.
All the best,
Etta Anderson
I will write her back. I haven't had a friend like her in so, so long. I don't know why she wrote me, if she's feeling lonely or nostalgic or just idly thought of me. But I miss her from time to time, not like I miss my family but still I miss her.
I have learned much about the different kinds of missing people. For each person I miss, there is a hole in my heart that I feel keenly and uniquely. The ache my love left is different from the ache my little Luke left is different from the ache Etta left is different from the ache Catherine left.
Oh, I remember Catherine…I hope she has everything she wanted in the city. I hope she's happy with her husband-what was his name? I can't remember much these days. I'll go looking later.
Well, I best write Etta back. I hope we can still be friends.
8 January 1635
I told Patrik about Etta today when I went to visit Mabell. (What a gossipy-sounding sentence!) He sounded suspicious, and I suppose it's because he worries about me. Unless it's because, despite my best efforts, I cannot seem to shake all the prejudices out of him. I try my best but he keeps snapping back to it.
I usually tell him to leave when he gets like that. That kind of prejudice is not allowed in my home, and I won't stand for it. I don't tolerate from my girls or their friends, and I surely won't tolerate from him.
Anyway, I wrote Etta back and I hope I hear from her soon.
13 January 1635
Mabell's going to give birth soon, most likely within the week. Patrik's worried, of course, but I'm sure she'll be fine. I'm not quite as confident in her child's health, her being almost as old as I am, but I'll do my best to pull them both through. That is my job.
Penelope from the village seems to have caught winter fever. I hate winter fever. I will never hate any disease as much as that one, I think. No other illness took my baby boy from me.
I've been bringing Meulin with me to do my work, but it makes me nervous to have her with me around people with winter fever. If she caught it, she could die just like my little Luke did, and I don't think I could bear that.
She's fifteen, though. I can't treat her like a child. It's not fair to her, or to me.
Have I talked to her about men yet? I know I must at some point, but I think I might wait a year longer. I'll teach her about men and how to hunt next year.
Nepeta turns twelve this year. I best teach her about her body, then, about her breasts and her bleeding and the feelings you feel when you get older. It's important.
17 January 1635
I heard back from Etta today! Oh, I was so relieved. She told me about her life, her children and her work on the farm. She's been reading, too, whenever her family can afford books, and teaching her children to read. I'm so relieved. We used to be friends, and I want her to be happy.
And it's nice to have a friend who isn't Patrik. He's nice, and he is my friend, but he can't understand, and he pities me. Not to mention he feels guilty. I think sometimes he's my friend only because he feels guilty. Etta was my friend because we shared interests and liked to talk over what we read, and because she was kind to me and I was kind to her.
I wrote her back some thoughts I've been having lately on the Bible. I need to believe that God does not punish people for being women or for having dark skin or for sleeping with someone just because they love them. So I wrote Etta, asking her what she thought. Maybe she'll respond and make me feel better, or worse. But I think it matters more that she'll take me seriously. She'll listen and think when she responds.
That's what I need.
19 January 1635
Patrik came over today to talk over tea and I mentioned Etta again and he got odd about it again, so I told him he had two choices: he could either accept that I had a friend who was a woman with dark skin, or he could leave my life.
He went all red in the face, and then said, "I-I-I do not mean it that way."
"Yes you do. Etta is my friend, and she deserves every ounce of respect as everyone else."
He was still red and spluttery, and I said, "If you can't respect her as you do me, I can't have you in my home anymore."
He pinched his lips together and frowned. "I-alright. Your Etta, I hope she is doing well."
"She is."
And we talked more, about not much, and then he left. I hope he does learn to respect Etta, because she's my friend, and it'd be nice to have more than one friend.
23 January 1635
Meulin and Nepeta decided to go to church on Sunday, and Nepeta said she liked it. She said it was nice to be with everyone in town and think about God for a little while. Meulin didn't like it as much, since it involved sitting still and being quiet, two things she's not much for. But the both of them want to be part of the town more, and I think they also want to find their God. I always had trouble with those things, and I want to make them possible for my girls. So I offered them my Bible to read and said to ask lots of questions and I told them to go into the village when they can and make friends.
