2 July 1636

I've managed to come down with a slight fever along with this cough. I can feel the ache down to my bones and I can hear my joints creaking when I move. Meulin offered to do my rounds for me, and I told her she could but if she felt at all like she might not be able to treat it, to let it go until I was better.

I am going to be better. I know how to treat this sort of illness, and I'm neither too young nor too old to have to worry about such things. I can mix up my own medicines and treat myself. I think that's in the Bible: "Physician, heal thyself." I'm certainly trying to!

It occurs to me that I haven't felt like this in ages. I have felt happier lately, and more optimistic, but this is different. I feel capable. I feel like I know what I'm doing and I can do it. I've helped many people and I will help many more, and I can heal myself.

5 July 1636

When I came back from the village today, I saw Nepeta in the kitchen, working seriously at something that was taking up the whole table.

"My goodness, Nepeta, what's this?"

She looked up and blinked at me owlishly. "Oh. Hi Mama. It's my project."

"And what's your project?"

"I'm busy with it now," she said. I'd think she was being rude except that she was so absorbed that I'm not sure she noticed how she was speaking.

"Alright," I said. "Can you tell me about it when you're done?"

"Yes," she said, smiling. "I'd really like to."

I left so as not to distract her and went to tend the garden.

When I came back inside, she'd organized all the papers into neat stacks and she perked up when she saw me.

"Sorry I was rude to you. I was just getting lots of work done."

"So what are you doing?"

"I've been writing down when all the plants are in season and when you catch the most of which animals so I can figure out what times of year they're all out. Almost all the St. John's wort flowers in late June, but you can go and get the willow bark just about any time."

I blinked, and I know she's right but I hadn't expected her to just figure it out on her own.

"And I'm also writing down things about the weather so I can see what makes a difference."

"My goodness, Nepeta, you're a regular scientist!" I know she's intelligent, but this is beyond what I imagined.

She smiled her little smile and said, "I could be a biologist when I grow up."

My heart skipped a beat and I said, "Do you want to go to university?"

"Yes. I know I can't, because it's only for boys, and I'm a girl. But I want to."

"Maybe one day things will be different," I said. "But nonetheless, you can be a brilliant biologist if you want to be."

"I do. And I will."

I love my daughters. They're going to do so well in the world.

10 July 1636

It's so hot out. People are coming to me with their children exhausted from heat if they're not exhausted themselves. It's worrying how many people are willing to work themselves to this point because they have no other choice. There should be laws against this sort of thing! If the nobles didn't take so much people wouldn't need to work themselves like this.

I suppose I still have some of my old optimism and idealism. I wish I had more.

14 July 1636

Today is my love's birthday. He would be forty-one years old. My goodness! More than half his life would be over. More than half my life is over. I wish so much that we were together. I want to find him the perfect birthday present, watch his face light up as I hand it to him. I want to kiss him when I come home from work and hug him close to me while we sleep.

I miss him. I think I ought to go to bed and cry.

17 July 1636

I had another dream of my love last night. I was lying in the clearing with the forget-me-nots but there were no gravestones, no graves. Just me and the flowers. My body was like it was when I was younger, when I was sixteen or so and the world was at my feet. I had my hands behind my head and I was lying back, staring up at the late afternoon sky. It was definitely late summer-I could feel it in my bones.

"My love?" my love called.

"I'm here," I said.

He emerged from the woods as I sat up, looking young and whole again. He looked like he was sixteen again. "My love," he said again.

"Why do you keep coming back?" I asked. Somehow, in my head, he kept coming by the clearing but never stopped. Or perhaps a part of me wanted to know why he keeps appearing in my dreams.

"You were waiting for me here," he said with a smile. "Of course I came back."

"But now I'm waiting for you," I said. "Instead of keeping on down the path."

"Hm," he said. "What if I met you further on?"

"How about at the river?"

"Alright," I said. "I love you."

"I love you too," he said. "I'll be waiting. I promise."

"And I'll meet you," I said.

And he walked on.

I woke up and I was crying quietly, the tears dripping steadily down my face.

