Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop

by Rosanna Chiofalo

“You lost your family? How? Were you in a public place and you got separated from them? Can’t you just go home?”

  Rosalia’s eyes filled with tears, but she fought them back as she shook her head.

  “No, I can’t just go home. They are no longer there. Please, Antonio, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

  “Va bene. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. You just seem so sad, and I know sometimes it helps to talk. I promise I will not ask you about this again until you are ready to tell me.” His eyes met Rosalia’s, and he crossed his heart with his fingers and kissed them, eliciting a soft laugh from her.

  “What’s so funny? You take my oath lightly?”

  “No, of course not. It is just that I did not expect you to do that. Thank you for understanding.”

  “So, are you ready to face off against me tomorrow in our baking contest?”

  Grateful he was changing the subject, Rosalia said, “Of course I am ready—to win!” She smirked, surprised at herself that she could manage a joke. But it felt good, distracting her for the moment from the constant ache she’d felt since the day she discovered her family was gone.

  “Ah! You are already overly confident! But we’ll see who the true master is tomorrow.”

  “Si. We will see.”

  The procession came to a halt, and the crowd became silent as the priest began praying. Rosalia bowed her head to pray, but she noticed a quick movement in her peripheral vision. Teresa was crouched low and running away from the crowd. Rosalia saw Anunziata was glancing nervously from Teresa’s fleeing figure to Elisabetta, whose eyes were closed as she listened to the priest’s prayers. The young man Rosalia had seen visiting Teresa at the shop waited for her by a tree. He took Teresa by the hand, and they disappeared in the shadows behind the tree.

  Rosalia wondered if Teresa was in love with that man, and if he felt the same way about her. She hoped Teresa knew what she was doing. Again, she wondered what her story was and how she had ever become a nun when it was so obvious she wasn’t meant for that life. Well, at least she had come to her senses and left her order.

  “Amen!” The crowd responded to the end of the priest’s prayer, startling Rosalia out of her thoughts.

  “Now the best part of the festival is starting!” Anunziata squeezed Rosalia’s arm as a live band took the stage in the town square. A male singer belted out notes to a popular song. Couples began dancing in front of the stage.

  “Would you like to dance?” Antonio asked Anunziata.

  “Si! Grazie, Antonio. As you saw when you caught me in your place, I love nothing more than listening to music and dancing!”

  Antonio and Anunziata locked hands and began swaying their hips to the music. It was a fast number, but Antonio managed to lead Anunziata perfectly in time to the beat. Rosalia had felt a bit odd when she heard Antonio ask Anunziata to dance. She tried to push the feeling away, but it only grew as she watched them dancing.

  “Are you having a good time, Rosalia?” Madre Carmela appeared by her side.

  “Si, Madre Carmela.”

  “I’m so glad you came to the feast. I know how hard everything has been for you lately, but it will get easier each day.”

  “Have you heard anything from L’ispettore Franco, Madre?” Rosalia’s voice held the same tone of expectancy as it did every time that she asked Madre Carmela this question.

  “No. I will call him again tomorrow and ask if there have been any new developments, but I’m sure he would have told us if there were. And you know I would tell you right away if I heard something, Rosalia.”

  “Si, Madre.”

  Of course Rosalia knew she could trust Madre to give her any news about her family’s whereabouts instead of hounding her with the same question. It was just that she was so desperate and wished she could be doing more herself to try to find her family. She sighed heavily, feeling frustrated.

  “So, Antonio told me about the contest you two are going to have.”

  “He did?”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea! There’s no better way to master something than to have a competitor. The friendly competition will only make you strive to become better at your craft.”

  Rosalia looked out toward Antonio and Anunziata, who were done dancing and were making their way back to her.

  “I’m going to find the other sisters. They wanted to see how our Saint Lucy’s Eyes are selling at the stalls.” Madre Carmela walked away.

  “My heart is racing! You dance so well, Antonio!” Anunziata gushed and looked at Antonio as if he were a pop star. Rosalia couldn’t help but wonder if Anunziata had a crush on him.

