2 July 1635

In these hot days of summer, I remember when I was young and we played outside in the forest to keep cool, when we jumped into the river and splashed each other until we could hardly breathe for laughing. And once we were together, I remember when my love and I kissed each other in the river, clutching each other close and kissing like mad. He was so soft and kind, and I remember the gentle way he touched my cheek when he whispered sweet things to me.

I suppose it is too warm, because my girls say it is, but it's a relief for me. I'm so cold these days that the warmth from sunlight on my skin just feels like May.

5 July 1635

I'm teaching Meulin how to treat people who get too hot from being outside too long or working too hard. Besides boiling water, we can bring them to the creek to help them cool off.

I did go looking once, walking against the current, and the creek got smaller and smaller until it split in two and they both led to little pools with water bubbling out of the mud and dirt. It's the oddest sight I've ever seen-tiny little dots of dirt and mud roiling in place as water bubbled up out of the ground.

I was alone when I walked there, I think. I must've been young, not even eighteen, and it must've been a day I didn't work-Sunday, maybe. I looked through my old journals and it's not there. Was I fifteen?

I should go again. I dove in the creek once to hide-surely I can walk down it to escape the pain that lives here.

10 July 1635

I wonder if Candas knew even before we did that we'd cause trouble. Why couldn't they recruit servants from the city? Most people would be thrilled to work in the palace. Why did they terrorize our town? Come to think of it, I can hardly remember anyone leaving after the guards came to frighten us. Did they chase us when they were bored? Did they com to our village just to frighten us?

The more I think about it, the more that seems likely. I might choke on the rage if I could feel that much. Rather than seeing a play or talking, they came to our village to frighten children who feared nothing more than leaving their families.

Candas didn't have much power then. She probably didn't care much about us. More likely the guards would be bored with our quiet village and decide to scare us half to death.

If she did have a hand in it, she had a hand in creating her enemy. The fear of the guards is part of what drove us to leave. No child should live with fear like that.

14 July 1635

I asked my girls today if they're afraid of the guards, and they said yes.

"Have they hurt you?"

"No," Meulin said. "But they're weird. They just pace around with their fancy uniforms and glare at us. I don't know. It makes me nervous."

I bit my lip to stop from saying anything about what happened to me in March of 1614. The thought of those men hurting my daughters like they hurt me makes me so furious I could scream. "Girls, I don't want raise you in fear of the world, but I do need to tell you to be careful around the guards. They aren't so kind as the other adults in the village."

"Would they hurt us, Mama?" Nepeta asked, and my heart clenched with pain.

"I don't think so, little love. But I want you two to be careful around them."

"What if we need someone to stop someone stealing?"

"Well, you can tell the shopkeep, or you can find the watchmen-Mr. Walter or Mr. Lowry. They're good men." Well, I haven't known a truly good man since my love and Simonn passed, but Mr. Walter and Mr. Lowry I'd trust to enforce the law well enough and to not hurt my daughters.

"Alright," Meulin said.

"Mama…what if they do try to hurt us?" Nepeta asked.

"Run and scream," I said. "Fight back with everything you have, and run home to me, and scream for people to help you. I will always help you, and I will take care of you. I promise."

"It's not usually dangerous to go into the village, right?" Meulin asked anxiously.

"It's hardly ever dangerous. I think I've only been hurt in the village once in my whole life."

"So we're safe there?"

"Yes," I said. "Go ahead and meet your friends. If I didn't think it was safe, I wouldn't let you go."

"Can I come with on your rounds tomorrow, Mama?"

"Of course, little love. Go on, have fun."

"Bye, Mama! See you for dinner!" Nepeta called as the two of them left.

I can't help but worry. They're my children-I don't want to see them hurt.

17 July 1635

I forgot his birthday this year. Where is my mind going? He'd have been forty! We'd surely have a party to celebrate. Perhaps our children might've been married, or at least moving on to their own lives and loves and families.

I wish my family was still with me. Despite how happy they seem to be, I can't seem to shake off the feeling that I'm doing something horribly wrong.