20 July 1636

I've been reflecting on my dream a good deal, when I'm walking between homes and to the village and back. I don't normally ascribe much meaning to dreams, but this one…my mind is telling me something. It is telling me I need to walk on. I'll meet my love eventually. I need to trust in that, and to walk on.

I do miss them, though. I don't know if I'm actually seeing my family in my dreams or it's just those deep parts of my mind telling me what I already know from someone I trust, but it's right.

I find nothing makes me feel aware of the future more than being with my daughters, so I've trying even more to spend time with them. I love to listen to them talk about their friends and boys and books they're reading and Nepeta's notes and their work with the flower garden and Dolora's garden and their explorations of the forest. For them it's all new.

Dinner today was lovely.

25 July 1636

I woke up this morning with a fever burning behind my eyes. I could feel the scratch in my throat and I knew I couldn't talk. I dragged myself out of bed and found a piece of paper to write a note to my girls.

When they came downstairs, the two of them read that I couldn't talk and had a bit of a fever, so I'd be resting up today. Nepeta's eyes went wide and she said, "But Mama, aren't you going to be fine?"

I nodded with the most reassuring smile I could muster.

"Of course she will be, Kitty," Meulin said, poking her sister lightly. "She's the midwife. She knows what she's doing."

I nodded again and set bowls of porridge in front of them with a bit of honey for a little treat. I made myself a big mug of chamomile with mint and honey to soothe my throat and help me relax. I am not terribly skilled at relaxing and so thought I might benefit from some help.

"So I'll go do your rounds today, Mama?" Meulin asked, all hopeful and excited.

Another nod.

"Can I go to the village?" Nepeta asked, like she does most mornings now, even though I've told her she always can.

I nodded.

"Oh, Mama, there's new people in the village," Nepeta. "From the city like Meulin's friends."

I cocked my head to the side curiously, and Nepeta just looked back for a long moment before she realized that I was asking about them.

"Oh! There's Gamzee Makara and Eridan Ampora and Feferi Peixes. Gamzee's nice but he's not really there. Eridan is really obnoxious. And Feferi's really sweet! But I don't think she really understands us. She keeps asking me how much time I spend working and how I have any time to see them in the village. I tried to tell her that I work a lot but since we all work I don't have to do that much, but I don't think she understood. I guess I'll have to tell her again."

I nodded and smiled once more, my throat still too dry to speak.

"Mituna and Latula started seeing each other," Meulin contributed. "They're almost too adorable together. They play more checkers than any two people I've ever seen! I've watching them go at it and I'd never even think of half their moves."

And on they went. I love my daughters so much. I know when I was comfortable with someone I could be awfully talkative. I can see that they're my blood relatives from this.

30 July 1636

I've been too tired to write these past few days, but this morning I was feeling much better, and I decided it was high time I make my rounds again.

I did the usual checkups on the pregnant women and the ill people, a few knocks on doors of families with recent losses to offer help or deliver food, and my usual half an hour of lingering in the market by the apothecary if anyone needs to find me.

And today a young woman did. She looked about sixteen or seventeen, how old I was when I first kissed my love and how old my elder daughter is now. She came up to me and asked, "Can I speak with you?"

"Of course."

"Somewhere more private."

I could feel the fear radiating off her like a miasma, and so I told her, "You can come back to my home. I'll make tea."

"Thank you, Miss Smith."

It gave me a little jolt to be called Miss Mary Smith, as it always does, but I did my best not to show it.

She followed me home like a newly hatched duckling and sat perfectly still and prim as I poured her a cup of chamomile for the nerves.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" I asked.

"I…I think I'm pregnant," she almost whispered.

"Do you know by whom?"

She nodded.

"Why did you come to me?"

"He left me. And…I can't be pregnant. My mother would…my father would kill me, my mother, she…" Her eyes teared up terribly and I remembered something Dolora taught me I had not used in ages-how to not be pregnant anymore.

