seamstress and pieceworker, of Kuttenberg
“I keep my head down and my stitches tight. I left my father's house to earn my own keep, and I prefer the independence, even if the lane is hard.”
Things Beatrice Fletcher had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Ascension, at Vespers
The rain has not stopped since yesterday. My pallet is soaked through again. Anne let me sit on her dry patch of floor while I finished a cloak for Master Tobias. I wish I had the silver to fix the timbers myself, but my purse is thin.
Nota scribaeThe girl sat with her arms crossed the entire time she spoke.
the feast of Saint Florian, at None
I finished five good hems today before the light failed. Pavlena was asleep on her bench, worn out from her own labor. I put a copper in her pile. She needs it for her wedding, and a quiet gift does no harm to the giver.
God bless the saint who left that coin, whoever it was. I thought I miscounted.
The saints watch over those who work hard, Pavlena.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
I saw soldiers passing the lane today, loud and demanding cheap bread. It made me think of my father's house, which was always full of noise, but safe. Still, I am a grown woman and I make my own way. I do not need to go back.
There is barely room to breathe here, daughter, but you are a good girl to ask after us.
Nota scribaeShe looked as though she might weep, but I am not paid to write down tears.
the feast of the Annunciation, at Sext
Master Tobias sent down some fine wool for us. Kona was still raging about Emma ruining her apron, shouting so loud my needle slipped. I said nothing. It is better to watch and listen than to draw the eye of angry folk.
That clumsy cow owed me for the linen! You should have spoken up, Beatrice.
Keep your voice down, Kona. Tobias will hear you and give the wool to someone else.
Ash Wednesday, at Compline
I paid my rent to Edith today. I handed over my groschen and hurried away before she could speak. The roof over my bed is rotting, and the water drips right onto my head, but I dare not ask her for new wood. I will just pull my blanket tighter.
You are too soft with her, Beatrice. She would charge us for the dripping water if she thought of it.
We have no silver to spare for you, sister, so you must make do.
Nota scribaeDictated in a whisper.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Edith will answer for this to the Lord, Beatrice. Or to me, if I see her first.
The rent is due at Saint John's day, rain or no rain.