Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  Rosalia had shaken her head. “It will only be temporary until I find my family. I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality, Madre.”

  “You can stay as long as you want. We’ve all enjoyed having you with us. Do not think of yourself as a burden. You are a part of our family.”

  Rosalia looked pensive. No doubt she was thinking she wanted to be with her biological family and not with a group of women she barely knew.

  “Grazie, Madre.”

  And those were the last words Rosalia had spoken since they had left her house. Signora Tucci had given them a small box so Rosalia could take the jars of blood orange marmalade her mother had left for her. As they walked back to the car, Rosalia had hugged the box tightly to her chest and had refused to let the inspector place it in the trunk. She kept it by her feet during the ride to the convent.

  The car came to a stop in the courtyard, which was empty, unlike when they had set out on their trip earlier and all the nuns and lay workers had bid farewell to Rosalia. L’ispettore Franco helped Madre Carmela carry the boxes of pastries that the nuns and lay workers had given as gifts to Rosalia into the convent. Rosalia followed them, holding her box of marmalade. She walked very slowly, staring straight in front of her.

  Madre Carmela hurriedly walked ahead, entering the kitchen before Rosalia did. All the workers stopped what they were doing. Their heads turned as they looked for Rosalia.

  “Please. Give her time,” she said in a low voice, glancing over her shoulder to ensure that Rosalia wasn’t within earshot. “She’s received a terrible shock. I will answer your questions later. And no one is to ask Rosalia anything about her family. Is that understood?” Madre Carmela said in her most stern voice.

  “Si, Madre,” the workers answered, lowering their gazes and returning to their work.

  She saw a few of them shaking their heads in disbelief. Naturally, they sensed Rosalia’s family reunion had not been a success.

  Sorella Giovanna could not help muttering, “It is such a shame, Madre. The poor girl.”

  Madre Carmela went out into the corridor, but Rosalia was nowhere to be found. She rushed to Rosalia’s room, where Rosalia was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at one of the marmalade jars.

  Madre Carmela went over and tried to gently pry the jar from her hands, but Rosalia held on to it with an iron grip.

  “It is all I have left of my family, Madre. I don’t even have a photograph of them.”

  “I am just going to place the jar on your dresser, Rosalia. Please, get some rest now. You’ve had a long day. We will talk more tomorrow when you’re refreshed. All is not lost. Try to remember that, my dear child.”

  “All is not lost,” Rosalia whispered.

  She let Madre Carmela help her out of her clothes and into a nightgown. Since Rosalia had only left a few hours ago, the sisters had not had time to clean out her room. The nightgown she’d been wearing and a few other items Madre Carmela had lent her were still in her dresser.

  Rosalia got into bed. Madre Carmela drew the blinds shut. It was only six o’clock, and the sun was still burning brightly.

  “I will come back up a little later and bring you something to eat. But if you are sleeping, I won’t disturb you.”

  Madre Carmela waited for Rosalia to say something, but she merely stared up at the ceiling. The young woman she’d brought back from death a couple of months ago was now slipping back into her shell.

  Madre Carmela had to be patient. She knew from her own experience that Rosalia needed time to grieve the loss of her family and to fully feel the pain. She could not pressure the girl. But she feared it would be a long time before Rosalia could be reached.

  Sighing, she made her way back down to the kitchen and busied herself with work, which always seemed to lift her spirits. But today no matter how much she tried to lose herself in her passion for baking, her sadness refused to budge.

  A thought then came to Madre Carmela. She rushed over to one of the glass cabinets and took out a set of custard cups. She then took a plump lemon from one of the bowls that held citrus fruit and pulled out her box grater from a shelf beneath one of the worktables. She quickly ran the lemon against the box grater, inhaling the intense citrus aroma from the zest.

  An hour later, Madre Carmela checked in on Rosalia and was glad to see she was sleeping. She let her sleep for another hour before she returned with a tray holding a pair of custard cups.

  “Rosalia. Rosalia. Wake up.” Madre Carmela gently shook her shoulder.