"Alright," I said. "I can help you. I won't tell anyone, and I promise you I'm not judging your actions or your character. That said, this is a very serious choice that could have very serious consequences. I cannot promise that you will be perfectly safe or that it will be easy, and it will certainly not be painless."

"I don't care," she said. "I don't want to be pregnant."

I nodded. "Alright. In that case, how long until you're expected home?"

"Sunset."

I stood up and moved to my cabinet of herbs. There are a few I can mix up into a tonic that should work, if not immediately, within a few hours. If that doesn't work, I have another method.

"This isn't going to taste very good," I warned. "I'm going to ask you to take this medicine and then I'm going to tighten your corset as much as possible. If you're comfortable with me touching you, I can rub your stomach in a certain way to help the process."

"Anything."

"I will only do that if you're comfortable with me touching you," I repeated. "I'm going to get something for you to help you wash this down while you think about it."

When I came back with another cup of chamomile, she was clearly deep in thought.

"You can touch me," she said. "I'm ready."

She took the herbs, helped me tighten her corset until she was almost choking, and then let me rub her belly with enough pressure to push the fetus out. It took about two hours for the bleeding to start, and I helped her to the birthing chair I have to finish bleeding. It took a few more hours, with cups of willow bark and chamomile tea to help the pain, for her to finish the worst of it.

I don't relish doing it, but I looked at the blood and did spot a little clump of tissue that I'm fairly certain was the fetus.

"You're not pregnant anymore, as near as I can tell," I said. "Take some of this tea and drink it twice a day for four days. You can tell your parents you have your monthly bleeding and I gave you this for the cramps. Come back to me if you think you're still pregnant or the bleeding doesn't stop or slow down in a day or two."

She nodded, hugged me around my neck, and left without another word.

I sat down heavily in my chair and remembered my little Luke and my daughters and those babies I lost when I so badly wanted them. Why is it that no one ever has the number of children they want, when they want them? What I wouldn't give for something else to offer that poor girl, something less painful.

I worry about my daughters. Will their future husbands force them to have children? What will they do if they don't want children but their husbands don't cooperate, or care?

I'm so very tired.

2 August 1636

My Meulin is going to turn seventeen this month and my Nepeta is going to turn thirteen. I think it is about time I teach Meulin about how to help someone give birth and how to help someone who is pregnant not be. I asked Nepeta again if she wanted to learn to be the midwife, and she said no again. The first time I asked her she was eight so I figured it prudent to ask her again. She seemed nervous and so I said, "You don't have to be. Last time I asked you, you were quite young, and I wanted to be sure you hadn't changed your mind."

"It's too sad," she said. "And also there's a lot of talking to people I don't know. And it's kind of gross with all the blood and pus and stuff." She wrinkled up her nose.

"Fair enough," I said. "Just tell me if there's anything I can teach you about midwifery or anything else."

"I will," she said, and she patted my hand softly.

I love them so much. I would do anything for my daughters.

5 August 1636

Today was Nepeta's birthday! I made baked apples and her favorite stew, and we had a delicious dinner when everyone was home from the village. She loved the food. After dinner we went for a walk in the woods to the clearing with the pine tree in the middle, the one by the creek, and then I had a present for her: a book about botany and biology. Her face lit up and she said, "Oh my goodness! Thank you, Mama! Thank you! Can I read it now?"

"Of course, Nepeta. Maybe you could read aloud for me and Meulin, too."

She grinned again and we spent the evening in the library while Nepeta read rapturously about plants. I want to nurture the curiosity blooming in her. I know it will serve her well.

11 August 1636

I was gathering my things today when Meulin asked, "Mama?"

"Hm?"

"Why's our house like this?"

"Like what?"

"We have two floors and all these rooms and the library! How did we get so many books?"

"Well, to be honest, I don't really know," I admitted. "Dolora inherited this home from her aunt and uncle, and it was like this when I was young. Some of the books we saved up money for when my love and Simonn and Dolora were alive, but the rest…I assume at some point her aunt and uncle purchased them. I don't know why they built the house this way." I don't know much about the history of my family. I don't know my biological family nearly at all, save my daughters, and I don't know my grandparents by my mother and father. I don't know Dolora's family or Sigmun's, and I don't know Simonn's family further back than his parents and even then I never knew them well. How do these things get forgotten? How do we keep losing stories?

