Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop (20 page)

“As I was saying, I thought Henri was in love with me, too, but I was wrong. I was convinced he would propose to me.”

“Did he tell you he would?” Rosalia asked.

“No. And he never told me he loved me even though I had told him so several times.”

“Then why—” Rosalia caught herself, but it was too late.

“That's all right. You were going to ask why I thought he loved me and that he was going to propose, even though he never uttered a word to express his feelings for me or his intentions. I was foolish, and I made excuses for him:
He isn't comfortable talking about his emotions.... He's too busy at the perfume factory to get married to me at this moment, but when the time is right he will.
My aunt was beginning to get nervous as well and questioned his motives, but I staunchly defended him—until one day when I was enjoying a beautiful day in the park with my friends and saw him. He was having a picnic with a woman, closer to his age. Did I mention to you he was a dozen years my senior?”

Rosalia shook her head. “But I gathered he was older.”

“The woman was beautiful—the complete opposite of me. She was very petite with reddish-brown curls that were pinned to the back of her head. Her face held this very wise expression. I don't know how else to put it. She had this confidence about her. Though I was becoming a celebrated ballerina, I still had insecurities and, looking back now, I'm sure they were apparent, especially to Henri.

“So I assumed she was his mistress. I was sickened at the thought, especially since I had given him my virginity. That was another reason why I thought he would marry me. I thought Henri was too honorable to persuade me to sleep with him and then not do the proper thing by marrying me.”

Mari let out a wicked laugh, which startled Rosalia. She almost sounded mad, and for the first time since Rosalia had met Mari, there was a malicious glint in her eyes.

“I was such a fool. What good was all that fine education my aunt had given me if I knew nothing about life and the ways of the world? I would've learned more if I had stayed home with my poor parents on our little farm in Sicily.”

“You were young, Mari. I don't think it matters where a person is brought up; we often make poor choices when we're young and inexperienced.”

“I suppose. I'm sorry if I sound bitter. All these years, and I can still feel his betrayal as if it happened a moment ago.” Mari closed her eyes for a moment before continuing her story. “I was about to walk away. I couldn't take watching Henri any longer in the company of this woman. But just as I was about to turn around, a breeze blew in from the Seine. It was quite a gusty day, and all the people having picnics were constantly chasing after their belongings that were getting blown away. The breeze blew up the woman's dress, revealing that she was quite pregnant. I couldn't tell before since she was seated and her dress was loose, but there was no mistaking the size of her stomach when her dress blew.

“Fortunately, my friends hadn't noticed Henri, and I told them I wanted to take a walk to the village to buy pastries. They took my suggestion, and we left. The next day when Henri came by the theater to walk me home, I confronted him with what I'd seen. And Henri confirmed what I had suspected once I'd seen that the woman with him was pregnant. She was his wife. But what twisted the knife deeper into my heart was when he told me he already had another child.

“I couldn't believe he had been unfaithful to his wife—a wife who was about to have his second child. The honorable man I thought I knew was a fraud. He told me he loved his wife, but marriage didn't suit him, and then he had the nerve to tell me that when he had first laid eyes on me he had known he had to have me. He finally told me he cared about me. Naturally, he didn't utter the word
love,
but his even saying he cared about me was the most he'd ever revealed about how he felt about me.

“I told him I could not be with a married man, and that he had betrayed me in addition to his wife. He tried in vain to convince me to change my mind, but I would not be swayed. Zia Santa didn't press me to reveal the reasons why we were no longer together. I think she had begun to suspect anyway that he was not suitable for me, and perhaps she was relieved we had ended it.

“I was beyond heartbroken and threw myself even more into my dancing. About two months after I stopped seeing Henri, I received an offer to go dance with the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow. They wanted me to be their prima ballerina. My aunt was so proud of me. I had finally arrived. I no longer cared about finding the man of my dreams and falling in love. Henri had shattered that illusion for me, and I decided I would completely devote myself to my dancing—even more than I had before.

“I had been in Moscow for a month when I discovered I was three months pregnant. I was shocked, but not as shocked as my zia Santa, who was staying with me until I was settled. But more than shocked, she was enraged that I had let this happen, as she constantly reminded me. I'd never seen her that angry. She screamed at me and told me all of her hard work and money had gone down the drain. I wanted to lash out at her as well and remind her I was the one breaking my toes while I rehearsed constantly. I was the one constantly pressuring myself to do my best and make her proud.

“I had to resign from the dance position with the Bolshoi. I returned to Paris with my aunt, but she barely paid me any notice, and I knew it was just a matter of time before she would tell me I was no longer welcome there. I felt like such a fool, for I had misjudged both Henri and my aunt. After my ballet career was over, she no longer wanted anything to do with me. I wrote to my mother and told her what had happened. I asked if I could come back home. When I received my mother's letter, I feared she was going to turn her back on me, but she didn't.” Mari wiped tears from her eyes with her apron. “The mother I had abandoned was still welcoming me with open arms. And to think I had felt awkward around her all those times I had come home to visit.”

