Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop (29 page)

Of course he knew. Just as the other nuns and the lay workers had known. She'd been a fool to think that someone would not tell him. People gossiped. After all, hadn't Anunziata gossiped about Mari and the scandal in her past?

“I don't know exactly, but I have my suspicions. I had overheard the townspeople talking about how the nuns found you near death by a cave and saying that it was obvious someone had abused you. At first, I thought someone had just beaten you. But when I met you and saw how frightened you were of me and any other man who was near you, I began to suspect it was more. Though we have never been intimate, I sensed in the beginning, when we kissed, even that was a bit terrifying for you. And then there was your admission to me that someone had hurt you terribly. Rosalia, you have nothing to be ashamed of. If I am right in my suspicions that someone violated you, I will kill that man if I ever find him. I swear!”

Rosalia saw the most intense hatred in Antonio's eyes. It frightened her even though she knew the hatred was directed toward her enemy. She did not want more violence to occur after what had happened to her.

“Antonio, you are a good person. Even if you ever found out who hurt me and found him, I would not want you to seek retribution on my behalf. Don't you see? I care about you because you are the very opposite of that man. You are all good, while he was all evil.”

She then cried, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Antonio took her in his arms.

“I will protect you, Rosalia. No one will ever harm you again. You have been through such hell. And then to lose your family. How did that happen? Did they not know what had happened to you?”

Rosalia then recounted to Antonio everything that had occurred: Marco's attempt to seduce her while she worked in her father's tailor shop; Marco's anger when she rejected him; his kidnapping her and his abuse of her in the cave; regaining her memory and returning home, only to discover her family had left, believing she had eloped with Marco and was pregnant with his child.

Once she was done narrating her past ordeal, she said, “Now, do you see why I can't marry you? I don't know if I can ever be intimate with a man again after what Marco did to me. And I am . . .” She looked away, shaking her head. “I am ruined. You deserve a wife who has not been ruined.”

“I deserve you, Rosalia! And I want you! Only you, do you hear me?”

“You have brought happiness into my life again, Antonio, but I cannot be completely content until I find my family. Now that you know what happened, can you understand better why I need to find them? I must convince my father those were lies in that letter Marco forced me to write. I must let my family know I never abandoned them and went off with that monster. I miss them so much, Antonio. How can I go on living without knowing if they are fine? I will never be whole again until they are back in my life. That is why I cannot bear the thought of leaving Messina—even if it is just temporary as you say.”

“Rosalia, I hate to say this, and I'm not saying I am completely giving up hope that you will find them someday, but you must be realistic as well. You must begin to realize that there is a chance you might not ever find them or learn what has happened to them. You need to reconcile yourself with that if it happens. You've been through so much, and you have survived. Please, stop punishing yourself for what that beast did to you. I can tell you feel you do not deserve happiness because of how your family suffered in your village. You feel like you are to blame for your father's losing business at his shop. And part of me even thinks you blame yourself for what Marco did to you—as if you could have somehow prevented it. Am I right?”

Rosalia nodded.

“Please, Rosalia. You can be fully happy again . . . with me. Maybe going to Paris would be the best thing for you. You can start over there. It might be easier for you to forget what happened to you if you were in a completely different place.”

“I will
never
forget! And I will never give up on finding my family! How can you even say that to me? How can you still try to convince me to move to Paris with you after all that I have told you? After I have shared my heartbreak over losing my family? You are just thinking about yourself! You just want me for yourself—like Marco! You are no different from him.”

Rosalia pulled herself out of his embrace, but Antonio held on to her arm tightly.

“Rosalia, you know that's not true. Please, do not compare me to the likes of that demon. You said so yourself that I was the complete opposite of him. You are just angry with me. This is not how you really feel.”

“No, you're wrong, Antonio. This is how I feel. I should never have trusted another man again. You are all the same. You only think about what you want.”

Tears slowly slid down Antonio's face. “I will let you be angry. You will realize it is your anger talking. I love you, and I know you know deep down in your heart that I am different and that you can trust me. You are the one who is guilty now of not being honest, not just with me but with yourself. You are afraid. That is the true reason why you don't want to marry me or even go to Paris for a short time. You are afraid of being fully happy again and of being fully loved again. You lost your family and no longer have their love in your life, but instead of accepting my love and all I have to give you, you are pushing me away.”