22 July 1635

My girls' birthdays are coming up. I'm not sure what to do for them, except that I need to sit down with Meulin and explain to her about men. Perhaps her friends have already told her, but she should hear it from me, too. And she should know that it's her choice how many children she has. And I need to tell her how dangerous men can be. Some of them will draw you in, be kind and sweet for a time, and then become cruel or absent and leave you to suffer alone. Women need to be friends with each other and heavens, we need to be careful of men.

I don't want Meulin to be afraid, but I don't want her to be hurt.

26 July 1635

I talked with Patrik today about my girls' birthdays.

"I'm just not sure what to get them."

"A book, perhaps?"

"Too expensive."

"Ah. A small toy?"

"They're a little old for hoop and stick."

"Socks?"

"I suppose. It feels dull."

He nodded. "I see why this is difficult. Perhaps something small? Candies, or nice cloth?"

"That's what I've been thinking. I think hair ribbons for Meulin, and some candies for Nepeta. She does like her sweets." I couldn't help but smile. I love my daughters so much.

"Can I help you?"

"I don't need money, Patrik. I only take what I'm paid."

"You helped my wife give birth and took care of our child."

"I didn't do enough."

"You did everything you could. You have told me that some children cannot be saved-that some children are born too ill to live."

"I'm not doing my job if someone doesn't make it."

"That is not true."

"I'm so sorry," I said. "For what you've been through. Losing a child…it's a pain that never quite fades."

He nodded.

After a silence, he finally said, "Would you like some sugar with your tea?"

"No thank you," I said. "But I appreciate it."

There is so much more in that statement than I can explain, but I do appreciate that despite everything, he offers to buy me sugar.

1 August 1635

Nepeta's birthday is coming up! She's going to be twelve years old. That's older than Meulin was when I first found her. My goodness, has it really been four years? I can hardly believe it. I've been raising these beautiful girls for four years.

Nepeta really is brilliant. She remembers most everything she's read and she loves to learn. I saw her reading another book on botany the other day and at dinner she told me about how she's going to make fertilizer for her flower garden. My goodness, she's going to have such a garden! I hope it makes her happy for the rest of her days.

5 August 1635

Today was my Nepeta's birthday! I bought her some little candies in the market last time I did my rounds and gave them to her today. She grinned big and squeezed my hand and told me she loved me and my heart melted in my chest. I love her so, so much, and all I can think is how much I want the world for her. I would pull the moon from the sky for my daughters.

We had a lovely birthday dinner, and she brought over Equius of course. He's a kind boy, I think, a bit bossy and a bit rigid about class, but Nepeta doesn't care at all for that nonsense. She does not take it seriously for a second, and I think it's good for both of them.

She's happy, and that's the most important part.

8 August 1635

My Nepeta and Meulin came to me today and said they'd found something.

"In the back of one of the drawers of my desk," Nepeta said.

"It's drawings, Mama," Meulin said. "They're really good."

"Well, bring them here," I said. I was mixing up a salve for dry hands on the stove or I would've gone myself. I wondered if they were Simonn's. He used to sketch the woods or the house when he was up late or when he felt particularly creative.

"I'll go get them," Nepeta volunteered, and so Meulin stayed with me and watched me make the salve.

"It's for dry skin," I said. "For Mrs. Cooper the laundress, and for most people in the winter."

"How do you make it?" she asked, and I was about to explain when Nepeta came back with the pictures.

"Here you go Mama," she said, handing them to me.

"Thank you, Nepeta," I said, and I took the stack. The first few were drawings of the forest, the creek and the clearings and such. The next few were unfamiliar forest, presumably from our travels. I didn't notice him drawing while we were traveling, but it does make sense that he would. It's how he remembers.

The next one was of my love when he preached for the crowds. The drawings were so…dynamic, and alive. It felt like my love might jump out of the page, fire in his heart and ice on his lips as he condemned the society we suffer in. My heart ached to see it.

I suppose he drew all of us, because next was Dolora at work healing people. He face was so soft and kind, and so tired. Simonn drew her hands exactly how they were when she worked. I can't explain what it was, but she had a way about her when she worked to heal someone-serious and focused and graceful, too.

And the next one was me, teaching women how to write. He drew me prettier than I am-he always has-and I had an expression on my face that I trust he portrayed accurately but that I have never seen on myself. It was a mix of patience and something deeper, something like the ache I felt when I remembered how many people never learn to read and write.

