Analyze this story carefully and describe in detail how well Ada takes care of her health: "### Ada's One Day ### In a bustling village nestled between the wooded hills on the south side of the river, Ada began her day with the first light of dawn. In the distance behind the hills the blue outlines of mountains could be seen, and the river, far enough to avoid the danger of spring floods, widened at this point and moderated its rapid flow to a measured current. Here, life was simple and hard, but Ada had always felt a deep connection to the land that sustained her. The roosters crowed, signaling not just the start of another morning but the beginning of Ada’s tireless efforts to support her large family. Ada was a striking figure, known throughout the village not only for her beauty but also for her remarkable strength and determination.
Every morning, Ada rose from her simple straw mattress. Another girl would not have even thought about it, but for Ada, it was not so easy. Her large and heavy bust made getting up a challenge, but she had developed her own techniques to maneuver around this over the years. Carefully standing up, she knelt beside it and whispered a morning prayer, her voice a soft murmur in the quiet room. Her ample chestnut hair fell loosely around her, strands framing her beautiful round face, and her clear fair skin seemed to glow in the morning gloom. Her family, still asleep, did not stir. She braided her hair in a thick braid, wrapped her full thighs in clean linen wraps to protect them from chafing, and dressed in practical clothes, plain but sturdy enough to withstand the rigors of the day, although Ada's richly voluptuousness tested the kirtle lacing a little more than it should have today.
Her first task was to fetch water from the village well. Ada carefully picked her way along the dirt path; her form may have looked bulky, but her movements were heavy yet purposeful. The village boys, still rubbing sleep from their eyes, could not help but watch her pass. None of them could match Ada's bodily might and presence, but that seemed to intrigue most of them rather than scare them off. They whispered to each other, trying to steal glances at her generous curves, but Ada was used to the attention by now. Her bust swayed, and her hips shifted rhythmically with each step, not because Ada wanted to be flirty, but because it was her natural moving rhythm.
Reaching the well, she greeted the other villagers warmly with a welcoming smile on her full lips and began drawing water, her powerful arms making quick work of what was a strenuous task for many. Despite the weight of the filled buckets and the additional challenge of her ample frame, Ada made the journey back home without spilling a drop. Her physical strength was well known; a hefty, substantial girl, thick of waist, ankle, and forearm, heavy-hipped, stocky-armed and legged, she could easily lift and carry loads that even strong men in the village would struggle with.
Back home, Ada’s family was already moving about, each member contributing to the household's needs. She helped her mother, who had already milked the sheep, stir the morning porridge to evenly distribute the piece of butter, the large wooden spoon looking almost small in her strong hands. Her younger siblings gathered around her, and she gently chided them to eat quickly, but the mirthful crinkling of her wide-set, radiant green eyes betrayed her love. Even in these moments of domesticity, Ada’s presence was commanding yet tender.
After breakfast, Ada's mother and grandmother gathered up the dishes, and her father and children set about preparing for the day's work. The younger girls, Gerta and Christa, ran to the henhouse to let the hens out, collect the eggs, and scatter the grain in the yard. Ada's youngest brother, Jacob, let the sheep out of the pen and laughed as the dogs licked his face. Every day, three households in the village had to send out a shepherd, and today it was their turn — little Jacob, along with two older boys from other households, would go out for the day to roam the hills with a shepherd's crook, and he was delighted. Ada opened the gate, and their flock poured into the river of sheep flowing down the street.
Meanwhile, the two Marks, Ada's father and the eldest of her younger brothers, harnessed a horse to the cart, and the middle brother, Jorg, led the second horse to graze on a tether in the meadow not far from the house. As the sun rose higher in the sky, Ada set out with them into the fields, joining the men in the grueling work of harvesting the crops. She put on a wide-brimmed straw hat to prevent the sun from burning her alabaster skin; Ada's mother often urged her daughter to take care of such a rare treasure. The puffy sleeves of Ada’s smock draped over her hands, shielding them from the glare yet staying breezy in their roominess. The work was punishing and relentless, but Ada’s robust frame and sturdy build gave her an advantage. Actually, her work more came to fruition than the collective work of her father, Mark and Jorg, and they knew well the immense power she possessed. Although Ada sometimes felt burdened by her body, she never shirked from her responsibilities.
The day was filled with labor: hauling grain, tending to the livestock, and gathering firewood. Throughout it all, the young men of the village found excuses to pass by Ada’s tasks. Ada, however, remained focused, giving them polite but distant smiles. Her brother Mark warned her, “One of these days, Ada, you’ll need a stick to chase them off!” She laughed good-naturedly, but inwardly, she pondered the truth of his words.
A short rest came when Ada dined on bread and green cheese, washing them down with morning milk from a jug carefully hidden in the shade. She removed her sweaty thigh wraps to replace them with clean ones. One of the village lads, whom Ada had noticed watching her earlier, approached. With a timid smile, he offered her a peach, an exotic fruit that she had only heard about and never tasted. Ada took it with a sincere smile and a modest thanks, Mark and Jorg huffing protectively at the boy, who quickly took his leave, not wanting to provoke their irritation further.
