Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop (30 page)

23

Olivette di Sant' Agata

SAINT AGATHA'S LITTLE OLIVES

 

 

 

 

R
osalia adjusted her veil as she stood at the altar. The pins used to hold her veil in place were digging into her scalp. She was nervous, but it was a different kind of nervous. Though today would be the last day of the life she had known, it would also be the start of a new life. The woman she had known all these years would now become someone else: Sorella Agata.

Today, Rosalia would take her vows to become a bride of Christ. These last four years, the time it took for her to complete her training to become a nun, had been filled with deep introspection and reflection. She had not entered into this decision lightly. Two years after Antonio had left, she had received God's calling to become a nun, and since then, she'd had no reservations that this was her destined path. After her failed relationship with Antonio, she had no desire to fall in love again, and she had grown to love living at the convent, bonding with the women there, and learning how to make the finest pastries.

As she stood with the other novitiates from the entire city of Santa Lucia del Mela, waiting to take their vows, her thoughts turned to Antonio. If she had remained engaged to him, she would have been standing at this altar in a long lace dress, committing herself to him rather than to God. Once again, life had surprised her—although this time she had been the one to decide what course it would follow. She had chosen not to stay with Antonio, just as she had chosen to become a novitiate and devote herself fully to God and His work. She wondered what Antonio would think if he knew that she had decided to become a nun. He would be shocked, yes, just like Madre Carmela, Anunziata, Mari, and almost everyone else at the convent had been when she'd shared with them her intentions. The only one who hadn't been shocked was Elisabetta.

Surprisingly, Elisabetta had taken the place of Teresa and become Rosalia's good friend. Rosalia had confided in Elisabetta when she first began to consider the idea of becoming a nun. Rosalia knew that Elisabetta would not judge since she, too, was planning on taking vows. Naturally, Elisabetta had been upset when she learned that Teresa and Francesco had eloped, and she had refused to see her sister when she came by to visit after her nuptials. It took Elisabetta a few months to finally write back to Teresa, and it had been too late. Teresa had stopped writing to Elisabetta. Rosalia had convinced Elisabetta to go visit Teresa, but when she and Elisabetta went to the small house that the newlyweds had been renting from a widow, they were informed the couple had moved. Rosalia was hurt that Teresa had also stopped keeping in touch with her and that she could so easily discard their friendship as well as her relationship with her sister. Was Francesco's love all Teresa really needed? This was unlike Rosalia, who had rejected Antonio and chosen to wait in Messina in hopes of her family's returning.

Though it had been six years since Antonio had moved to Paris, Rosalia's heart winced when she thought about him. True, she still cared for him, but she did not long for him as she had when they were engaged. Shortly after he left, Antonio had kept his word and written, letting her know his address and phone number. He never pressured or asked Rosalia if she had changed her mind and would be returning to him, but she knew he was still waiting for her. How she had wanted to write him back and tell him she was sorry for what she'd said to him that day in the jasmine field. Though he had told her he knew deep down in her heart she didn't really think he was like Marco, she should have told him that. But she also knew she couldn't encourage him. And that was why she never wrote back to him. She had also wanted to tell him how proud she was of him. It was as if Madre Carmela could read Rosalia's mind whenever she gave her updates about Antonio. On the one hand, it was painful for Rosalia to hear about him, but on the other, she was curious to hear if his dream of becoming a chef was coming true. But eventually, Antonio stopped writing altogether. A little more than a year after his leaving Sicily, Antonio's letters to Rosalia ceased. Even Madre's letters grew further apart until she also never heard from him again.

Rosalia's heart had ached terribly, and to try to forget the pain, she had thrown herself even more into her baking. It wasn't long before her pastries sold better with the shop's customers than the same pastries that were made by the other workers. And the questions about her methods began. The other workers couldn't quite figure out why Rosalia's pastries tasted better than theirs even though she was following the same recipes they'd been using for years. Rosalia had felt self-conscious, but Madre Carmela had told her not to pay any mind to the other workers and to just continue to do the fine work she was doing in the kitchen.

Antonio. How she had missed him while she made her recipes, missed having him beside her as they shared their friendly rivalry. She had always felt that he'd made her work better. But now she had to just remember his words of encouragement while she created her pastries alone—though she wasn't truly alone but was surrounded by all the other pastry shop workers. Still. It had been different with Antonio. She prayed for him every day and hoped he was happy. She even prayed that he had found another woman who could do right by him and love him fully. He deserved that after the way she'd hurt him.

“Are you ready, Rosalia?”

Madre Carmela came up to Rosalia and took her hands in her own.

“
Si,
Madre.”

