Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “Just take a quick look. Then I promise we can leave.”

  Rosalia glanced around nervously before walking quickly toward the chapel. Anunziata stepped back so she could peer inside. She’d been right. Statues of various saints stood on pedestals all around the chapel, which was quite small. A cot was pushed to the far side of the chapel. There was an empty space at the front and center of the chapel. Rosalia imagined the altar had probably once stood there and that Mass was conducted here before the chapel that the nuns presently used was built. Every Sunday, the town priest came to the chapel and said a private Mass for the nuns. At least Madre had removed the altar table to give Antonio more space and to make it feel less like a chapel, although with all those statues, it still felt very much like a house of worship.

  “A radio!” Anunziata shouted as she ran toward Antonio’s cot. A small transistor radio was perched at the bed’s footpost. She turned it on. “Ah! Elvis!” She jumped up and down like a silly schoolgirl.

  “Turn that off! Someone will hear it!”

  But Anunziata began dancing like a crazy woman. Rosalia would’ve never dreamed the soft-spoken girl she’d befriended during her first weeks here had this daring streak.

  “Let me have a little fun. You know we’re not allowed to have radios in the convent.” Anunziata shook her hips wildly as she danced.

  Rosalia glanced outside. No one was in sight. Still, they should be returning to the kitchen.

  “Dance with me, Rosalia! Just one dance!” Anunziata rushed over to Rosalia’s side and grabbed her hands, pulling her closer to the radio.

  Rosalia couldn’t help but laugh. Here they were dancing like two madwomen to Elvis Presley in an abandoned chapel with saints’ statues surrounding them.

  “Looks like you’re having fun.”

  Rosalia froze at the sound of Antonio’s voice. She was too afraid to look in his direction.

  “I’m sorry, Antonio. I just wanted to show Rosalia what the inside of the chapel looked like. We were just going to take a quick look and leave. We didn’t touch any of your belongings—well, except for the radio. But that was my fault. I insisted. It’s been so long since I’ve listened to music.” Anunziata turned the radio off.

  Rosalia finally glanced in Antonio’s direction. He was smiling, much to her surprise.

  “That’s all right. I can’t expect you girls to do nothing but work and pray all day. We all need a little fun sometimes, right?” Antonio seemed to direct the question toward Rosalia as his eyes met hers. She looked away.

  “See, Rosalia! I told you Antonio was nice. He doesn’t even mind that we were snooping around.” Anunziata smiled at Antonio.

  “We weren’t snooping around. I’m sorry, Antonio. We’ll leave now.” Rosalia didn’t wait for Anunziata as she walked out of the chapel.

  “Hey! Wait! Why the rush? We could listen to a few more songs,” Antonio pleaded.

  Rosalia stopped and looked over her shoulder. Anunziata opened her eyes wide, signaling for Rosalia to stay.

  “We’ve been gone a while, and we’re very busy in the kitchen. Thank you, but we really must go.” She walked away from the chapel as quickly as she could.

  “Hey, Rosalia! Wait up!” Antonio ran after her, but she didn’t slow down to make it easy for him to catch up. But in seconds, he was by her side.

  “I’ll walk back with you. Madre Carmela is expecting me in the kitchen. She’s going to teach me how to decorate cakes.”

  Rosalia turned her head to see if Anunziata had caught up to them, but she was way off in the distance, taking her time walking toward them. She waved and smiled as she pointed toward Antonio. Rosalia frowned at the gesture and turned back around.

  “So you are feeling better?”

  Rosalia nodded, but remained silent.

  “That’s good. You’re popular at the convent. Everyone was talking about you.”

  Rosalia stopped for a moment. Did he know what had happened to her?

  “Why were they talking about me? What did they say?”

  Antonio laughed and held up his hand. “Take it easy! Nothing bad. They were just talking about how quickly you had learned to make the few pastries they’d taught you and saying that you had a knack for it. They missed you. That’s all. They were eager to have you back in the kitchen.”

