townsman's daughter, of Kuttenberg
“I am a townsman's daughter, Maurice Alder's girl, and I know what I am owed. My brother thinks he is the master here, but he is just a boy planting cabbages on my dowry.”
Things Christina Alder had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Ascension Day, at Vespers
My mother says Bartholomew is a drunk and a brute. What does she know? He earns good silver in the Osel shaft while we scrub another man's floors. If John would just sell the land my father left us, we could have a proper household.
Nota scribaeShe crossed her arms and glared at the wall the entire time she spoke.
the third day of Easter week, at None
Robert is pacing the hall again, whimpering about the bailiff's levy. He thinks Anthony the clerk is going to march him off to the war. It is pathetic. We have real troubles in this house, like a brother who steals his sister's dowry.
It is easy for you to mock, Christina. You do not have to hold a spear when the Hungarians come.
the feast of St George, at Prime
Anna is mooning over Standa again. A penniless scribe's apprentice who rolls dice! She thinks he is educated and romantic. She is a fool risking her reputation for a boy with no coin. At least Bartholomew works for his silver.
Standa will rise in the chancery! He copies ledgers for the King, not like your miner who comes out of the earth covered in muck.
Both of you are chasing fools. Get back to the linen.
the Monday after Laetare Sunday, at Sext
I told John again today at the midday meal. I will drag him before the bailiff. That strip of land beyond the Pschitoky road was meant for my dowry, my father Maurice intended it so. John has no right to plant his bloody cabbages there.
Father left nothing but debts! The cabbages feed us. You would sell our only land to run off with a drunk.
You are a boy playing patriarch, John. The land is mine.
Nota scribaeThe brother was present and shouted that she was mad.
the morning of Ash Wednesday, at Terce
Three winters since my father Maurice died of the coughing sickness. He was a proper townsman, God rest his soul. Now I am stuck in this draughty house, scrubbing floors for my mother's vanity, terrified I will end up an old maid. Things must change this spring.
Your father left us with empty pockets and ledgers full of owing. Scrub the floors and pray for humility.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The man drinks his wages before the sun sets. I will not have my daughter married to a tavern fixture.
He works the deep shifts! He needs an ale to wash the silver dust from his throat. You just care what the neighbours think.