This would probably be the last time someone would address her by her christened name. Rosalia. She felt a quick flash of sadness since that name naturally reminded her of her past: her past with her family, the tragedies she had endured, and finally the time she'd spent with the only boy she had ever loved and would ever love. She was ready to shed her old life and move forward with her new one. But Rosalia also realized that she needed to honor the woman she once had been, along with all the good and bad that had been a part of her life. She had decided to choose Agata for her new name. Saint Agatha was the patron saint of rape victims, so it was fitting for Rosalia to choose her name.

“I have a surprise for you,” Madre Carmela said in a low voice, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one heard her.

She reached into the pocket of her habit, keeping her hand curled as she drew it out. She then placed it in the pocket of Rosalia's habit.

“What are you doing?” Rosalia whispered.

“It's a little celebratory treat for you. For after the ceremony. It's natural to be nervous. I was nervous when I took my vows. Once the ceremony is over, and when you're alone, you can see what I gave you.” Madre Carmela winked before taking her leave of Rosalia.

She had no time to wonder what Madre Carmela had placed in her pocket. The ceremony was beginning. Rosalia shifted her thoughts and focused on the proceedings. She prayed with her fellow novitiates as they went through the customs of the solemn ceremony: lying prostrate before the altar; pronouncing their final vows as they promised to follow a life of poverty, chastity, and obedience; accepting the ring that she would wear forever on her right hand; and finally, the last rite that would make her a bride of Christ—wearing a crown of thorns to symbolize that, like Christ, she would welcome the sufferings of the Lord and follow in His selfless example.

The crown was placed on her head. She was now Sorella Agata.

One by one, Madre and the other sisters from the convent, as well as Anunziata, Mari, Lidia, and Elisabetta—who had taken her vows last year and was now Sorella Lucia—came over and congratulated her.

“
Auguri,
Sorella Agata.”

It was strange to hear her new name and title. But she liked how it sounded. She was sure it must have been odd for her friends to see her now dressed as a nun and to become accustomed to calling her by a different name.

Once they returned to the convent and had a celebratory dinner, Sorella Agata excused herself. She needed some time alone. The enormity of the occasion was beginning to settle on her.

She closed the door to her bedroom and sat on the bed. A few moments passed while she simply stared at herself in a small hand-held mirror. Gone was her long, lustrous black hair. It had been shorn the night before. The few dresses she had possessed she had given to Anunziata.

She stood up and looked down at her long habit. Smoothing wrinkles down the front and sides, she felt a few marble-sized objects in her pocket—Madre Carmela's gift for her.

Reaching into her pocket, Sorella Agata pulled out a handful of small objects that looked like candy, but upon closer inspection she saw they were marzipan, shaped like little green olives.

“
Olivette di Sant' Agata,
” Sorella Agata said aloud to herself and smiled.

Along with the Virgin's Breasts miniature
cassatas
that were made in honor of Saint Agatha and for her feast day, Saint Agatha's Little Olives were also made to celebrate the saint. There was a legend that, when Saint Agatha realized she could no longer escape death, she grasped the branch of a sterile olive tree, and because of the contact made with her hand, the tree became fertile, blossoming and bearing fruit.

Tears filled her eyes. Madre Carmela had thought of the perfect gift. And to think Sorella Agata had ever thought that Madre had betrayed her by encouraging Antonio to apply to culinary school in Paris. Sorella Agata felt ashamed and remembered how she had unleashed her anger on the poor mother superior years ago, after Antonio had told her that Madre had been instrumental in his decision to still apply to Le Cordon Bleu. Days later when she'd come to her senses, she had apologized to Madre Carmela. But Madre had told her there was no need to do so.

Sorella Agata popped one of the Saint Agatha olive marzipans into her mouth. She closed her eyes, savoring their sweet flavor. At least she would not be forced to give up pastries in her new life as a nun.

24

Biscottini da Tè

LITTLE TEA COOKIES

 

 

 

 

C
laudia was shocked. Rosalia and Sorella Agata were one and the same. Why hadn't it occurred to her before? How stupid had she been? Of course, it all made sense now. She should have realized it all along. After all, why would Sorella Agata have gone on and on about this young woman who discovered she loved to bake as much as the nuns who mentored her and also realized she had a knack for creating the most wonderful pastries?

“So you are Rosalia.”

“Yes, Claudia. I am, although I haven't been Rosalia for half my life now. Not since I took my vows and became Sorella Agata.”

“Why didn't you tell me at the start of your story? No wonder I couldn't find anyone working at the convent by that name, and whenever I asked one of the other sisters or the lay workers about Rosalia, they all just shook their heads as if they had no idea who she was. But they all knew.”

