Childhood in Laviano

As night fell on Laviano, two of Tancredi's fat cows were brought into the small stone house. Margherita climbed the wooden ladder to the upper floor where the family lived. In the center of the room stood a large wooden table upon which there was an earthenware pitcher with drinking water in it. Several cups along with a loaf of bread wrapped in a damp cloth to keep its freshness were next to the pitcher. All around the room, there were upholstered mattresses stuffed with dry straw and nearby stood a chest that contained woolen blankets used as protection against the cold that prevailed in the house.

Margherita curled up in a blanket and covered herself over her head, closed her eyes and tried to imagine the faces of all those vendors who she knew from the market. She retraced her steps and reconstructed her entire day. First came the fishmonger with his red face and looking like a pig, next she met the cheese man who honored her with a piece of pecorino and pinched her bottom in return. As she continued she bumped into a group of young men arguing loudly amongst themselves, and as she passed them, they stopped and stared at her. She proudly walked on slowly and nobly, her head held high while her flowing hair blew in the wind. She turned her eyes as if not to notice them.

Margherita shut her eyes and finally fell asleep. Little did she know that the tall young man in the group with blazing green eyes and long hair tied in the back with a ribbon and sporting a hunter's hat, was Arsenio del Pecora, a young military commander from a noble family in Montepulciano. He was an unrestrained bachelor, always in the company of women of dubious reputation who were more than willing to humiliate themselves and ingratiate themselves only for a bit of his attention. Young respectable girls were drawn to him like bees to nectar. But Arsenio was in love. Ever since he noticed the daughter of the peasant who was quite a few years younger than him, his heart knew no peace.

One wintery, rainy day, while the livestock of two cows, some chickens and a pig that had just given birth to a dozen piglets were indoors waiting to be fed, Margherita went outside with the bucket to bring in water for the animals.

Suddenly before her, she noticed a man cloaked in a red robe with a hood on his head that nearly covered his whole face seated high atop a great horse. While the stranger tried very hard to calm the irate horse down and get it to stop kicking up mud with its hind legs, Margherita noticed the symbol of the noble Del Pecora family embossed on the saddle.

"Do you live here?" the stranger asked Margherita.

"Yes sir," she replied without hesitation

"May I ask what your name is?"

"Why certainly, sir. My name is Margherita. I am the daughter of Tancredi D'Acquaviva."

"How old are you Margherita?" he asked.

"I will soon be seventeen," she answered.

Margherita lied as she was only fifteen years old. But her desire to leave her father's house was so strong that she added a few years to herself in the hope that perhaps she might get a job in the aristocrat's house.

"I'd like to talk to your father, is he at home?"

"No, my father is in the field," she answered.

"I will return at a different time," he answered, as he turned to leave.

The rider freed his horse to gallop up the hill to circumvent the mud that had formed at the entrance to the village, leaving Margherita standing in the rain that was dripping on her head, holding the bucket that by now was half full of water.

In the evening, when her father returned from the fields, they all sat down and ate dinner together. Margherita deliberated within herself whether to tell her father before he went to sleep about the stranger that came by the house earlier in the day. In the end, she decided to withhold the information from the members of the household, fearing the reaction of her stepmother who lately has been treating her worse and worse. She did not want the relationship to sour more than it had.

When the rains finally stopped and the winter sun began peeking through the clouds, the local market once again opened for business in the square of the village. Margherita decided to go to the market and meet all her admirers; who knew, there might be a surprise waiting for her.

Margherita got dressed in her best clothes. She put on the hat she had knitted all by herself from sheep's wool she had rolled into long strands and dyed red. She made the red dye by crushing petals of poppy plants that covered the surrounding hills, prepared it into a paste and mixed in a little red wine. She then dipped the wool into the dye and hung them out to dry on a clothesline. When they were dry, she knitted a hat for herself and included other strands of wool that blended with her skin color. From under the hat, her flowing hair fell onto her shoulders. To accentuate her budding breasts she rolled some wool and placed it into her tight-fitting blouse. She straightened her back and mimicked the slow walk of the fancy wealthy women whom she observed as they walked through the market with their maids carrying their baskets.

