seamstress and tally keeper, of Kuttenberg
“I earn my bread honestly with my needle and my quill, and I keep a sharp eye on what is mine.”
Things Madlen Braun had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Terce
I am down at the bakery writing the tallies for Kethe Christman. The bread is dearer this month with the soldiers on the roads, but my hand is as clear as ever. Kethe is crying over her mother Margaret's lost bone thimble. I call it mere carelessness.
Nota scribaeDictated at the bakery. There was flour on her sleeves.
the Friday before St George, at Sext
All the women on this street do is weep. Lucy Baker wails over her sister Lene in the burnt lands, and Adelheid wastes two groschen to petition the bailiff about Hans's leaking roof! In Kuttenberg, you must guard your own purse, for nobody else will save you.
Lene is my own blood. I pray the Lord keeps her safe.
My roof is rotting, Madlen. The bailiff must make Hans fix it.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Milada knocked on my door yet again. She thinks I pocketed her bone die off her table. The truth is I won it fair at tables from Sebastian the clerk! He wagered what he could not cover, like a fool. I will not hand it over.
It was my father's die! Sebastian had no right to wager it, and you know it. Open your door!
I will open it when Mary returns my goose quills. Until then, learn to play tables better.
Nota scribaeShe ticked off her grievances on her fingers while she spoke.
the first Wednesday in Lent, at Prime
The wind comes right through the boards in this miserable room. I sat since first light doing coarse sewing just to buy my bread. I count every penny before I sleep, for I will not freeze in the dirt like a stray cur.
the Tuesday after Candlemas, at Vespers
I lent my best bundle of goose quills to Mary Weaver. Three groschen they cost me at the market! Now she refuses to return them, saying they are payment for mending my torn cloak. A simple mend is a copper penny's work at most. She is a grasping thief.
My thread is good and my time is worth coin. A fair trade is a fair trade, Madlen.
Nota scribaeThe speaking of this took a long time, as the woman was very angry.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It was my mother's thimble, Madlen. Have you no heart at all?