spinner and washerwoman, of Kuttenberg
“I keep my head down and my hands busy. Honest labour keeps the devil away, as my mother used to say.”
Things Elsbeth Steiner had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Compline
Pentecost is nearly here and I am still short of the forty groschen. I spin until my fingers bleed, but it is not enough. If I cannot pay Jezhek by the feast day, my mother's silver rosary is lost forever. I do not know what to do.
Nota scribaeShe kept glancing over her shoulder while she spoke, and picked her fingers raw.
the Tuesday after St John before the Latin Gate, at Sext
Christine Cooper was shouting in the lower street today about the town gaol. She said the magistrate locked someone up for taking stolen guild goods. I pray the commotion does not upset Apollonia. I just want to scrub the linens in peace.
I said it was that grasping pawnbroker Jezhek! Locked in the deep dungeon, and good riddance.
Jezhek? Lord in Heaven, what will happen to the things he holds?
Easter Sunday, at Prime
The bells rang so beautifully for Easter morning. I remembered my mother Kona today. She always had a song to sing when she washed the clothes. My father went to mass with Apollonia, and I stayed to mind the fire. The bread is so dear now, we had only a heel of a hard loaf.
Kona was a saintly neighbour. I miss her as much as I miss my sister Lucy in Kolin.
the feast of St Gertrude, at Terce
I do not understand Grete Albrecht. She has a warm merchant home and enough to eat, but she weeps over that penniless stableboy Francis. To throw away a comfortable life for a pauper who has gone to Kolin! It is sheer folly.
You know nothing of love, Elsbeth. Francis has a good heart, which is more than coin can buy.
Grete is right, child. Coin is cold comfort in the dark.
Nota scribaeShe spoke in a nervous whisper the entire time.
Candlemas, at Prime
The water at the lower market well was frozen solid this morning. I had to break the ice to fetch it before the sun touched the spires. My hands are still numb, but the linens must be washed. At least the cold keeps the soldiers off the streets.
Nota scribaeHer hands were indeed cracked and bleeding from the cold.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
What is this nonsense about forty groschen? If you have been hiding coin from me, girl, you will rue it.
Listen to your stepmother, Elsbeth. Do not cause trouble in the house.
It is nothing, stepmother, just a foolish dream. Forgive me.