Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop (38 page)

“Have you tried doing a search on the Internet? Or how about hiring a private investigator? I know it would be expensive, but they often have success with cases like these.”

Sorella Agata smiled. “I have searched their names numerous times on the Internet, but nothing. All I found was Cecilia's marital record. And I simply cannot justify spending the money it would take to hire a private investigator when the pastry shop and the convent need that money.”

“But it seems like the shop does well. Surely, everyone would understand if—”

“No, Claudia. It is self-serving. I have made my peace. If God wants me to be reunited with my sister and father, then He will find a way to do so. Besides, there is no guarantee the private investigator would be able to locate them.”

Claudia couldn't help wondering if perhaps another reason why Sorella Agata didn't want to hire a private investigator was that she couldn't handle yet another disappointment. But she also knew the nun's priority above all else was to serve others before herself.

“And Antonio? I suppose you never did hear from him again?”

“Antonio came back to the Convento di Santa Lucia del Mela.”

“He did?” Claudia asked, stunned.

“Four years ago.”

They were interrupted by a knock on Claudia's door.

“Excuse me, Sorella Agata, Claudia.” Veronique greeted them with a bow of her head. “I didn't realize anyone was in here. I wanted to change the sheets since I didn't have a chance to do them this morning. I'll come back later.” She turned to leave, but Sorella Agata called out to her.

“No, it is all right, my child. Claudia and I can continue talking in the courtyard. I know it's a bit chilly outside tonight, but it's not too cold to take a stroll as long as we wear sweaters.”

Sorella Agata stood up, leaving Claudia no choice but to follow her. She found it strange that Sorella Agata hadn't asked her whether she minded continuing their talk outside. Usually, she was very courteous, asking Claudia if she was comfortable and if she could get her anything—anything usually meaning sweets of course—and if where they chose to have their interviews was fine since they alternated between the courtyard and the sitting room. In spite of what Sorella Agata had said, it was more than just a little chilly outside today. The average temperature for this time of year in Sicily was in the fifties, but for the past few days the temperature hadn't gotten out of the forties. But Claudia didn't object.

Grabbing their sweaters from the coat closet downstairs, they stepped out into the brisk air. Claudia couldn't help finding it odd that Veronique had mentioned she was going to change the sheets.

“Does Veronique also help with the chores at the convent even though she's an apprentice? Is that part of the bargain you have with all the apprentices at the pastry shop?”

“No, of course not. Other than cleaning up the kitchen after they've learned their pastry making for the day, apprentices are not expected to help the nuns with our chores in the convent. I've told Veronique this many times, but she insists on helping when she isn't apprenticing in the kitchen or shop. So I've given up on asking her not to. She seems content to help us, I suppose because she is grateful for all that we have taught her.”

They walked quietly for a little while. Claudia decided to wait until Sorella Agata was ready to begin talking about Antonio instead of prompting her. She could only imagine how hard it would be for her to talk about how it had felt to see him again after so many years had passed since they'd last seen each other. Finally, Sorella Agata broke the silence.

“I love taking walks. It helps to clear my mind.”

Sorella Agata breathed deeply before glancing over her shoulder, almost as if to check that no one was within earshot.

“I don't believe you've ever been to the abandoned chapel, Claudia, have you?”

“No, I've just walked by it. I didn't want to go in and disturb the residents there.”

“Actually, no one is living there now. I must've forgotten to mention that to you. After I opened the women's shelter in town, I was able to move the women who were staying in the abandoned chapel.”

“That makes sense. I should've thought of that.”

“Let's go to the chapel. It's getting too cold to remain out here, and it will give us privacy while we talk.”

As Claudia followed Sorella Agata to the abandoned chapel, her heart raced in anticipation. She had been dying to know what had happened to Antonio. Although Claudia knew it was not the ending she had hoped for, now that Rosalia was Sorella Agata and naturally there was no chance that their romance would have been resumed, she was still curious to hear where Antonio's life had taken him since he had left for Paris. Had he become a renowned chef? Had he found love again? Or had he never forgotten Rosalia . . . ?