"I wish they'd thought to put in more fireplaces," Meulin said idly

"Me too," I agreed. There's the one in the kitchen and the one in the library, and they tend to keep the bedrooms warm enough, but I've always used quite a few quilts when I sleep in winter. I am glad that there are three rooms upstairs, though. I was much too bashful to dare to sleep with my love with anyone else in the room, even if they were asleep.

And it means my daughters don't have to see me crying when I have nightmares.

15 August 1636

Today was Meulin's birthday! She's seventeen. She's going to be an adult next year. My goodness! I can hardly believe how old my daughters are getting.

I made her favorite stew and some berry pastries and we went for another lovely walk, this time to the clearing my best friends and I cleared of bramble and thistles back when I had the energy for such a thing. Meulin's present was a set of hair ribbons, because she has thick curly hair like mine and, unlike Nepeta, she wears it long. She immediately put the green one in hair and we had another lovely evening reading in the library.

I love them so much it aches. I haven't felt this way in such a long time, but the love I feel for them is deep in my heart and I feel it every day. It's no longer such a struggle to show it or feel it. Maybe I am getting better. Maybe one day I'll be all better.

19 August 1636

Better my foot.

I went into the village like I do most days these days, and I was going around doing my rounds when that damned Dr. Sloan came up to me again.

"What?" I asked.

"I have a patient who I am going to send to you."

I was surprised but said, "Excellent. Shall I visit them or will you send them to me?"

"I'd like to send her to you. I know where your home is, and I assume you will be there this afternoon, unless you will be gone."

"Of course. Why are you sending her to me?"

"She is pregnant. I believe that is your area of expertise."

"Why did she come to you?"

"She did not know about you."

I nodded and said, "Have a nice day, then."

"You as well."

I can't explain quite why, but my knees felt weak and I had to go home immediately. I stumbled upstairs, my heart beating in my throat and my hands trembling, and curled up on my bed to cry. I don't know what's wrong with me that I'm so frightened of the doctor, or why this time specifically sent me into such a panic. I wish I knew.

I just want to be like I was. I was never perfectly happy but I used to be better. I just want to feel better.

22 August 1636

I felt a little better today and it was my birthday, so I made the effort to get out of bed and make a nicer dinner. I don't think my daughters have noticed how heavy the world has been weighing on my shoulders as of late, but oh, it has. I have not felt this heavy in a long time. I'm not sure I can do it again. When the heavy darkness comes back to consume all of the work I've done to feel anything at all, I'm never sure if it will leave again. Every time it takes more work to push it away again.

I'll drink my tea and do my work and cry when I'm alone and maybe I can feel better.

My daughters remembered my birthday. They made me a new skirt with little embroidered forget-me-nots on the hem, because they've noticed I like to keep forget-me-nots in the house. I think I may cry with how sweet it was. Meulin sewed it and Nepeta embroidered it and the two of them gave it to me with the kindest smiles. I love them so much.

27 August 1636

I told Meulin that I had to teach her two big things before she'd be ready to be the midwife on her own and she said, "Giving birth and what else?"

"Well, when someone is pregnant and does not want to be, if we find out early enough, we can force their body to miscarry."

She thought that over and said, "I can't imagine that's pleasant."

"It isn't. For us or for them."

"But no one should have to have a baby when they don't want to."

I nodded my agreement. "Precisely. It's not as common, so I can't say when your next chance to practice will be, but if it's alright with you, I'm going to start bringing you to more births. It's very important to know how to do that."

She nodded seriously.

"Are you coming on the rounds today?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go."

And so we went.

1 September 1636

Conveniently, Dorothy (not Hannah's Dorothy) gave birth just today. I was doing my rounds when her eldest daughter found me and told me what was happening. I told Meulin what was happening and rushed over to Dorothy's home, where I got everything ready and directed Meulin what I wanted her to do.