  Rosalia woke up with a start.

  “It’s all right, my child. It is only me. I’m sorry if I startled you, but I brought something that I thought would make you feel better.” She gestured to the custard.

  Rosalia looked at the custard, but then turned her head away. Madre Carmela frowned. Even when Rosalia had still been recovering from her ordeal in the cave, she’d taken an interest in the daily sweets Madre Carmela had brought to her.

  Taking one of the custard cups, Madre Carmela sat on the edge of Rosalia’s bed. She scooped up some of the white custard, which was garnished with chopped pistachios, candied citrus peel, and chocolate shavings. She held the spoon out to Rosalia, but Rosalia shook her head and whispered, “I’m not hungry.”

  “Just taste it, Rosalia. For me?” Madre Carmela lowered her face so that her gaze met Rosalia’s.

  Rosalia sat up and took the spoon from Madre Carmela. Her eyes flickered for a moment upon tasting the custard. She then reached for the cup in Madre Carmela’s hand.

  Madre Carmela smiled. She could tell the sweet was already soothing Rosalia’s broken spirits.

  “What is it?” Rosalia asked.

  “Biancomangiare. It’s a milk pudding my mamma used to make for me when I was a very small girl and was not feeling well. It always managed to make me feel better, no matter my ailment.”

  “What was your mamma like?”

  “She was beautiful, but her hard life rarely made her smile. Her hair was the color of rich chestnuts, and she always wore it in a high bun. One night, I couldn’t sleep and went to my mother’s room. Her door was ajar, and I could see her brushing her hair. It was the only time I had ever seen her hair down. She used to wear it in a braid when she went to bed. Her hair was gorgeous and hung down to her waist. I watched in awe as she brushed her hair. My mother finally noticed me watching and beckoned to me with her hand to enter her room. My father was already fast asleep, snoring deeply as he always did. Mamma took me in her lap and let me brush her hair for her. It’s one of the few memories I have of my mamma.” Madre Carmela’s voice seemed to catch a little, and Rosalia could see by the distant look in her eyes that she was still in her mother’s room, brushing her hair.

  “Did she die when you were young? Is that why you have few memories of her?”

  “No. My father was a cobbler and was always struggling to make ends meet. There were six of us, four boys and two girls. I was the youngest. My sister was the oldest. It came to a point at which my parents couldn’t feed all of us. I remember there were holes in the walls throughout our little shack of a house. As a child, I didn’t think much of it until one day I saw Mamma making dough to make bread. She didn’t know I had entered the kitchen. I saw her tearing some plaster from one of the holes in the wall and adding it to her flour mixture. She was trying to stretch her flour to make it last longer. Can you imagine that?” Madre Carmela wiped away her tears with the back of her hand before continuing. “My parents had to give me and two of my brothers away. I came here. My brother Gaetano went to a monastery and Bruno, my other brother, went to a farmer who had no children and needed someone to help him.”

  “That’s terrible, Madre. I’m so sorry.”

  “Many families were forced to do this back then.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was only six years old.” Madre Carmela gave a soft laugh. “I didn’t know it, however. I thought I was as old as my elder siblings. When I realized my parent
s were giving me away, I pounded my mother’s chest with my fists. I told her I could help her like Angela, my older sister. Angela and my brothers Michele and Giuseppe were staying with my parents since they were the oldest. My parents didn’t want their youngest children to continue to go hungry. I remember my stomach often hurt, but I was too young to realize it was because I wasn’t eating enough. For as long as I could remember, my stomach had ached, so it seemed normal to me. That is why Mamma often made Biancomangiare for me. Of course, she could not afford to top it off with nuts, chocolate, and candied citrus peel as I did with yours.”

  “Were you mad at them for giving you away, Madre?”

  “Terribly. I cried myself to sleep every night. I thought they would come back for me when things got better for them, but I guess things never did since I remained at the convent.”

  “Did they visit you?”

