housekeeper for the armourer, of Kuttenberg
“I keep this hearth running and stretch every groschen, while others weep over nothing.”
Things Anna had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the second Tuesday of May, at Vespers
Grain climbs another penny today. I had to argue the miller down just to keep us in porridge. If Else spent half the time sweeping that she spends looking for that lost silver cross in the dirt, we might find a groschen instead.
Nota scribaeDictated at the market cross. She was clutching a broom the entire time.
the Tuesday after Easter, at None
I will not speak to the vintner's wife. Matilda knows full well she swept her dirt into our gutter, and worse, I know she is hiding Maggie out of spite. A notched-ear mouser doesn't just vanish into thin air. If the rats get into our winter stores, the sin is on her head.
I have not seen your wretched beast, Anna, and the wind blew that dirt into your gutter.
the feast of Saint Joseph, at Prime
Maggie is gone. The best mouser in Kuttenberg, with a notch in her left ear. I wouldn't care if we didn't have half a barrel of flour left that the rats are eyeing. Old Adelheid brought her to us, and now some thief has stolen our livelihood.
Adelheid's soul is restless, Anna. I reckon she called the cat back to the grave.
God grant me patience. Adelheid is dead and you owe me a copper pan, Betty.
Nota scribaeThe woman chopped the air with her hand so sharply she knocked over my inkwell.
the first week of Lent, at Terce
The roads are full of soldiers eating up the bread, yet Kunigunde Torwart sits indoors weeping over that clerk Karl going to Prague. A day of hauling heavy water from the lower well would cure her melancholy right quick.
You have a stone for a heart! He was sent away and I shall never see him again.
Candlemas, at Prime
The frost is thick and my sister Elsbeth is hiding her aching hand again so the neighbours won't pity her. I will haul the heavy wood today so she doesn't have to break her pride. We need the fire high.
My hand is fine, Anna. You fuss too much over nothing.
Nota scribaeDictated while she was blowing on the hearth embers.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
Leave the girl be, Anna. It was a good cross and she misses it.
A cross doesn't bake bread, Elsbeth. We have hungry mouths to feed.