Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop (41 page)

“Sorella, I'm sorry, but may I ask you why it seems you often cry when you are baking?”

Sorella Agata looked up, almost as if she was surprised that she'd been crying and in Claudia's presence. She took the paper towel that Claudia was still holding and dabbed at her tears.

She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “I'm a silly old woman.”

“You're not that old, Sorella.”

“It's just . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked down into her batter. Her eyes filled with tears again, but she managed to keep them at bay this time. “It's just always the same. You would think, after all these years, I would be more accustomed to the fact that my family is not in my life. That is why I cry so much. I am often thinking about them. Even when I found Mamma, and she was living here with me, I found myself crying, thinking about Luca and how I would never see him again . . . thinking about Cecilia and Papà.”

Claudia walked over and hugged Sorella Agata, who looked surprised for a moment, but then she returned her hug.

“
Grazie,
Claudia. You are a fine young woman. I will miss you. It has helped me, talking to you about everything from my past. I hope you will come back and visit me again, someday?”

“Of course, Sorella. And I will miss you and everyone else here. But we will be in communication until the book is published. I hope you will be happy with the finished product.”

“I'm sure I will be. I can tell, like me, you take great pride in your work and will do an excellent job with the book.”

Claudia smiled before adding, “Well, I must admit, Sorella Agata, it doesn't seem like you added any secret ingredient to your
cassata
recipe—unless, of course, it will be in the icing, since you have yet to make that.” She winked.

“Eh! This whole secret to my
cassata
was dreamed up by some fool who wanted to make a big deal out of nothing. That is all.”

Sorella Agata poured her cake batter into the prepared pan. Claudia still could not help wondering if there was some mystical explanation for the remarkable flavor of the
cassata
as well as the other pastries. She supposed she and the rest of the world would just never know.

Cassata

SICILIAN RICOTTA CAKE

 

 

 

 

I
t was Holy Saturday, the day before Easter. It was such a beautiful day that Sorella Agata decided to take her cake batter and mix it in the courtyard outside. Perhaps the sunshine and fresh air would make her feel better. She slowly walked outside to one of the café tables by the selling windows of the pastry shop. Sitting down, she paused a moment before mixing her batter, letting her eyes rove around the convent's gardens. She noticed the leaves on the trees' branches had multiplied since spring had started weeks ago, and the tulips and daffodils were now all in full bloom. A few birds hopped along the other café tables, looking for crumbs that had been left behind by the pastry shop's customers who had enjoyed their pastries and cappucinos for breakfast. Sorella Agata scanned the tops of the trees, but still no bluethroat was among the birds singing there. Her heart felt heavy as her mind inevitably flashed back to her childhood, when she and her family had all been together for Easter.

Doing her best to push these thoughts from her mind, she began whisking her batter. She was making her
cassata,
which was now even more famous with the publication of Claudia's book six months ago. The book had brought more attention to the shop, and as such, they were busier than ever. Sorella Agata had had to hire more workers. She had even allowed Claudia to include her story in the book, but not all of it. No mention was made of Marco or her rape. Though she was in her sixties, the fear that he would find her some day had never left her. Sometimes, she still wondered if that man she had seen in the homeless women's alleyway had been Marco. Claudia did include in the book that Sorella Agata had been separated from her family as a teenager and had gone to live at the convent, and she'd also added Sorella Agata's byline against her wishes. All of Sorella Agata's proceeds from the book went to the pastry shop and the Rifugio delle Donne Sant' Anna. She was pleasantly surprised at how much the royalties had been. Claudia had done a beautiful job in relaying both Sorella Agata's background and the story behind each of the pastries Convento di Santa Lucia del Mela created. In addition to the breathtaking photos of all the sweets the shop sold, Claudia had also included photos of the other nuns and pastry workers, which made them all giddy with excitement, especially Veronique.

Sorella Agata smiled as she thought about Antonio's granddaughter. Veronique had been a special light in her life, along with the return of her dear, old friend Antonio. They had become as much a part of her family as the other sisters and workers in the shop. She silently thanked God for giving her all of them and for every blessing in her life.

Usually, when she reminded herself of all she had to be grateful for, her spirits lifted and she was able to put aside her sorrows. But today, it didn't seem to help. Again, her mind replayed the scenes from her childhood when Papà would buy lilies for her and her mother on Easter Sunday after the entire family had attended Mass. Then, they would go home and celebrate with the special dinner Mamma had prepared, which usually was a roasted lamb, followed by Mamma's lemon cake. Luca would lead the family in a prayer before they began eating, and afterward, the family would take a
passeggiata
in town.