“What about your father?” Rosalia's voice sounded grave, for she was remembering how her father had believed the lies in Marco's letter.

“He wasn't happy that I was pregnant, but he didn't turn me away. I had quite a bit of money from my work as a ballerina. I gave it all to my parents when I returned home. It was the least I could do given what they were doing for me, and besides, they would need it since now I would be living with them, as would my baby once she was born.

“But it wasn't to be. I had a miscarriage in my sixth month. It was a girl. I almost died as well.”

“I'm so sorry, Mari.” Rosalia reached out and placed her hand on Mari's arm.

“
Grazie,
Rosalia. I think about her every day.”

They remained quiet for a few moments while Rosalia waited for Mari to compose herself and continue.

“So now you know about my other life as a ballerina, living in Paris and even in Russia briefly.” Mari managed a small smile for Rosalia.

“May I ask how you ended up here? At the convent?”

“I needed to find work. I couldn't keep relying on my parents to provide for me, and I wanted to be able to help them. I had heard about the pastry shop here and thought I could help with whatever was needed. I didn't live here at first. My father died about twenty years ago, and then my mother passed away a decade later. The farm was too much for me to care for, and my younger brothers had married and moved far away, so they couldn't help. I sold the farm. Madre Carmela told me I could come here to live. I gave her a generous donation after I sold the farm and insisted she take it even though she was reluctant.”

Rosalia nodded thoughtfully. She was still wondering how Anunziata had known there was a scandal in Mari's past. Now, after hearing Mari's story, Rosalia saw Anunziata had been right.

“Have you told anyone else about what happened to you when you were young?”

“Only Madre Carmela. She has helped me find peace, although I still struggle at times. But I suppose the good thing to come out of what happened to me was that I was reunited with my parents. I should have never left them, and I know they grew to regret letting me move to Paris.”

“And you never fell in love again?”

“No. There was someone—a young man whom I had gone to grade school with. We spent some time together when I returned home, but I just couldn't allow myself to trust again.”

Mari placed her hands on either side of Rosalia's shoulders.

“Don't make the same mistake I made, Rosalia. Don't let that horrible man who kidnapped you and took you to that cave make you lose faith in others. You must learn to trust again.”

Rosalia was taken aback. How had Mari known she had been kidnapped? She had only told Madre Carmela. But then Rosalia remembered what she had looked like when the nuns had found her by the cave. She had been bruised; her clothes had been torn. Her cheeks burned as she remembered she hadn't been wearing any undergarments. And in that moment, Rosalia realized they all knew. Everyone at the convent knew she'd been raped. Shame filled every pore in her body. Though Madre told her repeatedly she had nothing to be ashamed of, and that it was Marco who needed to be ashamed, Rosalia couldn't help it. She felt exposed, much as she had been on that day when she had been lying like an animal outside that cave, near death.

If the sisters and the lay workers knew that Rosalia had been raped, did that mean Antonio knew as well? She hoped not. For she was beginning to think of him as a friend, and she couldn't bear the thought of his thinking anything bad about her.

15

Chiacchiere

FRIED PASTRY RIBBONS

 

 

 

 

C
arnevale had arrived, and as with other holidays, the pastry shop had been abuzz the past couple of weeks with preparing the special pastries made for the occasion. The most popular were
Chiacchiere
—delicate strips of fried dough dusted with confectioners' sugar.

Rosalia could not get enough of them and kept sneaking a piece when no one was looking. Although she and the other workers were allowed to sample the sweets, they were encouraged to only try those that were burned or did not look perfect. But each batch of
Chiacchiere
that she fried were coming out perfectly. She didn't feel too guilty for indulging since the season of Lent would begin in three days, and she, along with the other nuns and lay workers at the convent, would be abstaining from most sweets. They would only be allowed to have
Piparelli
—special biscotti that were made for Lent. Rosalia didn't know how it would be possible to stay away from the other pastries since the workers were constantly surrounded by them.

She was excited about Carnevale. For Antonio was going to take her to the festivities held in Acireale, which had the reputation of having the best Carnevale in Sicily—maybe even in all of Italy. They were going to attend with Teresa and Francesco, the young man Rosalia had seen at the pastry shop window and at the Saint Lucy feast. She wondered if Teresa had been honest with her sister and told her Francesco would be accompanying them. Something told Rosalia that Elisabetta had no idea.

As Rosalia dropped a few strips of dough into the hot oil, her thoughts turned to Antonio, and she couldn't resist a small smile. Ever since the day they had spent in Messina together, her uneasiness around him had completely faded. In fact, she felt their friendship had deepened—for he had helped her to inquire about her family, and he had even offered to phone the local authorities to see if they had any information. What amazed her even more was that he had done this without pressing her for more details as to why she'd been separated from her family.

