Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “Rosalia?” the woman softly said.

  Sorella Agata felt slightly dizzy as she whispered back, “Mamma?”

  The plate of Pignolata fell from her hands as she walked closer to her mother. There was no doubt in her mind now. This woman was her mother. The same mother who had rocked her in her arms when she was a baby; the same mother who had sung lullabies to her to help her fall asleep; the same mother who had shared stories and laughed with her as they worked side by side, both in their home and in Papà’s shop; the same mother who had listened to Rosalia’s dreams for the future.

  “It is you! My daughter, my daughter!”

  She sat up in bed as Sorella Agata reached her bedside and wrapped her mother in her arms.

  “Mamma! Please, don’t tell me I’m dreaming. Please let it really be you! You don’t know how much I’ve prayed for this day to come.”

  “And so have I, my daughter. So have I.”

  Later that evening . . .

  Sorella Agata was driving, making her way back to the convent. Every few seconds, she took her gaze off the road to glance over at her mother and make sure she truly was sitting in the passenger seat beside her. It really was Mamma, and not a ghost. When Sorella Agata had left the convent earlier to distribute her Pignolata platters to the hospital patients, never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined she’d be returning home, let alone spending the Christmas holidays, with her own mother. Silently, she prayed to God, thanking Him over and over again. Her mind also kept replaying her reunion with her mother at the hospital and their conversation once they had gotten over their initial shock of finding each other.

  Sorella Agata had told her mother at the hospital how Marco had kidnapped her, held her hostage in the cave, and even how he’d raped her. Her mother had wept when she heard all that her daughter had been through. Sorella Agata had also relayed how a group of nuns had found her unconscious after she’d escaped from the cave, and then how she had returned home once her memory was restored only to discover her family had all left Terme Vigliatore. But it was getting late, and she wanted to be able to take her mother back to the convent with her that night. She knew it would take some time to explain to the hospital that this was her mother and that she would be taking her mother home with her. The hospital’s administrator had known Sorella Agata for many years now and also knew her story of being estranged from her family when she was young and how she had never given up hope of finding them someday. He agreed to release her mother, but made Sorella Agata promise to bring her back in a few days for an exam. Sorella Agata’s mother was on the mend from pneumonia, and he had been thinking he would be able to release her in a couple of days, although he had been reluctant to do so since he knew she was homeless. Still, as with all the other patients who were homeless, he could not keep them there forever. There were too many sick people and not enough beds.

  On the drive home, Sorella Agata promised her mother she would explain the next day, after her mother had had some rest, more about what she’d been up to since they’d been separated. And her mother promised to tell Sorella Agata everything about what had led her back to Messina and why she had been living on the streets. But the suspense was too much for Sorella Agata to bear. She had to ask her mother how she had become homeless and why she was not with Papà, Luca, and Cecilia. Had her father died? But surely, Luca and Cecilia would have looked after Mamma if that had happened. Her heart beat frantically; she was afraid to learn the fate of her family.

  “Mamma, I know you are tired and are still recuperating, and I know you have received a great shock in seeing me tonight, but I must ask where Papà, Luca, and Cecilia are. When I was trying to find all of you, our police inspector told me you had moved to Marsala and that Papà had briefly gone to America for work before returning to Sicily. He also told me you had to leave Marsala and were planning on moving back east. What happened? I just don’t understand why you were alone and living on the streets. Are they . . .” Sorella Agata could not say it. Could it be that perhaps they all had died?

  “All I will say right now, Rosalia, is that I left your father. I’m sorry. I know you have as many questions as I do. But I promise I will tell you more tomorrow. You are right. I need to rest, and the story I have to tell is difficult, I’m afraid to say. Can you bear to be patient a little longer and wait until tomorrow to hear the rest? I’m sorry, my child. I know you have waited all these years, wondering what happened to all of us. But my excitement over finding you has taken what little energy I have left in my body.”

