Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  Tears filled her eyes. Madre Carmela had thought of the perfect gift. And to think Sorella Agata had ever thought that Madre had betrayed her by encouraging Antonio to apply to culinary school in Paris. Sorella Agata felt ashamed and remembered how she had unleashed her anger on the poor mother superior years ago, after Antonio had told her that Madre had been instrumental in his decision to still apply to Le Cordon Bleu. Days later when she’d come to her senses, she had apologized to Madre Carmela. But Madre had told her there was no need to do so.

  Sorella Agata popped one of the Saint Agatha olive marzipans into her mouth. She closed her eyes, savoring their sweet flavor. At least she would not be forced to give up pastries in her new life as a nun.

  24

  Biscottini da Tè

  LITTLE TEA COOKIES

  November 10, 2004

  Claudia was shocked. Rosalia and Sorella Agata were one and the same. Why hadn’t it occurred to her before? How stupid had she been? Of course, it all made sense now. She should have realized it all along. After all, why would Sorella Agata have gone on and on about this young woman who discovered she loved to bake as much as the nuns who mentored her and also realized she had a knack for creating the most wonderful pastries?

  “So you are Rosalia.”

  “Yes, Claudia. I am, although I haven’t been Rosalia for half my life now. Not since I took my vows and became Sorella Agata.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me at the start of your story? No wonder I couldn’t find anyone working at the convent by that name, and whenever I asked one of the other sisters or the lay workers about Rosalia, they all just shook their heads as if they had no idea who she was. But they all knew.”

  “Well, not all of them. Mainly the older sisters know, and I suppose a few of the younger ones must know as well. But many of our current lay workers were not with me when I was learning from Madre Carmela, so they do not know about my past. Elisabetta, who was a lay worker when I was apprenticing in the shop, naturally knows. If you remember what I told you, she was in the process of becoming a nun and has remained at the Convento di Santa Lucia.”

  “Which one is she?”

  “Sorella Lucia.”

  “The cook?”

  “Si. She discovered she preferred cooking savory foods rather than sweet, and, after becoming a nun, she followed our old cook around. Once the old cook died, Sorella Lucia took her place.”

  “So the other nuns kept your secret.”

  “Naturally. I am their mother superior, and as such, they must obey me.”

  “You asked them not to tell me that you were Rosalia?”

  “No, I didn’t. But they know better than to talk about me behind my back.” Sorella Agata smiled mischievously as she took a bite out of her sponge cake.

  Claudia couldn’t help noticing that Sorella Agata seemed more relaxed than she had been since Claudia had first started interviewing her. Why had she been so nervous to tell Claudia about her past and to admit that she was Rosalia?

  As if reading Claudia’s mind, Sorella Agata said, “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner. I had my reasons. You see, I wasn’t even sure if I was going to tell you about my past. So I thought it would be better not to tell you right away that I was Rosalia, in case I changed my mind and decided not to tell you the entire story. It has been very painful, reliving my youth and all that I endured. I have pushed my pain away as much as I can, and I thought if it became unbearable, I would just stop.”

  “So what convinced you to tell me?”

  “I thought it was time to try to put all of this behind me. While I have moved forward with my life as best I can, my past still weighs heavily on my mind. I was surprised to see that once I started telling you my story, it poured out of me, and then I couldn’t stop, although every day I contemplated holding back.”

  Claudia thought for a few moments before speaking.

  “What about your family? Did you ever find them or at least find out what had become of them? And did you ever see Antonio again? You mentioned you didn’t become a nun until six years later. May I ask what led you to such a . . .” Claudia caught herself before she offended Sorella Agata.

  “. . . a drastic decision. You can say it, Claudia. It’s all right. You’re not the only one to have said that my choice to become a bride of Christ was a drastic one.”

  “It must’ve been a shock to everyone at the convent that you would decide to become a nun, especially since you had been engaged to Antonio and they all knew this.”

  “Yes. But it really shouldn’t have come as a shock to them. In the two years since Antonio had left, I had been praying more and attending all the Masses with the sisters, not just the few that the lay workers were expected to attend. And then there was my service work.”

  “Your service work?”

  “I suppose I should pick up from where I left off last night, after Antonio stormed away from Rosalia. For a few weeks, Antonio tried to persuade Rosalia—or rather me—to change my mind about not wishing to marry him anymore. But it was no use. I was so angry that he expected me to go off to Paris with him and forget about my family.”

  “It didn’t sound like he expected you to forget about them, Sister.”

  “I know that now.” Sorella Agata spoke quietly. “And I think part of me knew it then, too, but it was easier for me to remain mad at him. For if I stopped being mad, I was afraid I would relent and marry him.”

  “And would that have been so terrible? You loved him.”

  “I did. But I felt I wasn’t worthy of him.”

  “Because of Marco’s raping you?”

