Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “You have no children?”

  “No. God never blessed me with those, I’m afraid. But I don’t want you feeling sorry for me, Sorella. Feel sorry for the young women who were forced to run away from home because of abuse they suffered by their own parents or for the women who were forced to leave their husbands who beat them. Their lives are still ahead of them, but they are wasting away on these streets. I, on the other hand, had my life, and I’m grateful to God I had some happiness when I was younger. My husband was a good man. But after he died, I couldn’t find any work.”

  “I’m so sorry, signora. May I ask what your name is?”

  “Giuseppina, but everyone calls me Peppina.”

  “I am Sorella Agata. I am with the Carmelite order of nuns. I will keep you in my prayers, and perhaps I can come again and visit you?”

  “That would be nice, Sorella, although I don’t know if your prayers will do any good for me anymore. It might be better you don’t waste them on me, and instead pray for the younger women here.”

  Sorella Agata looked down the narrow alleyway, but it was deserted. Where were these other women Peppina talked about?

  “I was wondering, Peppina, could you take me to where the other women are?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “If you like. You’ve been very kind to me. It’s the least I can do.”

  Sorella Agata followed Peppina, who walked very slowly. She wanted to ask the old woman if it might be easier for her to take off her one sandal so her gait would be even when she walked, but she was afraid of offending her. The convent collected clothes from the villagers every month. When she returned home, she would have to see if there were shoes in the collection that might fit Peppina.

  Peppina turned right, down an even narrower alleyway than the one they had come from. The glow from a lantern could be seen in the distance. Sorella Agata noticed the sky was getting darker. She should have taken her leave of Peppina and hurried back to the convent before it got dark. Madre Carmela would be worried about her. But her curiosity about the other homeless women was too great to ignore. She needed to see with her own eyes how these women were living.

  Soon, one by one, women came out from the shadows. Each of them stopped when they saw Sorella Agata. No doubt her habit had caught their attention. The ages of the women ran from as old as their sixties and seventies to as young as their early teens, maybe even preteens. Sorella Agata was shocked to see that most of the homeless were these younger girls. Suddenly, the image of herself when she crawled outside the cave where Marco had taken her flashed before her eyes. She remembered how her own clothes had been torn and how afraid she had been. These girls’ eyes held the same empty stare Peppina’s eyes held, but there was something else present in their eyes—utter despair. She could see in their faces they had no hope. To be that young and have no hopes for the future—it was horrible. In that moment, Sorella Agata realized once again how fortunate she had been to have Madre Carmela and the life she’d given her at the convent. True, she had lost her family, but she had gained another one with the sisters and the lay workers at the convent. These young women had no one but one another.

  Though the women looked at her, no one approached Sorella Agata. She kept a respectful distance. They seemed to lose interest in her and gathered in a circle by the lantern. An older woman approached the group. She held a loaf of bread. She broke pieces of the bread off and handed them to the women. Peppina left Sorella Agata’s side and waited for her piece of bread. She held her straw hat so that the brims were folded in toward each other. Sorella Agata had no doubt she did so to ensure the watermelon marzipan remained hidden from view. She couldn’t help noting that Peppina was like a child who didn’t want to part with her prize.

  Sorella Agata jumped when she felt a hand tap her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you lost?”

  Sorella Agata turned around and was face-to-face with a striking young woman who looked to be about fifteen or sixteen years old.

  “I was, but I met Peppina, and she told me about all of you. I wanted to come by to see if I could offer some assistance. My name is Sorella Agata.”

  “My name is Lucrezia. Did you bring food with you?”

  Lucrezia looked at the burlap bags Sorella Agata carried on each of her shoulders. She then realized with embarrassment that she was carrying groceries and baking supplies, and all she had offered Peppina were two small marzipan fruit. Sorella Agata looked at the women, each eating her one small piece of bread and taking turns drinking from a bucket of water that held a ladle. Without hesitation, she took the bags off her shoulders and reached inside, pulling out an apricot from the two dozen she’d bought to make a pie. She handed it to Lucrezia.

  “Come. I have more food for you and the others.”