I want them to find their God and their home in this village. I never could and I want better for them. My family, we were not the sort of people this village wanted-witches and bastards and orphans and people who loved them. I don't know if it's more true that my mother turned her back on me or that I turned my back on her, but the fact is we didn't speak, and I was supposed to love her. I was a bit of an oddball then, an outcast for sure. Even if we hadn't done what we did, I could never have been a part of the village the way I want my girls to be.
I hope Etta's gotten my letter. I hope she's doing well, and I hope she doesn't think I've gone completely mad. Even though I feel that way sometimes, I very much want to believe I'm not. It would be nice not to have completely lost my mind.
27 January 1635
Mabell gave birth today, starting pretty early on. Patrik came to get me, all flustered and worried, and so I kissed my girls goodbye and told them where I was going and went over with all my supplies. Mabell wasn't too far along, in a bit of pain but not too much, so I got her to her room with the chair and sent for her family. I helped her breathe and kept the blood from being too much, and when it started to hurt her family was there and we all helped her stay calm.
When it was all said and done, she did need a few stitches inside for the bleeding, but I put in as few as possible to keep it from hurting much to take out. Her baby was a squalling, red-faced little thing, thank goodness. She won't name him until he's a year old, of course, so I only hope I can keep him alive that long.
I'll do my damnedest. I always have.
1 February 1635
I saw Patrik today, and he was very…contrite, I think is the word. "I am sorry for how I acted about your friend."
"Thank you," I said.
"I will…I will treat her with respect."
"Is that a promise?"
"Yes," he said.
I nodded, and I think it's going to be okay. He's learned, and he can respect Etta, and it's going to be okay. I can have two friends-I don't have to lose Patrik. He'll be better.
4 February 1635
I heard back from Etta today, responding to some of my thoughts. She doesn't think I'm completely mad, which is nice. She didn't agree with everything I said, of course, and she disagreed with some of what I thought about Job, but then, I am a bit too pessimistic to think that way about Job. I hope my girls feel that way, though, so I'll encourage that in them.
Heaven knows I disagree with some of what the church has to say, but I hope my girls can find some comfort in their God. God loves them, of course, and I hope they can trust in that. I'll just tell them if there are things I'm worried about them hearing. I suppose that is a mother's job.
8 February 1635
Patrik's visit was today, and I just sent a letter to Etta yesterday, so I feel very social. I have two friends-how exciting! I used to have a whole social life, and now it's just these visits with Patrik and these letters to Etta. That said, it's quite enough for me now. I even feel quite tired sometimes.
My daughters do wear me down in their own way, but like my friends, they make me too happy to care. Just a little smile from one of my girls makes my whole day better.
13 February 1635
My Nepeta wants to replant the flower garden come spring. I told her of course, and of course I would help her. Meulin's also excited to plant come spring, though she likes Dolora's garden better. She splits her time between coming with me on my rounds and spending time with her friends in the village. Nepeta goes into the village three days a week and spends two more at home with Patrik, and the last two alone in the library, curled up with a book and contented as a napping cat.
They seem happy. They come to me with their fears and their problems, and they both seem to feel safe leaning back against me when they need to.
I hope it's enough. I want them to grow up feeling safe and loved, and I just hope that I'm doing enough.
20 February 1635
Two women, Theresa and Alice, gave birth in one week, and my goodness I've been tired. I don't typically bring Meulin with me to births, in case something goes wrong, so it's just a good deal of work I must do myself.
Mabell's baby isn't doing as well as I'd like. The little one isn't gaining as much weight as he should, and sometimes when he cries, he coughs deep in his chest. I'm worried there might be something deep-down wrong with him, something I can't treat. There are illnesses one can inherit that last the whole life long, and most often that life isn't very long at all. Dolora's book has one about a coughing illness, but she doesn't have any notes on treatment. I don't think there is any treatment.
I'll do my best, but I'm afraid there's not much to be done.
Unless I'm being a pessimist and he's just learning how to breathe in this new world, and he'll be alright in a bit.
24 February 1635
Today when I was on my rounds, a woman ran up to me begging me to help her daughter, who was weak and had a fever. At first I suspected the flu, but when I got to her home, her little girl pretty clearly had poliomyelitis-stiff in the neck and back, her muscles sore to the touch. Dolora wrote down that someone with poliomyelitis won't kick when you hit the right place on their knee, and when I tried she didn't kick.
