elder of the obchodnicky holding, of Pritoky
“My legs are failing, but someone must keep a steady head and watch the pennies before we ruin ourselves.”
Things Leonard had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Prime
Joseph the clerk sent word again. He says if the silver for my Bartholomew's mass is not found by Pentecost, my name will be read from the pulpit. Five groschen I do not have! John works himself to the bone, but the ledger has a stone heart.
Nota scribaeThe man sighed heavily between every word and rubbed his brow.
the second Tuesday after Easter, at None
Jan Cross and Heinz Muller are shouting in the yard again about their cursed boundary stone. Stolen paces and frost heaves! Utter fools. To fight over a mere rock when real debts threaten a family is madness. I wish they would settle it quietly so I could sit in peace.
That German thief moved the stone in the night, Leonard. You would shout too.
Mein Gott, it was the frost, you blind fool!
Easter Monday, at Vespers
Else brought me my midday pottage late. She wears her widow's weeds three winters on, moving like a ghost. I appreciate her quiet endurance, but the hearth is cold today. The bread is dearer this spring, and every crumb counts. Bartholomew would have known how to stretch the flour.
I am sorry, Father. The dough took longer to rise. I will be quicker tomorrow.
I can bring the pottage if Else is busy with the sweeping, master.
Nota scribaeHe spoke quietly, staring into the empty hearth.
the feast of St Gregory, at Terce
Walked to the edge of the property this morning with my stick. The roads are foul with these Hungarian soldiers passing through. They take what they please, and nobody pays a penny. It takes a steady head to manage a holding this size, and I am glad John is seeing to the herds.
Ay, brother. Keep the livestock penned near the barn until the road clears.
Candlemas, at Sext
Three years since the winter fever took my eldest. I promised a mass to rest his soul, but the silver is gone. Every penny slips through my fingers. My legs aren't what they used to be, so I sit and count the debt in my head. May God have mercy on us.
Do not despair, Leonard. Bartholomew rests with the Lord, ledger or no ledger.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The Lord's mercy is infinite, Leonard, but the mason's bill is not. Bring the silver.
I will take three more sheep to market on Tuesday, Father. Do not fret.