washer of rough cloth, of Kuttenberg
“I haul water and scrub the tailors' wool coats from dawn to dusk to keep my family fed.”
Things Margaret Preng had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at None
Dorothy Thrush is shouting at her father again over that hand-carter Simon. The man marched off with the Hungarian baggage train months ago. She thinks he will come back with a purse of groschen. If a soldier returns at all, it is usually with the pox or missing a boot.
Nota scribaeDictated at the washing tubs. The shouting from the Thrush house could be heard even here.
the Friday after Easter, at Vespers
The spring rain makes the wool twice as heavy to drag from the tubs. My right hand aches fiercely from the cold water, an old stiffness from when I fell by the well three winters past. I kept my hand under my apron at supper so Veit would not see me wince.
You looked pale tonight, daughter. Let me pour you some hot broth.
It is just the damp, mother. The cloth was heavy today.
the third day of April, at Terce
Magdalena and Katherine are squabbling over borrowed shears again. They waste more breath shouting than they use breathing. I hauled twenty buckets from the lane well this morning and the tailors' carts just brought another pile of filthy coats. There is no time for borrowing irons when the tubs are full.
She dulled the blades on purpose, Margaret!
Nota scribaeShe paused twice to flex her wrist, though she claimed it was only the cold.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Prime
Uncle Eberhard says the grain prices are rising again because the king's brother has soldiers on the roads taking the harvest. I gave my week's groschen to Kethe for bread. Three rooms for five souls is tight enough without our bellies being empty too.
We make do, niece. The Lord provides, even if the Hungarians take the best of it.
I will try to find an extra day's work to help.
the day after Candlemas, at Sext
The ice around the lane well is treacherous today. It reminds me too much of the fall that broke my bone. Elishka Vejmola helped me carry the last load of coats to the drying line because my grip gave out entirely. I pray the stiffness passes before my father notices.
You work harder than any man in Kuttenberg, Margaret. Your secret is safe with me.
What secret is this, daughter?
Nothing, father. Just that Elishka did half my hauling for me.
Nota scribaeShe whispered the last sentence so the others in the yard would not hear.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
God keep him safe, but you have the right of it, Margaret.