  “At first, Mamma did. But I think it became too hard for her—and for me. Each time, I hoped she would be taking me back home with her, and when she didn’t, I went into a rage. The nuns couldn’t console me. I don’t know this for certain, but I suspect the nuns might’ve told my mother to stop visiting. It was just too difficult for both of us.”

  “So where is your family now?”

  Madre shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. When I was a teenager, I asked the nuns if I could go visit them. But my mother superior found out my mother had moved with my other siblings after my father died. He had a heart attack about five years after they gave me away. Since my mother had stopped visiting me, I didn’t know this until I was fourteen and was looking to reconnect with them again.”

  “Did you try to find them?”

  “No. I chose to accept that this was the fate God had intended for me. I knew by then that I wanted to become a nun, and I decided to put all of my energies into that.”

  “I’m sorry, Madre. But I cannot understand how you were able to do that.”

  “The circumstances were different from yours, Rosalia. I was much younger when I lost my family. Though I was devastated, I didn’t have all the years of memories you have had with your family. I think part of me had still not forgiven them for giving me away. I have forgiven them now, but it took many years. I made my peace and decided to focus on the new family I had formed with my sisters.”

  “I must find my family, Madre. I will never stop searching for them.”

  “Of course, Rosalia. We all must do what we feel is right in our hearts.”

  “So you understand some of the pain I am going through, Madre.”

  “I do. It still hurts me to this day, but I am happy with how my life has turned out, and I would not ask for it to be any different.”

  “Thank you for sharing your story with me, Madre. I feel some comfort in knowing someone can understand how I feel.”

  “You are not alone, Rosalia. I know it must seem that way. But we are all here for you. Remember that.”

  After Madre Carmela left Rosalia’s room, Rosalia thought about the nun’s sad childhood. She couldn’t imagine losing her family at such a young age. For if it hurt as much as it did now and Rosalia was seventeen, how must it have hurt for a child who always ached for the love of her mother? As she drifted off to sleep once more, her last thoughts were about Madre Carmela’s milk pudding. Just as with Rosalia’s mother’s marmalade, Madre had a sweet to remember her mother by. The nun was right, but Rosalia hadn’t dared admit it to her. The pudding had made her feel a bit better. But Rosalia knew it was a temporary balm, and the pain of losing her family would still be with her when she awoke in the morning.

  10

  Buccellati

  SICILIAN CHRISTMAS FIG COOKIES

  December 9, 1955

  There was a buzz in the convent and pastry shop now that they were in the middle of the Christmas season. But this year, there was also a cloud hanging over the festive air. For the nuns and the lay workers at the Convento di Santa Lucia del Mela were sad for the newest member of their family—Rosalia.

  Though they were happy to have her in their fold again, they also knew how much the young woman was suffering. Seeing the devastated expression on Rosalia’s face since she’d returned hurt everyone. And, no matter what encouraging words they offered, she had chosen to remain in her bedroom for the past week and a half.

  Rosalia felt extremely desperate over her situation. While she still had every intention of finding her family, she didn’t know where to begin. And all she could think about was that horrid letter Marco had forced her to write and the possibility that her family believed she had willingly gone off with him. So she stayed in bed and slept. For it was in her dreams that she was reunited with her family.

  Madre Carmela and the other nuns came to bring her meals and try to coax her to join them in the kitchen. Thankfully, they hadn’t forced her to leave her room. Even Madre Carmela’s bringing a new sweet every day to Rosalia had failed to draw her out of her thoughts. She hardly ate her meals. When she thought she couldn’t bear the ache over her loss much longer, she would have a teaspoon of her mother’s blood orange marmalade. In that brief instant, she would be back home with Mamma, Papà, Luca, and Cecilia, enjoying the good times they shared. But she only allowed herself one teaspoon of marmalade. She had to make it last—for that was all she had left of her family.

  Rosalia had woken up early today. The aromas coming from the kitchen below shook her out of her deep sleep. Though it smelled heavenly, she still had no desire to go downstairs and sample what they were making.

