2 October 1635

My daughters are already preparing themselves for the festival. They are picking dresses, practising hair styles, and generally fussing over what they'll do. I tell them they'll be beautiful no matter what, but I suspect they're enjoying the fussing.

I never did that. My closest friends were boys, and they're not taught that as much as I was. And I never wanted to do anything my mother wanted me to do.

Perhaps it's more true that I did fuss, but it was never a fun thing I did with my sister-it was driven by the fear that has sat in my gut my whole life. They enjoy fixing their hair and embroidering their dresses so they can look beautiful in the village. I did these things to avoid my mother's wrath, or because I felt I had to so I could be loved.

All I have ever wanted was to be loved. I suppose that's what most people want. I wish I wasn't so afraid, though.

6 October 1635

Meulin's embroidering little roses on the collar of one of her shirts. She wants to look beautiful, she said. She even asked me for makeup, which I told her not to wear. Dolora didn't trust it, noticing that women who wore makeup had worse skin and fell sick more often. I told her that, too, so she wouldn't feel resentful.

She's definitely got her eye on someone in the village. Perhaps she'll tell me, or perhaps she won't, but I would say it's certain that she likes someone. I can't imagine there's another reason she would want makeup.

I'll ask her, gently though. I want her to be happy, and I must admit, I'm curious. I've always loved the idea of love-romantic and otherwise. I hope my daughters can have that.

11 October 1635

Meulin admitted, blushing bright red, that there is a very handsome young man in the village named Henry who she rather likes. I suspect she wanted to tell me, based on the way it all rushed out once she was talking. She told me he's handsome and he has a lovely smile and he makes her laugh, and she thinks she's going to pluck up her courage and ask him to dance at the festival.

Oh, I hope she does. I hope she's happy. And perhaps there's no harm in admitting to myself that I want to live vicariously through her; I want my daughters to feel as warm and happy and in love as I once did. I know I'll never feel that way again, but, oh, I want to.

Looking at the old pictures-at my love's face-I only feel sad. I miss him.

15 October 1635

I dreamt last night of my love. It…it was such a dream. I was much younger, perhaps eighteen, sitting with my feet in the creek, looking down and feeling sad. I could feel the cold water trickling around my ankles, the current from my left running over my right. It was summer, late summer, because it was warm and hot but the sun was lower in the sky and the plants were preparing for fall. I remember, in the dream, feeling alone and lonely-feeling left behind and forgotten.

I felt someone tap my shoulder and I jumped, but it was just my love, and he said, "My goodness, my love, how long have you been here?"

"Not long," I said.

"Have you been waiting for me long?" he asked. "I'm sorry, Mama asked me for help with sorting herbs."

"Of course," I said. "Won't you sit down?"

He smiled, soft and kind, and unlaced his shoes to dip his feet in the creek with me.

"Have you waited long?" he asked again, and suddenly he looked much older than eighteen-twenty-seven or twenty-eight.

"Yes," I said. "Twelve years."

He nodded.

"How much longer will I have to wait?"

"Not much longer, I'm sure," he said, but he didn't sound sure. He was never a good liar-not even in my dreams, I suppose.

"I don't want to wait another second," I said. "Not one more."

"Me neither," he said. "But then, you don't have much choice."

"No, I suppose not," I said.

"I love you," he said. "I always will."

"I love you too," I said.

"I have to go back to the house. Just wait a little longer, alright? Then follow me home."

I nodded. "I'll see you soon."

"Of course," he agreed. "Of course."

He walked away, back towards home, and I stayed at the creek reading for quite a while.

I only woke up when I realized I couldn't read.

20 October 1635

I don't know what I'll wear to the festival. I don't have very many nice clothes, really. I have my wedding dress, but I won't wear that. I doubt it fits me anymore anyways. I've lost so much weight. I don't look half as nice as I once did.

I suppose I'll wear my nice skirt with the embroidered roses on it, the green one. It doesn't ache to wear as much as some of my clothes do. Very few have special memories attached, but the ones that do might as well be stabbing me in the chest. Skirts I wore to dance with my love and Simonn, my old corset from when I had such a good figure, the green hair ribbon Dolora gave me for my birthday once…they all just hurt to see.