I took her mother to the next room and said, as gently as I could, "This may be very serious. It's poliomyelitis, and it might develop into a paralysis of the lungs. I'm going to do everything I can, but there is a chance…there is a chance she may not survive."
"But…she's my little girl," the mother-Annes-said.
"I'm going to do everything I can," I repeated. "My little boy died of pneumonia, and my younger daughter had smallpox, soI know how frightening this is. I'm going to do everything I can. What I need you to do is to keep your little girl comfortable, however you can. I'll give you medicine for the pain and to help her sleep, and I'll come by every day."
"Isn't there anything else I can do?"
"Just keep her comfortable," I said. "If your husband has any money, perhaps you can call the physician, but…he may not have anything more helpful." I don't trust the physician one bit, but he usually doesn't cause harm if he's not trying to help someone give birth.
She nodded and looked down, nervous and tired, so I took her hand and said, "It will be okay. I'm going to do everything I can. I have to leave now, but I'll be back with some medicines for her."
She nodded again, her eyes teary, and I couldn't help the ache inside at her sadness. I'll do everything I can for that little girl-I always do-but I can't fix everything.
I just hope it's enough.
1 March 1635
Meulin came with my on my rounds today and when she saw Mabell's little one, she said, "Is he ill?" (She certainly has the instinct.)
"Perhaps," I said. "Mabell, could you bring me some bowls for your medicines?"
As soon as she was gone, I said to Meulin, "I think he may have been born ill, but I'm not sure. I'll show you why, though."
Mabell came back with a few bowls and I began sorting herbs into them as I checked on a variety of things with Mabell's little one, listening to his lungs and showing him various toys to see how he'd react.
"See, Meulin, his lungs sound full," I said.
"How is he doing?" Mabell asked.
"I'm a little worried," I admitted. "I told you he would get better, and I thought he would, but he hasn't been gaining enough weight. Children his age are supposed to have gained a certain amount of weight, and grown a certain amount, but he hasn't. It's something we need to watch, and it might…it might just get worse."
"Will he be sick his entire life?"
I nodded. "Mabell, please sit down. We need to talk seriously."
She did, and I nodded to Meulin. She does need to learn to deal with this sort of thing.
"He will probably be sick for the rest of his life, and…the rest of his life will probably not be very long."
Her breath caught and she said, "Oh."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm going to do everything I can, but it happens sometimes that infants have a sort of congestion in their lungs that can't go away. It…at this point, I will still work to save him, but there might not be much I can do. He might've been born with it."
"Are you sure there's nothing you can do?" she asked desperately.
I shook my head. "No. I'm going to try a few things, and this may be temporary, and he may pull through. I just want to be realistic with you."
She nodded. "Can I…can I keep him comfortable?"
"You can," I said. "I'm going to give you medicines to keep down the pain and treat his symptoms. And…at this point, I typically recommend you pick a name. I hate to say it, but if he passes, you'll want something to put on his headstone."
"Alright," she said. "I understand."
"Here, let me get some steam to open up his airways," I said. "I'll treat him now and leave instructions for some medicines for him. If it's alright with you, I'll come by every other day and check on him."
"That's quite alright," she said. "I hope it's enough."
"Me too," I said. "I'm sorry, but I have to leave. I'll be back in two days. Just make sure to play with him and feed him as normal."
"Of course," she said. "Thank you, Mary."
"Any time, Mabell. Just send for me if there's anything else."
We left, and Meulin seemed a bit downtrodden. She was quiet the rest of the day. I hope this wasn't too much for her. The hardest part of this job is the bad news, the death and the grief that comes with loss. I hope it doesn't put her off it entirely.
5 March 1635
I asked Meulin if she wanted to come on rounds with me, and she asked, "Are we going to see Mrs. Zahhak?"
"Yes."
"Is her child going to die?"
"Most likely, Meulin," I said. "It's a congenital, permanent congestion. I've seen it once or twice before, and Dolora wrote about it. Neither of us have found any way to stop it-only slow it down and keep the little one comfortable."
