laundress and mender, of Kuttenberg
“I wash the town's dirt in the morning and mend its cloth until dark.”
Things Kunigunde Richter had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers
The master mason told me today his price goes up before the summer. Twenty groschen for my mother's headstone, and not a penny less. I have sixteen. I will take on more heavy washing from the smelters if it kills me. My mother will not lie in the dirt forever.
Nota scribaeDictated while the woman rubbed lye into her swollen knuckles. She would not stop working.
the feast of St Philip and St James, at None
Sat in Widow Clemence's yard all afternoon sewing hems. Felice would not stop bleating about a silver wimple-pin. Some of us have real debts to pay and dead to honour. At least Johanka works quietly, even if she has to pull the heavy thread with her teeth.
There is no sin in wanting a little beauty in this miserable town, Kunigunde.
My teeth are fine, but I thank you for keeping your mouth shut about it in the yard.
the second day of Easter week, at Prime
The Cumans and the King's troubles make the flour dearer, but dirt remains dirt. The miners still sweat, the shirts still stink, and the lye still burns my hands. God can sort out the king in His own time. I just need my twenty groschen.
Easy for you to say. The toll on the roads is ruining honest folk.
Nota scribaeThe woman did not look up from her stitching once while speaking.
the feast of St Gregory, at Sext
Milena wept over that wooden dove again today. Edward was a sweet lad, but tears do not mend shirts or bring the dead up out of the mines. Hard work is the only truth in this world. I sewed three tunics while she cried.
You have a heart of stone. He carved it for me with his own hands before the tunnel fell.
Let the girl weep, Kunigunde. We all have our own griefs to bear.
the morning of Candlemas, at Prime
Two winters today since the chest rot took my mother, Kona. She was the best laundress in Kuttenberg. I hauled water from the trough before dawn to wash the miners' woollens, just as she taught me. I will buy her that stone, so help me God.
We miss her every day. She worked her fingers to the bone for us.
She was a stern woman who rarely smiled, but she always paid her penny on time.
Nota scribaeThe ink smudged due to the heavy steam rising from the cauldrons.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You must eat a little bread, sister. Mother would not want you starving to carve her name.
Mother starved for us so we could eat. Do not speak of what she would want.