I ought to make a new nice skirt, one I can stand to wear. I go to the festivals now and sometimes I decide to be part of them, instead of just watching from the side. I don't dance with anyone, really-sometimes Patrik when Mabell is elsewhere-but it's nice to dance with the village during the ones where everyone dances.

It's nice to be part of something, even though every other day of the year the village makes it quite clear that I'm not.

26 October 1635

The physician came to my home today. I think I may hate him for it. My home is where I do my work, and it is work for women. I do not like strange men coming to my home, where babies are born and where I prepare for such things, and declaring they know things I do not. I've read their medical books. I suppose I trust they know more than I do about men, or men's bodies at least, and perhaps some more complicated issues, but I know the work I do.

So when Dr. Sloan knocked on my door, I was unhappy.

"Hello, Doctor," I said.

"Hello, Miss Smith."

"What are you doing here? Who told you where I live?"

"The husband of one of your patients. I'm here to talk with you about the case of Phillip Zahhak."

I bit my tongue. "What about it?"

"He passed away."

"I know."

"What exactly did you do for that child?"

"I did everything I could. I gave him medicines, steam, the ways to get him to cough, how to keep him comfortable. Some children are born sick."

"That is an aristocratic family whose child died, and you were there."

"They are my friends."

"No aristocrat is the friend of the village midwife."

"Well, Patrik and Mabell are my friends."

He blustered before finally saying, "First names?"

"Yes. They call me Mary." That's not quite true: only Mabell calls me Mary. It's alright, though, since Patrik calls me Dianna when it's just us. I think I trust Mabell, but I haven't known her long, and none of my patients call me Dianna. Mary is a safer name. Dr. Sloan will never call me Dianna.

"You should have sent them to me."

"What would you have done?"

"I am a physician. I could have done so much for that child."

"Like what?"

We went back and forth with various treatments for a while, and finally he threw up his hands. "I cannot argue with you. I feel as if I am talking to a brick wall."

"I cannot argue with you. You would let the women I treat die. What do you want from this?"

"I want you to understand that you cannot do everything. I want you to send some patients to me!"

"I want you to trust the work I do."

He frowned. "Send me the patients you can't treat."

"If you send me your pregnant women, and the people who can't afford your prices."

"I do not charge much."

"I have seen children wither because they cannot afford your care, Doctor. They deserve better."

"Your children will wither if you do not provide for them."

I sucked in a harsh breath and said, "I think it's time you left." I felt my heart clench in my throat and I thought I might start sobbing then and there, but I couldn't be weak in front of the doctor. I don't trust him.

"Pardon me?"

"I own this home. I'm asking you, quite politely, to leave."

He made a tight frown and said, "Have a nice day."

"And you."

He left, leaving me to collapse into my bed and cry until my daughters came home. How long can I keep providing for them? What am I going to do if I can't anymore? What will I do if, one day, my daughters are hungry and I can't feed them? What if the roof leaks and I can't fix it? What if we run out of wood or coal and I can't afford to buy more?

I know it'll end. I just don't know when. I can only hope it's long enough.

31 October 1635

Today was All Souls' Day, and my daughters had the most wonderful time in the village. They danced with their friends and sang and ate and laughed, and I felt again like a ghost. Watching the village dance, my girls among them, every other person alive and happy with those they love, and me on the outside…I just knew, then, that I'd never be part of it again. I'm never going to be part of this life again. I can never go back to who I was before, or the life I led before. It's gone. I can't go back.

I suppose I have no choice but to push forwards. I have….perhaps twenty years left. I have a life to live. I have twenty years left to do my work, to discover new techniques and to save more lives. I have time.

Onwards, then.

1 November 1635

All Saints' Day was today. Again, into the village with my daughters. Again, I watched, feeling like a spectator in my own life. I am not part of the village. I was, once, but now I am far away, distant, no longer part of much of anything.

As I was standing there, watching my daughters, Patrik came over to me and said, "Would you like to dance?"

"I suppose," I said.

"You suppose?"

"I'm not part of this, Patrik. Not anymore."

