Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop (11 page)

“This is too much for her.” Madre Carmela held Rosalia close to her.

“It is all right, Madre. I need to know everything. It is coming back to me now that Marco forced me to write something, but he must've drugged me. I remember his holding my hand, forcing me to write whatever he was saying to me.” She then looked at Signora Tucci before adding, “Papà had to have seen the writing was shaky even if it was my own handwriting?”

“I don't know, Rosalia.”

“So they believed his lies?”

Signora Tucci averted her gaze. “I don't like to gossip or eavesdrop.” She paused as if weighing carefully what her next words would be.

Madre Carmela seriously doubted the woman didn't like to gossip or eavesdrop—for how else had she known that the letter had been in Rosalia's handwriting? Madre Carmela could not see Rosalia's parents sharing the content of the letter with their neighbors. They would more likely have avoided this out of shame, fearing that everyone would believe the worst about their daughter.

Signora Tucci continued. “I overheard your parents arguing the night after they'd received the letter. It was so loud that I could not help but hear, as I'm sure a few of the other neighbors did, too. Your mother was saying she didn't believe what was in the letter. She was hysterical and kept screaming over and over, ‘Not my Rosalia. She would never dishonor us that way.'”

“And my father?” Rosalia's voice sounded very faint.

“He was pleading with your mother, asking her to keep her voice down. I'll never forget how calm your father sounded. I didn't know how he could maintain such composure after learning what he had. He explained to your mother that they could not dispute the fact that the letter was in your handwriting. That was all he said.”

Rosalia was weeping silently now.

“
Coraggio,
Rosalia. Have courage. Don't despair. When your parents hear the truth that Marco kidnapped you and how he beat and starved you, they will no longer believe the lies in that horrible letter,” Madre Carmela said as she glared at Signora Tucci.

“
Dio mio!
So Marco really did kidnap you as your parents first thought?” Signora Tucci asked while making the sign of the cross. “And he beat and starved you, too?”

Madre Carmela nodded grimly.

“Dear girl, I'm so sorry.” Signora Tucci was now looking at Rosalia with pity.

“Our doctor examined Rosalia shortly after the other nuns in my convent and I found her, passed out in front of a cave—the same cave where Marco kept her prisoner for a month. She not only had bruises and cuts, but a severe concussion. That is why she does not clearly remember writing that letter. Marco beat her severely and starved her. She was on the brink of death when we found her. We would have told her parents immediately that we had found her and she was safe at our convent, but Rosalia couldn't remember her surname or where she was from. Her memory has only come back recently.”

Madre Carmela knew Signora Tucci didn't deserve an explanation of what had really happened to Rosalia, but she also knew that the woman would run to the neighbors and tell them word for word what she had said. And Madre Carmela didn't want anyone doubting Rosalia's innocence any longer—though she also realized there would be a few people who would still choose to believe the ugly lies over the truth. She wondered sadly why it was that humans often preferred to think the worst about others.

Signora Tucci shook her head as if not believing the enormity of all she had heard. But Madre Carmela sensed there was something else that was troubling the woman.

“Would you happen to know where the family is, Signora Tucci, and when they will be back? As you can see, the girl is anxious to be reunited with them again, and we would like to question them as well. Since Marco held Rosalia in our jurisdiction, we will be working with your local authorities to find and apprehend him,” L'ispet-tore Franco said.

Signora Tucci looked at Rosalia, but when their eyes met, once more she looked away.

“I'm afraid they're gone.”

“Gone?” Rosalia's voice sounded panicked. “What do you mean?”

“Your family no longer lives here. They left Terme Vigliatore two weeks ago.”

Madre Carmela's heart sank.

“No, that can't be right,
signora.
They would never leave without me and without knowing what happened to me.” Rosalia kept shaking her head as if to convince herself of this truth.

“But, Rosalia, they thought they did know what happened to you. They thought you left of your own free will and went off to be with Marco.” Signora Tucci said this gently.

