1 July 1643

I went to see Annes today and we talked about our pregnancies together. She told me her legs have been sore and stiff, which I'm glad I could reassure her is normal. I also warned her she might need to get new shoes, since sometimes being pregnant can make your feet grow.

At this point, my job is mostly to reassure her. It's her first time being pregnant, so everything is new and frightening. Since she hasn't been very sick in any of the ways I worry about, most of what I do now is listen and be kind.

I am a little worried. There are some more serious conditions that can come on later in a pregnancy, and there's not a lot I can do about some of them. And then, of course, there's childbirth and the baby. A million things can go wrong, and I'm worried that something will happen to Annes or her and Horuss's child. I'd like to think I can call Annes my friend now, and Horuss certainly is. I don't want to let them down.

4 July 1643

Today was Kankri's birthday. He didn't tell any of us, but Karkat mentioned it to Nepeta and she made baked apples. He went a little red at it, but he's family now and of course Kitty would do something nice for his birthday. Karkat made a joke about how old Kankri was getting and how he should look for gray hairs, and I wished him happy birthday from his wife with a laugh.

Later, in the library, I told him a more serious happy birthday and said, "What about Karkat? When's his birthday?"

"Oh, you don't have to go out of your way."

"I know. You're still my friend, and both of you are my family now. I'd like to celebrate your birthdays."

"I see." He paused, then said, "July fourteenth. He likes berries and cream."

"I'm not sure we can afford cream right now," I mused. "Although Kitty's been selling her embroidery again, and she's quite good."

"I didn't mean–you don't have to–" He stammered a moment, then recovered himself. "I don't mean to place you in a difficult position, or ask for money."

"I know," I said. "I appreciate it. But you're my friends, and I'd like to do something nice for you."

"Oh. Um. Thank you," he said. He glanced over at the book we'd been reading, like he wanted to ask, and then asked, "Would you…would you like to read?"

"Of course," I said, and so we read until it was almost dark, which is quite late in the summer. It's still not my favorite book, but I'm glad to read with someone I'm not afraid of.

7 July 1643

Kitty came to me today with an idea. She wants us to learn to talk with our hands, so it's easier. She and I both read about people who lost their hearing, or who never could hear, who learn to talk with their hands, so it's certainly not out of nowhere. I may not be good for much, but I had a little of my mother's aptitude for language, so I thought maybe I could do it.

"Sure," I said, smiling. It felt good to smile without thinking about it. "How should we start?"

"I'm looking for a book to teach us, or we can find someone who knows. I'll ask around. For now, we could make some up for ourselves?"

I nodded. "Like, this could mean thank you?" I put my hand on my heart and then held it out.

She nodded, and we came up with a couple of others. We tried to make up some letters, but it was quite difficult to say anything, since we had to spell out every word. Well, it'll take time. In the meantime, at least I can still read her lips, and at least we can still write things down if we have to. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't write.

10 July 1643

Kitty says she found someone in the village–Mrs. Samson–who knows how to talk with her hands and will teach us. I imagine if she can't hear so well, she'd like more people to talk to. It might be nice to know someone else like me. Even if she didn't lose her hearing being a complete moron around her husband, at least she'll know what it feels like to sit there while people talk and pretend I can hear. Maybe she knows what it's like to nod along and hope no one asks me a question or calls my name, or what it's like to feel alone when everyone's talking and I can't hear a word they're saying.

My sister does her best, and she does well, but the simple fact is that we can't talk how we used to, and I will never hear her voice like I did when we were children. We have to learn a different way to communicate. We've been communicating our whole lives. Our nanny told me once that when Kitty was tiny and just learning to talk, I always knew what she was saying, even when no one else did. We can make this work.

13 July 1643

Kitty and I went to see Mrs. Samson today, and she was very kind. She could talk some, and she said she lost her hearing when she got old, so she learned how to talk with her hands gradually. She taught us letters, because she said we'll need to spell out words we don't have signs for, and a few basic words. It's not much, but it's a start. We stayed a little longer than we really needed to, because Mrs. Samson's a widow and seems a little lonely. I felt like the kind thing to do was to stay with her.