  “Of course, Mamma. I want you to get well so we can go back to laughing and sharing stories with each other as we used to do.” Sorella Agata took one hand off the steering wheel and squeezed her mother’s hand.

  “You were always the perfect daughter.” Mamma smiled and then closed her eyes. Soon, she was fast asleep.

  Sorella Agata’s heart winced when she heard her mother say she’d always been the perfect daughter. For the longest time after Marco had kidnapped her, she’d blamed herself for the misfortune that had befallen her family. To hear that her mother had never thought of her as anything less than perfect made her happy, but it also stirred up again the pain she’d felt all these years.

  When they arrived at the convent, Sorella Agata felt elated. She couldn’t wait to see the shock when she told Madre Carmela and everyone else that this woman with her was none other than her own mother. She hoped the commotion that would surely follow wouldn’t be too much for Mamma. She looked so frail, even though the hospital’s administrator and her doctor had assured Sorella Agata that she was on the mend. Sorella Agata couldn’t lose her again after finding her.

  Sorella Agata helped her mother out of the car. Slowly, they made their way to the convent’s front door. Once they were inside, Sorella Agata could see everyone was seated at the kitchen table. A few platters of Pignolata and Buccellati lined the table. Everyone was talking and sampling the sweets. When they saw Sorella Agata enter with the older woman, they fell silent.

  “Sorella Agata. We were beginning to get worried about you. Is everything all right?” Madre Carmela asked. “Please, have your friend sit down.”

  She pulled out a chair from the table. Sorella Agata did not let go of her mother’s arm until she was seated. Her mother smiled shyly at everyone. Sorella Agata could sense she was a little nervous. She had repeatedly asked her if it truly was all right for her to go live with her at the convent. Remembering how her mother had kept asking her this made her want to cry. She had assured her mother that everyone would welcome her, and that she had no cause to worry.

  Sorella Agata noticed Madre was looking at her a bit peculiarly.

  “I’m sorry if you were all worried about me, but I had an unexpected circumstance arise while I was at the hospital, when I met this woman who was a patient there, recovering from pneumonia. Her name is Signora Anna DiSanta.” Sorella Agata glanced at Madre Carmela to see if she would remember that DiSanta was Sorella Agata’s surname. But Madre didn’t even flinch. She was getting up there in years, and Sorella Agata had noticed the mother superior’s memory wasn’t as sharp as it used to be.

  Sorella Agata continued. “I don’t quite know how to say this, since what I have to say will be a shock regardless of how I say it, so I will just say it. This woman is my mother.”

  Everyone looked from Sorella Agata to the elderly woman, who kept her gaze lowered. No one said a word. After what seemed like an eternity to Sorella Agata, but what was probably no more than a few seconds, Madre was the first one to speak.

  “Sorella Agata, please forgive me, but how can you be sure this woman is your mother? Perhaps this lost soul is looking for companionship?” Madre Carmela asked, worry etched all over her features.

  “Madre, you know how long I have waited for this day. Do you think I would not know my own mother?”

  When Signora DiSanta heard her daughter address Madre Carmela as simply “Madre,” she frowned. Sorella Agata noticed, and
patted her mother’s hand.

  “There is nothing to worry about, Mamma. You have always been and will always be my first mother, but Madre Carmela rescued me and has been like a second mother to me ever since I was separated from you and Papà. Madre Carmela is also the mother superior here, so we all call her Madre.”

  Signora DiSanta turned toward Madre Carmela, and softly said, “Grazie for taking care of my daughter when I couldn’t.”

  Madre Carmela merely stared at Signora DiSanta, not quite sure yet whether to accept that this was truly Sorella Agata’s mother. Then Teresa spoke up.

  “I don’t see a resemblance. Of course, if this woman is truly your mother, she is much older now and would look different from you, but I would still expect to find some resemblance. I’m sorry, signora. I mean no offense.”