  Rosalia sighed deeply, relieved they hadn’t said more.

  “I saw your friend this morning.”

  She looked at Antonio questioningly.

  “The bluethroat. He likes to hang out on that branch that sits right outside one of the windows that overlooks the courtyard.”

  Rosalia already knew this, but didn’t say so to Antonio. Since that day she’d first spotted the bird, it had visited her every day. She had continued to feed it crumbs from whatever pastry the nuns had brought to her room. She felt a little less lonely when the bluethroat sat outside her window. Though the nuns and the lay workers had visited her daily, she’d felt immensely alone after she’d discovered her family had left without her.

  Rosalia and Antonio continued walking until they reached the convent’s main grounds. Rosalia waited for Anunziata. She didn’t want to walk into the kitchen alone with Antonio, especially since she’d been gone so long. She could see the likes of Sorella Domenica thinking the worst about her.

  “Aren’t you coming inside?”

  “I’m going to wait for Anunziata. I’ll see you later.” Rosalia hoped he would take that as a hint and leave her alone now.

  “Va bene. Are you going to the feast later? Anunziata told me she and the other girls would be there.”

  “I don’t know. I have to see how I’m feeling.”

  “All right. I’ll see you in the kitchen then. Ciao!” Antonio finally left.

  “Why were you walking so slowly?” Rosalia asked Anunziata as soon as she joined her.

  “It seemed like he wanted to talk to you. I just thought I would give you some privacy.” Anunziata smiled slyly.

  “You didn’t need to do that.”

  “So what did he say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? I saw him moving his lips quite a bit, and he said nothing? That’s fine if you want to keep it private.”

  “No, it’s not like that. He was just telling me that everyone had missed me in the kitchen, and that he’d heard them say nice things about my baking. And he hoped I was feeling well. He was being polite. That’s all.”

  “He’s going to be at the feast later.”

  Rosalia didn’t respond. Fortunately, they were now inside the kitchen, and she quickly walked over to Madre Carmela, whose back was turned to her as she was bent over a workstation, piping whipped cream around a cake. But when Rosalia got closer, she stopped abruptly. Antonio was standing on the other side of the table with his own cake and piping bag as he watched and copied the designs Madre Carmela was making. That was right. He’d mentioned to Rosalia that Madre would be showing him how to decorate cakes.

  She was about to walk away, but then Madre Carmela, sensing someone was standing behind her, looked over her shoulder and said, “Rosalia! Everyone told me you had come down earlier. It’s so good to see you here. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine, Madre. Grazie. I was just going to help Anunziata.” Rosalia looked around the room for Anunziata, but couldn’t find her.

  “Have you met Antonio?”

  “Si, Madre Carmela. I have met Rosalia,” Antonio said before Rosalia could respond.

  “Maybe he can show you how to pipe a cake. Like you, he’s proving to be a fast learner in the pastry shop.”

  Madre Carmela handed her piping bag to Rosalia before she could protest and walked away.

  “It’s easy. You have to twist the bag at the top and keep one hand placed over it, making sure to keep it shut so the cream doesn’t leak out, and then your other hand is used to steady the lower part of the bag and make your design. Just practice first on the table before piping the cake.”

  Antonio squ
eezed out a swirl of cream in the shape of a leaf onto the table. Inspecting the shape, he then squeezed a leaf onto the cake.

  “See. Easy!” His eyes lit up; he was taking obvious pride in his work.

  Rosalia placed her hands as he had shown her on the piping bag. But she squeezed the bag too hard and a big dollop of whipped cream gushed out, looking nothing like a leaf.

  “Don’t worry. It takes a little practice. Try again.”

  Rosalia eased her grip on the bag and tried once more. While less cream was pumped out this time, it still looked like just a dollop of cream rather than a delicate leaf. She tried a few more times, but was getting frustrated that she couldn’t get the desired leaf shape.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, Rosalia, I can stand behind you and guide your hands so you will get a better sense of how to do it.”

