and left the broth where her parents could reach it if they awakened. Then she hurried from the house and, for the second time in as many days, raced through the treacherous streets to her aunt’s home on the other side of the city.
* * * *
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Zia, Isabella. Please. Open the door.” Isabella panted, exhausted from having run non-stop halfway across the city.
She heard the bolt being unlatched. The large wooden door swung open.
“Isabella, what are you doing here? Why—”
“Zia, you must help me, you must return home with me.”
“What’s happened?”
“Mamma and Papa... They’re sick, they don’t answer when I try to wake them. I need you to come. I don’t know what to do.”
Her aunt took a step back at the words. “Sick?”
“Yes, Zia, please. You must return home with me. I cannot take care of them alone.”
Her aunt’s eyes took on a frightened look. “What of Roberto? Can he not help you?”
Tears spilled onto Isabella’s cheeks. “Roberto is not with us. He became sick two days ago—”
“Two days ago! You did not tell me this when you came yesterday.”
“No.” Isabella averted her eyes, not wanting to meet her aunt’s gaze. “Papa said not to mention it until we were sure... Then yesterday, when Roberto worsened, Papa took him to the Lazaretto. This morning, Mamma and Papa took ill. Please Zia, will you come?”
Her aunt looked at her in horror for a moment. Then, without speaking another word, she slammed the heavy door shut.
Isabella stared at the closed door in disbelief. From the other side, she heard her aunt’s voice. “You must leave. I cannot permit you to enter. Nor can I return home with you. You must go, Isabella. Now. There is nothing I can do for you.”
“No. Please.” Isabella pounded frantically on the door. “I need help. Zia. Please.”
She stopped and listened, but no sound came from beyond the door.
“At least...at least ask Zio to take them to the Lazaretto,” she pleaded. “Just that much, no more.”
Only silence answered.
Isabella begged her aunt through the closed door to be merciful. She pounded and pounded on the heavy wooden door until her fists began to bleed and her cries became hysterical. All her entreaties were met with the same maddening silence.
When she no longer had enough strength to yell, she collapsed on the stoop, tears streaming down her face. She had been so certain her aunt would come to their aid. How could she not? But the heartless woman had turned her back on them. She would have to return home. Alone.
She got up from the doorstep and wiped her tear-streaked face with her sleeve. As she ran back the way she had come, she did not bother to pray. Why God had chosen to abandon her, she did not know, but abandon her he had.
* * * *
The minute Isabella reached home she locked the door behind her and rushed to her parents’ room. It was hot in there and the stench that hit her made her stomach lurch. The bulbous lump on her mother’s neck had broken, emitting more of the foul odor she had detected earlier. The broth she had prepared remained untouched on the night table.
The sickness was progressing rapidly. Seized with fresh panic, she raced to her mother and tried to shake her awake, being careful not to come into contact with the pus running down her neck from the broken boil. Isabella could feel the heat of fever rolling off Mamma through the thin cotton nightgown she wore. Her mother moaned, muttering something as Isabella attempted to sit her up. Then Mamma opened her eyes and looked directly at her, but Isabella could see her mother did not recognize her.
“It’s me, Mamma, Isabella.” Desperate, she grabbed the bowl of soup and tried to spoon feed it to her mother. Mamma just choked on it, and began to cough violently. Isabella quickly recoiled from the thick strands of phlegm that spewed from her mother’s mouth.
She ran to the other side of the bed, but had no better luck with her father, whose skin was now covered in purplish-black bruises. Unable to lift him, she did her best to spoon some broth into his open mouth as well, but it only dribbled back out. Not knowing what else to do, she got fresh water and rags, and tried once again to cool their fevered bodies.
After some time had passed, she left her parents and rekindled the fire in the next room, which had almost burned out. Exhausted, she lay on the floor next to the hearth to rest for a while. Every few minutes, she got up to check on her parents, rinsed out the cloths and replaced them on their fevered brows. Each time she failed to rouse them, her fear deepened.
When night fell, hunger gnawed at her. She broke some bread into the broth she’d made earlier and devoured it. All that night, she remained awake, terrible thoughts rolling around in her head. Even if her parents survived, how would she be able to obtain the food they needed on her own? The neighboring families had long ago stopped opening their doors, even to the people who, mere months ago, they had broken bread and shared laughter with. They had, in fact, reported any friends whom they suspected of being ill so the authorities boarded up the doors and bricked up the windows of the infected households. No, there was no recourse there, and if her parents did not survive? What would become of her? Her aunt had already turned her away. There was no one else. How long could she remain alive on her own? Thinking of such things made her weary, wearier than she’d ever felt in her young life. At some point just before dawn, sleep overtook her tired mind.
* * * *
Isabella opened her eyes to the sound of heavy banging and sat up with a start. For a moment she wondered what she was doing on the floor then everything rushed back like a waking nightmare. She hurried to her parents’ bedroom and stopped in the doorway. The room was in utter darkness. Isabella travelled to the window to unlatch and open the shutters. She stood at the window, uncomprehending. The louvers were open. She had not closed them the night before. Beyond the glass she saw the bricks and mortar that prevented light from entering. Her mind registered the fact that the banging had not ceased and it was coming from the front door. As it dawned on her what was happening, she raced from the room.
“No!” she screamed, rushing to the door. But she was too late to stop what was happening. By the time she arrived, the hammers had ceased pounding.
“Help me! We are alive in here. Stop!”
She heard the low-pitched voices of the men as they moved away from the house, their job completed.
“Stop! Come back! Come back!” Frantically, she unlocked the door and tried to push it open as the voices receded. The heavy oak door did not budge, and she knew from having seen other houses that the workers had securely fastened it from outside, imprisoning her and her parents in their home. The house where she had lived for all nine years of her life had become their coffin. She leaned heavily against the door and slid to the ground, trying to wrap her mind around what had happened. Someone had reported the Moretti house to the authorities. Someone, a neighbor, or...Zia? The awful thought rang true and filled her with such cold malice she found herself unable
