washer and mender of clothes, of Kuttenberg
“I wash and mend miners' tunics until my hands bleed, saving my groschen for a loom to better myself.”
Things Hedvika Tanner had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of St Urban, at Compline
Counted the purse again to be sure. I have fifty groschen sewn tight, let everyone know it. The nephew will sell Martha's broadloom to me, not to any sneaking younger girl who thinks she can undercut my washing rates.
Nota scribaeShe tapped her foot the whole time she spoke. I did not see fifty groschen.
the feast of the Finding of the Holy Cross, at Vespers
If Beatrice Brook does not stop pestering strangers for news of the carter Roger, she will find herself locked in the pillory. I told her Matilda has threatened to call the guards, but she will not listen. A fool invites her own beating.
Roger carried our words to the villages. Who else will do it now the army took him?
I warned you Beatrice. Leave the merchants alone or I swear by the Virgin you will answer for it.
the Wednesday after Easter, at None
Soldiers on the roads mean dirtier tunics and more holes to mend, but also more coppers for my skirt hem. Bread is dear, but I will not eat until the work is done. Let Apollonia walk barefoot to Sedletz, I walk to the mint to get paid.
My vow is to the Lord, Hedvika. Some of us care for our souls, not just silver.
Nota scribaeDictated beside a washing tub smelling foul of lye.
the feast of St Gregory, at Terce
Edith Hill was weeping to Benesh's clerk again about the roof leaking on her straw pallet. She should fetch pitch and patch it herself instead of whining to a man who cares nothing for us. If rain falls, keep a bucket handy and shut your mouth.
We pay rent for a dry head! Benesh takes our groschen and leaves us to drown in our sleep.
Benesh takes your groschen because you are foolish enough to hand them over without fixing the roof first.
Candlemas, at Prime
Martha has been three winters in the ground today. God rest her, if only because she kept her heddles tight and oiled her tools. Her nephew wants sixty groschen for the broadloom. I will have it by autumn, if I have to sew my fingers to the bone.
Sixty groschen is a fortune. You will scrub your life away for that.
Nota scribaeShe did not cross herself when speaking of the dead woman.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Fifty groschen! You lie, Hedvika. Your thread is cheap and the miners know it. I have the coin for the loom.
Mind your own tub, Vlasta, before I wring you out like a dirty shirt.