I'd like to learn at least some basics before my baby is born. I doubt I'll have much time for these things afterwards! We told her we'd see her again soon and practice together. I don't know how much I can learn in five or six more months, but I'll do my best. It'll give me something to do, anyways, to keep my mind off of things.

16 July 1643

Today I helped Kankri with the bread, and I taught him the hand-sign for bread. He copied it a couple of times, then said, "Can you talk only with your hands?"

"Not yet, but I'm learning."

"So it's possible to speak to someone else without saying a word, only using your hands?"

"I suppose so. People have been losing their hearing probably as long as we've had ears."

"If you don't mind my asking–what happened? I only ask because there are always new discoveries these days in medicine, and something might be done."

My throat felt tight and for a moment I couldn't move, I couldn't even think. The sun was too bright and the fire too hot and the dough too sticky, and even the quiet sound of the fire crackling was too much. "I'd rather not talk about it," I said.

"Of course," he said. "But, if you ever–that is, if you'd like to discuss it…" He wouldn't look me in the eye, which made it harder for me to hear him. "I am always willing to help."

"Thank you," I said. "I best get back to the garden."

He nodded and I left. I didn't go to the garden, though. I went to the clearing where the pine tree used to be and put my feet in the creek and tried to catch my breath and calm my heart. It felt like thunder in my chest, and as I looked down I realized my heart was beating so hard that my shirt was moving in time with it.

I don't know how long it took for me to get my breath back, but it was at least still light out. My sister gave me a look when I came back home for dinner like she was worried, but didn't say anything. I hope she isn't worrying too much. I don't know why I have these attacks, but I don't want to upset Kitty with them. I'll figure it out.

20 July 1643

I haven't thrown up in almost two whole weeks. It's pretty common for the nausea and vomiting to go away around three months, and I am very glad it seems to be happening that way for me. I am sick to death of being sick. I just want to feel better and to look like myself again.

I went to visit Annes today to check up on her, and as she was describing the way her stomach turned the other day, I said, "That's probably the quickening you were feeling."

"Oh my goodness. My baby is…moving?"

"Yes, exactly. It's the right time for it. It's a very good sign! It means your baby is well enough to move."

"My goodness," she said again, touching her belly. It's not very prominent yet, but there's a little bump there. I'll have one just like it, soon. "What…what will happen next?"

"You've already told me you've been feeling a lot better, so you're probably past being sick. Of course, it's different for everyone, but you may start getting stiff and sore more. You might find your shoes are too small–it's common for your feet to get a little bigger. Most likely, you'll feel a bit generally unwell, things like aches and feeling tired. Oh, and this…" I brought over a salve for her, as close to the way my mother used to make it as I can manage. "For your belly. The skin's going to have to stretch, and it hurt or itch. This will help."

"It's hard to imagine how that's going to feel."

"My mother always said you can't know how it's going to feel until it happens. She told me when she was pregnant with her baby, she was surprised every day."

"Oh, yes, you were adopted, weren't you?"

"Yes, my sister and I both."

"And yet Horuss tells me you look just like your mother."

"Oh, that's…a very long story."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"It's quite alright. I'm just tired myself, with my little one. I can keep food down, now, though!"

She laughed with me. "My goodness, it's hard work!"

"It is. Actually, I should be going home soon–my sister will be waiting. Do you have any questions, or anything else you want to talk about? I know I say it a lot, but everything you say to me is held in confidence."

She paused and thought, then said, "How do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"You can't. There are dozens of ways people say will tell you, but really, you won't know until your baby is born. That said…" I remember something my mother told me once. "My mother told me she had a feeling her little one was going to be a boy."

"Well, I suppose I can stand to wait a few more months."

"I'll have to as well," I agreed.

Annes is a delight to talk to. I like her. It's good to have someone to talk to, but sometimes I worry that I'm not doing enough, or that I won't do right by her. I haven't done this in so long. Can I still do it? Did I forget everything while I lived in that castle? I hope not.

23 July 1643

Kitty and I went to see Mrs. Samson again today. She was happy to see us, and we learned some more word-signs–things like tea and yarn and shoes, practical things we use and talk about a lot. Someday we'll have to learn words for feelings and thoughts, things that let us talk like we used to, but for now we have to start somewhere.