31

Torta Savoia

CHOCOLATE HAZELNUT CAKE

 

 

 

 

S
orella Agata couldn't believe it was not only the start of a new year, but also the beginning of a new century. Where had the time gone? In the past thirty-five years since she had started the Rifugio delle Donne Sant' Anna, the women's shelter in town, she had been busier than ever. And then in 1985, her duties had increased at the convent when she had assumed the role of mother superior. At sixty-five years old, Madre Carmela had been getting up there in years and was getting more tired. As Madre's right hand in the convent and the pastry shop, it was only natural that Sorella Agata would become mother superior. But she insisted on still being called Sorella Agata, and she continued to address Madre Carmela as Madre. Sorella Agata could not think of her as anything else.

Some days, she did not know where she found the energy to split her time between the pastry shop and her work at the shelter. She often went to the shelter in the evenings, after siesta, and skipped her evening supper. Although she was tired, the work also renewed her spirit and gave her a sense of fulfillment. The work at the Rifugio delle Donne Sant' Anna had also saved her. For it kept her mind off of the fact that she had not been able to find her family. While she was preoccupied and the ache in her heart had dimmed a bit, it had never completely faded.

But Sorella Agata was human. While she now knew this was God's purpose for her—helping women who had met with some horrible fate in life—she couldn't help wondering from time to time what her life would have been like if she had followed another path. What if she had moved to Paris with Antonio and become his wife? Once these thoughts entered her head, she chastised herself. It was not for her to question the road God had placed her on. Still. When she was whipping up her pastries, she sometimes thought about Antonio, and wondered what had become of her old friend who had loved her so much. Her cheeks still burned when she remembered the look of hurt on his face on that day so long ago when she had turned him away and had been so mean to him. She prayed he had found it in his heart to forgive her, and she also prayed he did not think too badly of her. That is, if he thought of her at all after all this time.

“
Buon anno,
Sorella!”

“Elisabetta! I mean, Sorella Lucia, you scared me.”

Sorella Agata placed her hand over her heart. From time to time, she still called her old friend Elisabetta instead of the name she had chosen once she became a nun. Sorella Lucia, as well as Teresa, also forgot from time to time and called her Rosalia. Every time this happened, they would look at each other, smile, and then act as if it hadn't happened.

Strangely though, Madre had never once slipped and called her Rosalia except when she was trying to make Mamma feel comfortable after she'd come to live with them at the convent. For some reason, this sometimes made Sorella Agata a little sad. She would have thought that, if anyone would have a hard time no longer calling her Rosalia, it would've been Madre Carmela. Whenever Sorella Agata would wonder about this, almost immediately afterward she would feel silly and even a little guilty for feeling this way. After all, why should she feel sad that Madre always remembered to call her Sorella Agata? It was who she was now, and to this day, she had never regretted for a second her vocation.

“I'm sorry for startling you, Sorella Agata,” Sorella Lucia said, before busying herself with washing a sink full of prep dishes as she hummed a hymn to herself.

“That's all right. I must say I've been more skittish than usual lately. And Happy New Year to you, too. Where are my manners? I was lost in thought when you startled me. I couldn't believe another year is upon us, and that it is the start of a new millennium.”

Sorella Lucia stopped humming. She glanced over her shoulder at Sorella Agata, but then returned her gaze to the cake pan she was scrubbing.

“Isn't it funny, Sorella Agata, how the older we get, the quicker time seems to pass, whereas when we were children, time seemed infinite.”

“I wouldn't say it's funny, but yes, I suppose someone upstairs is having a bit of fun with us, for once we're aware of how short life really is, the days just seem to get shorter. Then again, it's natural a child would feel that time passes slowly, especially since children can feel quite invincible.”

Sorella Agata thought about when she and Luca were children, running around in the back of their house. The days had felt endless, and when they would talk about how they couldn't wait to grow up, it had felt like the future was a long way off. If only she had known then just how soon everything would change, and how short their time together would be—how short Luca's life would be. She prayed for her brother's soul every day, as well as for her mother's. And whenever she was taking a stroll through the courtyard, she looked to see if her bluethroat friend would visit her again. But since the day Mamma had told her about Luca's death, she'd no longer seen the bluethroat.