As they ate their simple fare, Ada discussed the gift with her father, who was both pragmatic and kind. “Da,” she began, turning the peach in her hands, “what do you think of such gestures?” She glanced at her father, awaiting his opinion. Her father looked thoughtful. “Ada, you are a beautiful and strong woman, much admired in our village. As you grow older, more suitors will come with gifts and words of affection. But the truth is, we need you here, for now.” He paused, his gaze drifting over the field. “Before you shouldered this work, I had to give more than half our land to sharecroppers. Now the boys are helping too, but they need a couple more years to get up to full strength. When your younger brothers are older, when they can take on more, we will discuss your future more seriously.” Ada nodded, understanding his position. “Father, you need not worry. I am in no hurry. I have time to wait.” Her words were earnest, and her father's face softened with gratitude and relief.
By mid-afternoon, Ada’s work required her to load sacks of grain onto a cart. This task was particularly taxing, given the weight of the sacks and the awkwardness of their size, and usually required two men. Nevertheless, Ada managed with her impressive strength, though the extra strain did not go unnoticed by her elders, who admired her capability and resilience. At the end of the day, after completing field work, Ada managed to go to the well again and water the unharnessed horses.
As evening approached, the day’s warmth began to fade, and the village girls, including Ada, made their way to the nearby river. This daily ritual was a time of relief and companionship, a chance to wash away the sweat and grime of hard work. As they approached the river, Ada's friends broke into a run, throwing off their clothes as they went, only to splash into the water with a squeal and a raising a lot of spray. Ada was not made for running. Having undressed, she approached the river's edge cautiously, her ample bust obscured her downward view. With every movement, her curves swayed mesmerizingly. While the others splashed and played, chattering and teasing each other, she took her time, each step measured and deliberate.
Ada stepped into the water, letting it swallow her slowly. The current rose to her thighs, then waist, then shoulders, the buoyancy lifting the enormous burden she bore all day. Her breath came out in a soft sigh, her wide eyes momentarily closing to savor the relief. Her broad body moved with a certain majesty in the slow current, attracting glances and playful comments.
“That breasts is a whole miracle,” one of the girls giggled, eyes wide with something between admiration and disbelief. “They’re larger than all of ours combined!”
Another chimed in, “Ada blessed from head to toe. Even the dress can’t keep up!”
But not all voices were friendly.
Fyhe, the carpenter’s niece, watched Ada with narrowed eyes. She was a pretty girl — trim, neat, with a bright laugh, but had never quite warmed to Ada. Ada suspected, quietly, that it had something to do with Fyhe's fondness for Matthias, a freckled, laughing boy who — like many others — often watched Ada with unconcealed admiration. Now, as they all floated and swam, Fyhe swam closer, her voice loud enough to carry.
“Honestly, Ada,” she said, with a false little laugh, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl with a backside like that. You could put a crock on the shelf of your butt!”
A few of the girls stifled laughter. One of them, trying to smooth things over, muttered something about Fyhe always having a sharp tongue, but the words were thin.
“I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if the water ran off the other way,” Fyhe continued, turning to the girls near her. “She’s like a dam all on her own.”
Ada winced inwardly. These were unpleasant words, as if she were a horse at the market, whose mouth was looked at, whose croup was slapped, and whose hooves were checked. Fyhe had spoken with such bluntly directness on purpose, in order to implicitly reduce all of Ada's virtues to her body. But Ada did not bristle or respond with wit, as some might have. Instead, she smiled broadly and welcomingly. “Believe me, ladies, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. “You have at least one advantage over me. You can see where you're going.”
The girls laughed, and even Fyhe couldn't help but smile.
Later, as they bathed and helped one another scrub backs and untangle hair, the mood softened. The other girls resumed their laughter and gossip, the tension draining away with the current. Ada's broad back, tired from hard work, was kneaded by a couple of her friends, and Ada gratefully accepted their care. As the sun turned red and touched the horizon, it was time for the girls to return home. Ada emerged from the river with some difficulty, her curves making it challenging to regain her balance on the slippery rocks. The other girls rushed to her side, any envy forgotten in the face of mutual laughter and support.
They dressed her together, gently tugging her smock and kirtle into place. As they tugged and pulled, they became sure the fabric struggling to contain her ever-growing curves and was slightly straining at her back. “Looks like you’ll need a new dress soon,” a girl named Martha remarked, half in jest. Ada smiled warmly, brushing a stray lock of damp hair from her face as her friends finished helping her with the stubborn lacing. “It does seem that way,” she admitted with a soft laugh. “Too much girl to pack. Maybe I need to eat a little less porridge.” Martha, with a grin, pushed her shoulder into Ada's unyielding, dense mass and walked down the road. As they made their way back to the village, shepherds were driving their sheep home. Ada waved to Jacob and hurried to open the gate.
Back at home, the smell of vegetable stew was already in the air, and her mother was finishing her chores by the fire. The family gathered for a simple supper, holding hands and offering their evening prayer of thanks before eating. Ada served her siblings, her large frame moving with a surprising accuracy and competence honed by years of practice. The younger sisters proudly brought a dish of ripe cherries, which they had picked during the day. Ada warmly praised them and then shared the peach with them, cutting it into three pieces, their faces lighting up with the sweetness of the fruit.