  Sorella Agata knitted her brows furiously together. She was beginning to get angry that they didn’t believe she would know her mother even if a century had passed before they were reunited. She had always favored her father in terms of her looks, so she wasn’t surprised Teresa couldn’t see a resemblance. Sorella Agata was about to speak up when her mother held up a hand, imploring her to wait. Her mother then dug around in her large straw tote bag, which contained the few belongings she now owned, and pulled out a small, weathered-looking Bible. Opening the Bible, she pulled out a photo and held it up for everyone to see.

  Madre Carmela, Teresa, and everyone else quickly moved in to examine the photo more closely. The nuns and pastry workers who had known Sorella Agata before she took her vows, when she was simply Rosalia, gasped. For the young teenage girl in the photo was the Rosalia they remembered and whom they had rescued all those years ago. In the photo, she and her mother stood alongside each other in a garden. Two rosebushes sat on either side of them. Rosalia held one of the roses in her hand and was smiling the most extraordinary, radiant smile.

  “Dio mio. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful you were, Sorella Agata,” Sorella Lucia said, holding her hands to her chest. “I mean, you are still attractive. I mean—”

  “Enough, Elisabetta. I think we all know what you meant,” Teresa said, shaking her head.

  Teresa had tried to call her sister Sorella Lucia when she had returned to live at the convent, but she would always inevitably revert to Elisabetta. Finally, one day she gave up. Madre Carmela asked Teresa to try to call her sister Sorella Lucia at least when they were together with the other nuns to set an example. But it was no use. Teresa continued to forget.

  She then turned to Signora DiSanta. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you were Sorella Agata’s mother, signora. You don’t know how happy it makes me, all of us, to finally see you and your daughter reunited. She never stopped searching for you.” Teresa embraced Signora DiSanta, who looked momentarily startled.

  “Grazie. I’m sure this is all a shock to you, as it still is for Rosalia and me. I mean Sorella Agata.” Signora DiSanta looked slightly uncomfortable when she referred to her daughter as Sorella Agata. “I’m sorry, my daughter, it will take some getting used to.”

  Madre Carmela stepped forward. “I think Sorella Agata would agree it is all right if you continue to call your daughter by the name you have always known her by. Don’t you agree, Sorella Agata?”

  Tears came to Sorella Agata’s eyes. Her gaze met Madre Carmela’s as she conveyed her gratitude. Once again, Madre had said the right thing, just as she had ever since Sorella Agata had been that lost, young girl struggling to heal and believe in herself again.

  “Of course, Mamma. You may continue to call me Rosalia. Just because I have taken vows, does not mean I am not the Rosalia you once knew. I am still her in here.” Sorella Agata pointed to her heart.

  Signora DiSanta smiled. “I do not want to disrespect you, Rosalia. I am honored that my daughter decided to become a nun and serve God.”

  Madre Carmela began crying, though it was unlike her to lose control in front of everyone. “I can’t believe it, but I cannot deny it now that I have seen the photo. I’m so happy for you, Sorella Agata. After all these years, you and your mother are together again.”

  Sorella Agata walked over to Madre and embraced her.

  “Grazie, Madre. You have been so wonderful to me all these years, and now I must make of you one more request. My mother has no place to live. Can she—”

  “Say no more.” Madre held up her hand. “You know she is welcome here, and she is now as much a part of our family as you were when we first brought you here.” She then turned to Sorella Agata’s mother and said, “Welcome, signora.”

  Madre bent over and embraced Signora DiSanta, who was fighting back tears.

  “Grazie. I will repay you with whatever work you need, once I am stronger. I promise.”

  “There is no need for you to repay me, Signora DiSanta. Just get well. That is all I ask.”

  “As you all must realize, my mother has received a great shock, and she is still a bit weak from the pneumonia she caught. I’d like to take her up to my room and let her get some sleep. We can all talk more tomorrow.”

  “Of course, Sorella Agata. I take it you will sleep on the couch in the sitting room?” Madre Carmela asked.

  “I will sleep on the floor in my room. I don’t want to leave my mother.”