  Sorella Agata walked toward the other women. She took out the rest of the apricots as well as several round loaves of bread and various other produce. She even had a large jar of anchovies. Sorella Agata kept unloading the contents of her burlap bags until they were empty. The women gathered around her, talking excitedly. Even the older women had gleeful expressions, as if they were children waiting for La Befana to hand out her gifts for the Feast of the Epiphany.

  “I brought her here! Me! I knew she would be good luck.” Peppina spoke loudly above the din, pointing to her chest.

  No one seemed to care that Peppina was responsible for bringing Sorella Agata to their group. They were too hungry and dazed from their sudden windfall of having more than a piece of bread for dinner that night.

  A few of the women thanked Sorella Agata and shyly told her their names. Her heart swelled upon seeing how grateful they seemed and how for that brief moment their sorrowful faces looked content.

  “I promise I will come back,” Sorella Agata said as she began to walk away.

  The women followed her down the dark alleyway.

  “Be careful, Sister. May God bless you. Thank you for feeding us tonight.” A few of the women called out to her as she finally parted ways with them.

  One of the younger girls, who looked to be twelve or thirteen years old, ran up to Sorella Agata. “When will you come back?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

  The next day, Sorella Agata returned, but Madre Carmela had insisted on accompanying her. While she had been upset at first that Sorella Agata had given away all of their groceries, she understood why she had done so. When they arrived at the alleyway, no one was in sight. Sorella Agata began to think she had gone down the wrong alley, but then the women slowly came out from their hiding places, one by one as they had done the previous night. Whom were they hiding from? Did anyone else know about their living here, hidden in the shadows?

  Madre Carmela began handing out the food they were able to spare from their kitchen. Sorella Agata had a special treat for them. That morning she had fried batches of Krapfen, cream-filled doughnuts. While they weren’t as elaborate as marzipan, the fried balls of airy dough filled with pastry cream were just as decadent tasting when one bit into them.

  “Che buono! So good!” many of the women chanted after tasting the Krapfen.

  After handing out their food, Madre Carmela and Sorella Agata were about to take their leave when the women invited them to stay longer.

  A few of them opened up about their past lives. The older women had mainly fallen on hard times after their spouses died. But one woman, Gabriella, spat out, “My louse of a husband left me for a younger woman; he moved her into our house and then threw me out. And my son sided with his father out of fear of being disinherited. So much for marrying a wealthy man.”

  Everyone laughed at her last statement, but Sorella Agata could see Gabriella was still seething.

  “My mother died when I was born. And then my father was killed in an accident at the mill. My uncle took me in, but then he started doing things to me. I ran away from home. I was working on the streets for a few years until Peppina found me a
nd brought me here.”

  “And what is your name?” Madre Carmela asked the young woman, who looked to be in her early twenties.

  “Donatella.”

  “Are you still working on . . . on the streets?” Sorella Agata managed to ask her.

  “Sometimes.” Donatella’s gaze didn’t meet Sorella Agata’s. “But at least now I decide when I want the work. Where I was staying before I met Peppina, I had no choice but to work all the time.”

  Sorella Agata gathered the young woman had been living in a brothel before. Her heart ached for her lost innocence. Finding her courage once again, she asked, “How many of you are working on the streets like Donatella?”

  Of the dozen women who stood before them, half raised their hands—all of them were the younger women, in their teens to twenties.

  “And the rest of you?” Madre asked, directing her gaze toward the older women.

  “We’re ashamed to admit this to women of God such as you, but we steal what we can here and there. But we have rules. No stealing from women and no stealing from families. We mainly steal from stores and restaurants or from men who look like they are rich. They won’t notice a few lire anyway.” Peppina elbowed Gabriella, and they laughed along with the other women. Even Madre and Sorella Agata laughed.

  “I suppose one must do what is necessary to survive. I’m sure if you pray to God and ask for His forgiveness, He shall grant it,” Madre said.

  The women lowered their heads, and a few made the sign of the cross as if Madre had bestowed a blessing upon or granted forgiveness to them.