  Rosalia thought for a moment. She loved the beautiful leaves he and Madre Carmela had designed on their cakes, and she wanted to learn how to do it.

  “All right.”

  Antonio came around to Rosalia’s side of the table and stood behind her. He talked gently as he placed his arms around her and helped her grip the piping bag. His hands felt warm around hers. Rosalia’s heart raced, but strangely, she didn’t feel as afraid of him as she’d felt that first day when she met him in the courtyard. The more he talked encouragingly to her and guided her in piping the leaves, the more she relaxed.

  After a few attempts with Antonio guiding her hand, Rosalia was ready to try to pipe the leaf design on her own.

  “Brava! You did it!” Antonio exclaimed, clapping his hands.

  Rosalia looked at her leaf design; it had come out as perfectly as one of his. She tried a few more, and each one came out just as beautifully as the first.

  “Are you ready for the cake?” Antonio asked.

  “Si.” Rosalia laughed.

  She no longer felt nervous that she was standing so close to Antonio and he was watching her movements. Focusing on the piping, she squeezed a succession of leaves in a border all around the cake. Then, she squeezed a few stray leaves on top of the cake in the center, and a few cascading down the sides of the cake.

  “Wow! You’re an artist! I would’ve never thought of the leaves cascading down the cake’s sides!”

  Madre Carmela came over to inspect Rosalia’s work.

  “Bellissima! It’s gorgeous, Rosalia!”

  Rosalia smiled. She was proud of her work. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed being down in the kitchen until now. To think she had wasted all this time feeling sorry for herself in her room when she could’ve been down here, making herself useful to Madre Carmela and the pastry shop staff.

  “I’m going to get lunch ready. I will see you both later. Good work, Rosalia. And you, too, Antonio!” Madre Carmela patted him on the shoulder as she walked by.

  “They were all right about you. You are a fast learner and have a natural talent for this.”

  “Grazie, Antonio. I’m a fast learner when it comes to learning recipes, but I think you’re better at decorating than I am. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without your help today.”

  “Anytime. I’m still learning too. Maybe we can help each other? And then we can have a contest!”

  “A contest?”

  “How about every time we learn a new recipe, we compete to see who can make it taste better?”

  “Oh. I don’t know about that.”

  “Come on! It’ll be fun, but more important, it’ll help us to master the recipes. Don’t you want to become very good at pastry making? I could tell, from the look on your face after you were done decorating the cake, that you take pride in your work and that it gave you a sense of satisfaction.”

  “You could see all of that?”

  “Of course. I can tell because that’s how I feel after I’ve made a pastry and it’s come out well. How about we start tomorrow? We’ll see which new recipe Madre Carmela wants us to learn, and we can compete with that one.”

  “Why don’t we start after siesta?”

  “No one will be taking siesta today. Everyone will be at the feast, including you.”

  Before Rosalia could say once more that she wasn’t sure if she would be going to the feast, Anunziata was suddenly standing before her with Elisabetta and Teresa.

  “Rosalia, Anunziata told us you would be coming with us to the feast later. We will have so much fun. We’ll be on our own away from the sisters.” Teresa giggled.

  Rosalia couldn’t help wondering if Teresa would be meeting the young man she’d seen at the seller’s windows, visiting her every day. But with her sister Elisabetta at her side, Rosalia doubted Teresa would be able to have a rendezvous with him.

  As if reading her thoughts, Elisabetta chimed in. “Just because we will not be walking with the sisters at the feast doesn’t mean we can run wild.” She frowned as she looked at her sister.

  “So it’s decided then. We’ll all be going to the feast, including Rosalia.” Antonio smiled.