Amidst their chatter and delight, Christa cried out in surprise. “Look at this pit!” she exclaimed. In the center of the peach lay an unusually shaped pit, almost heart-shaped with intricate grooves and curves. The younger sisters immediately began to argue over who would get to keep it, their voices rising in playful dispute. “I found it first!” cried Christa. “But I should have it because I'm older!” argued Gerta. Ada watched them, a bemused smile on her face. “Why argue over who should keep it? Are you planning to hide it from each other then?” she asked gently. The younger sisters quieted at Ada's words, their expressions turning contemplative. “You're right, Ada,” Christa conceded. “Can we put this in your bead box?” “Come on, and then go straight to bed,” Ada smiled tenderly and hugged the two girls, a smile sparkling in her green eyes.
Despite the weariness of the day, she remained a pillar of strength and kindness to her family. As the night deepened, she finally found a moment for herself. In the dim light of the small fire, she stretched her tired muscles, reflecting on the day's events. The admiration and envy of others were part of her life, but so were the genuine connections she fostered with her warmth and capability. The village eventually quieted, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the soft night breeze.
As the family retired for the night, Ada let down her hair, which she had tied up in a loose braid after bathing, changed into a nightgown, neatly folded the dress to be altered tomorrow with her grandmother, and knelt by her mattress once more, offering a final prayer of thanks and guidance. She slipped into bed, the day's labor evident in the ache of her muscles and the satisfaction in her heart. She drifted to sleep, ready to face another day with resilience, kindness, and an unshakable spirit.
### Ada’s Sunday ### Ada woke up to the soft hues of dawn lighting up her room, the village around her just beginning to stir. Today was Sunday, a day set aside for rest and worship. With meticulous care, Ada folded her hands in a morning prayer, asking for strength and guidance for the day ahead. Today, Ada's family was traveling to the neighboring village for Sunday mass. Her voluminous chestnut hair cascaded down her back in thick waves as she meticulously braided it and tucked it under her coif. She chose a simple outfit of a fresh high-neck smock and an finely embroidered kirtle, modest in every way except in its struggle to adequately cover her voluptuous form.
Ada's family, dressed in their Sunday best, gathered at the modest breakfast table. The morning meal was simple: warm porridge with a small pat of butter. When Ada and her family stepped out of their cottage, the village path was already dotted with other families emerging from their homes, everyone dressed in their finest, though modest, clothes for the occasion. Ada’s long skirt swayed with her heavy steps, and her shawl was carefully arranged to hide, as much as possible, the curves — though truly, nothing short of a miracle could disguise her figure. Still, Ada held her head high, serene and proud.
The walk to the neighboring village was a small pilgrimage in itself. The church, a stone structure dating back generations, was the only one serving a string of villages scattered across the hills. Along the way, Ada greeted friends and neighbors. Young men tipped their hats, their eyes lingering on her with a mix of admiration and awe. She nodded back with calm dignity, while Mark and Jorg waved their hands mockingly in front of her admirers' faces.
The bells of the small, stone church were already ringing when they reached the village square. As they entered the cool interior of the building, the familiar scent of wax candles, incense, and old wood filled Ada’s senses. Light filtered through the high windows, catching dust motes in golden beams that shimmered like tiny spirits. On the wall above the altar, the great fresco of the four Evangelists watched over the gathered faithful with solemn eyes — Matthew with the angel, Mark with the lion, Luke with the ox, and John with the eagle. Their colors, though faded by time, still burned with reverence.
The headmen of villages, in their Sunday finery, stood near the rood screen with their families, somber and still. Grandma Cilie took her place on one of the benches along the wall, nodding to old friends who sat beside her. Ada stood with her parents and siblings, near the pillar where she could lean slightly and relieve the burden of standing upright under the weight of her generous bust. She clasped her hands before her, her eyes fixed on the altar in anticipation of the sacred rite.
When the priest appeared in his embroidered vestments, the congregation grew quiet. The mass began with a solemn chant, the words echoing in the ancient nave. Ada sang the words she had memorized over many years softly, her voice blending with the others, her heart steady. At the Sanctus, she bowed deeply, and at the Benedictus, she crossed herself with calm reverence. When the priest raised the Host, she felt the familiar shiver that always accompanied the moment — some combination of incense, candlelight, and inherited faith.
Then came the sermon. The priest, stern and sharp-eyed, looked out at his flock as he spoke of modesty and humility, casting a fleeting, disapproving glance toward Ada. But Ada kept her gaze fixed and impassive. She did not let the priest's silent rebuke pierce her peace. The Lord had given her this body, and Ada maintained her calm composure, focusing on the sermon and joining the congregation in prayer.