She's definitely a little lonely. She doesn't say it, but you can tell from the way she looks at us when she opens the door. She's like me, with a just little bit of hearing left, just enough that if we knock loudly and she's near the door she can hear it. She's been so kind to us, to me especially. I should make her something, a good stew or a nice pudding.

Honestly, it was good to just walk with my sister. It felt almost like when we were young and went in to town together to run errands for our mother. At least we can still walk together.

26 July 1643

I noticed Kankri putting on his shoes after breakfast, so I asked where he was going.

"To see Porrim. She'll be worrying about me, and I would really rather not cause her undue stress." He paused, then said, "Do you want to come?"

I nodded, and then Kankri said, with a mischief I'd never heard from him before, "You are my wife, after all. It would be improper for me to be visiting another single woman without you along."

I managed a little smile at that and we walked together to town. We didn't say much, but it was nice to walk with someone. Goodness, it was nice to just walk outside in the woods and in the village again.

Porrim smiled when she saw us and said, "Congratulations again on your marriage."

"Thank you so very much," I teased back. "And…thank you for everything else," I added.

"Of course," she said. "That's what friends are for. Come in, let me get you some tea. My aunt is in her room, so we don't have to worry about her."

"How is she?"

"Oh, same as ever. It's no wonder her children moved so far away. She's awfully lucky my father is as patient as he is." She set the kettle on the stove, and when the tea was steeping, she sat down with us at the table and said, "How have you both been?"

There wasn't much important to say after that. We just sat and talked. Of course Porrim asked about "our" child, laughing a little, and so I told her all was well. Kankri smiled at that, too. I imagine he thinks it's as funny as I do. Porrim finds it hysterical. I found out that she was the first person Kankri told when he realized he was in love with another boy, when we were young, since she was so clear about liking other girls. She's the one who first told him that there was nothing wrong with him and he should love who he loves. I suppose it's no wonder they're so close.

I left a little bit before Kankri did, because I could tell they wanted to be alone. Walking home alone was almost as nice as walking with someone else. For a moment, halfway through the woods to home, I just had to stop and listen. The wind was blowing and the birds were singing, not so much as they do in the dawn but a little, and I could just barely hear the creek in the distance. It felt like being home again.

30 July 1643

I tried to cast on a hat today, just to have something to do, but I counted the number of stitches wrong twice and then messed up the join and for some reason, I just couldn't bear it. I felt tears in my eyes, so I rewound the yarn ball, put the needles back in the knitting basket, and went to my bedroom so I could cry by myself.

I don't understand this. I'd been feeling better! I've been eating more and going for walks and reading and just…feeling better! I've had to cast hats on five or six times before, and it's annoyed me but it's never sent me to tears.

I feel like a bruise. As long as I don't touch it, it doesn't hurt, and I can forget about it, but the tiniest touch and suddenly it's excruciating. The smallest things make me so upset these days, and I don't know why. I used to be stronger than this. I cared for my sister when our mother died, and I kept up appearances with my husband all that time, and I have seen some things in my time as the midwife. Why is it that now, I sob when I make a small mistake with a hat? What on Earth is wrong with me?

3 August 1643

My sister's birthday is coming up, so I went into town today to get the ingredients for her favorite foods–puff pastry and some special spices. She's going to be twenty years old! I was twenty when I married my husband. My little sister is all grown up now. I wish I had been there to see it, and to be there for her.

I was nervous to be back in the market, around everyone I left behind so abruptly and people who had every right to be upset with me. I was sure, somehow, that someone would spot me and get angry–someone I wasn't there for, someone who needed me as the midwife when I was gone. But it wasn't like that at all. People waved like they always have, and a couple of women I've worked with told me they were glad to see me again and asked how I've been. It felt so normal, but so deeply strange. It's what I've always done, since I was a girl–gone into the market, talked to people, caught up with friends. But it's also something I haven't done in a few years, since a noblewoman can't exactly go to the market on her own.

On a whim, when I had the food and was about to walk home, I stopped by to see Mr. Henderson's store. He had some incredibly soft cotton in a forest green, and I just had to get some for my sister–just enough for one skirt. I know she'll love it. Maybe I'll embroider it for her, daisies and peonies and poppies.