  As they made their way to the dining room table for lunch, Antonio, Elisabetta, Teresa, and Anunziata were talking excitedly about the treats they would sample at the feast and how they couldn’t wait to hear the live band that would be playing. But Rosalia remained silent. All she could think about was the beautiful cake she had decorated, and she began envisioning a new design she would create next time. She could see it vividly before her—whipped cream rosettes, a few raspberry marzipans, maybe even a few petals from actual flowers. She then noticed the poinsettia centerpiece on the dining table. Striking red poinsettias were arranged in a tall, rectangular-shaped glass vase. Her thoughts drifted back to Christmas last year when her father had come home from work and presented her mother with a large pot of red and white poinsettias. Mamma had been surprised. Rosalia remembered watching them as they embraced and kissed. They had been so in love. Rosalia blinked back tears, wondering what her family would be doing for Christmas this year. Would they miss her as much as she missed them?

  Rosalia was still lost in her thoughts when she felt someone squeeze her hand lightly.

  “Where are you right now?”

  She turned to her left and saw Antonio looking at her with concern. Pulling her hand away from his, she said, “I was remembering my old life.”

  A marching band made its way through the narrow streets of Santa Lucia del Mela and up its winding hills. In its wake, the town priest and four altar boys followed, along with a group of sturdy men who were holding a large statue of Saint Lucy. All the sisters from the convent marched behind the procession of the saint’s statue along with the rest of the village.

  Rosalia and the other lay workers stayed at the very back of the procession. Lidia and Mari, the two older lay workers, walked side by side. Elisabetta kept her eyes fixed on the statue of Saint Lucy as she fingered her rosary beads. The only time her gaze strayed was to periodically keep a watch over her sister. Teresa was walking arm in arm with Anunziata, who had her other arm linked through Rosalia’s. Though Teresa was talking animatedly to Anunziata, she turned her head and looked over her shoulder every few seconds as if she was expecting someone.

  While she’d felt like she had no choice but to attend the feast with everyone else, Rosalia’s spirits didn’t match everyone else’s. She could remember when she had lived for feasts, and she and her family would look forward to them. If only she could lift this heaviness that refused to budge from her heart.

  Suddenly, she noticed Antonio was no longer walking with them. She breathed a sigh of relief. While he had been nothing but nice toward her, Rosalia could tell he had been watching her, and she just wanted to be left alone. But, as soon as she had this thought, he reappeared holding a white paper bag. He opened the bag and held it toward her.

  “Torrone?”

  “No, grazie, Antonio.”

  “Just a small piece. It’ll make you forget your worries for a moment.”

  Rosalia looked surprised at Antonio. He offered a sma
ll smile and nodded his head toward the bag of torrone.

  She didn’t know why she was surprised that Antonio could tell her mind was elsewhere. No doubt her sadness was written as plain as day on her face. Perhaps she was more surprised that he would acknowledge it publicly. Everyone else at the convent walked on eggshells around her and didn’t utter a word about her family.

  Rosalia reached into the bag and took a chunk of torrone, which had been cut up into pieces by the vendor. She sucked on the torrone, waiting for it to soften a bit before taking a bite.

  “È buono?” Antonio asked.

  “Si, è buono. Grazie.”

  “Teresa, Anunziata. Torrone?” He held his bag out toward them, but they shook their heads and resumed their conversation. Rosalia could hear they were talking about some boy, no doubt the young man Rosalia had seen visiting Teresa a few times. Elisabetta seemed too entranced in her praying and in following the procession of the statue to be eavesdropping on her sister’s conversation.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” Antonio asked.

  “It’s nice.”

  “But you aren’t having a good time.” He said it more as a statement than a question.

  Rosalia didn’t respond.

  “If you don’t know this already, Rosalia, everyone at the convent has a story—why they ended up here, even most of the nuns.”

  Rosalia remained silent.

  “I can tell you don’t want to be here. Your heart and your head are still somewhere else. And that’s all right. We all need our good memories to keep us going on the path that God has laid out for us.”

  “It is not that I don’t want to be here, necessarily. Madre Carmela and the other sisters have been very good to me. And I enjoy working with them and learning how to make pastries. But yes, you are right. My heart longs to be somewhere else, but that isn’t possible right now.”

  “May I ask what brought you to the convent, Rosalia?”

  “I don’t wish to discuss it. All I will say is that I lost my family, and I need to find them.”