Antonio let go of Rosalia's hand and stood up. “I will wait for your answer. If you realize you do love me and want to marry me, I will go to school in Messina. It would not be a sacrifice for me because you are what I want most. But I will not force you to do something against your wishes because no matter what you say, I am not Marco.”

Antonio walked briskly away. Rosalia watched him. Part of her thought about running after him, but her legs felt leaden. Though her heart was breaking as she watched his figure move farther and farther away, she would not chase him. No. She would let him go.

22

Torta al Mandarino

TANGERINE CAKE

 

 

 

 

C
laudia was standing outside the convent's kitchen, waiting for Sorella Agata to stop crying. She had become accustomed to catching the mother superior crying; it had happened several times in the month and a half since Claudia had arrived. And every time, it had been when Sorella Agata was whipping up one of her creations. Except for the first time, when Claudia had witnessed Sorella Agata crying while she was making her cannoli filling, Claudia had refrained from asking her why she was crying. She wasn't even convinced that the real reason for Sorella Agata's crying was the one she had given while she was making cannoli: because of Rosalia. Claudia had never been one to rely on intuition, but it was telling her now there was more to Sorella Agata's tears. Then again, Claudia had almost cried several times upon hearing all that poor Rosalia had gone through.

Claudia was beginning to get impatient. While she couldn't deny that Rosalia's story was intriguing, and she was beginning to see how the young woman's natural talent for baking would've inspired Sorella Agata, Claudia's stay here in Sicily would be over soon, and the mother superior still had not gotten to her part of the story. Whenever Claudia had tried to steer the conversation toward Sorella Agata's life, the nun would hold up her hand and say in Italian, “
Pazienza!
Patience!” She said it in a stern voice, which caused Claudia to heed the sister's wishes immediately.

The fragrance of sweet tangerines reached Claudia's nose. She saw Sorella Agata squeeze a tangerine into what looked like a cake batter. Immediately, Claudia's mouth watered. She'd never had a cake made out of tangerines. Orange, yes. She and her father had made both orange and lemon cakes throughout her childhood. Why hadn't either of them ever thought about making a cake out of tangerines? It was brilliant. For tangerines were even sweeter than oranges.

“Ah! Claudia!”

Sorella Agata stopped what she was doing and quickly patted her face with a kitchen towel, making sure to turn her back toward Claudia.

“I'm getting warm with the ovens turned on.” She took off her apron and fanned her face with it. Claudia was surprised at the nun's small lie.

“Those tangerines smell wonderful, Sorella Agata. I take it you're making a cake?”

“
Si. Torta al Mandarino.
This is the second most popular cake we sell at the shop after my famous
cassata
cake. It's very sweet, but most of the flavor comes from the ripest, juiciest tangerines in season and not from too much sugar.”

Sorella Agata returned to squeezing the last of her tangerines. Then she stirred the batter. Her brows were knitted furiously in thought. At first, Claudia thought she was concentrating on her mixing, but then she saw her eyes fill with tears again. She batted her eyelashes, but one tear managed to slide down her face into the cake's batter.

Claudia pulled a paper towel off one of the dispensers that were scattered throughout the kitchen. She glanced toward the other workers, but no one seemed to notice that Sorella Agata was crying. She handed the paper towel to Sorella Agata.

“Ah.
Grazie,
Claudia. I'm sorry. I don't know what's come over me.” She dabbed at her tears before adding, “Just a foolish old woman.”

“You're not that old, Sister!”

“I'm getting there.” She laughed.

“I don't mean to pry, Sorella Agata, but I must admit I have seen you cry several times, whenever you're alone baking. It seems as if something is weighing heavily on your mind. Sometimes it helps to talk, so if you want to unburden yourself, I'm here. I promise I wouldn't put anything confidential in our book.”

Sorella Agata smiled and then patted Claudia's hand.

“You are so sweet, Claudia.
Grazie.
Nothing is weighing on my mind. I suppose it's all this talk of the past that has gotten to me. That's all.”

Claudia nodded. “Rosalia's story is sad to hear. When I went to bed last night, I found myself tearing up, thinking about how she let Antonio go. I know you ended at that point last night, but I'm hoping you'll tell me she really didn't leave him. He sounded wonderful. Lord knows it's hard to find a good man like that nowadays.”

