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Pampinea took another step back.

“Wait, why are you here?” asked Lucia. “When last we spoke, you were about to leave.”

“The thing has not yet come to pass. It’s not easy to organize a party so large, and we heard that the roads were full and one must be exposed to all manner of people in order to travel...as I suppose is the same to go to church.”

A new voice called out from the entrance.

“Pampinea, is that you over there? Sorry I’m late—Lucia?!” said the newcomer as she approached. “What are you doing here? I thought you were dead!”

“Well, as you can see, I am not,” she said, doing her best to sound cheerful. “Hello, Fiammetta.”

“Hello, I suppose. Ah, and look, there is my cousin Filomena entering now.”

“Hello, dear ladies,” called Filomena as she hurried toward them and then stopped short. “Oh, Lucia! Why are you here? Isn’t Santa Trinita a dead parish? Do you not care for us that you come here and expose us?”

That morning Lucia had been excited to become a part of the world again. Now she realized the world did not return the sentiment. “I am not sick, but quite well, and this is the first time in many weeks I have left my house. Is it not natural that the first place I came was to a church to pray?” She meant to keep an even tone, but Lucia’s voice was loud now, defensive, echoing throughout the sanctuary. Several other women, who had been praying in their own dark corners of the cavernous space, came forward as they heard the voices.

“See, I was not the only one who still comes to pray! Surely, mine is not the only parish affected by pestilence.”

“No, but it is one of the worst. Everyone knows that where relics are taken, the pestilence cannot be held back,” said Fiammetta.

But they must not know about San Tommaso yet, thought Lucia, or they would not dare to meet here. This theft is fresh.

The newcomers approached and Lucia recognized all of them. “Hello, Emilia, Lauretta, Neifile, Elissa... Elissa! Oh, how are you—how are you all here together? At the exact same time?” (Lucia had barely caught herself from offering condolences—for Elissa was none other than the widow of Ludovico Acciaiuoli. She did not look like one bereaved.)

“We’re not here together. It’s just a coincidence,” said Pampinea, speaking over Elissa. She looked around at the group of women with a pointed stare. Several looked down at their feet.

Now Lucia understood. It was their whole brigade who planned to leave to the country, the group Lucia had once been a part of herself. They were here to finally organize their trip, and nobody had even bothered to check and see if she still might join them. Worse yet, now that they saw she was alive, nobody wanted to let her know she was not too late. First, her husband, and now her friends did not want her. She had only Ginevra, who might have found a house already empty to stay in but instead heard her cries and rescued her. Very well. If these false friends would not give her an invitation, perhaps they could give her information.

“Well,” Lucia said, putting on her most genteel smile. “What a very pleasant coincidence. What are the chances?”

“It’s not so strange,” said Elissa, eager now to assist Pampinea. “Everything is closed besides churches. There is not one market open, nor any piazza not fouled by corpses. My home is so dull and silent that prayer sounded like an exciting change of pace.”

“You must have been bored, Elissa,” said Fiammetta, “to have taken to praying.”

“You know I have been bored for years,” said the widow.

“What do you mean?” asked Lucia.

“She means,” said Fiammetta, “that her dear late husband spent his nights pining for his lost amante instead of visiting her chamber—”

Lucia subconsciously touched the brooch pinned to her shoulder. Not my wife/But my life.

“Fiammetta, don’t be unpleasant,” said Pampinea. She turned to Lucia: “Please, I can hear in your voice you are hurt, but why should we not believe you are dead, when all we hear all day is this friend or that friend is dead.” But still she did not mention the trip.

The rest of the group nodded their agreement and murmured apologies.

Lucia wondered if she’d have done any different if one of them had stopped leaving their home. Even still, she was not ready to forgive them, and focused on her small revenge of manipulating the conversation. It wouldn’t be hard. This was a group that thrived in gossip.

“Elissa, you are right. There is nothing to do except go into churches. In fact, this is the third one I have visited today.”

“Really? Whatever for?”

“Well, since my own parish was robbed, I wanted to see the altars of San Filippo and Zenobio as well. Who could have done such a thing?” she said conspiratorially.

Pampinea shrugged. “Incompetent priests leave doors unlocked and thieves steal treasures. That is why I keep my own relics! You never know when you need a saint devoted just to you.” She pulled out a tiny reliquary pouch on a string and kissed it. “Lucia, do you still have the San Sebastiano I gave you? Is that what has kept you well?”

“Oh...mm...yes,” said Lucia, working hard to control a sarcastic snort. “I keep it by my bed and pray to it every night! I am sure it has kept me in health.” Actually, the cheap necklace gave off a very strong odor, and she had put it in the bottom of a chest long ago. Once she found San Tommaso, she would have to ask forgiveness for lying in his church. She hoped he would understand, considering the circumstances.