housekeeper and farmer's wife, of Grunta
“I keep the house and the peace at Dum cp. 2, though the Lord knows it takes all my waking hours.”
Things Matilda had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The root cellar is nearly bare, but I have stretched the cabbage to feed seven again. Leonard and Benesh grumble about their silver, but they have hot porridge in their bellies. I slip them an extra crust when John is not looking, to keep the peace.
Nota scribaeShe spoke quietly, turning a wooden spoon over and over in her hands.
the second day of May, at None
Alice weeps again over her bolt of fine linen. I told her a serving girl has no need of such cloth, and John was right to lock it in the cupboard. She says the merchant's wife in Prague gave it to her. I say vanity fills no stomachs.
the Tuesday of Easter week, at Prime
The house is scrubbed for the Resurrection, but there is a loose floorboard in the bedchamber that troubles my rest. I must remember to step lightly around it. Some things are best left buried where the dust settles, lest the whole house come undone.
A loose board can trip a man, Matilda. Better to pull it up and burn whatever rots beneath.
My husband can bring his hammer to fix it for you, if John is too busy.
Nota scribaeShe looked nervously toward the door as she said this.
the feast of St Gregory, at Terce
Lucy has it in her head to walk barefoot all the way to the monastery at Sedletz to pray. I told her the Lord hears prayers just as well from the wash-tub, and her feet are needed here. There are too many soldiers on the roads for a girl alone.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
Two winters now since old Peter took the fever. He was a hard master, but the farm was steady under him. John tries his best to fill his father's boots. It falls to me to make sure the men respect him, even when the silver is short.
Old Peter paid us on the eve of every saint's day. God rest his soul.
I am master here now, Benesh, and you will speak to me, not the dirt on my father's grave.
Nota scribaeThe husband was not present for this dictation.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
A crust of bread does not buy wheel grease, mistress. Old Peter paid us in coin.
They will get their silver when the grain is sold, wife. Do not coddle them.