I walked home with a little spring in my step and hurried upstairs to hide the fabric. I haven't felt like this in ages–light and excited and bubbly. I'm looking forward to making my sister happy. I've missed her smile. I want to make her smile again.

5 August 1643

Kitty was so surprised! She was out most of the day hunting, so I spent the day making her favorite foods for dinner, and then the pastries for dessert. Kankri noticed and asked what I was doing, so I told him, "Making dinner for my sister. It's her birthday–her twentieth!"

"Oh! I see. In that case, why don't I make a loaf of cinnamon apple bread? I seem to recall your sister enjoying it."

"Yes, she loves it. That would be great, if it's no trouble."

"Of course it's no trouble. Shall I start now, or would you rather I wait until you've completed your work? I understand if you would prefer to have the kitchen to yourself; I often found it difficult to cook for my family when there were others crowding me, even if I did rather enjoy cooking. You know, I think more men ought to learn to cook. I have always found it a valuable skill–"

"You can stay," I interrupted. If I didn't, I think he might never stop. "I don't mind."

"Ah. Yes. Thank you."

"Just don't use that knife. I've been using it for meat and I haven't cleaned it yet."

He nodded and started with the bread. He gets quiet sometimes when he works, like he's so focused the rest of the world just vanishes. I think it's the happiest I ever see him. I don't love him the way I loved Kurloz, or in any romantic way, but I think I'm starting to love him as a friend, and I want him to be happy.

When Kitty came home with her kills, she said. "It smells good."

"I made dinner for you."

"Oh, thank you!"

"Of course. It's your twentieth birthday, we should celebrate!"

"Kankri made apple bread for you, too. And I have something to give you after we eat!"

"You didn't have to."

"You're my sister. I wanted to."

She smiled at that and followed me inside to eat. It was a lovely meal. She liked the skirt, too. I put daisies on the hem, too, because I know she likes them. I'm glad I could make her happy.

8 August 1643

I felt my baby kick today. I thought I was going to vomit, but when I didn't, I remembered how my mama described the feeling of her baby kicking. When I was sure I wasn't going to make a mess of things, I went up to my room and cried. I've carried so many little ones and for the first time, I can feel the baby in my belly. My child is alive and moving, and it's been at least four months, and I'm going to have a baby. All this time, all these times I was pregnant, I never felt my baby moving, living inside me.

Kitty came up to my room a little while later, maybe an hour, and when she saw my face she opened her mouth to say something worried, so I stopped her.

"Kitty, my baby is kicking."

"Oh," she said softly. "So…you're happy."

"I'm so happy." I couldn't say anything else.

"I'm happy for you," she said with a little smile. "It's a good sign, right?"

"Yes. You're less likely to miscarry after the quickening, although it can still happen. But…I have a good feeling about this little one."

"Have you picked a name?"

"No, not yet. It's a little early I think."

"Do you need anything?"

"No, thank you. I'm alright. It's just…a lot. I–I've never been this far along in a pregnancy before," I admitted. "I've never felt my baby start to move."

She smiled again, very softly. "Then you're doing well."

"Well, I'm doing as well as I can."

"That's all anyone can ask for," she said. "I'm about to start dinner. Come help me?"

"Of course," I said, and I followed her downstairs. I felt these little flutters in my stomach for the rest of the day, into the night too. I couldn't stop touching my belly. My baby is alive.

12 August 1643

I've been talking to my little one. I know it doesn't matter, they can't hear me, but I want my baby to know from the moment they can hear that I love them. They're only just starting to be alive, and I want them to know now that I love them. It's just at night, when I'm alone in my room, and it makes me feel hopeful for a moment. Maybe it really will be alright this time. Maybe I'm not doomed, or broken, or hopeless. Maybe God will grant me this little gem of happiness.

My birthday is coming up. I think my sister wants to celebrate it. She missed me, and now I'm home, and I think she's missed all the holidays we didn't have together. I certainly do! We both knew, growing up, that someday we might get married and move to our own homes, and holidays would be different. But it wasn't supposed to be how it was. It was supposed to be a give-and-take, making it fair for everyone.

I can't get the lost time back. All I can do is try to make up for what I failed to do before, and make sure I don't let it happen again.

