Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop (14 page)

“I'm sorry, Madre. But I cannot understand how you were able to do that.”

“The circumstances were different from yours, Rosalia. I was much younger when I lost my family. Though I was devastated, I didn't have all the years of memories you have had with your family. I think part of me had still not forgiven them for giving me away. I have forgiven them now, but it took many years. I made my peace and decided to focus on the new family I had formed with my sisters.”

“I must find my family, Madre. I will never stop searching for them.”

“Of course, Rosalia. We all must do what we feel is right in our hearts.”

“So you understand some of the pain I am going through, Madre.”

“I do. It still hurts me to this day, but I am happy with how my life has turned out, and I would not ask for it to be any different.”

“Thank you for sharing your story with me, Madre. I feel some comfort in knowing someone can understand how I feel.”

“You are not alone, Rosalia. I know it must seem that way. But we are all here for you. Remember that.”

After Madre Carmela left Rosalia's room, Rosalia thought about the nun's sad childhood. She couldn't imagine losing her family at such a young age. For if it hurt as much as it did now and Rosalia was seventeen, how must it have hurt for a child who always ached for the love of her mother? As she drifted off to sleep once more, her last thoughts were about Madre Carmela's milk pudding. Just as with Rosalia's mother's marmalade, Madre had a sweet to remember her mother by. The nun was right, but Rosalia hadn't dared admit it to her. The pudding had made her feel a bit better. But Rosalia knew it was a temporary balm, and the pain of losing her family would still be with her when she awoke in the morning.

10

Buccellati

SICILIAN CHRISTMAS FIG COOKIES

 

 

 

 

T
here was a buzz in the convent and pastry shop now that they were in the middle of the Christmas season. But this year, there was also a cloud hanging over the festive air. For the nuns and the lay workers at the Convento di Santa Lucia del Mela were sad for the newest member of their family—Rosalia.

Though they were happy to have her in their fold again, they also knew how much the young woman was suffering. Seeing the devastated expression on Rosalia's face since she'd returned hurt everyone. And, no matter what encouraging words they offered, she had chosen to remain in her bedroom for the past week and a half.

Rosalia felt extremely desperate over her situation. While she still had every intention of finding her family, she didn't know where to begin. And all she could think about was that horrid letter Marco had forced her to write and the possibility that her family believed she had willingly gone off with him. So she stayed in bed and slept. For it was in her dreams that she was reunited with her family.

Madre Carmela and the other nuns came to bring her meals and try to coax her to join them in the kitchen. Thankfully, they hadn't forced her to leave her room. Even Madre Carmela's bringing a new sweet every day to Rosalia had failed to draw her out of her thoughts. She hardly ate her meals. When she thought she couldn't bear the ache over her loss much longer, she would have a teaspoon of her mother's blood orange marmalade. In that brief instant, she would be back home with Mamma, Papà, Luca, and Cecilia, enjoying the good times they shared. But she only allowed herself one teaspoon of marmalade. She had to make it last—for that was all she had left of her family.

Rosalia had woken up early today. The aromas coming from the kitchen below shook her out of her deep sleep. Though it smelled heavenly, she still had no desire to go downstairs and sample what they were making.

She walked to her window and opened it wider. Rosalia loved looking out onto the convent's beautifully landscaped grounds. Though she could tell from the steady breeze that the seasons were beginning to change, December in Sicily was still quite comfortable.

Suddenly, a bird came into her line of vision, startling her. She could see, from the beautiful colors that were displayed on its chest, it was a bluethroat. Rosalia had seen this species of bird before, and her father had told her its name. He had explained to her that the ones with a bib of blue, black, orange, and white were males. The bird perched itself on a tree branch that hung close to Rosalia's window. It tilted its head as if trying to meet her gaze. It chirped for a few seconds, looked around, and then tilted its head once more in her direction.

Rosalia walked over to her dresser and picked up the plate of cookies Madre Carmela had tried to tempt her with last night. They were
Buccellati,
named so because they were shaped like small bracelets. After the dough was molded into bracelet shapes, it was cut at intervals to display the fig filling in the cookies. Madre Carmela had explained all of this to Rosalia, and while Rosalia had feigned disinterest, she actually had found it charming that the cookies were shaped to look like a piece of jewelry. Still, her curiosity had not been enough to tempt her to try one of the cookies.