“Well, not all of them. Mainly the older sisters know, and I suppose a few of the younger ones must know as well. But many of our current lay workers were not with me when I was learning from Madre Carmela, so they do not know about my past. Elisabetta, who was a lay worker when I was apprenticing in the shop, naturally knows. If you remember what I told you, she was in the process of becoming a nun and has remained at the Convento di Santa Lucia.”

“Which one is she?”

“Sorella Lucia.”

“The cook?”

“
Si.
She discovered she preferred cooking savory foods rather than sweet, and, after becoming a nun, she followed our old cook around. Once the old cook died, Sorella Lucia took her place.”

“So the other nuns kept your secret.”

“Naturally. I am their mother superior, and as such, they must obey me.”

“You asked them not to tell me that you were Rosalia?”

“No, I didn't. But they know better than to talk about me behind my back.” Sorella Agata smiled mischievously as she took a bite out of her sponge cake.

Claudia couldn't help noticing that Sorella Agata seemed more relaxed than she had been since Claudia had first started interviewing her. Why had she been so nervous to tell Claudia about her past and to admit that she was Rosalia?

As if reading Claudia's mind, Sorella Agata said, “I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner. I had my reasons. You see, I wasn't even sure if I was going to tell you about my past. So I thought it would be better not to tell you right away that I was Rosalia, in case I changed my mind and decided not to tell you the entire story. It has been very painful, reliving my youth and all that I endured. I have pushed my pain away as much as I can, and I thought if it became unbearable, I would just stop.”

“So what convinced you to tell me?”

“I thought it was time to try to put all of this behind me. While I have moved forward with my life as best I can, my past still weighs heavily on my mind. I was surprised to see that once I started telling you my story, it poured out of me, and then I couldn't stop, although every day I contemplated holding back.”

Claudia thought for a few moments before speaking.

“What about your family? Did you ever find them or at least find out what had become of them? And did you ever see Antonio again? You mentioned you didn't become a nun until six years later. May I ask what led you to such a . . .” Claudia caught herself before she offended Sorella Agata.

“. . . a drastic decision. You can say it, Claudia. It's all right. You're not the only one to have said that my choice to become a bride of Christ was a drastic one.”

“It must've been a shock to everyone at the convent that you would decide to become a nun, especially since you had been engaged to Antonio and they all knew this.”

“Yes. But it really shouldn't have come as a shock to them. In the two years since Antonio had left, I had been praying more and attending all the Masses with the sisters, not just the few that the lay workers were expected to attend. And then there was my service work.”

“Your service work?”

“I suppose I should pick up from where I left off last night, after Antonio stormed away from Rosalia. For a few weeks, Antonio tried to persuade Rosalia—or rather me—to change my mind about not wishing to marry him anymore. But it was no use. I was so angry that he expected me to go off to Paris with him and forget about my family.”

“It didn't sound like he expected you to forget about them, Sister.”

“I know that now.” Sorella Agata spoke quietly. “And I think part of me knew it then, too, but it was easier for me to remain mad at him. For if I stopped being mad, I was afraid I would relent and marry him.”

“And would that have been so terrible? You loved him.”

“I did. But I felt I wasn't worthy of him.”

“Because of Marco's raping you?”

“Yes. As I told Antonio, I didn't think I would make a suitable wife to him or any man because my virginity had been compromised. You have to understand, Claudia, this was the 1950s. People thought differently then, especially about rape. You remember what I told you? When I was younger, I had heard similar stories to mine, about young women who were kidnapped, raped, and then expected to marry their rapists. It was barbaric. But that was the custom, although I still firmly believe that if my parents had known that Marco had raped me, they would not have allowed me to marry him. They were different. But then again, it appeared as if my father believed the lies in the letter Marco forced me to write. So maybe my father would have wanted me to wed Marco? I can't say for certain. But I'd rather hold on to my belief that he wouldn't have wanted that.”

Claudia looked at Sorella Agata. Although she was up there in years and had had a world of experience, Claudia could still detect some innocence in her eyes—and a deep sadness. She tried to picture what Sorella Agata must've looked like when she was the young Rosalia with lustrous black hair hanging down to her waist.

“It is good to hold on to your beliefs, even when you don't know if they're true or not. After all, that is what has helped keep you going all these years. Am I not right, Sister?”

“I like to think so.” She gave Claudia a small smile before taking a sip of her espresso.

“Anyway, for weeks, Antonio tried in vain to convince me to still marry him. But I wouldn't even talk to him. He would plead with me, and I wouldn't say a word.” Sorella Agata closed her eyes, forcing back tears. “I was quite mean to him, Claudia. I did my best to scowl and completely ignore him. Finally, I got my wish. He gave up. The last time he communicated with me before he left for Paris was in a letter.”

