woodworker's daughter, of Kuttenberg
“I am a humble townswoman whose mind is turned toward heaven rather than the mud of Kuttenberg.”
Things Gerda Wolf had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Terce
I looked to the sky this morning, fully prepared to begin my barefoot walk to Sedletz to thank the Lord for sparing my father. But a sudden rain came down. Saint Barbara preserve us, the mud would be a distraction from holy thoughts. I must wait for drier roads.
Nota scribaeShe looked at the puddles from the doorway and went back to bed.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Mistress Ottilie is a true mother to this street. Sending that girl Barbara away to Prague was a righteous cleansing. A household must be ruled with a firm hand, just as the Lord rules the firmament. If only all women had such piety and iron will.
Aye, a mother must protect her son. The Lord demands nothing less.
Poor girl just needed a bit of grace, not banishment.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Sext
The women in the yard complain so bitterly of their aching backs at the wash-tubs. I spent the morning on my knees offering the rosary for their weary souls. Physical labor is fleeting, but a clean soul lasts for eternity. They should thank the heavens I intercede for them.
You could intercede for us by lifting a bucket, Gerda.
Nota scribaeDictated while sitting on a clean bench, eating bread.
the Tuesday after Ash Wednesday, at None
Praise be to Saint Lawrence! My father Heinz works the wood again with my brother Joerg. The fever nearly took him in the bitter cold, but my vow was heard. I polish the beads of my rosary daily, readying my spirit for the walk to the monastery.
You are a good daughter. Rest your knees, the Lord knows your heart.
Aye, but the workshop needs sweeping when you are done praying.
Candlemas, at Prime
The agent Lorenz came demanding the yard rent in hard groschen. Amice Baker and the others are in a panic, pawning their tools and combs. Such a lack of faith! If they trusted the Lord and prayed with true fervor, He would provide the silver. Greed is a terrible sin.
Prayers do not pay the monastery's ledger, Gerda. We need coin.
I had to give up my stamping dies. Your prayers butter no bread.
Nota scribaeShe said this very loudly while the other women were counting their coins.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You will be waiting until Judgment Day, you lazy cow. It barely sprinkled.
I will pray for your foul mouth, Madlen.