“Are you all right, Sorella Agata?”

Sorella Lucia had finished washing the dishes and was now drying them off with a linen towel.

“
Si, si.
You know me. My mind is always wandering.” When she noticed the look of concern in Sorella Lucia's face, Sorella Agata quickly added, “All the things I have to do here at the shop and at the shelter. Our work is never done.”

She smiled, averting her gaze from Sorella Lucia's lest Sorella Lucia realize she was lying. Silently, she said a quick prayer, asking God to forgive her little white lie.

“The nerve!” Teresa came storming into the kitchen, slamming down a large sack of flour onto one of the work counters and sending a haze of flour particles into the air. She coughed.

“What is the matter, Teresa?”

Sorella Lucia went to her sister's side and brushed some flour out of her hair. It still warmed Sorella Agata's heart to see how close the two sisters had become once Teresa had returned to the convent.

“There is a customer in the pastry shop insisting that something tastes off with our
Torta Savoia
. I told him he was mistaken, but he kept insisting. He said there wasn't enough rum in it. Then he asked if we made our own hazelnut chocolate cream or if we were using the version that's sold in a jar. That's when I lost it and screamed, ‘Nutella?! We make everything from scratch here.' ”

“Calm down, Teresa. He was just a pesky customer. We've had those before. I don't know why you're getting yourself so worked up.” But Sorella Agata couldn't help feeling a bit irked by the man's accusations. The Nutella comment especially grated on her nerves.

“What are you talking about? It's rare a customer is dissatisfied with our pastries,” Teresa said.

“That's not true, Teresa. We've had patrons question our pastries, especially my
cassata
.”

“But they are questioning your
cassata
because it is so delicious and its taste far surpasses that of any others they've had. This pompous idiot is questioning our chocolate hazelnut cake, implying it's horrible and even suggesting that we forgot to add an ingredient or used inferior ingredients like Nutella.”

“Nutella is absolutely delicious and a very good substitute if a home cook doesn't have the time to make his or her own chocolate hazelnut cream. But at our pastry shop, we pride ourselves on making everything from scratch. There really is no need to take such offense, Teresa,” Sorella Lucia chimed in.

“Well, I cannot be as magnanimous as the two of you. I told him he could leave and never step foot in our shop again.”

“You didn't, Teresa!” Sorella Agata exclaimed, shocked that even Teresa would treat a customer in such a way.

“I did. But he wouldn't leave. He said he wanted to meet the chef who had made this mediocre cake. He actually called it mediocre!”

Sorella Agata remained quiet, doing her best not to let this customer's comments get to her the way they had gotten to Teresa. She took pride in her work, though she always strived to keep her pride from turning into arrogance. After all, she worked to serve God, even with her pastry making. But she couldn't help taking some offense at this man's harsh criticisms of her baking.

“He is still in the shop?” Sorella Agata would confront him and defend her cake.

“He is. I'll take you to him.”

Sorella Agata and even Sorella Lucia followed Teresa, who was all but running, to the pastry shop. In her mind, Sorella Agata rehearsed how she would calmly tell the customer there was no mistake in how she'd made the cake. She would listen to him, let him have his say, and then once she defended her work, she would offer him another pastry, free of charge. She was not going to engage him like Teresa had—or worse yet—be so rude toward him.

They stepped into the pastry shop, which was full of customers. Quickly, Sorella Agata assessed the workers behind the counter and the line of patrons waiting to be served. The line seemed to be moving along, and none of the other workers looked flustered. At least this customer hadn't rankled any of them.

“He's right there.” Teresa pointed toward a man whose hands were clasped behind his back as he looked at a photo of the pastry shop taken back in the fifties. He had a full head of hair, but it was all gray. She had expected the customer to be someone much younger. She then saw him turn to a young, attractive woman who was standing beside him, and he gestured toward the picture with his head as he said something to her. The woman nodded her head, but barely glanced at the photo. Her eyes held a dark, vacant stare, and for a moment Sorella Agata felt a slight chill. There was something familiar about the haunted look in that girl's eyes, and she had a strange feeling in the pit of her belly that something was very wrong.