Margherita most certainly raised eyebrows with her appearance. Even the rags she wore did not reduce anything from her beauty and aura of dignity and importance that surrounded her. Even the merchants, who used to pinch her whenever she passed, were careful now and did not approach her before she acknowledged them with a greeting.

Margherita knew how to exploit the gift from above that she had received. She was aware that her beauty could change her fate, and she did not want to miss that opportunity and did not respond to the advances of the vendors or one of the many fools who chased after her.

Don Clemente, the village priest, was hopping on one foot and leaning on wooden crutches that were stuck in under his arms. He had lost his leg to a snake bite some years ago. After a snake had bitten him, his leg swelled up, turned black and blue and within a short time it became infected. It had to be amputated, for otherwise the infection would have spread and he would have died. The amputation took place in the tavern, where he was placed on a table and his thighs were tied down with heavy rope. A significant amount of wine was poured down his throat and his leg was sawn off right by the kneecap. After the wound healed he began to walk with crutches, but at least his life was saved.

Don Clemente continued in his role as the messenger of the church, in bringing the faithful to God and preaching the words of the gospel.

Don Clemente was heading towards the small church located adjacent to the Margherita's house when he met her.

"Why do I never see you in church?" he asked Margherita.

"I do not know, Father, I ... I ... " she stammered.

Margherita looked down and stood in front of him without saying a word.

"Are you willing to come to me for confession?" he asked in a low voice, almost in a whisper.

"Yes Father, certainly Father," she replied.

"Good, we have an agreement. I look forward to seeing you in the next few days in the church."

Margherita nodded in agreement, bid him goodbye and rushed to the well to fetch water in the two heavy buckets she was carrying.

Don Clemente was not an important figure in the region and as he wanted to find favor in the eyes of the Holy See and become part of them, he reported to the church all the movements of the opposition. Although ​​Tuscany was exclusively under the control of the church, some strong wealthy families opposed the church's authority and employed mercenaries who would collect taxes and protection money from the local farmers, to defend them from bad-intentioned vagabonds.

The next morning, with the knowledge and blessing of her father, Margherita went to church. As she crossed the threshold of the church, she bent over slightly, crossed herself and took a few steps until she reached the Confession room. She went in and sat down.

"My child, I am glad you have come," Don Clemente said to Margherita.

'You asked me to come, Father," she answered.

"Do you want to confess?"

"That's why I came, Father"

"Well, well, what would you like to confess?"

"I have nothing to confess."

"Do not tell me that you haven't sinned against our Savior, who sees everything from above."

"I do not think that I have sinned, perhaps in thought, but not in deeds."

"A sin is considered a sin even if it is in thought. It is all the same, whether it is in thought or deed."

"In that case, I have sinned. I thought prohibited thoughts."

"What did you think about, my child, and what were your prohibited thoughts?"

"I thought they were looking to hire me to work in the homes of the wealthy, and I lied about my age."

"Who came looking for you?"

"A man on a horse came by and asked me some questions."

"Who was the man? Did he identify himself?"

"I saw the seal of the del Pecora family embossed on the saddle."

"Did he return a second time?"

"No, he never came back."

"Should he return, please come back and tell what he wanted."

"Yes Father, I will report everything to you."

"Go home now, and may the Lord be with you in all. Peace be with you in all your endeavors."

Margherita left the church and went home. She put all the chickens that were running around freely between the cow's legs into their cages and climbed the ladder which took her to the upper floor.

She sprawled on the mattress while the other members of the household were all busy with other chores. She lay there looking at the ceiling, when suddenly from between the wooden beams that supported the clay roof, she saw a light coming from nowhere. From between the light rays, she saw the face of a man who did not look human. He looked at her, alternately fading in and out of a fog, all the while talking to her but without uttering any words, expressing with his eyes what he wanted to say.

Margherita lay there stunned and could not respond. She opened and closed her eyes several times to see if the face was still there. Indeed, the face did not disappear and this time the face was much brighter and clearer and it spoke to Margherita in a clear voice. It said, "Margherita, Margherita, Margherita, you are holy, and you will carry this message for many generations."

Margherita jumped up and remained standing as the light suddenly disappeared. She noticed that the entire living floor was now dark, however, she could hear the voices of family members as they climbed the ladder. Margherita pinched herself until she felt the pain. She said to herself, "I must have been dreaming."