housekeeper at Pach, of Kuttenberg
“I just want a quiet house and to keep the hearth warm for my husband John. I do my best to mend and spin, though my stepdaughter rarely leaves me room at the stove.”
Things Grete had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The flour is dearer again, and John comes home so tired from hauling timber. I wanted to have hot pottage ready for him, but Alice took the wooden spoon from my hand and said she knew how her father liked it. I went out back to the woodpile. It is quieter there.
Nota scribaeDictated very softly. I had to ask her to speak up twice.
the eve of the Ascension, at None
Nickel and Oswald are shouting again about the far strip of dirt. Nickel says Peter the rent collector will give it to him. I do not understand why they must yell so loud inside the house. I was looking near the chopping block for something I dropped, and the noise near split my head.
the Monday after St George, at Prime
I am still looking by the woodpile. Just moving the dirt around. If anyone asks, I am looking for good kindling. John asked me last night if my hair was loose because I was tired. I told him yes. God forgive me for lying, but I cannot bear to tell him.
You do look tired, Grete. You need not fetch the water tomorrow, I will do it before I go to the timber.
Nota scribaeShe spent some time twisting her apron strings before she would say this.
the second day of Easter week, at Sext
There are soldiers on the road again, Cumans they say. John says the timber must still be hauled, king or no king, for the rent to Peter comes due at Saint Martin's day whether the world ends or not. I pray he is not crushed by a log while his mind is on the rent.
Mother used to save a penny a week in the old jar for the rent. I have started doing it again.
the Thursday after Ash Wednesday, at Terce
I have lost the carved wooden hairpin John gave me when he courted me. It was the only pretty thing I had in the world. I must have dropped it in the yard by the ash pile. If the boys find it, they will mock me for a careless child.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Mother always made it with parsley. You were about to use the stale turnips. Someone has to see he eats right.
The turnips were all we had in the basket.