Sorella Agata made her way toward the man. Clearing her throat, she said, “Excuse me,
signore
. I understand you wanted to meet the chef who made the
Torta Savoia
you are not happy with?”

She waited, but the man did not turn around immediately. The woman beside him glanced at her, but when their eyes met, she quickly lowered her gaze. Then, the man turned around. His eyes held a twinkle, and were those tears she saw as well? For the second time that morning, Sorella Agata pressed her hand to her heart. Surely, she was mistaken. But the eyes that stared back at her and even the smile were the same as those of the young man she had once fallen in love with.

“Rosalia.”

His voice had deepened with age, and even had a quality to it, much like that of a smoker. Had he taken up smoking since she'd last seen him? He was staring at her, waiting for her to say something, but she was still too shocked.

“It is so good to see you, my dear, old friend.”

As soon as Sorella Agata heard those words, tears quickly slid down her face. He had forgiven her. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in the way he had called her his dear, old friend. She shook her head, feeling as if she didn't deserve his forgiveness. For she had never forgiven herself for the horrible words she had spoken to him all those years ago.

Finally, she said, “I'm so sorry, Antonio.”

“You have no need to be sorry.”

He stepped forward and embraced her. And in that moment, as memories of the time they'd once spent together came rushing back to her, she was no longer Sorella Agata, but instead was Rosalia—the teenage girl who had briefly given her heart to the young boy who had made her feel safe, special, and loved.

A few minutes later, Sorella Agata, Antonio, Teresa, and Sorella Lucia were chatting away. Well, Teresa and Sorella Lucia were doing most of the talking, filling Antonio in on the changes the pastry shop had undergone in the years since he'd left. Antonio listened patiently and offered a word here and there, but his gaze kept floating over to Sorella Agata, who was still getting over her initial shock at seeing him again. She then realized Teresa had made up the whole story about the disgruntled patron.

“Teresa, why didn't you just tell me Antonio was here instead of coming up with that elaborate story? We're not silly young women any longer.”

“What fun would that have been? Besides, I didn't make up the entire story. I didn't recognize Antonio right away, and he did say all those things about your chocolate hazelnut cake.”

Sorella Agata looked questioningly at Antonio, hurt evident in her face. He really thought she hadn't added enough rum to the cake and that she had used Nutella?

But just like the times when they were young and Antonio had been so perceptive in sensing her feelings and thoughts, he patted her shoulder reassuringly and said, “I was joking. I remembered how easy it used to be to rile Teresa, and I wanted to see if she'd changed. Needless to say, I was happy to see she hadn't.” He laughed.

Teresa swatted his arm playfully. “And you haven't changed either. Well, except for the wrinkles and the gray hair.”

Though he had aged, he was still a handsome man, even in his sixties. Sorella Agata then realized that Antonio must've been shocked to see her in a nun's habit, and surely, he would think she had changed considerably.

Never one to exercise delicacy, Teresa blurted, “Well, I'm sure you both want to catch up. Antonio, Elisabetta and I can take your granddaughter back to the convent with us. She looks tired. She can wait for you in our sitting room. We'll keep her company and tell her stories about what a devil you were when you were young.”

His granddaughter. Of course. Sorella Agata should have realized when she saw how young the woman by his side was that she had to be his granddaughter. She even noticed that they had the same shape eyes and nose. So he had found someone else to love and had married. She was glad. Sorella Agata had prayed that Antonio would meet a woman who would be kind to him and give him the love he deserved. She had always wanted him to be happy, especially knowing how she'd hurt him. She wondered where his wife was now. Maybe she'd stayed behind in Paris—that is, if he still lived there. Suddenly, a flurry of questions raced through her mind. Why after all these years had he come back to the convent? Surely, it could not have been just to see her?