And after that were pages and pages of drawings of Hannah, Hannah dancing and Hannah reading and Hannah walking and Hannah sewing. He drew her exactly as she was, practically down to the eyelash. I can see him drawing these in my mind's eye, focused and serious with his pencil and paper. And I can certainly see Hannah posing, sitting very still and trying not to giggle at Simonn's silliness.

He drew Damara, too, as a little girl. My girls didn't recognize her, and I'm glad, because I don't think I can explain all of that now. I think he drew Damara as much as he drew Hannah, if not more. He loved her so, so much.

But he drew us, too, Dolora and Sigmun and I. He drew one picture of Sigmun and I together on the couch, leaned against each other and reading a book, and another of Sigmun asleep with his head on my lap. He drew Dolora making dinner and the three of us working out in the garden, and he drew all four of us at dinner and the four of us walking in the forest.

But the picture that made me cry was the one he drew of the three of us, Sigmun and Simonn and I, lying in the clearing with the forget-me-nots. He drew us the way we were the day we talked about if we believed in God, lying on our backs and staring up at the sky, our heads in a circle. He drew us so happy and young, and smiling.

He dated all his pictures, and that one was dated September 21, 1622-the last time we were home before everything. He must've drawn it when the leaves were falling.

I just couldn't help crying.

"Mama?"

"My dear friend Simonn drew these," I said.

"He did?"

"Yes. These are his love, Hannah, and these are their daughter…and these are my family." I paused to take a shaky breath. "Thank you, my loves. I've missed seeing them."

They didn't seem to know what to do, so I gathered myself and said, "I'm going to put these in my desk, and then I'll teach you to make the salve, Meulin. And you too, if you like, Nepeta."

"No thank you," she said. "I'm gonna go weed the flowers."

I smiled and told her to have fun, and I spent a moment more in my room to ache for the family I once had before going to tend to the one I have now.

12 August 1635

I've spent the last four days pouring over the pictures Simonn drew and every single one is heartbreaking in the love and care he poured into his work. Simonn cared so much. And when I put the drawings in order by date, I can see how much he improved over time.

I might go find Eleanor and give her some of the pictures of Hannah. No one's seen her in years and years, and I know they miss her even more than I do.

She must be dead, and yet somehow I hope and pray that she is not. I just want someone of my family to have survived.

15 August 1635

Meulin's birthday was today! She's sixteen years old. I gave her the hair ribbons to tie up her hair-brown, now, and as thick as mine-and she grinned and tied her hair up right away with the green one.

The two of them like the color green just like I do. I'm sure it's just coincidence, but it does make me smile.

She brought her friends over and they had dinner and played outside until it was dark. She hugged me tight before bed and told me thanks for the ribbons, and I swear I almost cried.

I have to talk to her about men soon. I don't want to, but I know I must. She might want children someday and she might want to marry a man someday and I need her to know these things so she doesn't get hurt. Men can be dangerous, even when they don't mean to be. And far too often, they do mean to be.

19 August 1635

I sat Meulin down today and I told her about men. I told her about sleeping with men, and about giving birth, and then I told her about relationships and marriage. I want more than anything else for her to be happy in her relationships, and I want her to know what's safe and right, and what isn't.

She reacted about as well as I could expect. She did know some of what I told her from her friends, but I had to explain to her how it all…worked, I suppose. It felt odd to say, almost dirty, but I remember when my love and I had our wedding night, and how much more afraid and confused we'd have been if we hadn't known. And I don't want her to hurt the way it can for women. She deserves better.

When I'd said my bit and she didn't have any more questions, it was time to cook dinner, so I told her to come to me with any other questions and went to cook and think.

I haven't wanted in so long. I used to. Even before we were married, I wanted my love. And before that, I wanted boys in the village. I didn't understand the feeling then but I do now. It wasn't just want, but that was part of it. And I suspect…I suspect the women I looked at who I thought were gorgeous as the dawn, I think I wanted them too.

I don't know if want is the right word, though. I could imagine myself in their arms, but I never in my life would've done such a thing when I had my love. And I didn't have any desire to leave my love, or stop sleeping with him. I was happier with him than anywhere else.