  Finally, Madre Carmela and Sorella Agata took their leave. As Sorella Agata had done the previous night, Madre promised they would return, but she told them it might be a few days until they could come back. Immediately, Sorella Agata saw the disappointed expressions on the women’s faces. It hurt her greatly to see their pain.

  On the way back to the convent, Madre Carmela talked about the pastries that would need to be made that week, but Sorella Agata was only half listening. She couldn’t stop thinking about the women, especially the younger women who had been forced to prostitute themselves to survive. If only she could find a way to convince them to leave that life behind. But where would they go?

  Over the course of the next two weeks, Sorella Agata made it her mission to visit the women every day. It was difficult for her to get away on a few of the days, particularly without Madre Carmela’s noticing. Although Madre didn’t mind that she visited the women every few days or so, she made Sorella Agata promise never to go alone, for she was worried about her safety, especially on her return home from that seedier part of town where the homeless women lived. But Sorella Agata had been unable to find someone who was free to escort her, and the thought of disappointing those women, even for a day, greatly distressed her. So she took her chances and snuck out of the convent, placing her faith in God to keep her safe as she made her way down the deserted dark alleys. Seeing the pleased looks on the women’s faces every time she showed up was enough, for Sorella Agata, to justify taking the risk. She had never felt a sense of fulfillment as she did when she fed the women and offered words of encouragement to them. A few had even asked if they could pray with her.

  One evening, as Sorella Agata made her way back out of the alleyway, she almost ran into a man. When she looked up into his face, Sorella Agata almost screamed. For she had seen that face in her nightmares. But it couldn’t be. The man who stood before her looked like the same man who had changed her life forever—Marco.

  “Mi scusi, Sorella.” The man tipped his hat and hurried off, down the dark alleyway that led to where the homeless women lived.

  Sorella Agata’s heart pounded against her chest. She felt like she was going to faint. Walking over to the wall, she held on to it, steadying herself. Was it really Marco? It had been seven years since the last time she’d seen him. That would make him thirty years old now. The man she’d seen had looked like he could be in his late thirties, but hadn’t she always heard that a life filled with evil aged one prematurely? Though Rosalia was now twenty-four, everyone told her she looked as young as she had when they’d first met her. Even the homeless women from the alley did not believe she was in her mid-twenties.

  If it was Marco, he hadn’t recognized her in her nun’s habit. And it was getting dark. She then realized he was headed toward where her new friends resided. Fear beat through her again, but this time it wasn’t for her but for the women she’d come to care for in such a short amount of time. She walked quickly back down the alley, looking for Marco, but he was nowhere in sight. When she reached the spot where the women usually stayed, she saw a few of them talking among themselves, but no one who looked like the man she’d seen was present.

  “Did you forget something, Sorella?” Gabriella came up behind her.

  “I thought I saw a man I once knew making his way here. Did you see a man about six feet tall, in his thirties, with a brown hat?”

  “I did see someone who matched that description, but he turned down that other alleyway.” Gabriella pointed to another alley that eventually led out to the main street.

  “Have you seen him before?”

  Gabriella shook her head.

  “Do any of the men who are . . .” She searched her mind for the right word. “Do any of the men who are clients of the young girls who work on the streets ever come here?”

  “No. The girls have been instructed never to let them know where they live. They are extra careful to make sure they aren’t followed when they’re returning home. They understand this is a safe haven for them, and as such, they must protect it at all costs. Who is this man? You seem to be frightened of him, Sorella Agata.”

  “I think I was mistaken. That’s all. He looked a lot like someone I once knew. I just wanted to know if he lived near here. Please, don’t worry, and don’t say anything to anyone else. I don’t want to alarm them unnecessarily. I should be going, Gabriella. It’s very late. Buona notte.”

  “Buona notte. Be careful, Sorella.”

  Sorella Agata felt a chill even though she was wearing her long habit and it was a muggy August night. Madre Carmela had been right to insist she be escorted whenever coming to the alleyway. Quickly making her way back to the convent, Sorella Agata prayed the man she had seen was not Marco.

  26

  Croccantini

  CRISPY HAZELNUT MERINGUES

  Sixteen months later . . .

