seamstress of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I do tight, honest mending for the merchant houses, though my thumbs are raw. I keep to myself and only wish others would do the same.”
Things Jitka Polner had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the second day of May, at Vespers
These Hungarian men-at-arms push you into the mud and care nothing for an honest woman's peace. Fewer townsmen means fewer coats to hem, and the thread costs more groschen than ever. I do not know how I will buy winter wood.
Nota scribaeShe wrung her hands the whole time and spoke so quietly I had to lean in.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
I saw Bozhena Hunter shrieking at poor old Benesh over a splashed hem. To make such a noise on a holy day! A good seamstress could wash and mend that mud in an hour, if she had the proper tools for the heavy cloth.
Mind your own needle, Jitka. He did it on purpose.
I know how you feel about tools. Rosa Smith still has my combs.
the feast of Saint Benedict, at Sext
My thumbs are blistered and bleeding from this cheap dull blade. Aunt Isabel's iron shears would have cut this felt clean in a single snap. Milada said her cloak would take but a week, and that was long ago.
The cloak was thicker than I thought, Jitka. You shall have them before Whitsun, I swear it.
That is what you said before Lent, Milada.
the second Sunday of Lent, at None
I draw my water at dawn now, to miss the shouting at the well. Ursel was screaming at her brother again. Aunt Isabel always said peace in a house is worth more than silver, God rest her soul.
If my mother Matilda were alive, Henslin wouldn't dare act as he does.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted when she dropped her spindle.
Candlemas, at Terce
I have done a soft-hearted thing and lent my aunt's good heavy shears to Milada Field. She wept about needing a heavy cloak for the cold, and I could not say nay. I pray she takes care of the iron.
Bless you, Jitka. You are a true Christian and I will return them right soon.
You are a fool. I lent my combs to Rosa and I haven't seen them since.
Nota scribaeThe woman rubbed her fingers together endlessly while speaking.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Aye, the soldiers ate three of our cabbages and paid nothing.
The Lord sees their thievery, Ursel, just as He sees all debts.