15 August 1643

I was right–Kitty wanted to celebrate my birthday. She made me some clothes for my baby–tiny little socks and the sweetest little dress. She also gave me some ribbons for my hair she'd embroidered with forget-me-nots and daisies. We used to make crowns out of daisies when we were little, sitting in front of the house where the sun shines brightest. I felt a little teary, but then, I've been feeling teary a lot lately. I suppose I know that's normal during pregnancy, but it still made me feel a little bit like a child.

"Thank you," I said.

"Of course," she said with a little smile. "I've always liked making baby clothes. I also made some treats for you."

"Really? What?"

"Baked apples, like how Mama used to make them."

"Oh, thank you."

"Come on, let's eat. You must be hungry! Growing a baby and all that. It's hard work, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Although, there's a chance I may throw this all back up."

"Well, I won't be offended. I understand." She laughed lightly, and I couldn't help but laugh with her. We're still sisters. She will still be my baby's aunt, and we'll always have each other.

18 August 1643

I went hunting today. I felt well enough for it, and I wanted to do something like I used to, before all of this. I suppose I want to feel like the same person I was before. I know things are different–I know I'm different–but I like who I was back then. Now I feel like I'm staring at a ghost in the looking glass.

Well, I'm not so desperately out of practice hunting that I got nothing, but I used to be much better. When my mother taught me to hunt, she told me she wanted to make sure that I never had to rely on a man, I'd never have to get married. She taught me my work, and she showed me how things can be for women who don't have those choices.

I had choices, and it still happened to me. I didn't need to get married. I could've had a much easier life as a married woman, especially with the man I married, but I didn't need to. I'd never blame another woman for something like this, but not everyone has a mother like mine, who tells them it's alright to never marry. I should've known better. How did I not know better?

22 August 1643

Today was Mama's birthday. Kitty and I went to her grave together and I cried my eyes out. I miss her so much. She was a good mother, and she loved us and cared for us, and I loved her. I still love her. I'm going to be a mother myself, soon, and I'm so scared to do it alone. I don't know if I can do this. Kitty thinks I can, but then, she's always had faith in me, even when I don't deserve it.

I haven't been sick as much. Mama's book says that's normal, and I remember it from when I did the work with her (and by myself). If nothing else, I have Mama's book, with everything she knew and taught me.

I miss her. I'm going to go lie down.

25 August 1643

I went to see Annes today. She's at least seven months now, and feeling the weight. This is usually when people start to get nervous, so after I made sure she was well, I asked, "And how are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm alright."

"It's normal to get nervous at this point," I said. "The reality of giving birth can be scary. It's better to talk about it than to keep it in, and I won't tell anyone."

She sighed and bit her lip. "I am a little worried. I…I know it will hurt, and I…I could die."

I nodded. "It's frightening."

"I don't want to die," she almost whispered.

I took her hands in mine the way my Mama used to when people were upset. "I will do everything I can to keep you and your baby safe. I know this is scary. I won't tell you not to be scared, but I will tell you that I'm here for you."

She nodded and I thought I saw tears in her eyes. Of course she's scared. I'm excited to have my baby, but I'm still scared to give birth. Mama used to tell people the same thing–"I won't tell you not to be scared". Just telling someone there's nothing to be afraid of doesn't help, especially when it's a lie. She's right to be frightened; giving birth is dangerous. But I'll do everything I can to keep her safe. If nothing else, this is my work, and I intend to do it as well as I can. Despite everything, I am still the midwife, and I'm not going to let anyone die when I can help them.

28 August 1643

Kankri and I read together today, another one of the dense philosophy books he likes.

"You know, we have easier, more interesting books," I said.

"I know."

"We could read one of them."

"I prefer this kind of book."

"Why?" I couldn't help but ask. I learned to read on much easier books that I actually enjoyed reading.

He bit his lip, which was odd, and said, "I just prefer them."

"Alright, but it might be better to practice on your own with something else."

"I might learn just as well on these than on anything else. Reading a novel may be engaging, but there is more to be learned from a philosophical tome such as this."

"Alright, but you can always change your mind. Just let me know. I've read all our books."

"All of them, really?"

"I've lived here quite a while."

He thought a moment, then said, "How did your mother teach you to read?"

"She didn't. Our tutor, Miss Leon, did."

"You had a tutor?" he asked, sounding shocked.