  She walked to her window and opened it wider. Rosalia loved looking out onto the convent’s beautifully landscaped grounds. Though she could tell from the steady breeze that the seasons were beginning to change, December in Sicily was still quite comfortable.

  Suddenly, a bird came into her line of vision, startling her. She could see, from the beautiful colors that were displayed on its chest, it was a bluethroat. Rosalia had seen this species of bird before, and her father had told her its name. He had explained to her that the ones with a bib of blue, black, orange, and white were males. The bird perched itself on a tree branch that hung close to Rosalia’s window. It tilted its head as if trying to meet her gaze. It chirped for a few seconds, looked around, and then tilted its head once more in her direction.

  Rosalia walked over to her dresser and picked up the plate of cookies Madre Carmela had tried to tempt her with last night. They were Buccellati, named so because they were shaped like small bracelets. After the dough was molded into bracelet shapes, it was cut at intervals to display the fig filling in the cookies. Madre Carmela had explained all of this to Rosalia, and while Rosalia had feigned disinterest, she actually had found it charming that the cookies were shaped to look like a piece of jewelry. Still, her curiosity had not been enough to tempt her to try one of the cookies.

  She brought one of the cookies to the window, hoping the bluethroat had not flown away. It was still there, and its head jerked up suddenly upon seeing Rosalia had returned. She broke off a tiny crumb and reached her hand out, placing the crumb on the branch the bird sat on, but the crumb fell off. She broke off a bigger piece this time and was about to lay it on the branch when the bluethroat hopped over and pecked the crumb out of her fingers, eliciting a laugh from Rosalia.

  “Bravo! You’re a very smart bird.”

  The bluethroat looked at Rosalia as if it understood her, but she knew that it was silly to think so. The bird was just waiting for her to feed it again. This time she made sure to get some of the fig filling when she broke off the cookie.

  While Rosalia watched her new friend pecking away at the Buccellati crumbs, she took one of the cookies she had not broken apart yet for the bird and took a bite out of it. She chewed it ravenously and realized how hungry she actually was. Of course, the cookie was delicious.

  The bluethroat flew away to a neighboring tree and began chirping a beautiful melody. What was strange was that the bird still glanced over at Rosalia every so often, even
though at the distance where it sat now, she couldn’t reach out to feed it. Shivers ran down Rosalia’s bare arms. She watched the bluethroat as it flitted from tree to tree, going deeper into the convent’s courtyard. Curious, Rosalia decided to follow the bird.

  Slipping a robe on, she quietly tiptoed down the corridor, hoping she didn’t run into anyone. She wasn’t ready to make small talk or to see the pitying looks on everyone’s faces. She just wanted to get some fresh air and watch the bluethroat.

  As she approached the kitchen, she could tell, from the commotion of the pans banging and the many orders being given by whoever was in charge of overseeing the pastries’ output for the day, that most of the workers were on duty today. It was still too early for the pastry shop to be open. The selling windows opened at eight a.m. It was now barely seven. She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing the courtyard would most likely be empty.

  She inhaled deeply once she stepped outside; she realized she hadn’t been out since that day she had returned from her hometown. A sharp stab of pain pierced her heart. Pushing the memory out of her mind, she walked deeper into the courtyard, keeping her gaze lifted as she scanned the tops of the trees, looking for the bluethroat.

  “Ah! There you are!” Rosalia said, delighted she had found the bird.

  The bluethroat once more glanced at her and then resumed its singing. She saw other birds—sparrows, partridges, even a pair of striking bluebirds—but no other bluethroats were in sight. The bluethroat stayed apart from the other birds and only seemed aware of Rosalia. Again, shivers ran through her.

  She followed the bird as it hopped from tree to tree, and then, when it had exhausted all the trees in the courtyard, it landed on the manicured shrubbery. Rosalia slowly walked toward the bird, hoping she could get closer to it. The bird stared at her, and this time it held her gaze. Rosalia held her hand out and began speaking softly.

  “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”