Childbirth during the Elizabethan and Jacobean periods was a time when a woman called together her closest friends—her god-siblings—to help with the delivery. The midwife delivered while the god-siblings helped out, creating a warm, womblike atmosphere in the room and serving up hot caudle. After a while, “god sibling” became shortened to “gossip”—with its dual meaning of a confidante and happy, newsy chatter between women.

The caudle simmered over the fire. The room felt warm and safe from the bitter cold and snow outside. Warm with light, warm with heat, warm with friendship. My heart soared even as I prayed that I would survive this childbirth, that my son would survive, too.

From When the Moon Has No More Silver, by Connie Lapallo

I tried to force my voice. “Oh, how wonderful for you, Pocahontas.” I still could not look up. Instead, I focused my attention on brushing the dirt off my petticoat. My ragged, ragged petticoat.

Since I did not rise, Pocahontas dropped beside me and touched my shoulder, asking gently, “Is all well? Something hurts your heart, Joan?” Her English had become so much better yet still had its Indian wording.

I shook my head as tears dropped onto my lap.

“No. My heart…it…it does not hurt.” Liar! I could not brush the tears to hide them because my hands were so dirty. Instead, I took a deep breath, looked over at her, and tried to make my eyes bright. “England!” was all I could say. “Home to England…”

From When the Moon Has No More Silver, by Connie Lapallo