Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “I’m sorry for startling you, Sorella Agata,” Sorella Lucia said, before busying herself with washing a sink full of prep dishes as she hummed a hymn to herself.

  “That’s all right. I must say I’ve been more skittish than usual lately. And Happy New Year to you, too. Where are my manners? I was lost in thought when you startled me. I couldn’t believe another year is upon us, and that it is the start of a new millennium.”

  Sorella Lucia stopped humming. She glanced over her shoulder at Sorella Agata, but then returned her gaze to the cake pan she was scrubbing.

  “Isn’t it funny, Sorella Agata, how the older we get, the quicker time seems to pass, whereas when we were children, time seemed infinite.”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s funny, but yes, I suppose someone upstairs is having a bit of fun with us, for once we’re aware of how short life really is, the days just seem to get shorter. Then again, it’s natural a child would feel that time passes slowly, especially since children can feel quite invincible.”

  Sorella Agata thought about when she and Luca were children, running around in the back of their house. The days had felt endless, and when they would talk about how they couldn’t wait to grow up, it had felt like the future was a long way off. If only she had known then just how soon everything would change, and how short their time together would be—how short Luca’s life would be. She prayed for her brother’s soul every day, as well as for her mother’s. And whenever she was taking a stroll through the courtyard, she looked to see if her bluethroat friend would visit her again. But since the day Mamma had told her about Luca’s death, she’d no longer seen the bluethroat.

  “Are you all right, Sorella Agata?”

  Sorella Lucia had finished washing the dishes and was now drying them off with a linen towel.

  “Si, si. You know me. My mind is always wandering.” When she noticed the look of concern in Sorella Lucia’s face, Sorella Agata quickly added, “All the things I have to do here at the shop and at the shelter. Our work is never done.”

  She smiled, averting her gaze from Sorella Lucia’s lest Sorella Lucia realize she was lying. Silently, she said a quick prayer, asking God to forgive her little white lie.

  “The nerve!” Teresa came storming into the kitchen, slamming down a large sack of flour onto one of the work counters and sending a haze of flour particles into the air. She coughed.

  “What is the matter, Teresa?”

  Sorella Lucia went to her sister’s side and brushed some flour out of her hair. It still warmed Sorella Agata’s heart to see how close the two sisters had become once Teresa had returned to the convent.

  “There is a customer in the pastry shop insisting that something tastes off with our Torta Savoia. I told him he was mistaken, but he kept insisting. He said there wasn’t enough rum in it. Then he asked if we made our own hazelnut chocolate cream or if we were using the version that’s sold in a jar. That’s when I lost it and screamed, ‘Nutella?! We make everything from scratch here.’ ”

  “Calm down, Teresa. He was just a pesky customer. We’ve had those before. I don’t know why you’re getting yourself so worked up.” But Sorella Agata couldn’t help feeling a bit irked by the man’s accusations. The Nutella comment especially grated on her nerves.

  “What are you talking about? It’s rare a customer is dissatisfied with our pastries,” Teresa said.

  “That’s not true, Teresa. We’ve had patrons question our pastries, especially my cassata.”

  “But they are questioning your cassata because it is so delicious and its taste far surpasses that of any others they’ve had. This pompous idiot is questioning our chocolate hazelnut cake, implying it’s horrible and even suggesting that we forgot to add an ingredient or used inferior ingredients like Nutella.”

  “Nutella is absolutely delicious and a very good substitute if a home cook doesn’t have the time to make his or her own chocolate hazelnut cream. But at our pastry shop, we pride ourselves on making everything from scratch. There really is no need to take such offense, Teresa,” Sorella Lucia chimed in.

  “Well, I cannot be as magnanimous as the two of you. I told him he could leave and never step foot in our shop again.”

  “You didn’t, Teresa!” Sorella Agata exclaimed, shocked that even Teresa would treat a customer in such a way.

  “I did. But he wouldn’t leave. He said he wanted to meet the chef who had made this mediocre cake. He actually called it mediocre!”

  Sorella Agata remained quiet, doing her best not to let this customer’s comments get to her the way they had gotten to Teresa. She took pride in her work, though she always strived to keep her pride from turning into arrogance. After all, she worked to serve God, even with her pastry making. But she couldn’t help taking some offense at this man’s harsh criticisms of her baking.

  “He is still in the shop?” Sorella Agata would confront him and defend her cake.

  “He is. I’ll take you to him.”

  Sorella Agata and even Sorella Lucia followed Teresa, who was all but running, to the pastry shop. In her mind, Sorella Agata rehearsed how she would calmly tell the customer there was no mistake in how she’d made the cake. She would listen to him, let him have his say, and then once she defended her work, she would offer him another pastry, free of charge. She was not going to engage him like Teresa had—or worse yet—be so rude toward him.

  They stepped into the pastry shop, which was full of customers. Quickly, Sorella Agata assessed the workers behind the counter and the line of patrons waiting to be served. The line seemed to be moving along, and none of the other workers looked flustered. At least this customer hadn’t rankled any of them.

