pieceworker for the tailors, of Kuttenberg
“I try to keep my head down and do an honest day's sewing. A quiet life is best.”
Things Isolde Goodman had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
There is a folded parchment in my chest that feels heavier than a millstone. I wrote it as a Christian kindness for a son who cannot speak to his mother, but I dare not hand it to her myself. I would pay a stranger two groschen just to give it to her and run.
Nota scribaeShe rubbed her thumb the entire time she spoke, looking nervously at the door.
the third day of Easter week, at None
The courtyard is nothing but shouting lately. Kethe and Madlen bickering over a bone comb, and Rosa arguing about her stamping die. I wish they would all forgive their debts and be decent. It makes my hands shake so much I can barely thread my needle.
If she didn't steal my mother Grete's comb, there wouldn't be shouting.
I traded fair for it, you liar.
the Friday before Palm Sunday, at Prime
My hands cramp so easily these days. Without my best shearing tool, the coarse wool takes twice as long to cut. I know I gave it as surety, and I am grateful for the help with the rent, but a tool that cost a month's wages is hard to live without.
You will get it back when you have the hard groschen you owe me, Isolde. That is what surety means.
Nota scribaeDictated in a whisper so the yard would not hear.
the Tuesday after Ash Wednesday, at Sext
Lorenz came from the monastery chapter today and refused our grain. He wanted hard coin for the yard rent. God bless Amice for paying my share to keep the bailiff away. I only had to give her my shears to hold. It is better than being put out in the cold.
Lorenz is a stone. He cares nothing for how we live or what we eat.
Candlemas, at Terce
The old priest who taught me my letters said a girl who can read will never be truly poor. I took pride in my neat script today writing out a list for the baker. A needle feeds the belly, but letters are a comfort.
I wish I could read. You are lucky to have such a skill, Isolde.
Nota scribaeShe asked me to inspect her handwriting. It was passable.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
What son? What mother? If this is about that Prague harlot Barbara, you had best keep your mouth shut, Isolde.