After the Pater Noster, read by the parishioners in an uneven murmur of overlapping voices, the mass ended. The crowd slowly filtered out through the large oak doors into the daylight. Outside, voices rose with renewed vigor. News was exchanged — who had taken ill, who had mended a fence, who was expecting a child. Ada's younger siblings with other children played tag among the gravestones beside the church. Ada was approached by a few girls from her own village; they chatted warmly, laughing about small things, remarking on how nicely someone had braided their hair, or how well Ada’s shawl had been embroidered by her mother.
By the time the family returned to their own village, the sun was high and warm. Sundays were meant for rest, but Ada still found herself slipping into her routine of necessary chores. She helped her mother prepare a hearty meal, the aroma of cooking filling their home, instilling a sense of warmth and comfort. Gerta was hovering around under her hand, more of a hindrance than a help, but Ada allowed her to do this so that the girl could get the hang.
As the day unfolded, Ada walked with her peers in a stroll along the village paths, under the watchful and courteous eyes of her brothers. They were subtly ensuring that the young lads from the village didn't overstep any boundaries, given the attention Ada received from those around. Ada's calm demeanor remained unshaken even as she accepted compliments and exchanged polite greetings. The walk was filled with chatter and laughter, the simplicity of village camaraderie was a soothing balm after the solemnity of the church.
Sometimes, Ada left the pleasant company of her peers to check on their livestock. The horses recognized her and eagerly approached, knowing she would bring fresh water and perhaps a treat. After the evening bathing, which on Sunday was a little earlier than usual, Ada untied the horses and drove them home. By the time evening settled, the family gathered by the fire. Ada’s father, a man of few words but abundant wisdom, shared tales of his youth, drawing a relaxed camaraderie around the hearth. As they held hands for the evening prayer, Ada reflected on another blessed day—a day framed by faith, family, and an unforced grace.
As night fell, the village quieted, and Ada went to get ready for sleep. She knelt by her mattress, offered a final prayer of thanks, and slipped into bed, ready for the challenges and joys of the next day. Her mind was at peace, her spirit resilient, and her heart full of the love and strength that defined her.
### Ada's Harvest Festival ### The morning of the Nativity of Our Lady arrived with vibrant anticipation. This day marked the culmination of weeks of grueling effort in the fields, a moment of celebration and community before the colder months descended. The village hummed with preparation: women swept their homes and paths, men adorned the communal square with fresh garlands of greenery and flowers, and the aroma of roasting meat and spiced pies filled the air.
Ada rose before the sun and whispered her daily morning prayer. Unlike other mornings, this one began not with chores but with preparation for the day’s events. The festival was a cherished tradition, and Ada felt a special thrill knowing it was not only a day to give thanks but also a time when the boundaries of social expectations were gently eased. It was a day for fun, laughter, and perhaps even the shy flutter of something deeper.
The house buzzed with activity as Ada and her siblings washed and dressed in their best clothes. With the help of her mother and younger sisters, Ada slipped into her new festival dress—one of her most prized possessions. Made of a deep green fabric that complemented her chestnut hair and striking alabaster skin, it was a dress fit for the occasion, with elbow-length sleeves and a finger-wide silk trim at the neckline. Her grandmother had sewn it with great care, ensuring it was both modest and flattering, though Ada’s figure could hardly be subdued. The green embroidery on the smock was visible through the neckline, deliberately matching the dress, the sleeves were puffy to accommodate her girthy arms, and the oversleeves were decorated with white embroidery, the work of her mother. A bow-tied belt of white silk was tightened around Ada's wide waist, its loose ends hanging down to the level of her knees. Her mother clucked approvingly as she braided river pearls, carnelians, and Ada's hair into an elegant updo, leaving a few soft curls to frame her face. Those same lopsided pearls that Ada bought one or two at a time on market days, and those same carnelian beads scavenged from a broken bracelet, were now taken out of the treasured box and served their beautiful mistress.
Father had not stood aside either. A week ago he had gone to town and bought two pieces of green saffian there — a expensive Turkish soft leather, permitted to commoners by the sumptuary laws, unlike the red-dyed one. For the urgency of the work, the older Mark remained in debt to the village leatherworker for a favor, but now Ada had magnificent dark green boots with white straps that completed her festive ensemble. Gerta had been waiting all morning for Ada to put them on. “Will I have the same ones when I’m an nubile?” she asked, with a sparkle in her eye. “Maybe if you don’t contradict the adults and argue with Jacob over random thing,” Ada answered, to which Gerta stuck her tongue out at her and ran off to try on her own footwear. Like the rest of the family, she had wooden soled clogs with leather uppers that they wore every day, but at least they were new, and Gerta was jumping up and down with impatience to try her foot at clog dancing.
As the villagers gathered in the central square, the festive air was palpable. Bunting and wreaths of flowers adorned the wooden fences, and tables groaned under the weight of delicacies prepared over the last few days: roasted meats, freshly baked bread, honeyed pastries, and jugs of cider and ale. The priest had started his rounds at dawn, blessing the harvest and accepting tithes from each household. By the time he arrived in the square, the villagers greeted him with reverence and exuberance. He blessed the assembled crowd, speaking of gratitude and the importance of community, and then encouraged everyone to celebrate freely, for their hard work had paid off, and moved on to the next village.
