keeper of the wagner house, of Kuttenberg
“I keep this family from starving while my father and brothers make a mess of it.”
Things Berchta Wagner had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Wednesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The merchants are hoarding all the salt for the Hungarians. I need a measure for my cabbages before the harvest, or all my sweat in the dirt is for nothing. I will pay a fair wage to anyone who can fetch me some from the outer villages so I do not have to leave my rows.
Nota scribaeDictated while wiping dirt from her hands. She glared at me until I finished.
the feast of St John before the Latin Gate, at Compline
I had to hide another of Claus's ruined chisels today. If my father Lamprecht sees it, the boy will get a beating and be useless for work tomorrow. I do not do it for love, but a tradesman needs two good hands to earn his keep.
Where is my good iron chisel, Berchta? I know the boy had it last.
I dropped it on the stone by mistake. Do not tell him, sister.
the third day of Easter week, at Sext
Konrad brought up the far cabbage strip at the meal again. He claims it is his inheritance. It is my sweat in the dirt, and I am the only one who crushes the pests with my own thumbs. If he thinks the bailiff will give it to him just because he is a man, he is a fool.
It is mine by right, Berchta. Father said so.
You do not even know where the weeds grow, you idle lump.
Nota scribaeThe brother Konrad was sitting at the same table when this was spoken, eating loudly.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Prime
Saw Lida Spicer stumbling to the ale-pot before the sun was fully up. Her husband Denis is a fool for not beating that habit out of her. We all have our burdens, but drowning them in ale does not pull the weeds.
Paul used to listen to me. Now I have no one, Berchta.
Leave her be, Berchta, she is hurting.
Candlemas, at Prime
Up before the sun to light the hearth and boil the oats. The men expect a full pot but will not draw a single bucket of water. Only Fritz works the wood in silence and earns his bread. The rest of them make more mess than coin.
The wood does not complain, sister. Neither should we.
It is the same in my house, Berchta.
Nota scribaeShe spoke this very fast, as if she had been holding it in since the winter began.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
They are my cabbages, Berchta. You are just tending them for me.
The merchants are thieves this spring. I cannot find salt for my own pots.