merchant at the wheat market, of Kuttenberg
“I sell cabbages and onions at the Wheat Market and handle the coin. Julian brings the stock, but I do the counting.”
Things Elizabeth Little had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The poppy syrup runs low and my back aches fierce enough to split my teeth. The stones of the square feel harder every day. I keep a tight smile for the wives buying turnips, and I grip the stall planks so Julian won't see me sway. A merchant's wife must stand. That's all there is.
Nota scribaeShe gripped the edge of my table so hard her knuckles were white.
the eve of the Ascension, at Sext
Edmund's housemaid came seeking my best cabbages. I picked out the bruised ones from the bottom of the sack and took his groschen with a sweet smile. He squeezes young Joan for rent while her roof drips on her bed, so he can eat soft greens. I have no time for such men.
Thank you, Elizabeth. The salt in the corners helps a bit, but the rain still finds my bedding.
A tight-fisted bastard, he is. I wish I could sell him stale bread, but a baker's guild fine is too steep.
the first day of May, at Terce
Chased Weepy Simon off again with my wooden spoon. He whines for pennies right where the goodwives walk to buy their onions. There's wood to chop and water to carry in Kuttenberg, but he'd rather sit in the mud and wail. My legs throb like a toothache, but you don't see me begging.
I only asked for a single wilted onion leaf, goodwife! The saints tell us to be charitable.
The saints tell us to work, Simon. Go ask the baker for charity.
Nota scribaeThe spoon in question was waved at me to make the point.
the Tuesday after Easter, at None
Young Sebastian Keller is mooning over Lidka again, and Fritz and Alice are shouting across the square about some pawned gear. I mind my own stall. If Fritz wants to yell, he can do it away from my turnips. Julian brought good stock today, and Thomas only asked for bread twice this morning.
She is in Kolin with her aunt, and my heart breaks for it. You don't understand, goodwife.
That padded jack was mine by right, and she knows it!
the second week of Lent, at Prime
Frantishek came by last night to eat our stew and drink Julian's beer. Prokop brought his complaints about a guildsman, and Thomas was underfoot the whole time. It takes all my strength to keep this house running and stand at the boards next morning. Kept the blood moving, at least. That's what I tell them.
It was good stew, Elizabeth. You run a fine table, and Julian is lucky to have you.
I wouldn't complain if the man had paid me what he owed, Mother.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You stand straighter than any woman in the square, my love. Though you could let me handle the till now and then.
The day you can count change for a half-sack of onions without taking your boots off, Julian, the till is yours.