"Can I see her?" I asked.
"No." Papa's answer was quick and simple. I shrugged and took my seat.
"I don't see how this could've happened," Mama sobbed. "We were careful, weren't we? We were careful!" Giving a sigh, Papa patted her shoulder in condolence.
I watched as the men in gloves entered her room. They were straight-faced and serious behind the masks they wore. I could smell the posies they stuffed in them. I dared to take in a deep breath, and nearly choked. The stench, it was nauseating. The flowers around the house had greatly increased since Isabel's diagnosis.
"Are all these flowers really necessary?" I whined. "The smell is insufferable." Mama let out a loud wail at my statement, and Papa instantly flashed me one of those looks.
"If you must know, yes, they are a necessary medical precaution, Lydia," he shot back irritably. "If you really can't stand the smell, then go outside. Maybe you will find the air there more suitable for you." It was more of a command than a suggestion, so I shifted out of my seat and went out to the parlor.

Dong-dong. The walls shook as the echo of the grandfather clock rang from downstairs. It was nearly midnight, but from the windows I could see that the whole town was shining brightly, illuminated by the cleansing bonfires. I opened a window, but then quickly shut it. I wrinkled my nose. The hideous odor of the heavily perfumed potpourri was nothing compared to the stench of burning flesh outside.
I took out my handkerchief and held it to my nose, but the smell of burnt corpses clung to my clothes and hung in the air. I looked out the window instead. There they were, hundreds of thousands weeping and mourning. Some held back in fear, while others couldn't stop crying and clung on desperately to their dead.
Squinting my eyes, I saw that some already had the spots. It always started with a rosy little rash. Then, the sores. I stared on as they threw more bodies into the fire. They would be next.
It was called the Bubonic plague.
Here, its name was the Black Death.
I continued to stare, as if death was some sort of spectator sport, and pondered over the masses out in the streets, the smell of the dead, the ashes flying about in the air. So many had died in so little time. Bodies burned and ashes scattered as if life seemed so insignificant.
But not in this house. Not to our Isabel, the social butterfly, the family's pride and joy, and the belle of every ball. They sobbed and wailed as if it was some great injustice, as if the Black Death had come especially for Isabel.
Mama was wrong. We weren't careful at all. On the contrary, they sang and laughed as though they were all immune from the danger outside, as if they were out of the clutches of the Black Death. Isabel would insist on taking her little 'walks' on the plague-infested countryside, arguing that she wanted to enjoy the scenery, as if there was any. She would spend hours outside, trotting around in her little lace parasols, flaunting her health to all who would see.
It was just a rash. It always just started with a little rosy rash; red little spots as small as pinpricks. Isabel just began scratching away one day, irritated that her creamy white skin had been blemished. Then, came the sores, ugly red lumps bulging out of the sides of her neck and armpits that turned black. And now, there she was, locked away in the back room like some sort of shameful, dirty secret. Because Isabel had indeed become the family's shameful, dirty secret. She was hidden out of sight, not to be seen by anyone except her doctors and her nurse. Even I wasn't allowed to see her. Not like I needed to. I needed only to look outside to see the same grotesque picture. I began humming a little rhyme I heard Isabel sing once or twice before. I didn't exactly know what it meant, but I hummed it anyway to pass the time. It reminded me of her.
But Isabel was no more. Instead, in her place stood a monstrous creature, a shadow of what she used to be, all covered up to keep people from talking.

I didn't mind being shoved away into the background. After awhile, after keeping silent for so long, you learn to pay attention to certain things. You see, when you're really, really quiet, and when you know where to look, you can see the little details everyone else is too busy to notice.
I heard the door creak open, and my attention turned to the doctors as they exited the room, and began talking with my parents. They were still wearing those masks. I laughed inside. They looked ridiculous wearing those putrid things. Too bad they were utterly useless. I strained my ears, hoping to be able to hear some of the conversation.