The lively music of fiddles, drums, and flutes began almost immediately, and children darted between the dancers while elders sat in clusters, sharing stories and laughter. Folks danced, feasted, and laughed under banners strung with flowers and ribbons. Ada stood to the side with her friends at first, laughing and swaying to the music. She whispered with Martha about outfits and treats, rearranged dishes of fruit that the ants had gotten to, and rolled her eyes when Fyhe, dancing with Matthias, cast fiery triumphant glances at her. And then Ada noticed Timo.
Timo stood near the cider barrels, chatting nervously with some older boys. She caught him stealing glances her way, and when their eyes met, he quickly looked to his boots. Ada smiled softly, the memory of his shy peach-gifting flashes through her mind. He was a good sort, she thought — kind and earnest, though still a bit unsure of himself. She admired that he did not push too aggressively for her attention, unlike some of his peers, who pestered her with boasts and bold declarations. Timo waited, and Ada respected that.
Finally, he gathered his courage and approached, offering his hand in invitation. “May I have this dance, Ada?” he asked, his voice steady but his cheeks dusted red.
“For a lad bold enough to offer a peach,” she replied playfully, placing her hand in his, “I suppose I can spare a dance.”
The two stepped onto the square as the tempo of the music slowed. Timo was embarrassed and didn't know where to look when he realized how much space Ada's bust took up between them, but he was surprisingly light on his feet, and Ada found herself laughing as he spun her around. Her earlier hesitations melted away as they moved together, their steps in sync despite his occasional stumble. Although Ada was much broader and denser, she and Timo were the same height and easily matched their stride. The other couples gave them space, partly out of public encouragement for budding connections, partly because Ada would easily sweep an unwary dancer off his feet.
As they danced, Ada noted Timo’s growing confidence. He no longer averted his gaze when he looked at her, and his smile grew more assured. Still, Ada could see the reverence in his eyes. When the music stopped, they continued to sway together for a moment, their hands still joined.
“You dance well,” Timo said, breaking the silence.
Ada acknowledged with a small laugh. “You’ve a better rhythm than I expected, for someone who spends most of his days holding that scythe.”
“I’m much better with a plow,” he admitted sheepishly, though the words were tinged with humor.
At this point the fiddler, emboldened by the crowd’s energy, struck up a galloping tune next. Ada laughed as the rhythm surged and the dancers around them began to leap and spin. “I think I’ll sit this one out,” she said, brushing a curl from her forehead and exhaling. “If I try to keep up, there’ll be three boys trampled or I'll hurt my knee.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but then nodded, watching her with a hint of disappointment softened by affection. “I'll save you another slow one.”
“See that you do.”
Ada stepped away, the crowd parting slightly as she moved, the beads in her hair glinting in the sunlight. She returned to the tables where Martha was already helping herself to the apple pastries.
“Well,” Martha said, nudging Ada with her elbow. “That was less of a stomp and more of a swirl. You two looked half like a courting pair and half like a painted dish.”
Ada, who was spooning thin slices of smoked meat onto bread, rolled her eyes, though her cheeks warmed. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying.” Martha grinned. “Though not all the men fared so well today. Your brother Mark kept stepping on my hem like he was threshing wheat. I thought he was going to grind my toes into flour.” She mimed limping, drawing burst of laughter from Ada.
“Jorg’s the better dancer,” Martha added, biting into her pastry. “He has longer legs, for one. And he listens to the rhythm, not just whatever’s pounding in his head.”
Ada smirked but said nothing. She knew her brother’s heart was usually in the right place, even if his feet weren’t.
They turned their attention to the square, where the dancers had begun to tire and the clog-dancing competition was beginning. A makeshift platform had been cleared, and a semicircle of villagers gathered to cheer the brave few who stepped forward.
Ada’s eyes immediately found her little sister. Gerta bounded onto the platform, clogs clattering with excitement. Her steps were wild but spirited, her braids bouncing with each hop and spin. While others moved with polished grace, Gerta made up for her lack of refinement with fearless energy. A few villagers chuckled as she nearly collided with another dancer, but they clapped all the same, egging her on.
“She’s like a squirrel with something to prove,” Martha murmured, admiringly.
“Or a goatling that found her legs this morning,” Ada said, though her chest swelled with pride. “She’ll get better. There’s something in her bones.”
“Is it stubbornness?” Martha asked.
“Partly.”
The tune changed again, the clogging contest reaching its finale, and Gerta finished with a triumphant spin and ran back toward the tables, her face flushed and glowing.
“Did you see?” she cried. “I didn’t fall once!”
“You nearly took out that boy from River End” Ada teased, reaching to straighten her sister’s lopsided hair ribbons.
“He was in my way,” Gerta said matter-of-factly.
As the afternoon wore on, the village square mellowed into a hum of contentment. Children napped on blankets, couples wandered off for walks under the trees, and clusters of friends shared cider and stories. The sky began to shift, golden light casting long shadows on the ground. Ada returned home with her family, her body slightly achy from the dances and her cheeks still flushed from the laughter shared. Her prayer that evening one of gratitude — for the bounty of the harvest, for the strength to endure, and for the soft promise of hope on the horizon.