Rosalia stepped back as a few beads of oil hissed and jumped up in the air. She had dropped her last batch of dough into the pan too quickly.

The past month she had looked forward to working by Antonio's side as they learned more pastries and had their friendly competition. Though she still missed her family and wanted to be reunited with them, she was growing to accept and even take some comfort out of her life at the Convento di Santa Lucia del Mela.

Every day, Rosalia woke up as soon as the rooster crowed. She quickly dressed, made her bed, and then joined the nuns, Anunziata, Mari, Lidia, and Elisabetta, in the main chapel, where the sisters prayed and the town priest came to say Mass. The lay workers weren't expected to join the sisters in morning prayer, just for vespers. But Rosalia and the others were usually present for the morning prayers. The only lay worker who was conspicuously absent was Teresa, but that came as no surprise to anyone.

Afterward, they had breakfast, which usually consisted of biscotti and
caffè con latte,
which they drank out of small bowls. Once breakfast was over, they began making their pastries. At eight o'clock, the pastry shop's windows opened, and they quickly transferred the baked goods over to the windows and began selling to the customers who had been waiting patiently in line for the shop to open.

Last week, Rosalia had begun to sell at the window. She didn't enjoy it, but hadn't asked Madre Carmela if she could bow out of this duty. She didn't want any special favors, especially after all the convent had done for her. But she felt a sense of dread when she looked at the customers' faces. For she kept wondering if some day Marco would be one of the patrons waiting in line. While her mind knew the chances of Marco's finding her at the convent were slim, her heart believed there was a very real possibility he might show up one day. Madre Carmela had assured her repeatedly that he must've gone far away to elude capture by the police. Rosalia only wished she could feel as certain as Madre did.

“Let me take over.” Antonio came over to Rosalia and took her slotted spoon out of her hand before she could protest.

“
Grazie,
Antonio.” She took her apron and patted the perspiration from her brow. She realized her pulse had quickened, probably at the thought of encountering Marco again.

“You looked deep in thought.” Antonio scooped out the last of the
Chiacchiere
and then cut more strips of dough with a pastry cutter and added them to the sizzling oil.

“And you have a habit of sneaking up on me when I am deep in thought.” Rosalia playfully nudged her elbow into Antonio's side. She couldn't help but marvel at how comfortable she now felt around him.

He laughed. “That is true. Well, I know better than to press you as to the mysteries in your mind.”

Rosalia couldn't help feeling a small stab of guilt. She wished she could share with Antonio what had happened to her, but she was still terrified of what his reaction would be.

“So are you looking forward to Carnevale in Acireale tonight?”

“I am. Ever since I was a little girl I have dreamed of going to Acireale one day and seeing the grand festivities.”

“Really? So I am making one of your childhood dreams come true then. That makes me happy.” Antonio's eyes met Rosalia's as he said this.

A light flutter rippled through her belly. Startled, she pressed her hand to her stomach and then turned her back toward Antonio, busying herself with making more dough for the
Chiacchiere
. This would be her job all day, for the shop was selling out almost as quickly as they were done making a fresh batch.

Besides trusting Antonio more and not feeling so awkward around him any longer, Rosalia had begun to notice what a handsome young man he was. She'd seen Teresa flirt with him, which made her mad since Teresa already had a beau. Rosalia had even noticed that a few of the female customers at the pastry shop window talked a little longer to him than was necessary. What surprised her a bit was that he had even cast a spell over the older women. But Antonio was nothing more than polite with all of them. His mother must've been a fine woman to have raised such an upstanding, good young man. He rarely spoke about his family, which she found odd since she couldn't imagine leaving her own voluntarily. But then again, he had told her things had been strained between him and his father after his mother died. Suddenly, she found herself wanting to know more about Antonio.

“Antonio, what was your mother like?”

He turned toward Rosalia, surprise etched across his features.

“She was gentle, very much like you.”

Rosalia blushed.

“I miss her every day, but it is her memory and her dreams for me that give me the inspiration to make her proud of me one day. I hope she can see me wherever she is.” Antonio's eyes held a distant look.

“I'm sure she is already proud of you. How could she not be? You're a hard worker and a kind person.”

“You've noticed all of this about me, eh?” Antonio's eyebrow arched, and a sly smile danced across his face.

Rosalia kept her eyes lowered, pretending she was concentrating on mixing her dough.

After a few minutes, she asked, “What were your mother's dreams for you?”

“What most mothers want for their sons. She wanted me to be successful and to find a woman who would love me.”

Rosalia nodded her head before saying, “I remember when we met you said you didn't want to work in your father's cobbler shop and that food was your passion. I suppose you want to be a pastry chef since you are apprenticing here?”

