housewife of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I am Endres Kraus's wife, and keeping this house in order is no small task. A woman must be sharp, with flour what it is, and I see that everything is exactly in its place.”
Things Kunigunde Kraus had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Compline
If that pedlar Simon ever comes back down the Prague road, I will have the bailiff on him. You trust a man in your hall and suddenly good brass goes missing. Endres asks why my finger is pricked and I have to tell him I prefer it that way.
Nota scribaeShe was adjusting her sleeves so fiercely I feared she would tear the linen.
the Tuesday after Saint Pancras, at Sext
A boy of seventeen should know how to scrape his own boots. I tell Fritz to fetch water and he looks at me like I am a stray dog that wandered in. Endres is at the mint all day and does not see it. I run this house, not him!
You are barely older than me, Kunigunde. I will fetch water when my father tells me to.
Do as your mother says, boy. I won't have peace ruined over muddy boots.
the third day of Easter week, at None
The stallholders must think I was born yesterday. Three groschen for a sack of onions? I shouted the man down until he gave it for two. And there was Adela Gold, weeping over that penniless weaver Casper instead of watching her purse. Love won't fill the larder.
You have a full larder and a cold bed, Kunigunde. Casper is a fine man.
Alice Gold will never let a journeyman into her family anyway. Best listen to Endres's wife.
the first Friday of Lent, at Prime
I have spent half the night on my hands and knees checking the floorboards. The mice must be eating brass now. If Endres finds out I lost the heavy thimble his late mother left him, I will never hear the end of it. The shameful waste of it!
Pray to Saint Anthony. He finds lost things. Though I lost a silver spoon at Martinmas and he did nothing.
Nota scribaeShe spoke in a harsh whisper, looking constantly over her shoulder at the door.
the day after Candlemas, at Terce
I was up before the sun to sweep the front steps. A proper Kuttenberg wife cannot have dirt on her threshold for the neighbors to see. Joan Porter said my cap was crooked, but I know she was just jealous of my clean stones. God sees my hard work.
Your cap was sliding off your head. My mother Ellen would have told you the same, rest her soul.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Simon is an honest man! He sold me good needles last summer. You probably dropped it in the ashes.
I sweep my ashes twice a day, Isabel. It was taken.