  “He’s right there.” Teresa pointed toward a man whose hands were clasped behind his back as he looked at a photo of the pastry shop taken back in the fifties. He had a full head of hair, but it was all gray. She had expected the customer to be someone much younger. She then saw him turn to a young, attractive woman who was standing beside him, and he gestured toward the picture with his head as he said something to her. The woman nodded her head, but barely glanced at the photo. Her eyes held a dark, vacant stare, and for a moment Sorella Agata felt a slight chill. There was something familiar about the haunted look in that girl’s eyes, and she had a strange feeling in the pit of her belly that something was very wrong.

  Sorella Agata made her way toward the man. Clearing her throat, she said, “Excuse me, signore. I understand you wanted to meet the chef who made the Torta Savoia you are not happy with?”

  She waited, but the man did not turn around immediately. The woman beside him glanced at her, but when their eyes met, she quickly lowered her gaze. Then, the man turned around. His eyes held a twinkle, and were those tears she saw as well? For the second time that morning, Sorella Agata pressed her hand to her heart. Surely, she was mistaken. But the eyes that stared back at her and even the smile were the same as those of the young man she had once fallen in love with.

  “Rosalia.”

  His voice had deepened with age, and even had a quality to it, much like that of a smoker. Had he taken up smoking since she’d last seen him? He was staring at her, waiting for her to say something, but she was still too shocked.

  “It is so good to see you, my dear, old friend.”

  As soon as Sorella Agata heard those words, tears quickly slid down her face. He had forgiven her. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in the way he had called her his dear, old friend. She shook her head, feeling as if she didn’t deserve his forgiveness. For she had never forgiven herself for the horrible words she had spoken to him all those years ago.

  Finally, she said, “I’m so sorry, Antonio.”

  “You have no need to be sorry.”

  He stepped forward and embraced her. And in that moment, as memories of the time they’d once spent together came rushing back to her, she was no longer Sorella Agata, but instead was Rosalia—the teenage girl who had briefly given her heart to the young boy who h
ad made her feel safe, special, and loved.

  A few minutes later, Sorella Agata, Antonio, Teresa, and Sorella Lucia were chatting away. Well, Teresa and Sorella Lucia were doing most of the talking, filling Antonio in on the changes the pastry shop had undergone in the years since he’d left. Antonio listened patiently and offered a word here and there, but his gaze kept floating over to Sorella Agata, who was still getting over her initial shock at seeing him again. She then realized Teresa had made up the whole story about the disgruntled patron.

  “Teresa, why didn’t you just tell me Antonio was here instead of coming up with that elaborate story? We’re not silly young women any longer.”

  “What fun would that have been? Besides, I didn’t make up the entire story. I didn’t recognize Antonio right away, and he did say all those things about your chocolate hazelnut cake.”

  Sorella Agata looked questioningly at Antonio, hurt evident in her face. He really thought she hadn’t added enough rum to the cake and that she had used Nutella?

  But just like the times when they were young and Antonio had been so perceptive in sensing her feelings and thoughts, he patted her shoulder reassuringly and said, “I was joking. I remembered how easy it used to be to rile Teresa, and I wanted to see if she’d changed. Needless to say, I was happy to see she hadn’t.” He laughed.

  Teresa swatted his arm playfully. “And you haven’t changed either. Well, except for the wrinkles and the gray hair.”

  Though he had aged, he was still a handsome man, even in his sixties. Sorella Agata then realized that Antonio must’ve been shocked to see her in a nun’s habit, and surely, he would think she had changed considerably.

  Never one to exercise delicacy, Teresa blurted, “Well, I’m sure you both want to catch up. Antonio, Elisabetta and I can take your granddaughter back to the convent with us. She looks tired. She can wait for you in our sitting room. We’ll keep her company and tell her stories about what a devil you were when you were young.”

  His granddaughter. Of course. Sorella Agata should have realized when she saw how young the woman by his side was that she had to be his granddaughter. She even noticed that they had the same shape eyes and nose. So he had found someone else to love and had married. She was glad. Sorella Agata had prayed that Antonio would meet a woman who would be kind to him and give him the love he deserved. She had always wanted him to be happy, especially knowing how she’d hurt him. She wondered where his wife was now. Maybe she’d stayed behind in Paris—that is, if he still lived there. Suddenly, a flurry of questions raced through her mind. Why after all these years had he come back to the convent? Surely, it could not have been just to see her?

  Antonio looked at his granddaughter. Worry was etched across his features, and he looked as if he was about to turn down Teresa’s offer, but then the young girl spoke up.

  “That is fine, Nonno. I am tired. I can rest. Take your time talking to your friend.”

  The girl spoke perfect Italian, but there was a definite French accent. So they did still live in France.

  Sorella Agata walked over to her and extended her hand. “I am Sorella Agata. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “I thought your name was Rosalia?” The girl looked from her to her grandfather, confused.

  “Ah. Yes, that is, I mean was, my name before I became a nun. Once we take our vows, we choose new names.”

  “I’m sorry, Rosalia. I should have asked—” Antonio looked slightly uncomfortable.

