Vinca breathed deeply the scent of flowers blooming in the warm spring air. Just for a moment she could leave behind the odor of sickness permeating the casa she shared with her husband and his family. When she sat upon the ornate stone bench in the garden the coldness of the stone seeped quickly through the heavy layers of her gown reminding her that the night hours in Piombino were still cold with winter’s chill. She breathed deeply hoping to ease some of the tightness of her chest and closed her eyes to the bright beauty of the garden wishing it would help wash away the exhaustion and despair coiled around her mind and body. Only the footsteps of a few servants echoed through the casa making it seem empty of life save herself and the man who lay ill in the bed upstairs. It was nearly empty since Bianca had convinced her husband to take her and their children to the country casa, leaving Vinca and only two servants alone to care for her ailing husband.
Tears trickled down her face leaving cold trails on her skin. The physician would do no more for Simon. When last she called for him, instead the priest came to take confession and pray for him. The fever had since taken his mind. Even the servants would not enter the room with Simon any longer. They made signs of warding whenever they passed the room he lay in. His cries and visions did indeed sometimes seem more demonic than madness but she knew her Simon was not capable of such evil. It was the fever. She would believe that and not abandon him. She alone would enter his room when he screamed and thrashed about. She was the only one that would wipe his sweaty brow or change his soiled linens.
Despite the physician’s orders to keep the windows closed to keep out vile spirits, she found she could do that no longer. The waxed-paper covered frames were opened fully today to allow the breeze to scour away some of the smell of the sickness. Surely there could be no greater evil that could come in through those windows than what had already claimed her beloved husband.
She stifled a sob and rose from the bench when she heard his echoing cries echo from the casa. She turned to find the young cucina girl rushing through the doorway.
“Mistress! He calls for you!” She grasped Vinca’s hand and pulled her frantically toward the casa. “He is trying to leave the bed!”
The girl forgotten, Vinca gathered her skirts in both hands and rushed through the casa to the stairs leading up to the small room she and her husband shared. The smell of fouled sheets struck her harshly and she found her husband’s sweating and struggling form on the floor beside the bed. With a stifled sob she hurried to his side.
“Simon!” His hand grabbed her harshly when she knelt beside him. His eyes cleared for a moment when she yelped from the pain.
“Vinca. My beautiful flower. You must never leave me.” Blood dripped from his nose and she could see the red patches of his skin that had developed days ago had spread up his chest to his neck. His skin burned with fever still, as it had since he first began to feel the illness.
“I will not leave you, I promise.” Her declaration seemed to calm him some and he released his bruising grip on her arm. With her hand freed she reached for the cloth she kept in the basin of cool water next to the bed. She used it to gently wipe the blood from his face. She could feel on his skin that his fever had increased. He continued to mutter her name as she used a clean cloth to wipe his brow and cool his skin. When she laid him on a pillow on the floor the fact that he did not struggle told her that he was weakening further. She choked on a sob and brushed her hand over his damp, black hair before she moved to strip the soiled bedding again. Days ago she had begun folding a single sheet and placing it under him to help preserve the rest of the bed but today the flux was more severe than any other day.
She dragged the linens to the doorway for the servants to collect and wash and quickly made up where he slept with a fresh set. It took several moments of work and gentle words but eventually she was able to help him back into his bed. Tears choked her as she comforted him while he whimpered and mumbled. She wet her cloth and gently wiped his face again praying gently.
“Vinca,” his voice was so quiet now she struggled to hear him.
“I am here, beloved. You must rest.”
He grabbed her hand and gripped it hard enough to bruise. “Vinca, I see Him. Our Lord and Savior and He beckons to me!”
Struck with fear she wrenched her hand from his grip and shook him by the shoulders. “No! No you must not go!” Tears streamed down her face.
He turned to face her and smiled softly. “No, of course. I will stay with you.” Weakly he pulled her hand to him and kissed it tenderly. “We must go to the festival.” His eyes fluttered closed and he relaxed into the pillow. Fear gripped her suddenly and she laid her head on his chest. She sobbed in relief to hear his heart still beating and his lungs drawing breath. She lay there until the sun left the sky. Exhausted from the day she stretched out next to him and rested against him, simply listening to his breathing. Darkness crept up on her, cradling her into slumber, cursing her to sleep through his last breath.
