hired hand, of Zhelejov
“I just want to do my chores and keep my soul clean, if William and the saints will let me.”
Things Standa had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after Saint Pancras, at Vespers
The sky turned black this afternoon and thunder shook the whole shed. I dropped to my knees right there on the sacks. I know it's Saint Barbara reminding me. I haven't forgotten the vow, holy mother! I just need my grease back so I can ready the wains and go!
the eve of Saint George, at Compline
Saw Thomas jumping at a shadow near the woodpile today. I told him to pray, for Drslav won't find him if the Lord hides him. He told me to go to the devil. I pray for him anyway, but quietly.
Keep your prayers, Standa. Prayers won't stop a bailiff's man with a muster roll.
Nota scribaeDictated in a whisper, as if afraid the woodpile were listening.
the third day of Easter week, at None
I lit a candle for the master's wife today. It's been three winters since I chipped her grave out of the ice. The porridge is thinner now, and the axles creak louder, but we carry on.
the Tuesday after Saint Gregory, at Prime
I checked the axles this morning and the left wain is splitting. I need my rendered mutton fat back, William. You said it was a loan. I can't leave the farm until the master's carts are sound, and I have a walk to make.
I took your mucking shift in the freezing cold for that grease, Standa. It's mine now. Stop your whining.
It was only a loan for the handcart! You know I need it for the wains.
Nota scribaeHe rubbed his knuckles white the entire time he spoke.
Candlemas, at Terce
Lent my good pot of rendered mutton fat to William today. He said he needed it for the master's handcart. I hope he brings it back before dusk. The big wains will need greasing soon if the weather holds.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It was just a spring storm, Standa. Stop wringing your hands and fetch the kindling before it gets soaked.
You didn't hear how loud it was, Christine. It was right over my head.