  December 18, 1963

  Of all the sweets the pastry shop created, Sorella Agata’s least favorite were Croccantini. She wanted to like the crispy hazelnut meringues and had tried to convince herself every time she made them that this would be the magical time that she would finally love them. But it never worked. On the other hand, the shop’s patrons went crazy for them, and although she didn’t like them personally, she had trained her palate so she could detect the way the egg whites, honey, sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon batter should taste.

  Sorella Agata carefully wrapped the Croccantini in waxed paper and then placed them in a large cake box. She was going to take them to the patients in the hospital in town where she volunteered once a month. She stepped outside and walked over to her bicycle. Placing her box of meringues in the basket that sat in front of her bike’s handlebars, she adjusted her habit so that she could comfortably pedal. As she pedaled into town, Sorella Agata thought about how much she had to be thankful for this year for Christmas, which was just a week away. She couldn’t believe it was just sixteen months ago when she’d met the homeless women living in the alleyway. And she couldn’t believe that six months after she’d met them, she had converted the abandoned chapel, where Antonio used to sleep, into living quarters for all twelve of the homeless women.

  The idea of having the women come live with them had sprouted in Sorella Agata’s mind as winter began to set in last year; all she could think about was how uncomfortable the women would be living outside. Although the winter months in Sicily weren’t as unb
earable as in other countries, it would still not be comfortable. But it wasn’t just the winter months she was thinking about. She couldn’t bear the thought any longer of the younger women’s working on the streets where they faced danger every day. And she worried about a few of the older women who suffered from health issues.

  Madre Carmela had been worried about how they could take in another dozen women, but Sorella Agata had shown her they could afford it since their profits had doubled in the past couple of years, mainly due to Sorella Agata’s pastries, which were being talked about throughout the town of Santa Lucia del Mela and even in neighboring villages. Furthermore, the increase in customers meant they needed more workers. They were struggling to keep up with the demand as the pastries were selling out almost as soon as they hit the display cases. Sorella Agata proposed that the women work in the kitchen and the shop.

  “Va bene, Sorella Agata. As you know, I could never say no to you.” Madre Carmela had patted her cheek.

  Ever since the homeless women had come to live on the convent’s grounds, Sorella Agata had been even busier as she helped them adjust to their new surroundings and began instructing them in making pastries. She was happy, but she had to admit lately she felt once again as if something was missing, much the way she had felt after she had become a nun and was looking for a way to serve God. She had felt a sense of purpose and fulfillment when she was sneaking out of the convent and bringing food to the homeless women. But now that she had helped them and was watching them thrive, she felt her work in that aspect had been completed.

  About an hour later, when Sorella Agata was done with her volunteer work at the hospital, her mind returned to what she’d been pondering earlier. Silently, she prayed to God, asking Him to give her a sign as to how she might serve Him best. Perhaps she should devote more time to volunteering at the hospital? No, that didn’t feel quite right. Sorella Agata had learned, especially in the past couple of years, to trust her instincts more and more. As she walked toward where she had left her bike, she looked at the piazza in the village and was surprised not to see as many beggars or homeless people as she normally saw. She often saw young women, mostly runaways, when she came into town. If only she could help more people. What if she tried to get money to run a nonprofit shelter? If she received funds, she could expand the size of the former abandoned chapel and turn it into a functioning shelter. She could hire volunteers. Her mind began racing as she thought about how many more women she could save. Madre Carmela had told her once that it was impossible to save every woman, and that Sorella Agata needed to realize that it wasn’t her responsibility to save everyone. Sorella Agata knew Madre was implying that she was trying to save herself whenever she rescued another woman who had been forced to live on the street because someone had mistreated or abused her. She was still trying to save herself from Marco. But it was more than that for her. This was Sorella Agata’s way of serving God and thanking Him for rescuing her from that horrible cave as well as giving her a new life at the convent. If it hadn’t been for Madre Carmela’s compassion and generosity, she would not be here. The more Sorella Agata thought about it, the more she became convinced that her next calling was to open a women’s shelter. Somehow, she would make it happen.