  Madre knew no words in the world would persuade Sorella Agata to leave her mother’s side for even one second. After all, she was probably still in disbelief that her mother was actually standing here before her after twenty-five years. Poor Sorella Agata. She probably feared if she let her mother out of her sight, she might lose her again.

  “I believe there’s a free cot in the chapel. I can have a few of the lay workers bring it over. This way you won’t put out your back by sleeping on the floor.”

  “Grazie, Madre. Buona notte.”

  “Buon Natale, Sorella Agata. God has given you a wonderful gift this year.”

  Sorella Agata glanced at her wristwatch. It was five past midnight. In the excitement of finding her mother, she had almost forgotten it was Christmas Eve. And now it was officially Christmas.

  “Buon Natale, Madre. I nearly forgot it was Christmas. I think I am still in shock.”

  Madre Carmela went over and embraced her once again, whispering in her ear. “You never gave up hope. And God has rewarded you for your patience.”

  Sorella Agata blinked back tears. She glanced at her mother, who was talking to Teresa and Sorella Lucia. Though she still looked quite weak, she managed to smile at them and answer their questions.

  Keeping her voice low so it wouldn’t reach her mother, Sorella Agata said, “I was beginning to lose hope, Madre, I’m sorry to say. And I still don’t know what fate the rest of my family members met with. Something tells me I will have more heartache once my mother tells me what happened to Papà, Luca, and Cecilia.”

  Madre Carmela took Sorella Agata’s hands in hers and squeezed tightly. “You are much stronger than the young woman I rescued all those years ago. You will be fine whatever you learn about your family. And now, you will be even stronger with your mother by your side. Remember that.”

  “I pray you are right, Madre. I pray I can continue to be strong. But I suppose I must be. I have no other choice now that my mother is back in my life. I must be strong for her.”

  29

  Torta al Limone di Mamma

  MAMMA’S LEMON CAKE

  December 25, 1980

  Though all the desserts for Christmas had been made and the shop was closed today, Sorella Agata had still woken up shortly before dawn to bake one of her favorite desserts—Torta al Limone. It would be a special gift for her mother.

  As she stirred the batter, memories came back to Sorella Agata of when she was a child and Mamma would make the lemon cake for her and Luca. As she had told Madre Carmela when they were on their way to her hometown of Terme Vigliatore, when Rosalia had thought she would be reunited with her family, her mother would make the lemon cake for the children’s birthdays and their names
ake saint’s day and sometimes for Easter. It was one of the simple desserts her mother made. But to little Rosalia and Luca, the dessert had felt decadent with its citrus aroma and flavor and its intensely sweet lemon glaze that was drizzled over the cake once it was done baking.

  As Sorella Agata stirred the batter, she cried profusely. Usually, she made an attempt not to cry when she felt sad, but her emotions always got the better of her. And it seemed like when she was making her pastries, there was no control, and the tears insisted on coming out. Today, however, she didn’t try to stop them; she let them flow freely. With one hand, she expertly beat her batter, and with her other, she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  But today, she cried because she still could not believe her mamma was here with her. She had found Mamma. Her elation had kept her up most of the night. Once her mother was sound asleep, Sorella Agata had sat up in the cot that had been set up for her in her room, and she had stared at her mother. The moonlight that came in through the sheer window panels that hung from Sorella Agata’s window cast an almost angelic light over her mother’s tired face. Sorella Agata wanted to stroke her mother’s cheek, but she was afraid of disturbing her. She was even tempted to crawl into the bed and lie beside her, but she knew how much her mother needed her rest if she was going to fully recuperate from her recent bout of pneumonia. Sorella Agata was almost afraid to leave Mamma out of her sight, but sense finally came to her, and she knew Mamma wasn’t going to vanish into thin air—even if it did seem like she had materialized out of nowhere when Sorella Agata had found herself suddenly face-to-face with her at the hospital. Then, the idea had come to her to make Mamma’s Torta al Limone. After all, it was Christmas, and she wanted to give her mother a small gift.