  “You dance well, too.” He smiled shyly before looking at Rosalia. “How about you? Think you’re up for a dance? This is a slow song, so it won’t give you the heart attack that Anunziata is currently having.”

  Rosalia felt panic. Before she could politely refuse, Anunziata was pleading with her to dance. “Oh, you must, Rosalia! It’ll be so much fun.”

  “I don’t really know how to dance. But thank you for asking.”

  “It’s all right. We’ll go slow, and I’ll be doing most of the work leading you.” Antonio took Rosalia’s hand and began walking toward the stage. She could feel her face burning up. Though she had cringed slightly when Antonio took her hand, she didn’t feel the terror she had felt the first day she met him when they stood so close to each other. She closed her eyes for a moment and willed herself to relax by silently repeating, He’s not Marco. I am safe. He’s not Marco. I am safe.

  As if sensing her trepidation, Antonio kept some space between himself and Rosalia as he placed one hand on her right hip and held her left hand with his other. He had not done this with Anunziata. When Rosalia had watched their figures from the back, they had seemed to be pressed so close together that they could be one. But she was grateful he was not being as intimate with her.

  Anunziata was right. Antonio was a good dancer, and he expertly led Rosalia through the dance. After a few seconds, she felt herself relax a little. Her hand felt sweaty in Antonio’s grip, and she was embarrassed she was sweating so much. She could even feel beads of perspiration beginning to break out on her forehead. Antonio smiled and offered encouraging words.

  “You’re doing fine. See? You can dance!” He laughed before suddenly lifting Rosalia’s hand high in the air as he twirled her quickly around. She was so caught off guard that she lost her balance for a moment and fell against his chest. She swallowed hard as she looked at Antonio. His face grew somber as their eyes met.

  “I’m sorry.” She stepped back, and Antonio resumed their dance as if nothing had happened. It didn’t escape her notice that he seemed to have a gift for knowing when she needed some space. She couldn’t help but draw a comparison to Marco who, on the other hand, had always been forcing himself into her space, never caring about her protestations. And then just taking what he wanted.

  “What is it, Rosalia?” Antonio stopped dancing.

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m fine.”

  The song ended, and before Antonio could take Rosalia’s hand again, she quickly said, “Thank you for the dance. I’m going to find Madre Carmela.”

  She quickly walked away, leaving Antonio rooted in place as he watched her hurry off. The more he got to know Rosalia, the more the mystery of her deepened. Someone had hurt her. He was convinced of it. His mother had taught him from a young age to always trust his instincts, and from the moment he had met Rosalia, he had sensed she was a frightened young woman and had been deeply hurt. Had it been someone in her family? Was that why she had “lost” them, as she put it?

  He turned around and walked over to where the statue of Saint Lucy stood. Closing his eyes, he prayed silently. Please help Rosalia. Please help her to heal and learn to trust again.

  Opening his eyes, Antonio slowly made his way back to the convent and his home in the abandoned chapel, thinking all the way about the prett
y girl with the licorice-colored hair whom he was losing his heart to.

  12

  Pan di Spagna con Crema Pasticciera

  SPONGE CAKE WITH PASTRY CREAM

  December 23, 1955

  Rosalia could not believe tomorrow would be Christmas Eve already. The past month had been the busiest in the kitchen and pastry shop. She, the nuns, and the lay workers had been staying up late, working to ensure they were meeting the customers’ demands and weren’t running out of their most popular pastries.

  Because of all the work, Rosalia and Antonio were learning quickly. Since Madre Carmela knew about their bet to see who could make the better pastry, she had appointed herself the judge and tasted their creations. At the moment, they were tied. Rosalia had won for making the better Buccellati—the Sicilian fig cookies that were popular during Christmas—and various other biscotti as well as individual pastries such as cannoli. Antonio seemed to be the master of fried pastries such as sfinci, zeppole, and Sweet Ricotta Turnovers. Today would be the first time Rosalia and Antonio would be making pan di Spagna, or sponge cake, as well as pastry cream.