“No, no. You said my mother didn't believe that. You heard her! She refused to believe I would do such a thing!”

“It wasn't just the letter, Rosalia. As you know, Terme Vigliatore is a small village, and word spreads quickly, especially when a scandal occurs. People can be so mean.” Signora Tucci's voice cracked a little. Madre Carmela could see the woman now was truly being sincere and possibly even regretted that she had believed the worst about Rosalia earlier.

“The villagers blamed your parents for your wayward behavior. They said they hadn't been strict enough with you, and that your father should have never allowed you to work at the tailor shop where you would come into contact with many men. A few people were so bold as to even insult them directly to their faces. Your poor mamma. She broke down one day and told me how a group of women had taunted her while she was in the piazza on the way home from the shop. They circled her and kept chanting, ‘
Madre di una puttana!
Mother of a whore!' Your mother yelled at them and stood up for you, but it was no use. She was outnumbered, and the women were relentless, until she could take it no more and broke out of their circle and ran away.”

Madre Carmela looked at Rosalia. She was completely ashen now. This was all too much for her, and she held the same vacant stare she'd had for all those weeks after they found her.

“Then your father began losing customers at the shop. They were struggling. Luca halted his studies at the seminary so he could find work and help your parents. But no one in town wanted to hire him. So your father had no choice but to leave Terme Vigliatore and start over again in a new village where no one knew of the scandal. I'm so sorry, Rosalia.”

“Do you know where they moved to?” Rosalia asked.

“They left in the middle of the night without saying a word to anyone. I was a little surprised they didn't say good-bye to me since unlike the other neighbors I had remained on friendlier terms with them, especially your mother. But I think they wanted to slip out quietly without alerting the villagers to avoid more insults being hurled their way. Your mother had told me a week before they left that they were looking to move, but she never told me that they had already found another home or the city where they were going to. I think that was her way of saying good-bye to me, so that it wouldn't come as a complete shock that they were just gone one day.” Signora Tucci sighed before continuing. “And I was even surprised that the house had been sold that quickly and without my knowledge of it.”

“My house was sold?” Rosalia looked over at her childhood home—the only home she'd ever known.

“
Si.
The new owners were here yesterday, taking measurements. They will move in at the end of the week.”

Madre Carmela had no idea either how Rosalia's parents had kept concealed from the mean-spirited, nosy villagers that they were selling their house. This was all too sad. Rosalia had lost her family and her home. And she had no idea where they were now.

“But what about my things? My clothes?”

Signora Tucci shrugged her shoulders. “Your parents must've taken them.” She looked at Rosalia thoughtfully, then glanced at the inspector.

“Perhaps the police could get a warrant so that you could enter your home and see if anything was left behind that you might want to take?” Signora Tucci asked.

“Would that be possible?” Madre Carmela's eyes pleaded with the police captain. If there were anything in the house that Rosalia could have as a token of her family . . . Or maybe there might even be a clue as to where they had moved.

“A warrant would take forever, and by then the new occupants will have moved in, and I'm sure they won't appreciate anyone's wanting to enter and search their home.” L'ispettore Franco rubbed his chin with the tips of his fingers, contemplating.

“I suppose it would be all right if you were to enter the house, Rosalia, since the new occupants haven't moved in yet and the locks have not been changed. So we can say in essence this is still your home, and you have the right to be here. The only obstacle is getting into the house.”

“I think I might be able to help there. I know that your mother often hid an extra key under the terra-cotta planter that sits beside the front door. Perhaps there is a key still there?” Signora Tucci asked this with an exaggerated, wide-eyed expression.

Madre Carmela suspected that Signora Tucci knew without a doubt that the key was still under the terra-cotta planter because she had let herself into Rosalia's house so she could satisfy her nosy nature. She wouldn't put it past the woman.