"Before Mama took us in, we had a tutor."

"Pardon?"

And then I had to tell the whole story again, about running away, and going back for Kitty.

"Oh," Kankri said. "I thought your mother just didn't let you go into the village when you were small."

"She did worry about it, but as soon as I was well enough, she let me go. Mama didn't like the village herself, so I suppose it was a help to have me go into town sometimes."

Kankri nodded. "Yes, my father was much the same. But then, when he was drinking, I suppose he didn't much care where I went."

I'd never heard him so venomous. It was a little startling. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's the way things were," he said with a shrug. "My father was not a particularly kind man when he drank." He thought about it, then said, "He wasn't particularly kind sober, either."

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"It's really nothing," he said, and I could tell he was uncomfortable talking about it. "Shall we continue reading?"

I nodded and we read for a little while longer, until we both had to start cooking.

1 September 1643

Kitty and I went to see Mrs. Samson today. We're going to try to go more often after harvest, when we have a little more time on our hands. She's definitely a little lonely, and I don't want to let her keep being alone. If we can talk to her with her hands, we can keep her better company, too. It's lonely, not being able to hear. I can't keep track if more than one person is talking, and I can't always hear when people call my name. I feel bad asking people to repeat themselves so often, and I can tell it frustrates them sometimes.

I don't know what else I can do. It's clear by now that I'm never going to get all my hearing back. I can learn to talk with my hands, of course, but other people can hear me just fine–I'd need them to talk with their hands, and only Kitty and Mrs. Samson know how to do that. What if my baby cries and I don't hear them?

4 September 1643

I went gathering today with Kitty. She said she wants to have plenty of herbs for when winter comes.

"You never know," she said as we walked to the creek, where the nettles grow.

"Never know what?"

"What might happen. You never know if everyone will get sick, or something will happen to the food."

"I suppose so."

"Some people's land is still recovering," she said. "I'm worried they won't have enough food."

I realized she was still thinking about the storm, about the year she had to feed the village, about the weight on her shoulders when she wasn't even eighteen. "Kitty," I said, "We will do everything we can, but you don't have to support the whole village on your own."

"I can't let people go hungry, Linny," she said, and of course I remembered the gnawing hunger we ran away from.

"I know," I said. "I can't either. But…I'm here. You don't have to do it alone."

She nodded and said, "I know."

So we gathered nettles carefully with our good leather gloves and went home to prepare them. They take more work than some of the other herbs, but if you do it right, nettle tea can be very good for aches and pains.

My sister and I can't let anyone go hungry, and we won't. But I won't let her work herself sick again, either. She's still my little sister, and I'm still going to take care of her.

7 September 1643

In the village today I saw Latula, and she asked me if I was going to be back for good.

"Yes," I said. "This is my home."

"Mituna and I were thinking…we'd like to have our children now," she said. "And I don't want anyone but you to be my midwife."

"Of course," I said. "Whatever you need, I'm here for you."

"Thanks," she said with a smile. "How have you all been, anyways?"

"Oh, the same as ever. We're harvesting our garden and gathering herbs to be ready for winter. As soon as it starts freezing overnight, we'll start catching more meat to preserve."

"You certainly keep busy! Isn't it tiring, with the baby?"

"I suppose, but I'd much rather have something to do. Anyways, I'm not that big yet." I gestured to my belly. There's a notable swell, but I'm not quite six months and it's not getting in the way that much yet. It will certainly get worse over these next few months! My mother has a page in her book that's just tips for managing to move around with the baby in the way. "How are you two?"

"We're getting along. I'll need some of the salve you make for my hands, with the weather turning!"

"Of course. Come by any time. I'll make tea."

She smiled and said, "I'll see you soon, then. I have to finish up here and head home soon."

"Have a good day."

"You too!"

It's very flattering that she wouldn't want anyone else to care for her when she's pregnant, but it also makes me a little nervous. I have to do right by her, the way I do for Annes and everyone else I've ever cared for. I hope I can do it.

11 September 1643

Today Mrs. Lewis ran up to our door and told me, "My son. He needs help."

I snapped to attention and went over to where we keep the medicines. "What happened? What does he need?"

"He–he fell, he cut himself–"

"Alright." I threw my thread and needle and clean bandages into my bag, along with something for the pain. "Let's go."

