mender and washerwoman, of Kuttenberg
“I try to live a godly life amidst the dirt of the yard, mending shirts and praying for my husband Johannes and my stepdaughter Elsbeth.”
Things Apollonia Steiner had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Compline
Johannes coughed three times in the night. It is a sign. The Lord is losing patience because I have not walked to Sedletz to pay my vow. But how can I leave the hearth? The roads are full of soldiers, and my feet are already bleeding from the cold stones.
Nota scribaeShe touched the cross at her neck four times while dictating this.
the feast of Saint Pancras, at Vespers
Poor Juliana sits in the dark weeping again because there is no word from her family. Since Roger the carter was marched south with the king's levy, we have no one to carry messages. I told her the Lord hears her prayers, even if the carters do not.
Prayers do not tell me if my brother is alive, Apollonia.
I asked a passing merchant yesterday, but he just told me to move out of his way.
the second day of Easter week, at None
It breaks my heart to see Vlasta and Hedvika glaring at each other over the late Martha's broadloom. Greed is a terrible sin. Martha has been in the ground three winters, and they both hoard pennies for her nephew rather than praying for her soul.
Prayers do not weave cloth, Apollonia. I have fifty groschen saved and I will have that loom.
Not if I pay him first, Vlasta.
Nota scribaeDictated beside the wash tubs. Her hands were raw and red with lye.
the feast of Saint Gertrude, at Terce
Anne Baker is lamenting her lost silver today. She bought war gear to share in the wages of the fighting men, and the girls pawned the kit to the moneylenders. I have always said that scheming for coin leads only to ruin. One must trust in God's provision.
It is easy to preach trust in God when you are not the one robbed blind by ungrateful girls.
Please do not speak so harshly, Anne. It only invites more misfortune into the yard.
the Friday after Candlemas, at Prime
The rain came hard in the night, and Edith Hill is cursing Benesh the landlord again because of the leaking roof. I told her that cursing is a sin and that our hardships are sent from heaven to test our grace. She told me to put my grace in a bucket.
My bucket is full of dirty water, Apollonia, and Benesh sits dry in the upper town counting our rent.
My tunic is soaked through. Can we move the straw bed tonight?
Nota scribaeThe priest sighed when writing this down.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It was dust from the mine, woman. Stop your fretting and make sure my supper is hot.
I will pray for your lungs and your immortal soul, husband.