Well, I suppose I was allowed to look at other people. I'm only human-I can still see. And my love, he never left me wanting. But these days…I don't want anyone anymore. I see people who look beautiful and who I can imagine wanting in another life, but I don't feel that wanting deep down in my stomach and lower. I haven't in a long time. I don't know why, or if it's part of the ways I am shattered deep down, but it isn't something I notice until I think of it and I am afraid again.

If-when-if I see my love again when I pass, will I still love him like I did? Or am I broken in such a way that I will never feel that way again? How important is the wanting, and can it come back, or is it a part of me I can never recover?

I suppose I still don't know how broken I am. I'm not sure I ever will. I don't think I'd ever know unless I truly tried to fix myself, and…I know that's futile, now. Maybe it always was.

24 August 1635

I turned forty two days ago. I don't feel any different, but my girls remembered and they bought me a new pen and ink. The pen itself has hints of green in it and I could've cried, because they remembered and they gave me something they knew I'd like. Nepeta looked so proud when she handed it to me.

I love them so, so much.

30 August 1635

My girls were in the village when Patrik came for lunch today. I suppose that's why he asked me.

"Dianna?"

"Yes?"

"Are you planning to kill yourself?"

I choked on my tea and said, "I-what-why the hell are you asking?"

"I am worried for you," he said simply. "I knew you when you were a child. You are…rather different now."

"Of course I am. Do you want me to remind you of your role in what I've been through?" I know that was harsh, perhaps unnecessary, but I don't think he understands. His guilt hurts him, but it is nothing like my pain.

"I-I am sorry," he said. "I know I was wrong. But I am not willing to permit you to make mistakes as I have."

"I can't feel guilty if I'm dead." I didn't realize what I meant until it was out of my mouth. I don't say it, or let on, and I try to keep it down, but it's there, in the back of my mind. I could die. Sometimes I want to.

"Dianna. Please," he said. "Your daughters need you."

"I wouldn't," I said. "I know that. I can't, as long as they need me. But I can't deny I've thought of it-considered it-came awfully close to trying it."

His eyes went wide, and before he could speak I stopped him. "Before my girls. And I didn't, obviously." I didn't tell him that it was only because of Meulin that I'm not dead right now. "I'm not planning to anytime soon. I have things to live for."

He nodded. "I trust you. I only request that you do not. Let your life proceed as it will, and let death come naturally."

"I will," I said. "I have my daughters. I won't leave them until I have to."

"Thank you," he said.

It was quiet for a while, and then I said, "Patrik?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me you won't, either."

"I will not."

"Not for anything."

"Never," he said.

So I suppose we have the opposite of a suicide pact. We have promised not to kill ourselves.

I won't. I can't.

15 September 1635

It's easy to forget to write when I have so many responsibilities. I have so many women to care for! And my Meulin needs to know what I know.

I'm going to teach her to help someone give birth soon. It's important for her to know, as a midwife! It's really our first job-bringing children into the world, keeping both parent and child alive. It's the work I must teach her.

20 September 1635

Patrik was over today for tea, and as the tea was brewing, he said, "What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your daughters will grow up. What will you do when they have their own families?"

"I'll take care of my grandchildren, and I'll take care of the village, up until the day I die."

"You are welcome in my home."

"I don't want to live in your home."

"If you ever need help, do not hesitate to ask."

"I don't need your help," I said, trying not to be too rude. "I'm fine."

"I understand," he said. I don't think he does, but at least he pretends to.

24 September 1635

My daughter's flower garden is starting to die, and Nepeta is collecting the dead flowers again. I don't know if it's the same as the first time, when she wanted to keep them warm, but I think it's her way of…processing, I suppose. Taking in what has changed in her life, and feeling loved, not just knowing it. Taking love in and turning around and showing it to something else, even if it's just flowers.

I think she feels that she is loved here. I hope so. I don't think I have ever felt that I was loved, and I want that for my girls.

29 September 1635

I went to the clearing with the forget-me-nots today, to the graveyard. I sat in front of their graves, my whole family's gravestones, and I cried for hours. They're all dead, and gone, and I can never see them again. They're lost to me.

I've known that for a long time, but I think today, I felt it.