“Eh. That is what I hear, but what would I know, being a woman of God?” Sorella Agata shrugged her shoulders, then looked at Claudia. They broke out into laughter.

“I needed that. So there isn't a handsome young man waiting for you back home in New York, Claudia? With your beauty, I would think you would have several admirers.”

Claudia blushed slightly. “I'm afraid to say I don't date much. My focus has been on my career these past few years. I date here and there, but nothing serious.”

“Do you want to get married and have children?”

“Yes. Someday. For the moment, I'm content burying myself in writing my books and tasting extraordinary food from chefs like yourself.”

“I'm glad you have enjoyed our pastries.”

“They are without question the best I've ever tasted. I have to say even a few of the pastries that I've had before, like the cannoli and several of the biscotti, surpass what I've had when I've tried them from Italian bakeries in New York or the shops in Messina. It's not just your
cassata
that stands apart. I'm surprised no one else has noticed or commented on that.”

“A few of the other nuns and our customers have said there is something unique about many of our pastries.” Sorella Agata looked thoughtful as she said this.

“But none of the chefs or food critics who have visited and sampled your other sweets commented on them?”

“No. They were mainly interested in the
cassata
because they'd heard so much about it. But again, Claudia, I follow my recipes, which have been passed down from nuns throughout the centuries. You've watched me as I've made the pastries that will appear in our book, and you've reviewed my recipe book. So you know I am not hiding anything.”

Claudia wanted to say that while she had watched Sorella Agata make her pastries, she had yet to watch her make the
cassata
. The
Minni della Vergine,
the miniature
cassatas
she had sampled, had been made by the other workers. Claudia was always sure to ask them who had made the miniature
cassatas
that day. She couldn't help wondering how much better Sorella Agata's
Minni della Vergine
were, since the
cassatas
she had tasted that were baked by the pastry shop's other workers were phenomenal. But it was as if Sorella Agata didn't want Claudia to taste
her
miniature
cassatas.

Deciding to bite her tongue and wait to bring it up at a later date when she would finally be able to watch Sorella Agata make her famous
cassata,
Claudia merely said, “Yes, it doesn't appear as if you're hiding anything. Perhaps it's this place. There's some sort of magic in the air.” She smiled, winking at Sorella Agata. But the nun didn't seem amused or realize that she was only joking. Instead, she looked very tired.

“We could take a break today, Sister. Why don't we just focus on the last of the recipes that will be featured in the book? You can resume Rosalia's story tomorrow.”

“Well, I'm afraid that was the end of the story last night. At least, Rosalia's story.”

“What? How can that be? You still haven't reached the part of the story telling how she was your greatest influence when it came to your pastry making. Did she marry Antonio? Did he stay in Sicily as he promised he would if she married him?”

Sorella Agata took a deep breath, but didn't answer Claudia. She poured the tangerine cake batter into an eight-inch cake pan, tapped it a few times on the counter to ensure it was even, and then walked over to the oven. After placing the pan in the oven, she looked up at the clock that hung high on the wall, near the ceiling. Claudia was still amazed that she never used a timer and always managed to remember when it was time to check on her baking. In the weeks since Claudia had arrived, she'd never once witnessed the mother superior burning anything.

“Let's get some espresso and go into the sitting room. We can talk more in there since it looks like we're going to get rain soon, so I'd rather not sit out in the courtyard.”

“That would be nice.”

Claudia helped Sorella Agata pour the espresso into two cups, and they each took a slice of plain sponge cake as well. They always had the sponge cake on a few biscotti with their espresso. Claudia's clothes were getting tight, and she knew she'd have to step up her workout routine once she got home. She'd hardly exercised here besides going for long walks and treating herself once to a swim at the local beach. But for some reason, she wasn't fretting as she would've done back home. The convent's serenity and the beautiful Sicilian landscape had done wonders in calming her nervous nature. She knew sadly though that once she returned to New York City, her stressful routine would resume.

Following Sorella Agata into the convent's sitting room, Claudia took a seat in the armchair opposite a small settee, where Sorella Agata sat.

“I must thank you, Claudia, for bearing with me. I know it hasn't been easy for you, listening to my long story about Rosalia.”

“That's all right, Sister.”

“So let's see. We left off in the summer of 1956. Six years later, Rosalia did get married, but not to Antonio. . . .”