"You are part of the village. Miss Maryam was part of the village, despite being the midwife."

"I mean, yes, I am part of the village, I live and work here and I'm raising my daughters here, but…I'm not part of this anymore." I gestured to indicate the dancing crowd, young women and men courting and older married couples and widows and widowers and spinsters and bachelors and little children and my own daughters.

"How can that be?"

"It is never the same, Patrik. Not after what I did, and not after what was done to me."

"Do you think you did wrong?" He sounded almost a little bit hopeful and for a second I felt that old spark of anger.

"No," I said. "Never. But the world thinks I did-and thinks I do."

"Surely the whole world does not think that."

"You do."

He recoiled, like I'd hit him, but he knew I was right.

"My daughters don't, and my old family didn't, and that's enough for me. But the world thinks I am wrong and I have no way to tell them otherwise, and so I may as well accept it."

"You told me never to accept that which is unjust."

"I did," I said. "And I meant it. But, you know, I'm tired." I am. I'm so tired of fighting, struggling, trying. I just want to breathe a little. I just want to live out my years without more suffering. I just can't struggle anymore. "I just want to survive to see my daughters grow up."

"I could help you. I know several important people. I could speak with them, and change how you are seen. You could be 'part of this'."

"No," I said. "I'm done, Patrik. And if I do change things, it'll be because I want to." I don't want to rely on his help. I couldn't do this on my own if I wanted to, but I won't let Patrik of all people help me. He's where he is because of who he was born to. I'm where I am because of who I was born to, and what happened after that. It's just birth, and I don't want it to be like that. I can't let him use his birth to help me now.

"I'll dance," I said. "Just one dance."

He smiled, just a little but probably the most I've ever seen him, and offered his arm. "Let us dance."

It was…it was nice, to dance. It reminded me of when I was young.

7 November 1635

It was unbearably difficult to wake up today. The cradle isn't in my room anymore and it hasn't been for years, but it should be. I want it to be. I don't want it to be. I don't know what to think or what to feel.

It just hurts. It hurts so badly. I miss my baby boy, my little Luke. I loved him so much. I was supposed to take care of him, and he died in my arms. He was going to be such a wonderful boy. He had an entire life ahead of him, a life full of love and laughter and just…things to do. He had a whole life ahead of him.

I want my girls to have their whole lives. I want that for them so badly.

11 November 1635

My girls went to church today. They go sometimes, partly because it's social and partly because they believe-Meulin does, anyways. Nepeta is a bit more skeptical, like me. She doubts sometimes in a God who allows these terrible things to happen.

I believe in God. I do. But sometimes I remember how I have suffered and I just can't believe.

15 November 1635

My mother was wrong. I know she was wrong, and she should not have treated me as she did. She hurt me. It wasn't right of her to do.

I need to believe this if I'm to be a good mother. My daughters, no matter what, deserve my love and care. I have always known this, and I hope I have put it into practice, but I'm so afraid that I'll hurt them. I'm so afraid that I won't do enough and they'll grow up as broken as me.

I think they're alright. I hope so.

21 November 1635

I had a dream last night of my love. We were lying in bed together, in our nightclothes, cuddled close together, and I could feel his hand petting my hair. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply, almost asleep.

"I love you," I said.

He hummed in response.

"Are you okay, where you are?" I asked. I felt very aware, and I knew he was dead, and I knew that this was not real. I didn't realize it was a dream, but I knew wasn't real.

"Mm," he said.

"Will I ever see you again?"

He sighed and moved his head a little bit, like he might just wake up.

"I love you," I said, and as his eyes started to open I woke up.

I hope he's alright, wherever he is. I hope I do see him again, and I hope that when I do see him, we can be together again.

2 December 1635

I keep forgetting to write. But today is the first Sunday of Advent, for hope, and so I remembered because my daughters are hope-they have hope. We sat today around the table at dinner and talked about hope and what it means.

"Hope means we have a future, and it's going to be good," Nepeta said.

"We have a lot of time to do a lot, and learn a lot," Meulin agreed. "I mean, I have hope because I know things can always get better."

"What about you, Mama?" Nepeta asked.