This was not Dorothy's first birth, so things went reasonably smoothly. I had Meulin do some of the work getting her hands dirty, while I directed Dorothy about her breathing and when to push and took over for Meulin when the baby started to come out.

Dorothy had a perfectly healthy baby boy and I got her to eat and sleep after the first nursing. I left her with plenty of medicine for the pain-the kind that's safe to take when pregnant-and boiled water that I knew was clean. I'll check in on her tomorrow.

I can't explain why, but helping Dorothy give birth and also teaching Meulin has made me feel better. It's that feeling again-capable. I may be a wreck in many ways, but I can do this. I can.

3 September 1636

Today was my baby Luke's birthday. He'd be nineteen today! My goodness, he'd have his own job and probably a sweetheart of his own in the village, someone he loved and wanted to marry. He should have all of those things that make life worth living, love and friendship and family.

I am trying very hard not to imagine that I did anything wrong, because I have to believe that I didn't do anything wrong. My mother was wrong. I did not deserve to lose my baby boy. I need to believe this, but it is so very hard.

I spent most of today in my room, fighting the temptation to open the cabinet under the stairs and hug my baby boy's blanket close to my chest again. It doesn't smell like him anymore and it hasn't for years. I know that, and still I want to.

I have been crying an awful lot these days. It's a wonder my body has any water left in it at all.

8 September 1636

I realized today that I forgot to tell Nepeta about her body, so today I asked her if I had and she said no. My goodness, I'm getting absent-minded. So I told her about her bleeding and her breasts and all that, and she said, "Well, I think my chest has started to grow."

"That will tend to happen."

"I don't want to get my bleeding."

"No one does," I agreed.

"Why do I have to get it?"

"It has to do with being pregnant. If you get pregnant, you won't have your bleeding."

She frowned and then made a face. "I still don't want it."

"It's not so bad, Nepeta. I promise. You'll be alright, and I make a pain medicine just for the bleeding."

"Well, alright," she said. "I do have a few more years."

"You do," I agreed.

She's going to be alright. They both will be.

11 September 1636

Patrik was over today for lunch and I mentioned how I'm teaching Meulin how to help someone give birth. He was awfully surprised.

"She's a bit young to be learning such things."

"She's seventeen-almost an adult. She has to know these things."

He frowned and said, "I doubt my sons know how children are conceived."

"I very much doubt that. I told my Meulin last year, when she was sixteen, and she knew some of it already."

He looked completely stunned.

"Patrik, my goodness, you can't hope to conceal this forever! They need to know. Haven't you said you want grandchildren?"

"I suppose," he said uncomfortably.

"Well, it is your choice. Yours and Mabell's, since you're their parents. But I'm telling my girls when they're sixteen. I told Nepeta about her body just a few days ago, and I told Meulin about that when she was twelve. Oh, my goodness, I told her twice…no wonder she was so calm the second time"

He seemed wildly uncomfortable with that, but nodded.

"Well, I suppose we will all handle such things as we see best."

"Yes, we will."

We will.

15 September 1636

My Nepeta stayed home today with her best friend Equius, explaining to him about her study of the plants, and I don't know if I've ever felt prouder. She's so intelligent, and as she and Equius were talking it over and looking for explanations and patterns together I could hear how excited she was. She even has drawings of the plants-she is a talented artist.

Meulin, meanwhile, came with me into the village to help with my rounds, and she did excellent. I let her take the lead for a few patients who felt comfortable with her and who I knew she could treat, and while she stumbled a little she did very well.

"You did very well, little love," I said as we walked home.

"Really?"

"Of course."

"But I almost gave Mrs. Jacobson the wrong medicine."

"It's your first time doing this. One mistake happens. Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am. The best way to learn is by making mistakes, and since I'm here to keep anything from going too wrong, you can learn a lot."

She nodded and looked down. "Thanks, Mama."

"Of course, little love."

17 September 1636

When Meulin and I were walking home from the village, Meulin asked me, "Mama? How come everyone in the village calls you Mary?"