Sorella Agata stopped whisking her cake batter and wiped the tears that were quickly sliding down her face with the back of her hand. But as soon as she was done wiping them, more tears fell. Several drops fell into her batter without her noticing. She was too tired to try to stop crying, as she did on other occasions when her emotions got the better of her. Maybe that had been her mistake all along—fighting back the tears and sorrow as she repressed her deep pain over what had happened to her with Marco all those years ago and over losing her family. As she let the tears flow freely, they continued to fall into her cake batter.

A taxi pulled up into the courtyard's driveway, but Sorella Agata was so absorbed in her thoughts she didn't hear it until the sound of doors slamming shut reached her ears. She looked up, squinting into the distance. The driver stepped out of the taxi and opened his trunk, taking a wheelchair out. Bringing it to the side of the vehicle, he waited as a woman helped an elderly man sit in the wheelchair. The woman paid the driver and then pushed the wheelchair with the old man down the driveway leading to the convent's entrance. Sorella Agata stood up. She was about to walk toward them when she noticed the man was crying. He was saying something over and over again, but she couldn't understand his words through his choked sobs. The woman, who looked to be in her mid to late fifties, stared at Sorella Agata, her lips spreading into a slow smile. Sorella Agata then noticed the woman's hair, which was cut in a shoulder-length bob. Except for a shock of gray hair that was near the crown of the woman's head, the rest of her hair was a deep, lustrous shade of black. That was odd. While Sorella Agata's hair had several scattered grays throughout, she, too, had a shock of gray at the front. But she barely looked at her hair anymore since she had shorn it when she became a nun and now always covered it with her veil. An image then came to her mind of when she was young and her own hair had been as black and shiny as this woman's hair was. Sorella Agata's eyes opened wide as she dropped her whisk, oblivious to the cake batter that splattered all over her habit. The woman stopped pushing the wheelchair and ran toward Sorella Agata. Once she reached her, they embraced.

“Cecilia?” Sorella Agata pulled away from her sister and took a close look at her face. “It really is you!”

“
Si,
Rosalia. It is your little sister, Cecilia! How I have prayed for this and thought of you every day since you were taken from us.”

Sorella Agata hugged her sister once more before going to her father's side and dropping down to her knees. She took his frail hands in hers. He cried and leaned his head against Sorella Agata's bosom. She could now make out the word he had been repeating: “Rosalia, Rosalia.”

She held him close, wiping the tears running down his cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Don't cry, Papà. We are together now.”

“We finally found you, my dear daughter. We finally found you.”

“You were looking for me, too, Papà?” She couldn't hide the surprise in her voice.

“Ever since your mother left, Cecilia and I have been looking for both of you. I made so many mistakes, Rosalia, and it took me so long to realize I was wrong. Please believe me when I say, I always thought about you and never stopped loving you, even when I believed you had left with that man. I was a fool. How could I have thought such a thing? Look at you. Look at the fine woman you have become.”

“Papà! I missed you so much.”

Sorella Agata hugged her father and instantly felt the heavy weight that had sat on her heart for the past fifty years begin to ease. She then turned to her sister.

“How did you ever find me?”

“Your book.” Cecilia took out of her handbag Claudia's and Sorella Agata's recipe book.

Sorella Agata shook her head. Never in the past fifty years did she think she would be the one to be found. Like Mamma, they hadn't given up on her after all—just as she had never given up hope she would be reunited with them someday.

Cecilia knelt down beside Sorella Agata as the two sisters huddled around their father, forming a circle as they embraced one another. While they were happy to be together again, each of them could not help thinking that the reunion was bittersweet since not all of their family was present. But the trio didn't notice a pair of birds on the table where Sorella Agata had left her
cassata
cake batter. The birds pecked at the drops of batter that had spilled and then hopped to the edge of the table, where they fixed their gazes on the DiSanta family.

A breeze riffled Sorella Agata's veil, causing her to look up. Just when her eyes landed on the birds, they flew off, but not before she caught the flash of iridescent colors on the breast of one of the birds. Closing her eyes, she sent out a silent prayer, thanking God for granting her another miracle. Tears streamed down her face once again, but this time they were tears of joy.

Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop
would not have been possible without the following books, which I used for research:

* * *

Bitter Almonds: Recollections and Recipes from a Sicilian Girlhood,
Mary Taylor Simeti and Maria Grammatico (Bantam Books, 2002).

 

The Encyclopedia of Saints,
Rosemary Ellen Guiley (Checkmark Books, 2001).

 

Sicilian Feasts,
Giovanna Bellia La Marca (Hippocrene Books, Inc., 2003).

 

Sophia Loren's Recipes and Memories,
Sophia Loren (GT Publishing Corporation, 1998).

 

Sweet Sicily: The Story of an Island and Her Pastries,
Victoria Granof (William Morrow Cookbooks, 2001).