She brought one of the cookies to the window, hoping the bluethroat had not flown away. It was still there, and its head jerked up suddenly upon seeing Rosalia had returned. She broke off a tiny crumb and reached her hand out, placing the crumb on the branch the bird sat on, but the crumb fell off. She broke off a bigger piece this time and was about to lay it on the branch when the bluethroat hopped over and pecked the crumb out of her fingers, eliciting a laugh from Rosalia.

“
Bravo!
You're a very smart bird.”

The bluethroat looked at Rosalia as if it understood her, but she knew that it was silly to think so. The bird was just waiting for her to feed it again. This time she made sure to get some of the fig filling when she broke off the cookie.

While Rosalia watched her new friend pecking away at the
Buccellati
crumbs, she took one of the cookies she had not broken apart yet for the bird and took a bite out of it. She chewed it ravenously and realized how hungry she actually was. Of course, the cookie was delicious.

The bluethroat flew away to a neighboring tree and began chirping a beautiful melody. What was strange was that the bird still glanced over at Rosalia every so often, even though at the distance where it sat now, she couldn't reach out to feed it. Shivers ran down Rosalia's bare arms. She watched the bluethroat as it flitted from tree to tree, going deeper into the convent's courtyard. Curious, Rosalia decided to follow the bird.

Slipping a robe on, she quietly tiptoed down the corridor, hoping she didn't run into anyone. She wasn't ready to make small talk or to see the pitying looks on everyone's faces. She just wanted to get some fresh air and watch the bluethroat.

As she approached the kitchen, she could tell, from the commotion of the pans banging and the many orders being given by whoever was in charge of overseeing the pastries' output for the day, that most of the workers were on duty today. It was still too early for the pastry shop to be open. The selling windows opened at eight a.m. It was now barely seven. She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing the courtyard would most likely be empty.

She inhaled deeply once she stepped outside; she realized she hadn't been out since that day she had returned from her hometown. A sharp stab of pain pierced her heart. Pushing the memory out of her mind, she walked deeper into the courtyard, keeping her gaze lifted as she scanned the tops of the trees, looking for the bluethroat.

“Ah! There you are!” Rosalia said, delighted she had found the bird.

The bluethroat once more glanced at her and then resumed its singing. She saw other birds—sparrows, partridges, even a pair of striking bluebirds—but no other bluethroats were in sight. The bluethroat stayed apart from the other birds and only seemed aware of Rosalia. Again, shivers ran through her.

She followed the bird as it hopped from tree to tree, and then, when it had exhausted all the trees in the courtyard, it landed on the manicured shrubbery. Rosalia slowly walked toward the bird, hoping she could get closer to it. The bird stared at her, and this time it held her gaze. Rosalia held her hand out and began speaking softly.

“I won't hurt you. I promise.”

The bluethroat took a hesitant hop forward, but then the sound of someone whistling startled it, and it flew away. Rosalia tried to run after the bird, but it seemed to vanish into thin air.

“Don't you just hate it how they can make fools of us?”

Rosalia jumped at the sound of the voice. She'd been so preoccupied by the bird that she hadn't thought to see where the whistling was coming from. A young man who looked to be about her age was standing a few feet away. He was grinning.

Rosalia stepped back a couple of feet, clutching her robe to her chest, which suddenly felt very restricted. She looked around the courtyard, but no one else was in sight.

“My name is Antonio. Antonio Bruni.” The young man stepped forward, extending his hand, but that only caused Rosalia to take another step back.

“You don't have to be afraid. I just wanted to introduce myself.”

He pulled his hand back, placing it in his trousers pocket. He ran his free hand over his hair, which was a little long, but seemed to suit his face, accentuating his high cheekbones and large amber-colored eyes. He was a good seven to eight inches taller than Rosalia, and he was very thin.

Rosalia wanted to leave, but she remained fixed in place. She wished she could say something to him, but the fear that had taken hold of her would not budge. In her mind, she knew not every young man wanted to hurt her like Marco had, but her heart refused to let go of that notion.

“I know. You must be mad at me for chasing your little friend away.” Antonio smiled, locking his gaze onto Rosalia's. She quickly averted her eyes and scanned the treetops, pretending she was looking for the bluethroat. But it was nowhere to be seen.

“I'm sure he'll come back. I've seen him before.”

“You have?” Rosalia said softly.

Antonio nodded his head. “Every day since I've been here.”

Rosalia's curiosity made her forget her fear, and she asked, “What do you mean since you've been here? Why are you at the convent?”

