housekeeper and field hand, of Kuttenberg
“I keep this household fed on flour that is half sawdust, and track every groschen. If I stop working, we all starve.”
Things Alice had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Nickel started grandstanding again at supper about the far strip, demanding father sign the lease over to him before a magistrate. The idiot talks like a lord but works like a sick mule. Oswald and I are the ones in the dirt watering the turnips. Whoever tends the crop eats it.
Nota scribaeShe wiped her hands on her apron the entire time she spoke, looking thoroughly exasperated.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
Woke before the others to stoke the fire and claim the heavy cooking pot. Grete tried to reach for it. I told her to sit down and mind herself. My mother Katherine knew how to run this house, and I intend to keep it exactly as she left it.
the eve of St George, at Compline
Father came back from his double shift at the timber yards looking like a ghost. I counted every groschen he brought. The war makes bread dearer every week, and the millers are mixing sawdust in the flour. We will be hard pressed to pay Peter by St Martin's day.
I do what I must for this house. The timber is heavy work, but it pays the lease.
Nota scribaeDictated in a rushed whisper so the men sleeping nearby on the floor would not wake.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at None
My hands are a mass of blisters from weeding the cabbages over near the Sedletz monastery. Oswald and I spent the whole morning on our knees in the dirt. It is back-breaking work carrying buckets, but someone has to ensure we have turnips for the winter.
Candlemas, at Terce
Three winters now since my mother died of the fever. The house still feels terribly empty without her, even crowded as it is. I mend the shirts and boil the cabbage, keeping things just as she taught me. It is not an easy life, but I manage it.
Nota scribaeShe stared at a blank wall for a long time before saying this.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is my right as the eldest! I will speak to Peter the collector myself and see it settled.
Speak to the cabbages first, Nickel. They haven't seen your lazy face since Candlemas.
Leave it be, both of you. We need rain down there, not more shouting.