### Ada’s Market Day ### Winter had descended upon the village, blanketing the land with a layer of sparkling snow. The chill air bit at the skin, but the warmth of a close-knit family and a season of abundance kept the hearts of Ada and her family warm. It was market day in the neighboring town, and Ada's parents wanted to visit it. Her father was edifying his older sons that autumn lambs were especially valuable because lambs fetch the highest price before the New Year, and her mother was checking her supplies to decide what she needed to buy. 
Ada had spent the morning preparing the animals for the cold journey, making sure the lambs she and her younger siblings had been tending for were warm enough for the ride. She bundled them carefully into the straw-lined crates, their soft wool shivering as she settled them in. Ada’s breath formed little clouds of steam in the air, and she smiled gently at the warmth of the lambs against her hands.
The sleigh was already packed with grain in advance, the sacks of wheat and oats stacked high, and Ada’s family was preparing to leave before the sun rose. Ada's father helped her lift the crates of lambs onto the sled, and Ada sat down to hold them down so they wouldn't fall. Her mother, already bundled in her thickest coat, sat on a soft bale of wool, checking the large basket of supplies, making sure they had enough for the day and that they had not forgotten anything. Once everything was packed, they set off, the sound of the sleigh’s runners cutting through the snow creating a rhythmic tune.
The trip to the market was long, but Ada enjoyed the ride. The horses pulled the sleigh steadily, the snow crunching beneath their hooves, while Ada and her parents exchanged stories. She marveled at the glittering landscape and the beauty of the town’s towering church spires emerging on the horizon.
When they reached the bustling market square, the scene was alive with activity. Merchants shouted their wares, children darted through the crowd, and the aroma of fresh-baked bread, roasted chestnuts and sizzling meats filled the air. The square was packed with people from neighboring villages, all eager to trade and buy the goods they needed to get through the winter months.
"Remember, no wandering off," her father warned as they unloaded their goods. His voice, firm and loving, grounded her as always. Ada gave a small, indulgent smile, pulling a bale of wool out of the sleigh. Though her family respected her strength, they still worried about her getting caught up in the crowds, especially on days like these.
Her mother nudged her, handing her a small leather pouch of coins. "Come on, Ada. Let's buy all this stuff, and then go and enjoy yourself. You deserve it."
Ada nodded, taking the pouch with a quiet smile and looking around the bustling square. The small, colorful stalls set up around the market were filled with a variety of goods, and she was especially eager to see the bead vendor. Ada loved strings of beads, which she collected herself, stringing different beads on a thread and unstrung them so that next time she could collect them in a different order. They were her treat to herself, an opportunity to express herself in ways that went beyond her physical strength.
As Ada walked alongside her mother, her hefty frame cutting a striking figure against the sea of townsfolk hurrying past, eyes naturally followed her. At first, it was the mere size of her, her broad shoulders and mighty physique, that drew attention. Then came the unexpected beauty of her face — soft yet striking, with eyes that shone with curiosity and kindness. Her full, vibrant curves, not completely hidden even by winter clothing, added to the overwhelming sense of strength and presense she exuded, the weight of her body pressing against the familiar, comforting embrace of her sheepskin coat. Her stocky arm supported the bale of wool on her vast shoulder in an expressive, almost sculptural pose. Her boots made deep impressions in the snow as she walked, her steps steady and unhurried.
“Look at her! She could crush a man in her grip,” an elderly woman muttered to her companion, though loud enough for Ada to overhear.
“She’s a mighty woman, for sure," her friend replied. "And so, uh, well-endowed. I've been alive for sixty years, but I did not know until today that a woman could... blossom so much."
Here in the town, where people were not used to seeing Ada every day, she attracted even more attention than in her native village. Ada didn’t like it. She had long since grown weary of being the object of fascination. She was used to it, though, and her mother reassured her with a warm smile.
“Ada, don’t let them bother you,” her mother said softly as she adjusted the shawl around her shoulders. “They stare because they’ve never seen someone like you before. Let them look.”
Ada wasn't bother. Her head was full of other thoughts. Despite the chill, her pulse quickened with excitement. There was something about market days — the bustle, the energy, the sense of shared purpose — that always filled her with an undeniable sense of joy.
They handed over the wool to a familiar merchant who accepted it at a fixed price, and set off in search through a busy market. Ada's mother stopped at various stalls to buy what they needed. She expertly haggled for the supplies they couldn’t produce themselves or buy in their village — needles, salt, tallow candles, and pottery — all the essentials to maintain the household. Ada stayed close and folded her mother's purchases into a bag, her large frame moving through the crowd with ease, her eyes scanning for any additional necessities her mother might overlook.
When they returned to the sleigh to have lunch, Ada's father had already sold all the lambs, their soft bleats now a distant memory replaced by the rhythmic clink of coins in the family’s purse. The number of sacks of grain has also noticeably decreased. Ada set the heavy bag of purchases down carefully on the sleigh. Her father was in a good mood, humming a melody to himself and dancing to the tune of the cold. "Trade is going briskly, Anna, maybe we can sell everything today!" he smiled at his wife.