"That's what I've told them to call me?"

"But why? That's not your name. It's Dianna. Right?"

"Yes, it is." She said it right, with the two n's.

"Then why do they call you Mary? They call me Meulin."

"I…I would rather not be recognized as Dianna. My patients might not want me to treat them. I promise you I haven't hurt anyone, but I was involved in some political tension when I was younger that ended very badly."

"Politics? Really?"

"Yes. I was young and a little bit stupid."

"And it's not because you hurt someone?" she asked, a little suspicious.

"No," I said, trying to sound as sincere as possible. "Just differences of opinion, and then I was at the receiving end of some consequences such that people might not want to associate with Dianna Vantas." I sighed. "I'll tell you the whole story some other day if you wish to hear it."

"I'd like that," she said hopefully.

"It is a long, sad, story, and I am very tired, so another day."

"Another day," she agreed, and we walked the rest of the way in silence.

21 September 1636

Last night, when I was asleep for once (I have not slept the night through in many years), my Nepeta came into my room and woke me up with tears pouring down her face.

"Nepeta? What's wrong?"

"I had a nightmare."

"Oh, my darling, I'm so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head and said, in the tiniest voice, "Can you sit with me? While I go back to sleep?"

"Of course," I said. I took her hand to walk her back to room and sat on the edge of her bed until she was deep asleep, breathing deep and eyes closed lightly. I hope she sleeps better. I don't know what her nightmares could be about, but I can guess. I hope it helps her feel better that I can be here for her. I won't let anyone hurt her.

It's how I felt with Luke, only this time I have to do better. I'm going to raise them until they're on their own, and when they have children I'll deliver them safely. I am going to do better.

25 September 1636

It's getting a little colder now. I have to wear my shawl into the village if I'm out after dark, which I rarely am. (I don't let my girls outside after dark. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to them.) The leaves are turning colors and falling away, like they do every year. These things move in circles. I know trees grow but I don't think they age. A tree doesn't feel older every year, joints creaking louder and fevers coming easier. So a tree moves in circles, while I'm moving a spiral downwards for the next twenty-odd years.

I know I used to be happy. I know I was. I've read what I wrote then but I feel like a completely different person. Dianna Vantas had her whole life ahead of her. She was going to do so much; she was going to change the world for the better. I call myself Mary Smith and I wonder sometimes if I still am Dianna, no matter my last name. Dianna Sailor was a child with only a distant awareness that her mother hated her. She was free and young and a little silly but just a child. Dianna Leijon never stopped fighting, no matter what her mother said or did. She made it out and got better and found her own family. Now? I'm none of those people anymore.

I might as well be Mary Smith. It's the plainest name there is, and I might as well slip into the background, never to be noticed again.

I have another little cough with a slight fever. My body is really falling down on the job when it comes to keeping me healthy.

30 September 1636

Patrik came over today, even though it wasn't Thursday, because he said he had a headache. I suspect he missed me, but he'd never say it. I miss him too. It's most noteworthy because he's the only person left who calls me Dianna (besides Etta, and that's only in letters). When he did, it felt right. I don't know if I can claim to be the same person I was, but I am still Dianna, for better or worse. Mary Smith is just the name they call me.

Anyways, we didn't talk about much. We just sat and talked over cups of tea, and he told me he thinks the leaves this time of year are lovely. I told him how my love couldn't see colors very well and so he didn't quite understand what I loved about the leaves but always went with Simonn and me anyways. Patrik thought that was kind. I think he knows my love better through my stories than he ever did in life. He never knew Simonn really, or Dolora, but then, I don't blame him directly for their deaths.

I know he feels guilty. I know it would be kinder not to bring up my old family-the one he ripped apart. But I am grieving, as I think I always will be, and I need to talk about it lest it smother me.

He can manage. If he hadn't done what he did, I wouldn't feel like I do.

This week's chapter brought to you by the oddly pleasant, nostalgic feeling of having Fall Out Boy shout about how much they hate your hometown