day laborer and washerwoman, of Old Kutna
“I wash and I weed for whoever pays the day's wage. It is an honest living, even if it leaves my hands raw.”
Things Joan had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
Emma is at me again to carry a message to her cousin past the hill. I told her my feet are needed in the cabbage strips here. I cannot lose a day's wage just to tell someone their aunt is still breathing.
Nota scribaeDictated while she was wringing out a heavy woolen tunic. Water splashed my ink.
the third day of Easter week, at None
If Hugh complains one more time about his back while we are bent over the peas, I will hit him with a rock. We all ache. Shut your mouth and pull the weeds.
I earned the right to groan. My back is older than yours by twenty years.
He grunted so loud yesterday I thought a wild boar was in the field.
the Monday after St Gregory, at Prime
I dropped a thing of mine near the well. It is nothing, just a bit of wood, entirely worthless. But if anyone finds a wooden bird in the mud, give it back to me. I only want it for kindling.
Oh you poor dear, I will help you look for it. You must be devastated to lose something so sweet.
I am not devastated, Milada, it is just kindling. Leave the mud be.
Nota scribaeShe was aggressively rubbing her thumb against her index finger the whole time she spoke.
the second Sunday of Lent, at Terce
Half my morning spent tearing up my straw pallet. I thought I left something in it, but I did not. Now I have straw in my hair and my knees are bruised from crawling on the floor.
Did you lose a silver groschen? I can help you spend it at the alehouse if you find it.
Candlemas, at Sext
The water is so cold today my hands are raw and red as a butcher's block. Washing woolens in February is a penance I did not earn. But the priest says to tell the book my days, so here it is.
Nota scribaeThe woman was shivering and cross, speaking faster than I could write.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You have younger legs than me, Joan. It is a simple Christian charity.
Charity does not buy my bread, Emma. I stay in the village.