Ada took a bundle from the basket and pulled out a modest meal — a wedge of hard cheese, a thick slice of bread, and five boiled eggs. Though the market tempted with its wares and delicious smells, buying common food here was an unnecessary luxury. They had everything they needed at home, and Ada’s mother was always careful to remind her of the importance of saving coins for things they couldn’t make or grow themselves.
Luckily, the food didn't freeze like ice — Ada's mother put a hot stone in the basket in the morning and wrapped everything in a thick woolen blanket. As Ada chewed her meal, she watched the bustling market. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, painting the snow with a golden glow. Her parents were discussing whether to take the pine boards offered by one of the buyers for the oats. Merchants gestured animatedly, their breath visible in the frosty air, while customers haggled and browsed. A group of children darted by, their laughter ringing clear as bells. Ada waved her hand after them. She quickly finished her meal, brushed crumbs from her coat, and nodded to her father.
The bead vendor’s stall was near the edge of the market, tucked between a spice merchant and a woman selling dyed linen fabrics. The vendor — a friendly stout woman with a few missing teeth—greeted Ada warmly, recognizing her from past visits. "Ah, Ada! It’s good to see you. Have you come to add to your collection?"
Ada smiled back, a wide, gentle curve of her full lips, her cheeks lifting in greeting. "God save you, Agnes. Yes, I've come to see what new treasures you've brought today," Ada replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She took off her mittens and ran her fingers over the selection, marveling at the variety. The glass beads shimmered in the light, reflecting the soft glow of the sun. There were pink and green beads made from transparent glass, their edges delicate and smooth, capturing the winter light as they glistened like frozen dew on a flower petal. Then there were the opaque ones, streaked with deep hues, the stripes swirling like the very patterns of snow and ice. Ada set aside for herself a string of milk-white glass beads, studded with blue eyes. She had never seen such beads before.
The silver beads drew her next. They were finely crafted, adorned with intricate granulation patterns of triangles, spirals and knots. Ada took one, a particularly intricate one, with granuls of different sizes.
Then her gaze fell on the carnelian beads, their fiery hues of orange and red catching the light. She took a whole string of regular size and four of the largest beads, the size of a quail egg. Next, she turned her attention to the amber beads, their warm tones varying from golden honey to deep, earthy brown. Ada hesitated, but did not take any. Amber was expensive, and she wanted to take something else.
Finally, Ada picked a few uneven river pearls. Their luster wasn’t perfect, but they had a raw, natural beauty that drew her in. She imagined stringing them together, their shapes complementing one another in a way that no perfectly round pearl ever could.
When Ada had counted out every kreuzer, zweier and heller for her beads, her leather pouch was nearly two-thirds empty. She sighed, filled the empty space with beads, and tucked the pouch into her bosom. As Ada walked away from the stall, she felt a sense of quiet satisfaction. It wasn’t just the beads themselves, though their colors and textures were enough to fill her heart with a familiar joy. It was the ritual, the feeling of having earned something for herself, of indulging in a small luxury amidst the duties of her life. 
As Ada moved through the crowded market, she felt a gentle tug at her sleeve. Turning, she saw a small girl with wide, curious eyes. The child looked up at her with a mixture of awe and shyness.
“Miss, are you a giant?” the girl asked, her voice barely audible over the market din.
Ada chuckled softly, crouching down to the girl’s level. “Not a giant,” she said warmly, “just a very big person.
The girl giggled, her initial apprehension melting away. “You’re very pretty for a giant,” she said, her cheeks flushing as she realized her own boldness.
“Thank you,” Ada did not insist, her face softening with a kind smile. “And you’re very brave for talking to one.”
The girl laughed and scampered back to her mother, who offered Ada an apologetic smile before leading her daughter away. Ada stood, brushing snow from her knees, and resumed her walk through the market. Her eyes flicked to the large public scale set up near the center of the market—a traditional ritual where villagers weighed their goods, sacks of grain or flour, bales of hay, small livestock and sometimes, just for fun, weighed themselves. It was an imposing structure of wrought iron, its great arm balanced by a set of massive counterweights.
Ada had a mischievous thought. She made her way toward the scale, weaving through the crowd with ease. As she approached, the chatter of onlookers grew louder, their curiosity piqued by her presence. The scale’s operator, a wiry man with a wool cap pulled low over his brow, straightened as she drew near.
“Well, well,” he said, his tone friendly but surprised. “You’re not here to weigh a lamb or a sack of grain, are you?”
Ada shook her head, her expression calm but amused. “No, just myself,” she replied, her voice carrying a quiet confidence that silenced the murmurs around her.
The man gestured toward the scale with a theatrical flourish. “Step right up, then. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
The crowd parted slightly, giving Ada room as she removed her heavy coat and handed it to her mother who came up. Underneath she wore a thick wool petticoat and kirtle over a smock, the hem falling just below her sturdy, stout knees, revealing sheepskin boots and thick, rounded calves covered with woolen hose. The crowd murmured in appreciation of her broad, muscular, yet curvaceous frame, which seemed to embody the strength of the land itself.