“Madre Carmela has brought me on as an apprentice.”

“But only women work here. I don't believe you. What are you really doing here?” Rosalia's brows knitted furiously; she was convinced he was lying.

“There are men on the grounds, gardening and bringing deliveries to the pastry shop.”

“Oh. So you leave at the end of the day.”

“No. I have a room.”

Rosalia's heart skipped a beat, her fear returning.

“You don't believe me.” Antonio laughed. “It's in the abandoned chapel. Madre Carmela cleaned it out for me and put a cot in there.”

“There's an abandoned chapel?”

“
Si.
Would you like to see it?”

Rosalia shook her head adamantly. “No, that is all right.” Her suspicions of the young man entered her mind once more.

They both remained silent until Rosalia asked, “How long have you been here?”

“Just a few days. I haven't seen you. Are you one of the lay workers in the pastry shop?” Antonio then hit his forehead and laughed. “How silly of me. Of course you're one of the lay workers. You're not in a habit.” He then took in her clothes, and his face reddened when he realized she was in her nightgown and robe. “I'm sorry. You're still in your nightgown. I meant no offense.”

Though Rosalia was still not quite sure what to make of Antonio, she couldn't help but smile at his assumption. “Don't worry. I am not a nun.”

“Ah.
Meno male.
” Antonio crossed himself, no doubt thanking God that he hadn't offended a nun. “So you are one of the lay workers.”

Rosalia paused before answering his question. Naturally, she didn't feel comfortable sharing with this stranger what had brought her to the convent.

“
Si.
But I've been sick and haven't been in the kitchen. That's why you haven't seen me.”

“I see. What is your name?”

“Rosalia.”

“You have the name of one of Sicily's most revered saints—and the patron saint of my city, Palermo.”

“You come all the way from Palermo?”

“Yes. It's a beautiful city.”

“I have heard. Why did you come all the way over to Messina and to our small village of Santa Lucia del Mela?”

Now it was Antonio's turn to look anxious.

“I'm sorry. It is none of my business. You don't have to tell me.”

“I have nothing to hide. I ran away from home.”

Rosalia was taken aback. “Why?”

“My father and I did not get along. Besides, I am a man now. It was time for me to make a life for myself and not depend on him any longer.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.” Antonio smiled. He seemed proud of reaching this milestone. “It feels good not to be under my father's thumb any longer and to be making my own decisions, especially about where my life is headed.”

Rosalia nodded thoughtfully. “And your mother?”

“She died when I was twelve.” Antonio looked pained.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Just an older brother. He's still at home with my father, helping him in his shoemaker's shop. My father wanted me to learn the trade just like Salvatore, my brother. But I had no interest in it. Food has always been my love.”

Rosalia took in his thin frame again and found his last statement hard to believe.

He noticed her assessing him and laughed. “While I love food, I also love to run and go swimming, which is good since I do eat a lot. But maybe I'll put on some weight here with all these amazing pastries the nuns make.”

“Why do you love food so much?”

“I used to help my mamma cook. Papà hated it. Said cooking and baking were women's work. He tried to beat it out of me, but that only made me angrier and more determined not to do what he expected of me. Funny thing is he didn't mind that I cooked for him and my brother after Mamma died. But he still wanted me to become a shoemaker or at least do a manly trade.”

“How did your mother die?”

“She caught pneumonia.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It happens.” Antonio shrugged his shoulders and looked away. Rosalia noticed tears forming in his eyes.

“So what is your story? What has brought a pretty girl like you to a convent, of all places?”

Rosalia's cheeks burned. Just when she was beginning to lower her guard around Antonio and even feel sympathy for him over losing his mother and having to fend for himself after running away from home, her discomfort returned.

“I should go. It's cool out here, and I am still sick.” Rosalia turned and walked quickly away.

“It was nice to meet you, Rosalia! I look forward to working with you in the kitchen!” Antonio shouted.

Rosalia stopped upon hearing his last words but, realizing that Antonio was still watching her, she merely nodded and resumed walking.

Once she was back in her room, she climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. But she couldn't stop shaking. Though her mind was telling her Antonio was harmless, her heart was telling her otherwise. Perhaps she could talk to Madre Carmela and Madre Carmela could send him away? Then Rosalia realized how absurd that notion was. She couldn't tell Madre Carmela whom she could hire and dismiss.