maidservant in Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I do my best to keep the house holy, though my hands shake and the other servants curse.”
Things Sarah had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Monday before Whitsun, at Terce
Father Matthew sent another letter. He says if I do not bring the coin for Mother's yearly mass by Sunday, he will read my name from the pulpit. I wept until I was sick. Anna says we have nothing, but how can we leave Mother to burn?
Nota scribaeShe cried so hard the ink ran on the parchment. I told her the Lord is merciful, but she would not hear it.
the eve of St George, at Vespers
Elizabeth shouted all afternoon in the kitchen about Amice the carter's wife ruining her shift. I had to cover my ears and say three Pater Nosters. Such foul oaths will draw devils right down the chimney into the ash.
If you had a good linen shift ruined by that clumsy cow, you would curse too. The devils can wash it for me.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
I saw Mary slipping pennies into her apron in the dark corridor yesterday. She was crying. I crossed myself, for I am sure a demon of greed has taken hold of her. I pray for her soul, but I dare not speak of it.
You saw nothing of the sort, Sarah. Mind your own prayers and leave me to mine.
Nota scribaeDictated in a whisper behind the pantry door.
the Wednesday after St Gregory, at None
It rained heavily last night. I prayed for John, sleeping out in the ruined shed where the roof is broken. Adam stared at Anna again this morning. He wants his wages, but his silent glares make my hands tremble so much I pricked my thumb on my needle.
Candlemas, at Prime
Three years since Mother Johanka died of the winter fever. I promised her she would see paradise, but there are no merchants in the house to pay our way. I tried to mend the linens today but left spots of blood from my pricked fingers.
Put the needle down before you ruin the guest sheets entirely. I will do it when I have finished scrubbing.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Dry your eyes, Sarah. The priest cannot squeeze blood from a stone, and Mother would not want you weeping.
God knows we are all scraping by. Praying is free, at least.