  “Yes. As I told Antonio, I didn’t think I would make a suitable wife to him or any man because my virginity had been compromised. You have to understand, Claudia, this was the 1950s. People thought differently then, especially about rape. You remember what I told you? When I was younger, I had heard similar stories to mine, about young women who were kidnapped, raped, and then expected to marry their rapists. It was barbaric. But that was the custom, although I still firmly believe that if my parents had known that Marco had raped me, they would not have allowed me to marry him. They were different. But then again, it appeared as if my father believed the lies in the letter Marco forced me to write. So maybe my father would have wanted me to wed Marco? I can’t say for certain. But I’d rather hold on to my belief that he wouldn’t have wanted that.”

  Claudia looked at Sorella Agata. Although she was up there in years and had had a world of experience, Claudia could still detect some innocence in her eyes—and a deep sadness. She tried to picture what Sorella Agata must’ve looked like when she was the young Rosalia with lustrous black hair hanging down to her waist.

  “It is good to hold on to your beliefs, even when you don’t know if they’re true or not. After all, that is what has helped keep you going all these years. Am I not right, Sister?”

  “I like to think so.” She gave Claudia a small smile before taking a sip of her espresso.

  “Anyway, for weeks, Antonio tried in vain to convince me to still marry him. But I wouldn’t even talk to him. He would plead with me, and I wouldn’t say a word.” Sorella Agata closed her eyes, forcing back tears. “I was quite mean to him, Claudia. I did my best to scowl and completely ignore him. Finally, I got my wish. He gave up. The last time he communicated with me before he left for Paris was in a letter.”

  Sorella Agata reached into the deep pockets of her habit. Claudia couldn’t help remembering how Madre Carmela had always done this and produced marzipan fruit for Rosalia to eat in hopes of comforting her. Claudia wondered if perhaps Sorella Agata had adopted Madre Carmela’s practice and was going to take a few marzipan fruit from her pocket and pop one into her mouth. But instead of the delicate, perfect-looking sweets, Sorella Agata pulled out an envelope.

  “You carry Antonio’s letter with you?”

  “Of course not. I knew I was going to share with you today that I am Rosalia, and I wanted to read his letter
to you.”

  Sorella Agata took another sip of espresso before clearing her throat and beginning Antonio’s letter.

  Dear Rosalia,

  Since you refuse to talk to me, I have no choice but to accept your decision that you no longer wish to be with me. I will not force you to do something against your will for I am not like Marco as you accused me of being. Again, I know deep in your heart you really do not think that. I only hope in time you come to realize that I truly love you. If you have a change of heart, I have left the address where I will be staying in Paris with Madre Carmela. Once I arrive there, I will send a phone number where you can reach me as well. But if you decide to stand by your word and not return to me, I understand and wish you nothing but the best in your life. I will continue to pray for you and hope that you and your family are reunited someday. But what I pray most for, Rosalia, is that you find inner peace—no matter what the outcome may be regarding your family. You have been to hell and back, and I can see you are still punishing yourself for everything that’s happened to you. I’m afraid you will never allow yourself the happiness you deserve.

  May God look after you and bless you.

  Love always,

  Your Antonio

  Sorella Agata’s voice caught at the end. She quickly blinked her eyes, and her face looked flushed. Claudia remembered that was Rosalia’s trait—blushing so easily.

  Claudia stood up and went over to the window. She was crying, but didn’t want to upset Sorella Agata. It was too sad. Poor Antonio. And poor Sorella Agata.

  “Please, Claudia. Don’t cry. I’m really all right.”

  Claudia shook her head as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand before returning to her chair. “I just can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been for you, turning the man you loved away like that. I know you were afraid, and your desire to wait and see if your family came back to Messina was greater than your desire to be with Antonio, but still. I don’t know. It just seems like you sacrificed so much, and like Antonio said, you punished yourself severely.”

  “In spite of everything, Claudia, I have had a very rewarding life. I have found happiness, although not in the traditional sense for a young woman from my generation. True, I didn’t marry and have children, but God had other plans for me. I have found such fulfillment in both my work at the pastry shop and my community service. And there’s something you don’t know about me, Claudia.”

  “Another secret?” Claudia asked incredulously.

  “A small one, and it’s not really a secret. I just didn’t get to that part of my story yet. I founded a women’s shelter in town. Remember I told you when we met that I planned on donating the proceeds of the book to an organization that did tremendous work in the community? It will be to this shelter. I no longer run it, but I still visit regularly and assist in whatever way I can, mainly counseling the women now.”

  Claudia shook her head. “You’ve managed to amaze me once again, Sister. But I suppose it makes sense that you would want to help women after what happened to you when you were young.”

  “Yes. So God had plans for me, and I am only too happy to serve Him and those I have helped and will continue to help. This work, along with my work in the pastry shop, has given such meaning to my life.” Sorella Agata paused, as if she was trying to remember something.

  “I’m sorry, Claudia, but in addition to the tangerine cake, I also have a tray of Biscottini da Tè that are in the oven. I’ll bring a few back with me so we can have them nice and hot.” Sorella Agata smiled as she stood up and left the sitting room.

