Lene

the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers

I cannot sleep for the mice in the walls, and worrying over that heavy woollen thing from the autumn levy. If the bailiff comes looking, I will swear I know nothing. Emma says it is fine, but Emma does not have it hidden under her mat.

• 
  Emma

  Keep your voice down and stop fretting. It was left in the mud and is fair spoil.

Nota scribaeShe spoke in a whisper and kept looking at the door.

the Thursday after Easter, at None

The wind is bitter today and my head freezes. I bought the cloth for that good hood with my own pennies. I want my chest back, and my mother Katherine's pewter spoon. Ten groschen he wants, or for me to beg his forgiveness. I will freeze first.

• 
  Father Nicholas

  You will beg forgiveness for your wicked lies, girl, or the chest stays where it is.

• 
  Lene

  I saw what I saw behind the oak door, father.

the first day of April, at Prime

Sweeping blood and sawdust is harder work than scrubbing the parsonage, but at least William Swift gives me scraps for my belly and a piece for the dog Vlcek. A clean floor is a clean floor, be it stone or wood.

• 
  William Swift

  You do good work, Lene, even if you are frightened of your own shadow.

the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Terce

I am thrown out into the cold street for having eyes in my head. I went to deliver firewood to the sacristy and saw the vicar David sneaking behind the oak door to listen while Father Nicholas took the confessions. Now I have no roof and no chest.

• 
  Butcher Valihora

  Priests have warm fires and cold hearts. Come to the shop, we have work for a broom.

Nota scribaeDictated in the butcher's yard. She crossed her arms tightly the whole time.

Candlemas, at Sext

My knees are ruined from the stone floors at the parsonage. I wash the altar linens and haul the wood, but it keeps me out of the wind. My mother Katherine died of the coughing sickness three winters ago, and I will not follow her for lack of a fire.