She took off running back to the village, and I followed as fast as I could. I haven't run in a long time, and it felt good, somehow, like I was free. I'm out of practice, of course, but I could run fast enough to keep up with Mrs. Lewis until we got to her house.

To my great relief, her son wasn't that hurt. His sister had been holding a cloth over it, and by the time I got there the bleeding had slowed. But it was a deep enough cut that I decided to put a couple of stitches in to speed the healing. With a little more pressure from the bandages, the bleeding stopped completely and he was fine.

I noticed he had tears in his eyes, so I said, "We're all done. You were very brave."

"Thank you Miss Leijon." Most everyone still calls me that, and I prefer it that way.

"Of course," I said. "Now keep this clean, and try not to get cut again, alright?" I patted his knee. "You don't want to scare your mother again, do you?"

He shook his head.

"Good. Now let me just talk to your mother for a moment, and then I'm sure you can go back to playing."

"Thank you," Mrs. Lewis said when I turned to her.

"Any time," I said. "It's what I do. Make sure to change the bandage when it gets dirty, and he'll be fine in a week or so."

She nodded. "Of course."

"And this is for the pain," I said, handing her a packet of herbs. "He probably won't need it–children heal quickly–but if he's in a lot of pain, this will help."

"Thank you, Meulin."

"You're welcome. Do you need anything else?"

She shook her head, so I told her goodbye and left.

It felt good. It felt like being myself again. I haven't done my work in so long, but it felt just like before I left, when people would come to me for help and I'd help them. I haven't forgotten everything Mama taught me, and I can still be the midwife. Part of me was afraid that I wouldn't be able to anymore, that I'd lost whatever it was that made me the midwife before I left. My husband didn't like who I am, but he didn't take it away, either. I'm still me.

14 September 1643

Everyone's so busy with the harvest right now I've hardly seen anyone. Kankri insists upon helping, so I taught him how to prepare the herbs and vegetables for winter. I tried to teach him to gut and clean our kills, but he doesn't seem to have the stomach for it. I suppose that's only fair. I don't have the patience to bake bread as good as his.

Kitty and I have been going hunting together. We don't catch as much like that, but I think it's alright, because we've been talking. We practice talking with our hands, but also she tells me how people in the village have been and all the gossip. I told her we should learn to talk with our hands so we can talk while we're hunting, and she smiled.

I feel a little bit like I'm coming back to life. Every time I do one of these things I used to every day, I feel like I'm still myself. I wasn't allowed to be that when I was married. What's funny is that I think, if I'd had a husband who encouraged me to learn to be a noblewoman without insisting I give up the things I love, I might've liked it. I didn't have to worry about where I'd get food or if I'd have time to mend my clothes. Things were easier in many ways.

I wish people didn't have to worry about those things so much. Kitty and I were hungry once. I don't want anyone to have to fear that the way we do. I wish everyone had enough.

17 September 1643

We went to see Mrs. Samson today. She showed us how to put sentences together. It's not quite the same as when we talk aloud. There's a special sign to show that something is a question, since you can't use your tone. She also uses her face a lot, to show if she's being serious or joking or what have you. It's not easy, but when I'm talking with Kitty, it feels natural. Mrs. Samson told us a story about when she was young and wove fabric, and we understood the whole thing. She had to go slowly, but we both understood in the end.

We practiced more on the way home, and I practiced some myself in my room. I want to be able to talk to my sister like we used to, and I want to help Mrs. Samson feel less alone.

I'll have to name my baby with words and with signs, too. Whatever I call my little one, they'll have two names, even if only I and their aunt use one of them. I've been thinking about names, lately. I always liked Cecily for a girl, and there's a spiteful part of me that likes it more because my husband didn't. I think I like Benjamin for a boy.

Either way, my little one will have my last name. My baby will be Leijon. Somehow I don't think Kankri will mind.

22 September 1643

I hadn't had one in so long, and then yesterday as I was eating lunch I felt that first stab of pain and I knew it was another one of my headaches. I mixed up the pain medicine while I still could, told my sister I wasn't well, and went to curl up in bed under my blankets. When it gets bad, I can't even stand the light that comes in through the curtains. Kitty brought me food, but my stomach turned even thinking about eating. I drank some tea, at least, but it wasn't until this afternoon that I could eat again.

