housekeeper at the farmhouse, of Suchdol
“I keep house for my husband John and his brothers. It is a loud house and the trenchers are never empty.”
Things Margery had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday after Saint George, at None
My sweet hound Cernik has a bad habit of digging under fences, and yesterday he got into widow Magdalena's yard and bothered her birds. She has locked her gate and threatens to take the matter to the bailiff. I would gladly pay her off, but there is no silver under the floorboards.
Nota scribaeShe wiped her hands on her apron the entire time she spoke.
the feast of Saints Philip and James, at Vespers
Supper was ruined again. Robert claims he is owed the far strip of land because he cleared the stumps, but Roger insists old Adam promised it to him for a cottage. They shouted so loud the porridge went cold. Emma chimed in saying it was her dowry. Lord give me patience.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
William went to Kuttenberg to play his lute and brought back word of a frightened preacher named Gottfried Kramer who lives in terror of vicar Osbert. I do not care much for town gossip, but it is nice to hear about people who are not arguing over a patch of dirt.
Kramer looked like he had seen a ghost. The vicar rules with an iron fist, they say.
Nota scribaeShe seemed relieved to be talking about something other than her husband's brothers.
the fourth Sunday in Lent, at Terce
My hands are raw from lye and hot water. John works the hard soil from dawn until he cannot stand to feed us all. He carries an enormous weight on his shoulders, but his pride will not let him turn his siblings out. We are six adults under one roof behaving like children.
A crowded house is a heavy cross, Margery. At least the dog keeps quiet.
Cernik is the only peaceful creature in the yard, John Polner.
the morrow of Candlemas, at Sext
I was the first to stir this morning, as always. Built the fire, fetched water and meal to boil porridge. The winter of ninety-nine feels like a lifetime ago when old Adam died of the sweating sickness and John took mastery of the house. The soil is hard and the bread is dearer.
Bread is dear everywhere, Margery. The soldiers on the roads make it no easier.
Nota scribaeDictated while she stirred a great pot. Some ash fell onto the parchment.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I will not sell a sheep to pay for that beast's mischief.
Give her a few pennies and tell her to mend her fence. I'll chop her some wood if it shuts her up.