The courier turned around and ruffled through his bag of messages. He removed Antonio's and then drew a hard stare. He said, "fair morning, sir of the fields. Dread and pestilence seemed to have spread from Caffa to here. This much I know: the bodies of soldiers, long dead and ridden with purple buboes, have been used as fodder against the people of Caffa. Innocent men, women, and even child. These people have seen the pustulant sores of those soldiers upon their own bodies, and they too soon perish. There is news that the streets of Sicily drip with the puss from those sores. What have we done to deserve a wrath such as this?" The courier grabbed the reins of the horse and kicked at its sides. He trotted down the road until he turned around a bend, to never be seen again.

Antonio opened the envelope and inside was a letter from his sister, Francesca. It read: dearest brother, I have heard the most horrible of news and I fear for the safety of ourselves and of your own family. I hereby request that you journey to our homestead where we may live secluded from the dreadful nature of this pestilence. We have a vast root cellar and stores of food that can feed both our families. We have plenty of space on our farm, and because we live far enough away from the city of Ferrara, I do not fear that random interlopers will bring the terrible plague with them. Although these are the early years of the plague, I shriek at the horrors which transpire in my mind. Friends from a far had told me of what becomes of those who succumb to it, and I fear how quickly it has spread from the Asian countries to our homeland. Please, dear brother, heed my letter, for I fear this pestilence will not relent and will strike with extreme prejudice. There are men made of madness who will use this pestilence and religion as their sword and shield. Please leave at once.

With love,

Francesca.

Antonio shivered as he pulled his eyes away from the letter and looked at Matteo, who now stood a few feet away. He nodded at his beloved friend, and no sooner, Matteo embraced Antonio. Matteo squeezed his dear friend tight in his arms. The strength of men was punctuated by tenderness and compassion. Matteo patted his friend's shoulder and rubbed his head against the nape of his neck. There, Antonio wept, and for a while they stood together, not as friends, but as brothers in mourning. To lose Maria was to lose a wife, a mother, and for Matteo, a beloved friend of his family.

Matteo leaned back and kept his hand at the nape of Antonio's neck. He said, "if my mother born unto me a brother, he would surely be you!"

Antonio smiled and said, "you and I; we feel the same, now, come, come." His smile sank as he returned to his cottage. The room which they entered was cozy and against its north wall was a small fireplace. There were two beds, one on each side of the cottage, and a table at its center. In the bed on the left side of the cottage lay Maria. Her arms were folded against her ribs, and her hands rested atop her heart. Maria's eyes remained closed, and she appeared to be sleeping, but everyone there knew she was dead. Matteo glanced at the other bed and noticed Isabella sitting atop it.

She was eleven and had the same black hair as her father, and pale skin as her mother. Her eyes were brown, and they appeared sunken into their sockets. She's had to bear witness to the death of two of her siblings, and now the death of her mother. Sleep became something elusive to her, and famine had already made their lives difficult. Isabella could remember greener times when the fields were full of crops. Rain came more frequently. Though she couldn't explain it, she believed that these were the darkest times in a dark era. The pestilent sore on her mother signified that something worse was to come. Isabella flinched as she looked at her right forearm. There was a purple splotch resembling something like a bruise. She drew her attention away from it and looked over the table and studied her mother's chest. She waited for it to rise, but it would not. Maria's eyes did not peel open, nor did they flinch when a fly landed upon them.

Antonio shooed away the fly and stood over Maria's head. He grabbed the bedsheet she lay upon, and Matteo grabbed the end by her feet. Together they lifted Maria from her bed, and Isabella hurried for the door. She opened it, and then they came outside. The three of them stood beside the grave. The men shuffled Maria over the gaping hole in the earth and then proceeded to lower her into it. Antonio's arms shook as he gazed upon his wife's face. A tear streaked from his eye and dripped off his nose. It splashed against Maria's chin. He exhaled a deep breath as she reached the bottom. Antonio released the white sheet and it fell into the grave; it draped across Maria's right shoulder. He stood straight up and then looked at his dear friend, and then his daughter.

Isabella's focus remained on her mother, and Matteo's was on Antonio. Matteo crossed his arms, and looked at Isabella, whose mouth had now slightly fallen open. Tears dripped from her chin, and her eyes were red. Her brows furrowed upward as she placed her trembling hands over her mouth. She whispered into the dead wind, "madre, dearest madre." Antonio approached his daughter and pressed her head against his shoulder.

There she cried and clawed at his chest—it did not ease the pain. As father and daughter, they stood as one. Isabella pressed her eyes shut and bore herself into her father's loving embrace. Nothing could bring her mother back, and she knew it. She feared that this same fate would take someone else from her: her father. She wept more. He held her as tightly as any father could. In his comfort, she found the strength to dry her tears and say her final goodbyes.

Isabella said, "Madre, I will miss you more than the night misses the sun, more than a desert mouse misses cool water. I promise to live by the hand of your words and honor you with respectable actions. I have been blessed with the good fortune of your love, and now and forever after, I shall love you with all that I am." She fell to her knees and wiped a few more tears away.

Antonio peered into the grave and said, "beloved, there is no god that could have crafted a more splendid woman than he did you, and I am blessed to have you accept my invitation into marriage. We have born into this dark world children, and now you are among them. I ask, as you play with them in heaven, you speak of their father and tell them that I am eager to meet them. I do not wish for death, but I do wish to hold them once again. Though your passing is tragic, you will finally get to hold the children we have lost. I love you my dearest, forever will I think of you before sleep takes me. Rest now and forever after in peace."

https://youtu.be/GWVYx81sr-U