  Sorella Agata held up her hand. “Please, don’t worry. Teresa and Sorella Lucia still forget and call me Rosalia from time to time.”

  “Piacere, Sorella. My name is Veronique.”

  Antonio lightly slapped his forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you sooner. This is my granddaughter. I don’t know what is wrong with me today. Too much excitement, I suppose.”

  “Sorella Lucia, Teresa, please make sure Veronique is comfortable and bring her something to drink and a few of our pastries.”

  Veronique followed Sorella Lucia and Teresa, and though Teresa had started regaling the young woman with tales of her grandfather from when he was an apprentice at the convent, Sorella Agata noticed it looked as if Veronique’s attention was elsewhere. Why was she so sad?

  “You must be tired as well, Antonio. Please, let me get you an espresso. Do you want another slice of Torta Savoia—that is, if you really had no objections to how it tasted?” Sorella Agata raised an eyebrow.

  “Ah! I see it bothered you when you thought you had a customer questioning your expertise? I’m glad to see not everything has changed with you, Rosa—I mean, Sorella Agata.”

  An awkward silence followed before Sorella Agata excused herself to get their cups of espresso. She cut an extra-large slice of cake for Antonio, but while she was behind the display case, she quickly broke off a small piece of cake and tasted it. Intense hazelnut and rich chocolate greeted her, and the rum was discernible but not overly potent. The Torta Savoia was how it should be. Nothing was wrong with it. Antonio had been joking with Teresa after all. Placing the plates of cake slices and cups of espresso on a platter, she carried them out to Antonio, who she saw had stepped outside and seated himself at one of the tables.

  “It is still as beautiful and serene here as I remember it.” Antonio’s eyes scanned the courtyard and gardens.

  “Not much has changed out here, but we have made a few renovations, especially in the abandoned chapel where you used to sleep. I will have to take you there later and show it to you.”

  “I would like that.”

  They glanced at each other for a moment, and Sorella Agata quickly looked away. Was he also thinking about the time he had taken her to the abandoned chapel, when he had told her for the first time he was falling in love with her?

  “Your granddaughter is beautiful.”

  “Grazie. I treasure her.”

  Sorella Agata was about to ask him about his wife when Antonio surprised her with his next question.

  “And you, Rosalia? Are you happy?”

  Sorella Agata was about to correct him, but didn’t want to make things any more awkward than they already were.

  “I am. Since I received God’s calling to become a nun and serve Him, I have been so fulfilled. As I’m sure you saw, the pastry shop is doing better than ever, which has helped greatly not only to keep our convent running, but also to support a women’s shelter I founded in town.”

  “I have heard about the shelter and all the wonderful things you have done for those women. Naturally, I was not surprised to hear of your work there after what you’d been through.”

  “Helping these women has helped with my own healing, just as the pastries helped me find a sense of purpose in those first dark days after Madre Carmela had rescued me.”

  “How is Madre? I forgot to ask Teresa if she is still alive.”

  “She is, but I have taken over her mother superior duties. She is getting quite up there in years, and it was too much for her. I am also the head pastry chef at the shop now.”

  “I heard that as well. And I have heard about the controversy with your cassata.”

  “Who has been talking about me so much to you?”

  “Teresa told me about your being mother superior and the head pastry chef now, but I actually had heard about the shelter elsewhere. We have a lot to talk about, but first I must ask you, did you ever find your family?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Sorella Agata told Antonio everything, from how she had been reunited with her mother and had learned about Luca’s death to how they had not been able to locate her father and Cecilia.

  “So bittersweet, my friend. I’m sorry. You have had more than your share of heartache in this life, and still, you find it in yourself to help others. I always knew you were amazing, Rosalia, but now that I see what a wonderful woman you have become, I am even more floored.”

  “It has been hard work to get to where I am now. And I still struggle at times, wondering why
my family and I have suffered so much. But it is not for us to know God’s plans for us. We must place our faith in Him and do our best.”

  Antonio pressed his lips tightly together. “I suppose you are right. My faith in God has been tested, and I must be honest, I do not know if it will ever be restored.”

  Without thinking, Sorella Agata placed her hand over Antonio’s, which rested on the table.

  “We all go through difficult times, Antonio. And we all are tested. Please, do not abandon God. He will be there for you during your most trying times.”

  Antonio sighed deeply, but remained silent. Sorella Agata removed her hand from his. It pained her to see her old friend like this. She wondered what had happened to make him question his faith.

  “So I take it you are still looking for your father and sister?”

  “Not actively. I’m afraid I have run up against a wall and have simply not been able to find out more. But I still pray every day to God that if He wills it, as He did with my mother, He might let me be reunited with them someday—or at least learn what became of them. After so many years, I have found a way to make my peace with everything that happened and with the very real possibility that I may never see the last of my surviving family members. That is, if Cecilia and Papà are still alive.”

  Antonio sighed. “I suppose that is all you can ask for. I am just glad to see you have managed to make a fulfilling life for yourself in spite of your losses.”

  “Please, Antonio. Tell me all that you have been up to since you left for Paris. I have thought of you often and wondered if you were cooking in some of Paris’s best restaurants.”