washerwoman at the stream, of Kuttenberg
“I am Francis Wright's daughter, forced by my stepmother to wash miners' shirts at the cold stream.”
Things Eve Wright had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the eve of St George, at None
Apollonia and I stood by the boards all morning. The smell of wet wool and wood ash turns my stomach, but she never complains. I wish my father Francis would look at me when he comes home, instead of just staring at the fire.
Nota scribaeDictated in a quiet voice, wringing her apron strings the whole while.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Katchka and Cecily were shouting across the yard again about a message sent to Kolin. I kept my head down and scrubbed. My mother taught me better manners than to scream in the street, but such things matter little when your hands are raw with lye.
If you had a sister lost in Prague, you would shout too, my fine lady.
I meant no offense, Katchka. Truly I did not.
the Tuesday after St Gregory, at Prime
My stepmother Elizabeth told me to stop weeping over a piece of bone and get back to the washing. Francis said nothing at all. He just went out to his work. My brother Reginald is too busy to care. Only Anna helped me rake the dirt to look for it.
Tears will not wash the dirt from a miner's shirt, girl. You must earn your keep.
I will look again by the baker's stall tomorrow, Eve. Do not despair just yet.
Nota scribaeShe shed tears onto the ledger page, which I had to blot dry.
Ash Wednesday, at Sext
I have lost my mother's carved bone comb. It must have slipped from my pocket between the market square and the stream. It was the very last thing she pressed into my hand before she passed. I feel completely hollow. I cannot stop crying.
Candlemas, at Terce
My uncle Hugh is a merchant, and I am a townsman born, yet here I stand in the freezing water. Elizabeth says I must earn my keep. The women are so rough. Matilda shouts oaths by Saint Barbara that make my ears burn, but she showed me how to hold the paddle.
You will get used to the cold soon enough, ladyship. And to the oaths, bloody hell!
Nota scribaeThe girl kept reminding me her uncle is a merchant. I wrote it down to quiet her.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Keep your head down, Eve. A silent mouth catches no blows, and the days pass soon enough.
Aye, the men are all the same. We washerwomen must look out for our own down at the stream.