  “Pan di Spagna is the base of many of the cakes you will be making in our pastry shop. You must master creating a very light texture that complements the richer glazes and fillings your cakes will have,” Madre Carmela said as she beat egg whites with a wire whisk.

  Although the convent owned an electric mixer, she and many of the other workers preferred mixing by hand. Rosalia was amazed at how quickly Madre’s egg whites were taking on the thick, airy texture that was necessary to create the perfect pan di Spagna.

  As if reading her thoughts, Madre said, “Don’t worry. It will take you time to be able to whip your own egg whites as quickly as I can. What is important is that you get this consistency, no matter how long it takes you. We won’t be having you and Antonio make cakes for the shop until you’ve become quicker at beating, since we cannot waste time during our busiest seasons like now. But in the summer, during our slower season, I’ll let you both take over making the cakes.”

  “I will continue to practice making at least one cake a week. I don’t have time to wait until next summer,” Antonio said as he cracked his eggs into his bowl.

  Rosalia couldn’t believe how quickly he cracked his eggs, and with one egg in each hand. She was still trying to master cracking her eggs without getting any shells into her batter.

  Madre frowned in Antonio’s direction. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Not anytime soon, but as you know, Madre, I have big dreams.”

  “Eh.” Madre shrugged her shoulders. “It’s good to take your time—even when you have big dreams.”

  Rosalia continued to focus on whipping her egg whites and acted as if she weren’t paying attention to Madre and Antonio’s conversation. While she was feeling more comfortable in his presence and had come to enjoy and look forward to their friendly contests, she still wanted to keep a certain distance between them. But she couldn’t help wondering what Antonio’s big dreams were.

  “You had better pick up your speed, Rosalia, if you hope to make anything out of those sudsy egg whites.” Antonio laughed.

  “I will get there. Like Madre said, it will take time to whip them since we’re new.”

  “But look how fast I’ve whipped mine into beautiful creamy white peaks.” Antonio lifted a dollop of egg whites with his whisk, and sure enough they were the perfect consistency.

  “My Papà used to say, ‘Those who boast always come last.’ ” Rosalia glanced at Antonio and smirked before taking her bowl and going over to a table where he couldn’t observe her work.

  “Where are you going?” Antonio shouted.

  “Somewhere you can’t watch my every move. Besides, this is a contest. We shouldn’t be working so close together.”

  Antonio followed her, and though Rosalia did her best to shield her deflated egg whites from him, he rested his elbows on the table, placing his chin in his hands and peering straight down into her bowl.

  Rosalia couldn’t help but laugh. “Get out of here. Aren’t you worried you’re wasting precious time, even though you’re already ahead?”

  “I’d rather lose if it means I can be near you. What’s the fun in working alone? Just look at Sorella Domenica.” Antonio gestured toward the nun with his thumb and then whispered, “That’s what happens when you work alone.”

  Sorella Domenica’s features were pinched as usual while she smoothed an orange glaze over a cake. Her brows knitted furiously together, creating numerous lines on her forehead; her eyes squinted so that they almost looked like two slits; and her lips were tucked into her mouth so that you couldn’t see them. The muscles in her neck looked taut, and the veins in her hands bulged noticeably. Rosalia had to turn her face away as a soft giggle escaped her throat.

  “See what I mean? She’s the only one who consistently works alone. The other nuns seem to thrive on teamwork, as do the lay workers, but not her. Whereas everyone else is chatting, even when they’re crazed, or singing as they go about their work, she’s all alone and looks like she’s going to burst a vessel in her brain.”

  “Stop, Antonio! That’s not nice.” But Rosalia couldn’t stop laughing as she wiped her eyes with her apron.

  “You agree. So let’s go back to working side by side and enjoying each other’s company even if we are competitors.”

  “Fine. Fine. Anything to get you off my back,” Rosalia said, but she smiled to let Antonio know she was just joking with him.

  “I must say, when I came here, I thought most of the nuns were going to be like Sorella Domenica. It was a pleasant surprise to discover that she’s pretty much the only nasty one. You know nuns don’t always have the best reputations.”