 

I came across a book called
Sweet Sicily
by Victoria Granof. I had no idea that in addition to listing the recipes for many of Sicily's famous desserts, the book would also have a history of pastries on the island. When I read the book, I was fascinated to find out that Sicilian convents in the nineteenth century made and sold sweets, mainly to remain afloat, since after the Italian unification in 1860 much of the Church property was confiscated, forcing convents to close. The nuns treated the pastry making as their second vocation. I also learned that many of these convents were safe havens for women who had fallen on hard times, and in the pastry kitchens of these convents, these women found a new lease on life. I then began forming the idea of a young woman who suffers a horrible tragedy, but is rescued by a group of nuns who make and sell pastries from their convent. The pastries help the young woman to heal, and they become her passion. Shortly after I conceived the premise for
Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop,
I also discovered the book
Bitter Almonds,
by Mary Taylor Simeti and Maria Grammatico, which recounts the true story of Maria Grammatico, who was sent to a convent when she was a young girl in the 1950s.
Bitter Almonds
proved invaluable in giving me a glimpse of how the nuns baked their pastries.

 

 

As we know, rape is still very much a problem in today's society, but at least there is more public awareness about it now. In the 1950s, when Rosalia was raped, it was a much different time, especially in Italy. I remember my mother's telling me stories of young women in her neighborhood who had been kidnapped and raped. These women were often then expected to wed their assailants because they had been “ruined,” and no other man would want them. This was in the forties and fifties. I was shocked when my mother first told me about this horrible custom and could not imagine these poor women having to marry the men who had violated them. What saddened me even more was that often these women's own families encouraged them to wed the men who had attacked them. The shame and the scandal that would ensue if the young woman didn't marry the perpetrator would have been too much for the families of the victims to bear. I couldn't help feeling that little regard had been given to the women when they were forced to marry their rapists; it was as if they were being blamed for the crime's having happened to them—an attitude that is still often carried with rape victims today, unfortunately. I wanted to show how my character not only survived her ordeal, but didn't let it define her or dictate her life. I also wanted to show how one horrible act could have devastating consequences not only for the victim but for all the people in her life—her family and then the man she meets and falls in love with.

 

 

I was inspired by my mother and how she left her family in Sicily behind when she and my father immigrated to the U.S. My mother was one of eight children, and she was very close to her family, especially her sisters. She missed them terribly, and while she eventually adapted to life in America, I think her heart is still in her homeland. I experienced a little of what my mother went through when my husband and I relocated to Austin, Texas, for a year, seven years ago. I wasn't on another continent, and I was only a three-hour plane ride away, but I still missed my family so much and was so sad we weren't living in the same state any longer. So I can't even imagine fully how my mother felt being so far from her family and only seeing them sporadically over the years. My experience made me appreciate even more what my mother sacrificed to give my siblings and me the life we've had.

 

 

I'm not sure if I will have elements of magic realism in my future novels, but this novel felt like the perfect story to include it. I kind of surprised myself when my editor discussed with me the possibility of using magic realism, and I agreed to do it. But I am glad I did, and I had so much fun with it. If it feels right for future storylines, I would include magic realism again, but it's not like I said to myself, “I want this novel to have magic realism.” I want it to feel right, and it definitely felt right for this book.

 

 

I think you can't be a Sicilian American and
not
have a sweet tooth! Everyone in my family has a sweet tooth, and when I learned of Sicily's long, rich history with desserts, I understood why every member of my family, going as far back as my great-grandparents, had a sweet tooth. When I was a little girl, I dreamed of my first job being in one of the Italian bakeries that were in Astoria, Queens, where I grew up. And sure enough, when I was fifteen, my first job was at LaGuli Bakery, one of the few reputable Italian bakeries that have survived. Unfortunately, more and more of these Italian bakeries are closing in Astoria, which makes me sad because they were so much a part of my childhood, and I feel like a crucial part of the neighborhood will be lost someday if and when all of these bakeries shut their doors for good. When I graduated from college, I worked at the bakery in The Cellar at Macy's, at the flagship store at Herald Square, until I was able to secure a job related to my college studies. It was wonderful sampling all the different sweets at both bakeries where I worked, and I loved bringing a cake or some other dessert home to my family every weekend. I have so many favorite desserts. I love the old-fashioned, German style custard-filled doughnuts. There used to be a wonderful German bakery in Astoria when I was a child that had the best doughnuts. These German bakeries are harder to find now in New York City as well. I love traditional American desserts such as apple pie, pumpkin pie, and brownies. My favorite desserts in
Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop
are the
Chiacchiere
(Fried Pastry Ribbons), the zeppole, the
Biscottini da Tè
(Little Tea Cookies), the cannolis, and of course, the
cassata
.