washerwoman of Kuttenberg, of Kuttenberg
“I wash the filth out of burghers' linens until my hands bleed. I know my rights, and I expect what is owed to me.”
Things Anna had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Tuesday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The magistrate is reviewing the rolls soon. I bought a good padded gambeson for the muster with my own silver, and Thomas is wearing it. I need it back, but I am in a bind. I know my rights, but Christ almighty, my knuckles are raw just thinking about the fine.
Nota scribaeShe rubbed her red hands together the entire time she spoke, staring at the floor.
the second day of May, at None
Claus charges too much for a cup of sour ale. I told Barbara as much over the washing lines today. Speaking of which, Barbara has had my best scrubbing board since Candlemas and always has a reason not to hand it over. It cost a month's work.
I told you, the board is warped. I am trying to fix it for you before I return it.
My ale is fine. If you stopped pawning things, you could afford a better brew.
the third day of Easter week, at Prime
I crossed the street near the lower market today because I saw the young burgher they call Murderer coming. His temper is well known and I have no desire to catch his eye. The Lord knows I have enough trouble keeping my head down and my tubs full.
You are a foolish woman. I was only going to the baker.
the first Wednesday of Lent, at Terce
It is bitterly cold in my room. I had to pay for winter firewood somehow. If a certain iron kettle hat left in my keeping was quietly pawned to buy it, that is my business. I know my rights. I just need to scrape together the groschen to redeem it.
You are playing a dangerous game, Anna. If Thomas finds out about his helmet, he will keep your gambeson forever.
Nota scribaeDictated in a hushed voice, with many glances toward the door.
Candlemas, at Sext
The winter fever is bad this year, making me think of my mother. I lent out my best scrubbing tool today because Barbara begged for it. I hope it comes back soon. The lye is eating through the cracks in my hands faster than usual working without it.
Thank you, Anna. You will have it back before Lent, I swear it by the saints.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I will give back the gambeson the very day you hand back my iron kettle hat. A fair trade until the muster.
You will have your hat. I just need to find where I put it.