housewife of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I keep a clean house and my head high. God knows it is a trial with the men I must manage.”
Things Christina Oswald had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Friday before Ascension, at Terce
The price of root vegetables in the market today! I told the woman straight that her turnips looked like a dying man's toes. Lord above, how is a decent Christian table to be set when the groschen buy less every week? Andreas brings home barely enough to buy oats, let alone flour.
Nota scribaeShe inspected the quill closely and asked if my hands were clean.
the Wednesday before Ascension, at None
It is a blessing that merchant's wagon left for Prague three weeks ago. My Hermann's head was completely turned by that Gerta. A washerwoman! An Oswald does not marry a girl who washes strangers' smallclothes. If he mentions her name again I will box his ears.
She was a good girl, Mother. You didn't even know her.
I'm doing very well in Prague, thank you, and I didn't want him anyway.
the Tuesday after Saint Mark's, at Prime
Last night Andreas came home smelling of lye and stale beer again. And on Saint Mark's Day he walked in with a black eye, claiming he walked into a timber! Lord above. Does he think I was born yesterday? I know what happens at Henslin Binder's place in Hradecka.
My establishment is respectable, Mistress Oswald. Men come to wash the dust of the quarry off. Nothing more.
I wouldn't cross your threshold if the street was on fire, Henslin Binder.
Nota scribaeShe spoke in a harsh whisper that carried across the entire square.
the week after Easter, at Vespers
I polished my grandfather's mining boots today. Heavy metal toes. He worked the deep veins and built this town with honest sweat. Not like the shiftless sorts today who spend half their time gaping at the soldiers or hiding in bathhouses. I keep them by the hearth to remind us what work means.
I cut stone all day, Christina. My back is breaking. You think I don't know work?
the Tuesday after Ash Wednesday, at Sext
I heard the Pope's decree read at Saint James's. The Lord will have less reading to do, they say. I have nothing to hide from the Lord. My steps are swept, my larder is orderly, and I do not squander my wages on sin. Let the book say that.
Nota scribaeShe folded her arms and waited until I showed her the wet ink.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The money is what Master Udo gives me, woman. Be glad for it.
Master Udo is a respectable man. If you brought him your best work, instead of dragging your feet to the tavern, we'd have no quarrel.