Isabella’s Journal

March, 1905

It was a beautiful afternoon, riding to the coast. Taking the paths I’d journeyed with my mamma. Almost nothing had changed. The only difference between then and now was the infernal roar of Gennaro’s motorcar. But even with all that, and my cousin’s bickering, looking at those ruins from the mountaintop, I felt free, at peace.

Rather ironic considering what happened next. I had heard about bandits, what they were capable of, but foolishly never thought I’d encounter any face-to-face. I tried to fight back, but there were too many, all carrying firearms. Thank God for Enzo, what he did for me. I will never forget it.

I may not return to those ruins again in a hurry, but this photograph is enough, for now. A terrifying day, without question, though admittedly more exhilarating than anything I’ve experienced before.

July, 1905

We’re getting ready for another harvest. I’ve been rising early, taking my camera out among the vine rows and trellises before the first workers arrive. Today is no exception.

This time of year was once a reminder that I had wasted another summer here. I used to grow tired of the sight of these fields. Wished to find something different outside my window. Now, I see the beauty in all of it. The early-morning sun shimmering on the leaves. Birds chirping as they land nearby, stealing fallen fruit.

I remember my father carrying me through the fields when I was little, my mamma laughing and picking grapes for me to eat. I had forgotten all about that.

On the way back to the villa, the workers are starting their day. My father’s men ready some horses at the stables. I head over there to check on Alba. Sometimes I linger for a while. Just long enough, as though I might be riding out too. These days, I imagine anything can happen.