Antonio shook his head. “While I love learning how to make pastries, ultimately I want to become a chef. I'm saving money and hoping that I will also receive a scholarship to study at a culinary school. I want to have my own restaurant some day.”

“That would be nice.”

“It would. And what about you? What are your dreams for the future?”

Rosalia paused in her work. She had never really considered any dreams for herself. She had been a dutiful daughter and had taken pride in helping her father at the tailor shop. She knew someday she would marry and bear her own children, but other than that she had never given much thought to anything else. Besides, wasn't that the way it was for most young women? They either married or decided to become nuns like Madre Carmela. But at least for Madre and the other sisters, there was more in their lives besides serving God and helping those in need. They ran a thriving business and created beautiful pastries for many people to enjoy. As Rosalia had discovered these past few months, there was a great sense of fulfillment in knowing you had created something with your own hands that others appreciated. But it was more than that. She felt like she served a purpose by working.

“That many dreams, huh?” Antonio asked.

Rosalia realized he was still waiting for her answer. She smiled. “I don't really have any dreams. This is my life for the moment—until I am reunited with my family and then . . .” She let her voice trail; she didn't know what to say, for she knew so little of how her life would end up. Feeling embarrassed under Antonio's watchful gaze, she added, “I guess you could say I am content living for the moment. Whatever plans God has for me will be.”

“Living for the moment. That's an interesting thought. I've never imagined doing that for myself. All I've ever wanted was to reach a certain milestone. When I was a boy, I longed to reach eighteen so I could leave home. Then I longed to land an apprenticeship so I could begin to realize my dreams of becoming a chef. Now I long for the day I am accepted into culinary school and finally become a chef. But I respect you for appreciating what you have right now and being able to surrender control over your life.”

Rosalia's face clouded over upon hearing his last words. If only he knew how much fate had already dictated the course of her life and just how much control had been taken away from her.

“What is it, Rosalia? I said something to upset you. I can see it in your face. I'm sorry.”

She held up her hand. “It's not you. Please don't apologize.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “It's almost time for lunch. Let's finish frying these last
Chiacchiere
and head over to the dining room.”

“Are you sure you're fine?”

“
Si, si.
” Rosalia tried not to sound frustrated. After all, he was just concerned for her.

“We're going to be so tired by the time we go to Acireale tonight.” Antonio heaved a long sigh. Thankfully, he decided to drop the subject of what had upset Rosalia.

“Are you saying you'd rather go to bed, Antonio?” She smiled playfully in his direction.

“I'm only eighteen. Not eighty. Being tired has never stopped me from having a good time.”

 

Several hours later, Rosalia and Antonio were seated in the back of Francesco's car as he drove to Acireale. The drive took them along the coast of the Ionian Sea. Rosalia kept her eyes fixed on the blue waters. It was so beautiful. But her serenity was short-lived as her thoughts inevitably turned to her family. Whenever there was a holiday, she always wondered what they were doing. Had Mamma also fried a batch of
Chiacchiere,
letting little Cecilia help her dust the powdered sugar on top? Did Mamma think of Rosalia and how they used to work side by side in the kitchen or even in the tailor shop, laughing like the best of friends? Was Luca remembering how the two of them as children would wait with anticipation in the piazza for the village's small Carnevale parade to begin? And what about Papà? Did he have fond memories of Rosalia? Or had he completely pushed her out of his mind, believing she had dishonored the family and let him down? She closed her eyes tightly at this last thought, fighting back tears. The pain was too much to bear. Though she had plenty of distractions at the convent, they were never enough to completely block out how much she still felt the loss of her family.

“You're going to love Aci.” Antonio's voice broke through Rosalia's thoughts.

She kept her head turned toward the sea for a moment longer as she composed herself.

When she was ready, she turned toward Antonio and did her best to look calm. But worry was written all over his features. She should've known there was no hiding how she felt from him. He seemed to often be in tune with her emotions. And now, he was trying to steer her thoughts to a less painful place by talking about Acireale.

“Why do you call it ‘Aci'?”

“That's what the locals call it. Some even call it ‘Jaci.' ”

“So you've been there before?”

“I have. The churches are stupendous, and the views of the sea just add to the city's charm.”

“You've traveled a lot.”

“I guess you can say I'm a bit of a nomad.” Antonio winked.

“So Santa Lucia del Mela is just another temporary stop for you?”

Rosalia didn't know why, but she felt sad thinking Antonio would some day leave when he got bored with the pastry shop and town.

“I already told you, Rosalia, that I want to go to culinary school. There aren't any in Santa Lucia del Mela, and even if there were, I need to become the best chef, so I must go to one of the best schools.”

“That's true. You did tell me of your plans to go to culinary school. Where would you go then? It seems like you already have a place in mind.”