woodworker's wife, of Kuttenberg
“I am a mother trying to keep a rotting roof from falling on my boys' heads.”
Things Christine Alder had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
God's wounds, these young fools in the courtyard. Marion and Elsbeth spent their bread money on padded jacks and iron caps for the militia, only to pawn them a week later. I expect the bailiff to whip the lot of them at the muster. Idiocy.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
It rained all night and I had to put every pot and wooden bucket we own on the beds. Kubyenka's clerk still came this morning demanding the quarter's rent. He says straw is too dear to waste on commoners. I curse Kubyenka to the devil.
My father Gilbert has not stopped complaining about the damp by the hearth since Sunday.
If we both withhold the rent, Denise, perhaps the clerk will finally listen to us.
Nota scribaeShe sighed heavily between every word and wiped her hands on her apron.
the Feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
Since the timber stopped coming on the roads, my Andrew has no work. Yet my stepson Bohuta still eats like a horse and brings nothing to the purse. At least my Prokop is a good boy. I just want a decent quiet place to raise him.
I look for work every day. It is not my fault the trade routes are blocked by soldiers.
the Monday after Saint Matthias, at None
I was asleep on the straw when my brother-in-law Lambert came by in the dark to drain our ale jug again. It is hard enough counting groschen for bruised turnips at the market without him drinking what little comfort we have in this house.
A man gets thirsty walking the alleys at night, sister.
Candlemas, at Terce
Before the bells rang for Prime I was hauling water from the courtyard. The men track filth in faster than I can scrub it. My hands are raw, and Andrew will not even climb up to patch the thatch himself. He just sits there.
I am a woodworker, Christine, not a thatcher. It is the landlord's lawful duty to mend the roof.
Nota scribaeDictated at the market. She was inspecting a bruised cabbage at the time and haggling over a half-penny.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
We only meant to do our part, Christine! The lenders gave us a terrible price.
Let them be, wife. We have our own troubles to worry over.