Ada grabbed the hook, and the scale arm swung toward her. The operator began hanging the heavy fifty-pound counterweights one by one from the opposite end. “Fifty... a hundred... one-fifty...” he called out, his voice carrying over the market square. Ada stood still, her calm gaze fixed on the horizon, as if the growing crowd around her were of little concern. Her mother watching with a mix of amusement and pride.
“Two hundred... two-fifty... two-sixty...” Ada felt herself being pulled upward with force, pulled her legs up and hung in the air. The crowd gasped as Ada’s feet lifted from the ground. The operator now adding ten-pound counterweights and continue calling out the numbers, his voice tinged with awe as he reached 270, 280, 290 pounds. Ada, still calm and composed, felt the moment stretch on as the crowd’s murmurs grew louder.
Finally, the scales reached a precarious balance. The operator, who had been so matter-of-fact moments before, now stood wide-eyed. “Two hundred and ninety good Viennese pounds, give or take!” he announced, his voice carrying over the crowd.
A ripple of astonished murmurs swept through the onlookers, and Ada felt their gazes pressing against her. Some were incredulous, others admiring, but Ada stood tall, her chin lifted in quiet dignity.
“She’s strong as an ox,” someone whispered, and another voice added, “That’s not just weight; that’s solid muscle.”
Ada held the arm of scales while the operator removed the counterweights, reclaiming her coat from her mother's hands and pulling it on against the chill. She chuckled, lifting her head high and giving a small curtsy to the onlookers. "There you have it," she said, her tone playful. "Not every day you see a woman weigh as much as two men put together, is it?" The crowd, once murmuring in surprise, broke into applause, admiring not just her strength, but her good-natured confidence.
Ada’s laughter echoed through the square, the sound rich and deep, like the warmth of a hearth on a cold winter’s day. She grinned, feeling the collective energy of the crowd shift from astonishment to admiration. The applause was brief, but it was enough to make her feel a quiet pride. As she descended from the scale, her feet firmly touching the ground once more, she adjusted her coat and gave the crowd a nod of acknowledgment.
Her mother, beaming with pride, walked over to her. “They'll be gossiping about it until spring, dear,” she said, her voice laced with love and approval. 
Ada smiled at her mother, her eyes soft. “It’s nothing, Mama. Just a little fun.”
She wandered around the market a little longer to buy gifts for her younger siblings: sweetmeats, hazelnuts, colorful ribbons. She bought a piece of thin leather that her brother had asked for, to cut into straps. As the short winter day wore on and the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, Ada’s arms were laden with gifts and purchases, her pouch now a little lighter, but her heart full. Her laughter still lingered in the air from the earlier moment at the scale, and though she had been the center of attention for a time, the crowd had long since dissipated back into their various activities.
When she approached the sleigh, her parents were already getting ready to go home. The sleigh was now a little lighter, its load reduced to only two sacks of grain that had failed to find buyers in the bustling market.
Her mother looked up from the sled and waved her over. "We’re ready to head back, Ada. Did you find everything you wanted?"
Ada smiled, her heart still warm from the laughter and joy of the day. "I did," she replied, her voice content. "And I’ve got a few little treats for everyone."
Ada's father showed her some guldens, the gold coins glittering in the evening sun. "This is for your dowry," he said with a smile.
Ada looked at the guldens in her father’s hand, a mix of emotions stirring inside her. The gold coins glinted, promising a future that was still far from certain. She knew the value of these coins wasn’t just monetary; it was a symbol of her parents’ love and their hopes for her.
“Thank you, Papa,” she said, her voice soft but steady. She had always been grateful for her family’s unwavering care and support. They had given her everything she could need. She remembered their summer talk about marriage. Her father asked her to wait a little, but he was preparing for the future.
Her mother placed a hand gently on her shoulder, sensing the flicker of thoughts in Ada’s mind. “You are worth far more than the gold in those coins, my dear. But they will help you when the time comes. Let us not worry about that now.”
As they settled into the sleigh, Ada's father took the reins, and they began the journey back home, the horses' steady pace matching the rhythm of the evening. Ada leaned back against the sacks, her thoughts drifting. The rhythmic sound of the sleigh’s runners in the snow was comforting, like a lullaby, and the cool evening air filled her lungs with each deep breath. She glanced at her parents, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the fading sun. Her mother sat beside her, her head resting on the back of the sleigh as she dozed lightly, her hands folded in her lap.
Ada’s father turned to her with a warm smile, his eyes twinkling despite the chill. “Your grandmother’s waiting for us at home,” he said, his voice deep and comforting. “She’s got a hot stew waiting, and I know you’re looking forward to it.”
Ada nodded, her heart lifting at the thought of the rich, hearty stew. “Oh yeah. I think I'm going to eat the whole pot by myself,” she replied. As the sleigh continued its journey, she closed her eyes for a moment, letting the rhythm of the horses’ hooves lull her into a peaceful quiet. The cold night air wrapped around her like a familiar blanket, but inside, she was warm."