"I think hope is in you girls," I say. "I know you will lead amazing lives. And hope is in every child I help bring into the world. There's so much you can do in this world!" I couldn't help but smile. They have so much potential.

Meulin smiled big and said, "I sure hope so. I want to help the women in the village too."

"You will," I said.

"I'm gonna be a gardener," Nepeta said. "I'll make gardens for people."

"That sounds great, Nepeta," I said. "You can practice in our garden."

"I already am," she said. "It's going to be pretty in the spring."

"It will," I agreed. "There's hope in those flowers, too. They come back every spring, just as beautiful as before."

"I like that," Meulin says. "Hope in flowers. That's nice."

"It is," Nepeta agreed.

Hope. I wish I had some for myself.

6 December 1635

Patrik was over today, as he is on Thursdays, and he seemed worried.

"Is everything alright, Patrik?"

He sighed. "I am concerned about my sons."

"Why?"

"I am afraid that they will not be married."

"My goodness, isn't your older son just sixteen?"

"He is. But now is the time for him to be meeting women, and he just seems…unhappy. As if he does not want to."

"Well, he probably doesn't. You are his father, and marriage is his duty. He's not meeting girls in the market and flirting-he's meeting women he might marry."

"You seemed happy when you met your husband."

"Marriage wasn't duty for me-it was my choice and it was a matter of love. Anyways, we flirted long before we were married. And again, Horuss is only sixteen. Give him some time."

"I am worried that he does not like women."

"So be it. If chooses not to marry, then life will go on. Perhaps Equius will marry."

"He is my eldest son. He must have a child."

"Telling him that won't make him any likelier to listen. He's young-he wants to be his own person. Let him. He has plenty of time."

He nodded. "I will take your advice," he said. "But I hope it is not too difficult."

"Me too," I said. "It's hard to be a parent, Patrik. I can't tell you how often I've made mistakes or said the wrong thing or said nothing at all when something was in order. But we keep trying. We'll be alright, and so will they."

"I hope so," he said.

I do too.

9 December 1635

Second Sunday of Advent today, joy. My daughters are the joy of my life, and they told me how much joy they find in their friends and each other and me.

I am glad I can make them happy. I just want to be good enough.

12 December 1635

Today a woman came running to me, telling me her child was shivering from a fever and coughing terribly. I knew already what it was, as it is winter, but I had to go to her.

Her child did have winter fever, and from what I could tell she had it in both lungs. There was nothing I could do. I gave him some tea for the cough with herbs to reduce the soreness in the throat, and a few herbs to bring down the fever, but I fear it's too late.

I'm going to try, of course. But I am preparing for another difficult conversation.

16 December 1635

Third Advent Sunday today, for peace. I haven't felt at peace in years. But my Meulin, she said she feels at peace in the library curled up near the fire. And Nepeta said she feels at peace when she works in the garden.

I'm making the world safe for my girls.

I have to teach Meulin to hunt. I suppose I'll start after Christmas.

20 December 1635

Another case of winter fever today, but this one I think perhaps I can treat. I mixed up my usual brews, helped the young woman take them, and then left her with instructions to drink lots of water and rest. I think she took the words to heart-I hope she did. It seemed less serious, and only in one lung, so perhaps I caught it in time.

Maybe she'll be okay.

23 December 1635

The last Sunday of Advent today-love. I can't say enough how much I love my daughters, and I love also Patrik and Etta and Mabell. My daughters' lovely friends have of course a special place in my heart, and it is love that drives me to treat the women in the village.

I have never been without love. Even at my worst, I loved; I just was not loved in return.

25 December 1635

Christmas day! We went into the village for the festival and then returned home to a delicious Christmas meal with all the traditional fixings. My girls cooked with me, as they often do, and so we were all together making and eating the meal. It felt warm and comfortable, and just as loving as Christmas should be. We exchanged gifts (new skirt for Meulin, garden gloves for Nepeta), and the beautiful new scarf they gifted me is just perfect. I love them so much.

They're happy, my daughters. They'll be alright.

31 December 1635

Tomorrow is the new year. I almost can't believe it. How is it almost 1636? How can that be? And yet it is, and nothing can change it.

Onwards, then.