  Rosalia nodded her head. “Si. The sisters have been wonderful to me—well, all of them except for Sorella Domenica of course. I don’t know why, but I get the feeling she doesn’t like me.”

  “It’s not just you, Rosalia. She doesn’t like anyone. I’ve even heard her give Madre Carmela attitude.”

  “Really? But she’s the mother superior. All the nuns must show her the utmost respect.”

  “Sorella Domenica must think she’s better than her. But Madre put her in her place.”

  “That’s good. It bothers me to hear that anyone would speak to Madre Carmela disrespectfully.”

  “You look up to her, don’t you?”

  “I do. I owe a lot to Madre Carmela.”

  Antonio nodded his head. “I’ll let you focus on whipping your egg whites or else you’ll be here until tonight.”

  Rosalia raised her brow. “What happened to working side by side?”

  “I’ll still be right here. I just won’t chew your ears off.”

  Rosalia smiled.

  Several hours later, Rosalia was dusting the top of her sponge cake with powdered sugar. She had taken extra care to smooth the pastry cream as neatly as possible in between the two layers of sponge cake so that there were no messy drips. Antonio had finished his cake an hour earlier since he’d been able to whip his egg whites quicker. Rosalia was prepared to lose this contest to him, although from appearances, his cake didn’t seem much different from hers.

  “Ah! Are we ready to see who the winner is?” Madre Carmela walked over, holding a cake fork. “Whose shall I try first?”

  “Ladies first.” Antonio gestured toward Rosalia.

  She cut a generous slice of her cake and placed it on a plate, handing it to Madre Carmela.

  Madre Carmela took a bite, closing her eyes as she chewed the cake slowly. She gave no clue as to how the cake tasted. She then took a second bite, but this time kept her eyes open.

  “Hmmm. All right, Antonio, yours is next.”

  Antonio had already cut a slice of cake for Madre and was waiting to hand it to her. Again, Madre took two bites as she usually did when she was tasting one of their sweets, but this time, she took a third bite of Antonio’s cake. Rosalia’s spirits sank. No doubt Madre
Carmela liked Antonio’s better since she had felt compelled to take a third bite, and she had never before done that with the other desserts they’d made.

  “Well, I must say, both of these cakes are very, very good. But the clear winner is Rosalia’s pan di Spagna.”

  “Rosalia’s?” Antonio sounded as surprised as Rosalia was, but then she realized he had been expecting her to lose, and she sent a scowl in his direction in response to which he held up his hands and gave her a bashful smile.

  Even when Antonio managed to irk her with one of his jokes about her baking or in this case by expecting her to lose, he always saved himself with his irresistible smile or by saying the right words in the moment. Rosalia wondered how he could do that every time, but of course, she couldn’t be mad at him. While she wanted to deny it, she knew they were becoming friends.

  “Rosalia’s cake has a lighter texture than yours, and if you look at it, you will see there’s a slightly higher rise. Clearly, she beat her egg whites perfectly.”

  Rosalia couldn’t help but laugh. Now it was Antonio’s turn to scowl at her.

  “What is so funny, Rosalia?”

  “Antonio was teasing me earlier about how long it was taking me to get my egg whites to the right consistency. I reminded him what you said about not worrying how long it takes and about how it’s more important to get it right.”

  “I see.” Madre Carmela looked at Antonio and then looked at Rosalia, turning her back toward Antonio. She winked at Rosalia and smiled. “Well, let that be a lesson to you, Antonio, that you should take a little more time with your batters. Obviously, the extra time it took Rosalia to whip her egg whites must’ve contributed to the cake’s perfect texture. I know you are in a rush to master the art of pastry making so you can pursue your ‘big dreams,’ but what good will it do you if you’re producing average pastries at best? Eh?”

  Antonio’s face turned crimson. Rosalia instantly regretted saying anything to Madre Carmela about Antonio teasing her earlier. He did work very hard. Rosalia could see that.