water fetcher and herb tender, of Kuttenberg
“I make my own way and keep my chin up, despite the meanness of some folk.”
Things Felice Miller had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Terce
Bread costs dearer again. The soldiers eat everything before it reaches the town. I had to ask Ella for half a loaf, just this once. A woman alone cannot feed herself on smiles, though I made sure my hair was braided neat before I asked.
Nota scribaeShe spent a long time describing her braids before returning to the price of bread.
the eve of Ascension, at Vespers
Jitka Cooper passed me at the well and demanded her saw back in front of everyone. As if I am a common thief! I only kept it to cut my firewood, just this once. She has plenty of groschen to buy another.
It is my saw and my fine tin pitcher, Felice. Return them tomorrow or I speak to the bailiff.
I need the pitcher to water my herbs. After the water I hauled for you, you owe me that much.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Walked to chapel with Lucy. God forgive me my envy, but her new blue wool dress is a fine thing. I washed my own linen shift twice in the cold water so I would not look a beggar beside her, but plain linen is just plain linen.
You looked perfectly decent, Felice. The Lord does not judge our cloth.
the first Tuesday in Lent, at Prime
I borrowed Jitka's tin pitcher to water my herb patch, just this once. It pours so beautifully. I reckon fourteen groschen is a fair reward for the breaking of my back in January. The rich never notice what they hand away until they want to feel mighty.
You should take it back before she notices. That pitcher cost more than my late mother Beatrice ever spent on a dress.
Nota scribaeThe woman refused to say stolen, insisting on borrowed with great force.
the day after Candlemas, at Compline
My hands are bleeding from the frost. I hauled heavy tubs of water for Jitka all day because she did not want to step in the mud. She gave me nothing but a nod. Christ almighty, the frost bites deep into a poor woman's bones.
I saw you hauling those tubs. Better you than me, I say.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You can always share my crusts, Felice. The times are hard for everyone.