Sorella Agata reached into the deep pockets of her habit. Claudia couldn't help remembering how Madre Carmela had always done this and produced marzipan fruit for Rosalia to eat in hopes of comforting her. Claudia wondered if perhaps Sorella Agata had adopted Madre Carmela's practice and was going to take a few marzipan fruit from her pocket and pop one into her mouth. But instead of the delicate, perfect-looking sweets, Sorella Agata pulled out an envelope.

“You carry Antonio's letter with you?”

“Of course not. I knew I was going to share with you today that I am Rosalia, and I wanted to read his letter to you.”

Sorella Agata took another sip of espresso before clearing her throat and beginning Antonio's letter.

Sorella Agata's voice caught at the end. She quickly blinked her eyes, and her face looked flushed. Claudia remembered that was Rosalia's trait—blushing so easily.

Claudia stood up and went over to the window. She was crying, but didn't want to upset Sorella Agata. It was too sad. Poor Antonio. And poor Sorella Agata.

“Please, Claudia. Don't cry. I'm really all right.”

Claudia shook her head as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand before returning to her chair. “I just can't imagine how difficult that must've been for you, turning the man you loved away like that. I know you were afraid, and your desire to wait and see if your family came back to Messina was greater than your desire to be with Antonio, but still. I don't know. It just seems like you sacrificed so much, and like Antonio said, you punished yourself severely.”

“In spite of everything, Claudia, I have had a very rewarding life. I have found happiness, although not in the traditional sense for a young woman from my generation. True, I didn't marry and have children, but God had other plans for me. I have found such fulfillment in both my work at the pastry shop and my community service. And there's something you don't know about me, Claudia.”

“Another secret?” Claudia asked incredulously.

“A small one, and it's not really a secret. I just didn't get to that part of my story yet. I founded a women's shelter in town. Remember I told you when we met that I planned on donating the proceeds of the book to an organization that did tremendous work in the community? It will be to this shelter. I no longer run it, but I still visit regularly and assist in whatever way I can, mainly counseling the women now.”

Claudia shook her head. “You've managed to amaze me once again, Sister. But I suppose it makes sense that you would want to help women after what happened to you when you were young.”

“Yes. So God had plans for me, and I am only too happy to serve Him and those I have helped and will continue to help. This work, along with my work in the pastry shop, has given such meaning to my life.” Sorella Agata paused, as if she was trying to remember something.

“I'm sorry, Claudia, but in addition to the tangerine cake, I also have a tray of
Biscottini da Tè
that are in the oven. I'll bring a few back with me so we can have them nice and hot.” Sorella Agata smiled as she stood up and left the sitting room.

Claudia had thought about telling her she wasn't hungry, and besides it was late and almost time for bed. How much could one eat before going to bed? But the smile the nun had given her made Claudia bite her tongue. She reached for her belt buckle on her jeans and unclasped it, loosening it to the next notch as she mentally shook her head. The convent didn't even possess a scale, so Claudia had no idea how much weight she'd gained in the past few weeks. She would just have to deal with it when she returned home to New York.

The aroma from the
Biscottini da Tè
reached Claudia's nose. Her thoughts returned to Sorella Agata's incredible story. She wondered if Sorella Agata would allow her to write about it in their book. Claudia was certain their readers would find the story fascinating, and the book would be about so much more than just the recipes. People would not only get to know the amazing person behind these extraordinary desserts, but they would also learn how the pastries had saved Sorella Agata's life when she was young and inspired her in her work. But Claudia would not pressure Sorella Agata to include her backstory if she didn't want to. Sorella Agata had been through enough in her life.

Sorella Agata returned with the promised plate of just-baked tea cookies. They were braided and looked like nothing more than simple cookies that would be good for dunking in tea or even in a cold glass of milk.

“They were ready as I suspected.” Sorella Agata placed the plate of cookies on the coffee table and, before Claudia could protest, she placed three of the
Biscottini da Tè
on her plate.

Claudia frowned, but again remained silent. She took one of the cookies and bit into its crumbly texture. Though the cookie looked deceptively simple, it imparted a sweet flavor that was immediately addictive. Once again, as with many of the other desserts Claudia had sampled that were baked by Sorella Agata, there was an essence of something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

“You've done it again, Sorella Agata! These biscotti are beyond delicious.”

“
Grazie.
” Sorella Agata shrugged her shoulders dismissively before saying, “It's from many years of perfecting my craft.”

“Yes, I guess so.” Though Claudia agreed with the nun, she still believed there was more to Sorella Agata's extraordinary sweets, but she had beaten the subject to death. Perhaps after she finally watched her make her
cassata
—that is, if Sorella Agata ever decided to make it in Claudia's presence—Claudia could simply accept that perhaps she and the rest of the world would never find out the cake's secret.