  Claudia had thought about telling her she wasn’t hungry, and besides it was late and almost time for bed. How much could one eat before going to bed? But the smile the nun had given her made Claudia bite her tongue. She reached for her belt buckle on her jeans and unclasped it, loosening it to the next notch as she mentally shook her head. The convent didn’t even possess a scale, so Claudia had no idea how much weight she’d gained in the past few weeks. She would just have to deal with it when she returned home to New York.

  The aroma from the Biscottini da Tè reached Claudia’s nose. Her thoughts returned to Sorella Agata’s incredible story. She wondered if Sorella Agata would allow her to write about it in their book. Claudia was certain their readers would find the story fascinating, and the book would be about so much more than just the recipes. People would not only get to know the amazing person behind these extraordinary desserts, but they would also learn how the pastries had saved Sorella Agata’s life when she was young and inspired her in her work. But Claudia would not pressure Sorella Agata to include her backstory if she didn’t want to. Sorella Agata had been through enough in her life.

  Sorella Agata returned with the promised plate of just-baked tea cookies. They were braided and looked like nothing more than simple cookies that would be good for dunking in tea or even in a cold glass of milk.

  “They were ready as I suspected.” Sorella Agata placed the plate of cookies on the coffee table and, before Claudia could protest, she placed three of the Biscottini da Tè on her plate.

  Claudia frowned, but again remained silent. She took one of the cookies and bit into its crumbly texture. Though the cookie looked deceptively simple, it imparted a sweet flavor that was immediately addictive. Once again, as with many of the other desserts Claudia had sampled that were baked by Sorella Agata, there was an essence of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “You’ve done it again, Sorella Agata! These biscotti are beyond delicious.”

  “Grazie.” Sorella Agata shrugged her shoulders dismissively before saying, “It’s from many years of perfecting my craft.”

  “Yes, I guess so.” Though Claudia agreed with the nun, she still believed there was more to Sorella Agata’s extraordinary sweets, but she had beaten the subject to death. Perhaps after she finally watched her make her cassata—that is, if Sorella Agata ever decided to make it in Claudia’s presence—Claudia could simply accept that perhaps she and the rest of the world would never find out the cake’s secret.

  “Sorella Agata, I know it’s been painful for you to tell me about your past. But I still have so many questions. If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear the rest of your story. Tell me more about how you came to found the women’s shelter.”

  “Very well. But first let me make more espresso. We’re going to be up late. It’s quite a long story.”

  25

  Krapfen

  CREAM-FILLED DOUGHNUTS

  First two weeks in August, 1962

  Just as Rosalia had been eager to learn the art of pastry making, now, as Sorella Agata, she was eager to find ways to serve God and those in need. She accompanied Madre Carmela in her visits to the local hospitals, orphanages, and sanitariums. While Sorella Agata found the work rewarding and she felt compassion for all those she came into contact with, she couldn’t help feeling there was something else waiting for her. And she discovered what that was one day when she was in the village, shopping for supplies, and took a wrong turn down an alleyway.

  “Excuse me, Sorella. Can you spare some change?”

  An old bedraggled woman came out of the shadows, startling Sorella Agata. The woman wore a tattered sundress and held a crumpled-up straw hat to her chest. Her eyes looked vacant and sad.

  “Of course.” Sorella Agata reached into the pockets of her habit and gave the woman two lire.

  Though Sorella Agata had been warned about beggars and pickpockets, and she did feel her heart skip a beat walking down this quiet alleyway, she couldn’t refuse someone in need, especially an old woman. The woman nodded her head and turned around, shuffling away. She limped, and Sorella Agata noticed she wore only one sandal.

  “Please wait, signora!” Sorella Agata called out to her.

  The woman turned around, surprise etched across her hollow expression.

  “What did you call me, Sorella?”

  “Signora. I wanted to give you something else that
you might like.” Sorella Agata reached into her pocket once again, and this time produced two small watermelon-shaped marzipan fruit.

  Like Madre Carmela, Sorella Agata had now taken to carrying sweets in the pockets of her habit. She couldn’t resist the custom since she’d always enjoyed it when Madre had surprised her with a treat. Besides marzipan fruit, Sorella Agata also carried cookies. She loved to surprise children with the sweets whenever she ran into a group of them playing on the street. The little girls always made her think about her younger sister, Cecilia.

  The old lady’s eyes lit up when she saw the marzipan. She reached out to take them, but before doing so looked at Sorella Agata as if asking her if she were really certain she wanted to give these treasures away. Sorella Agata nodded her head, imploring the woman to take the marzipan.

  “Grazie, Sorella. You are too kind.”

  The lady took a bite of the marzipan and closed her eyes, chewing the pastry slowly. Looking at the emaciated body of the woman, Sorella Agata thought she would have wolfed down both of the marzipan fruit in an instant.

  “Delizioso! I remember when my husband used to treat me to these for my birthday every year.”

  Tears filled the woman’s eyes. Instead of eating the second watermelon marzipan fruit, she placed it in her straw hat. Then, she looked over her shoulder, ensuring no one had seen.

  “May I ask you, signora, where your husband is?”

  “You keep calling me signora. No one has called me that in quite some time. My husband died ten years ago. After that, my life died along with him. I’ve been living on the streets since.”