“I remember. Mamma would leave the key there when Luca and I were in school, in case she and my father didn't return from the shop in time. Sometimes they would get held up with a customer who had walked into the shop shortly before they would leave for our midday meal. But wouldn't my parents have given all the copies of the keys to the new owners?”

“It doesn't hurt to check. They might've forgotten about that key,” Signora Tucci said.

Rosalia ran off to the terra-cotta planter. She tried pushing back the heavy planter, but it wouldn't budge. Her strength hadn't fully returned yet since her ordeal in the cave. L'ispettore Franco came over and easily tilted back the planter. The sunlight cast a gleam on a shiny brass key.

“It's here!” Rosalia's voice held a glimmer of hope.

But Madre Carmela feared little would come of their search of the house. She prayed silently she was wrong.

With shaky hands, Rosalia inserted the key into the keyhole. The latch turned, and as Rosalia pushed the door open, it creaked eerily. Tentatively, she stepped in, sensing this was no longer her home and she was somehow invading. Signora Tucci was about to enter the house, but the inspector stopped her.

“Signora Tucci, it would be better if you waited outside.”

She was taken aback by his request. Then she tilted her head in Madre Carmela's direction and raised her eyebrow as if to indicate to L'ispettore Franco that the nun also had no business inside the DiSantas' home. But the inspector ignored her, and motioned to Madre Carmela to step inside. He must've suspected as well that Signora Tucci knew for certain that the key was under the terra-cotta planter and had let herself into the house on previous occasions.

Madre Carmela followed Rosalia and noted the disappointed look on her face every time she discovered a room was empty. Her clothes were gone from her bedroom, and there were no signs that this room had once belonged to her and her little sister, Cecilia. All the furniture was also gone. Madre Carmela was surprised that none had been left behind, since it sounded like not much time had passed between when the DiSantas had decided they'd be moving and the actual move. Then again, from what Signora Tucci had said about Signore DiSanta's losing business at his tailor shop, they must've sold their furniture to have some extra money.

L'ispettore Franco and his officer also looked around, but they too seemed to find nothing of interest. The last room Rosalia searched was the kitchen, although Madre Carmela didn't know what she hoped to find there besides a forgotten bottle of rotten milk in the icebox or some other spoiled food.

Rosalia paused at the kitchen sink. Madre Carmela could see her shoulders shaking, and soon she was sobbing out loud.

Madre Carmela went over and took her in her arms. Rosalia held on to Madre Carmela and continued to cry uncontrollably. L'ispettore Franco and his officer stepped into the kitchen, but, when they saw Rosalia crying, they left. Madre Carmela heard them go out the front door and was thankful they were giving Rosalia some time to collect herself. But her sobbing only seemed to intensify. Madre Carmela waited patiently, letting her have her moment of grief.

Finally, Rosalia pulled away. Madre Carmela reached into both pockets of her habit. In one hand she held a handkerchief, and in the other she held two cherry-shaped marzipans. Rosalia smiled when she saw the marzipans and took them and the handkerchief from Madre Carmela. Of course, she remembered the day Madre Carmela had given her marzipans when she found her by the cave. After wiping her tears, she took a small bite out of one of the cherry marzipans and slowly chewed it. For a few minutes, neither Rosalia nor Madre Carmela said anything.

“You really do love marzipan so much.” Rosalia broke the silence.

“It's my greatest weakness, I admit. But I also carry a few with me everywhere I go to help with my low blood sugar. But even when I'm sad, they seem to make the pain hurt a little less.”

Rosalia nodded her head. “It still hurts, Madre Carmela, but it's true. While I ate the marzipan, I found myself calming down.”

Madre Carmela reached into her pocket once more, and this time took out a few raspberry-shaped marzipans. She popped two into her mouth and held the rest out for Rosalia.

After Rosalia was done eating the marzipans, she sighed. “I'm still in shock, Madre Carmela. How could my family have moved without me? How could they have left me behind? I was only gone for a few months. They gave up on me after a few months.”