"I don't want to watch a child die," she said.
"Neither do I," I said. "This work is difficult, no question, and it takes a toll on you. I don't blame you if you don't want to do this anymore, or if you want to step back. It's incredibly hard." I sighed. "That said, we can use what we know to bring comfort to the ill and dying, lessen the pain and do what we can. Sometimes we can save someone's life. And the most important part of my job is bringing new life into the world."
"I'll come with," she said. "I want to help people."
"Alright," I said. "If it's ever too much, you don't have to. I can do this on my own."
"I know. I want to help."
I nodded, and we made the rounds.
10 March 1635
I wrote to Etta again today. She and I have been sharing about our lives, what worries us and what makes us joyful. She knows everything about my daughters, and I know all about her children and husband. It's almost like chatting with her over tea sometimes, sharing little tidbits of news and ideas with each other. I love telling her all about my brilliant daughters, and I love hearing about her delightful children. It's good to have someone to share with.
It's good to have a friend who understands some of what I'm going through. Patrik will never know what it is to be a mother-it's so different from being a father. And he will never understand what it is to be common, or what it is to struggle to eat, or for that matter something so basic as what it is to be a woman. Etta understands these things, and even though I don't understand what it is to have dark skin, we can share a good deal, and it's a relief for both of us.
16 March 1635
Mabell's little one isn't doing any better. His name is Phillip, and he isn't going to last much longer. He spent all of the time I saw him today coughing, and his breathing is weak and labored. It made Meulin sad, and as we were going to the next home, she said, "Mama, when he dies…"
"Yes?"
"What do we do?"
I sighed. "We are there for her. We hold her in our prayers, and we sit with her, and we bring her meals so she need not cook. We bring her tea to help her sleep. We listen. And we understand that grief is different for each person, and we never, ever judge her for her grief."
Meulin nodded her agreement, then said, "Is it hard?"
"It is the hardest thing I have ever done, to see someone else in pain."
She nodded. "Who's next?"
"Annes and her daughter."
And we moved on.
20 March 1635
My Nepeta has been working hard to prepare the garden for planting. She's overjoyed to have these flowers, and I'm glad of it.
I tell her about my work, and she knows about little Phillip. She's taken a bit more of a philosophical view of it.
"Everyone dies, right, Mama?"
"Yes, Nepeta."
"Will I die?"
"Someday, a very long time away."
"And will you die?"
I nodded.
"Sooner than I will?"
I nodded again.
"Parents are supposed to die before children, right?"
"Yes."
"It's not the way it's supposed to be, then. For him to die first."
"No it's not."
She blinked hard, a small frown on her face. "Poor Phillip."
I nodded once more.
"Can we talk about something else?" she asked, and I could tell she was hurting. It is painful to feel what others feel.
"Of course, Nepeta. What have you been reading?"
She perked up and said, "It's a new book, all about animals. I learned about kitties! Did you know there are huge, dangerous kitties in Africa that can eat people?"
"I did not," I said. I never read much on biology.
"There's lions and tigers and cheetahs! Oh my goodness, they're so interesting. I'd love to be a cheetah-they can run so fast. I'd always win in races and tag!"
I did learn many new things about African animals. My goodness, do I love her.
24 March 1635
Phillip will not last much longer. I explained some to Meulin about how to recognize these things in an infant, but mostly I attempted to console Mabell and Patrik. This has been hard on Patrik, too, although he's had me to talk to more regularly and frankly, he is the sort of husband not to be as involved with the children.
Patrik was over for tea on Thursday, and he was so tired. He is often these days, and I suspect it is his child. I tried to console him, but then, nothing can really help when a child dies. It's a pain like nothing else.
I will do my best.
29 March 1635
Phillip died today. Even as Annes's daughter slowly improves, Phillip passed away this afternoon. I just returned from Mabell and Patrik's home, where the two of them and their sons are mourning together. I brought them a stew and bread, and I sat with them for a while.
They'll see the priest tomorrow and plan a burial. I'm doing my best to help, but it is so wearing to help another family whose little boy is gone. It's almost unbearable watching this grief.
Meulin is helping me, though, and Nepeta is such a kind presence at home. We'll all make it through this. We have to.