maidservant at the big estate, of Bylany
“My husband died of the winter fever and I owe for his grave. I keep my head down and work hard so I am not thrown out.”
Things Johanka had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at None
The parish bells are ringing and my stomach is water. Father Geoffrey sent word that I will be named from the pulpit this Sunday for the burial fee I owe. I have no groschen. I scrub from dark to dark, but Master William has no silver to pay.
Nota scribaeShe was shaking so much she dropped a wooden rosary in the mud.
the second day of May, at Vespers
I am hiding in the barn. Matilda tripped on a loose paving stone and broke the good wooden churn. Master William screamed until his face went purple and took her bone comb as a pledge. I am staying out of sight until the shouting stops.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Mistress Joan is kind to me, though she speaks of nothing but her sister Avice out on the roads. They say the soldiers are everywhere and the war makes bread dearer by the day. I am grateful just to have pottage and a roof over the swine pens.
the Monday after St Gregory, at Terce
My hands are raw from the lye and the cold trough, but my braids are clean. Thomas keeps whispering about stealing from the master and fleeing to the woods. I cross myself every time he opens his mouth. I would rather live with the wild beasts than steal.
Pay him no mind, child. He's full of hot air and weak ale.
If I catch him taking so much as an egg, I'll break his legs.
Nota scribaeShe whispered this so quietly I had to ask her to say it thrice.
the day after Candlemas, at Compline
My husband took the winter fever and died just after Christmas. I fell asleep at his bedside and God is punishing me for it. Master William has given me work hauling water, but Father Geoffrey wants his groschen for the grave. I do not know what to do.
May the Lord give him peace, Johanka. It is a hard winter for us all.
Nota scribaeThe widow wept throughout. I left the ink blotches as they fell.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Pray to St Jude, Johanka. I have no coin either, with Drslav keeping our wheat money, but I will pray for you.
The church is not a charity for those who sleep while their kin die. The fee must be paid by Sunday.