It scares me that they're not going away. I can't care for my child when I have one. I can barely stand to hear the little I can–how will I cope with my baby screaming when it hurts so badly? Will I be able to nurse, when it hurts so much? And when they're older–I don't want to scare them. I was so scared when my mama was sick. My child will have to live their whole life with a mother who's sick, who can't always be there for them. What am I going to do?

26 September 1643

I went to see Annes today. She's almost eight months along. I try to visit more often later as it becomes harder to do things on your own. People tend to get more nervous around then, too. A friendly face and a kind word can mean a lot when no one else wants to hear how scared you are. My work is delivering children and stitching up cuts and treating sickness, but my work is also holding someone's hand and telling them that they're not alone. My work is taking care of people. So I went to see Annes.

"Is there anything I should know about how you want to give birth?" I asked.

"Pardon?" she asked.

"Well, some people have someone they want with them, or have a particular worry. Is there anything like that?"

"I…I suppose I'd like my mother to be there."

"Alright. Would it be possible to send Horuss to get her? I'd prefer to stay with you during labor."

"Yes, I think so."

"Good. Is there anything else?"

She twisted her hands together, then finally asked, "What can you do for the pain?"

"I have some medicines I use for pain, and hot water bottles for aches. I'll also do my best to help you relax as much as you can. I'll be frank with you–it will hurt. But I'll do everything I can to help."

"What if–" She paused, like she was trying to figure out the right words. "What if the baby–gets stuck?"

"I can usually free them. That's very common, and very easy to deal with. My mother and I delivered many babies who caught their chins on their mother's tailbones and things like that."

"How do I know I'm going into labor?"

"You'll feel the contractions start, and they'll be regular. You might have false labor before then. If you go for a walk and they go away, it's a false labor. If they keep progressing, then send for me and I'll be right there."

She nodded.

"I won't tell you not to be afraid," I said again. "But I'll do everything I can for you. You can always ask me for help. You're not alone."

She nodded again. "I know. Thank you."

"Do you know what you'll name your baby?"

"We were thinking about Nicholas for a boy," she said. "And perhaps Margery for a girl. What about you?"

"I like Cecily for a girl," I said. "I've always liked that name, really. Maybe Benjamin for a boy? We could call him Benny."

"Those are lovely names," she said. "Do you know why your parents named you the way they did?"

"I don't. I…I didn't know them for very long, and when I did, I didn't know enough other children to know my name was unusual, so I never thought to ask. What about you?"

"My mother's grandmother was Annes," she said. "They named me after her."

"Did you ever meet her?"

"No, I didn't. My mother says she was a wonderful woman, though."

"I'm sure she is, if she was anything like you are."

She laughed and said, "Thank you. How is your sister?"

I let her change the subject and we talked about our families and the village and the harvest for a little longer, until I was sure that she was feeling alright. It doesn't help with the nerves that pregnancy can make you feel everything more dramatically, and I didn't want to leave her alone if she wasn't steady.

She'll be alright. I'll make sure of it.

29 September 1643

Today after breakfast, while I was sitting at the table, not thinking much of anything, Kitty put a cup of tea in front of me and said, "Are you alright?"

"What?"

"You've been worried," she said. "What's wrong?"

She knows me too well. "I'm worried about how I'll take care of my baby."

"How come? You'll be an excellent mother."

"What if I have one of my headaches? I can't take care of a child if I can't even open my eyes."

"Then I'll help you."

"You can't nurse."

"Yes, but I can do everything else," she said. She leaned over and took my hands in hers. "Meulin. You're not alone."

I felt tears well up when she said that, and I said, "I know."

"You always tell people they can ask you for help," she said. "You can ask other people for help, too. Especially me."

"Thank you."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

She noticed the tears falling, and said, "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. They're–I'm not upset. It's just the baby."

"If you say so."

I nodded. "Yes, I do. Now come on, don't we have work to do?"

She smiled at me and said, "Yes. Let's get to it."

She's right. I'm not alone. I can't do this alone, but that's alright, because I'm not alone anymore. I'm going to have my sister's help, and my friends, and between us, we'll make it work.