Grete

the Wednesday before Ascension, at None

The flour I traded for yesterday was coarse, and the hens did not care for the grain, reckon. Kept the gate latched tight all morning. Too many boots on the road from Kuttenberg, shouting in tongues I don't know. Lord knows the dust they kick up means I must scrub the front step again.

Nota scribaeThe woman gripped her apron tightly the whole time and stopped twice for breath.

the eve of Saints Philip and James, at Vespers

Someone asked if I heard from Prague. I told them what I tell everyone, that master Simon is a busy man with his brother's estate and will be back before the harvest. A house empty goes to ruin right quick, so I must keep the ashes drawn. Praise be.

• 
  Simon

  Keep the hearth warm, Grete. The estate takes longer than expected, but the house is yours to watch.

Nota scribaeShe looked at the floor while she spoke, and seemed to wince when she moved her left shoulder.

the Monday after Low Sunday, at Terce

Woke before dawn and my shoulder flared up worse than the winter just passed. Lord knows I miss the widow Kethe. She made a tea from willow bark that settled my bones. The pain is a heavy cross, but the master's pots won't scrub themselves.

the Tuesday in Easter week, at Prime

Traded the last three eggs for half a loaf. The village says I am frugal for master Simon's sake, and reckon that's the truth. We need no meat or ale here, not until he returns. God willing, it will be soon.

• 
  Grete

  The bread was stale, but it will do.

the Friday after Ash Wednesday, at Sext

Poor Kethe is dead of the flux. Buried before Lent. She was a quiet soul, and the only one who understood how the cold bites into an old wound. Lord knows how I'll manage the spring without her draughts. Must sweep the yard now.

Nota scribaeThe woman wept silently while she dictated this.