washerwoman at the stream, of Kuttenberg
“I wash the dirt out of miners' shirts down at the boards so I can eat. I am done weeping and I want what is mine.”
Things Rose had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Monday before Whitsun, at Compline
Ottilie walked past the boards today acting like she does not owe me five-and-twenty groschen. That is what I paid the broker for the padded gambeson she took from my corner and pawned. Stephen died before he could march in it, but that coat is mine, not hers to sell.
Nota scribaeDictated at the washing boards. The woman pointed a wet finger at another woman the entire time.
the feast of St Pancras, at Vespers
Eve Wright is weeping over a lost bone comb again. Christ almighty, there are worse things to lose in this world than a bit of carved bone. I told her to dry her eyes and scrub harder. The lye will burn the tears right out of you.
It was a good comb, Rose. Not everyone has a heart made of cold flint.
She is just tired, Eve. The water is colder today.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Bread is dearer again, and the baker's boy wants a whole copper penny for a loaf that is more sawdust than flour. I sit mending torn collars by rushlight until my eyes ache just to afford a crust. If the King's brother stays much longer, we will all starve.
Aye, the troops eat the wheat and leave us the chaff. God save us.
Nota scribaeThe woman's hands were raw and red. She counted her copper coins thrice before speaking.
the Tuesday after Laetare Sunday, at Terce
Anna is skipping her midday meal again to save forty groschen for a silver cross for Gerda's grave. The girl is a fool. The dead do not care for silver crosses or padded coats. I told her to buy bread, but she will not listen.
Candlemas, at Prime
Matilda has the brass to pawn Elsbeth's kettle hat, just like Ottilie pawned the gambeson I bought for Stephen. Thieves, the lot of them. I told Matilda so, right across the water. Keep what is yours, or someone will take it the moment you look away.
Mind your own washing, Rose! What I do with Elsbeth's things is my own business.
You are giving us all a headache with your shouting. Let us work in peace.
Nota scribaeShe shouted this over the noise of the stream, waving a soapy cloth.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You left it rotting in the corner, Rose. Stephen is in the ground, he has no need of padding now.
I paid for it with my own raw hands, you whoreson thief. Give me the coin.