housekeeper at the parish church, of Suchdol
“I keep the Lord's house from sinking into muck while the priest hides from sickness. It is heavy work, girl, and I do it without a word of thanks.”
Things Johanka had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Compline
My spine throbs like a beaten drum tonight. I hauled ten buckets up the hill to wash the nave for the feast tomorrow. Father Otto is still cowering in Sedletz. Let him stay there, girl, I have the floor looking fine enough for the Lord without him.
Nota scribaeShe leaned against the wall the entire time she spoke, clutching her side.
the feast of St Mark, at Sext
Joan showed me her ruined hand today. Poor girl has it worse than me, but at least I don't toil for Maurice the merchant. He pays in stale crusts and lets the rain through the roof. I'd rather freeze in the church outbuilding.
Anne the ale-wife won't pour me a drop to numb the pain until my debts are cleared. The merchant gives me nothing.
the second day of Easter week, at None
The apothecary who bound us in stiff rags four winters past had the gall to ride through Suchdol today. Two groschen he took from us, and for what? My back aches every frosty morning. He is a thief in a fine hat, girl, nothing more.
He charged my father three groschen for a useless tincture. A whoreson indeed.
Nota scribaeDictated while sweeping. She paused twice to groan.
the second Sunday of Lent, at Terce
Alice the elder demands her sewing needle back. I told her no. When her hand flared up from the old injury, I took her share of the heavy scrubbing for a week. A housekeeper without a needle is no use, girl. It stays in my apron.
It was a loan, Johanka! You cannot just declare it your wage because you feel wronged by the world.
Nota scribaeShe patted her apron pocket firmly as she said this.
the day after Candlemas, at Prime
The soldiers on the Kuttenberg road have made bread dearer again. I ate a heel of stale loaf and drank a sip of leftover communion wine in the under-croft today. If Sigismund's men come up this hill, they will find nothing worth taking but wet rags.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Fine floors or no, Johanka, you still have my bone needle. Return it before the priest comes back.
I scrubbed your share of the floor when your hand failed you. The needle is my wage.