The bluethroat took a hesitant hop forward, but then the sound of someone whistling startled it, and it flew away. Rosalia tried to run after the bird, but it seemed to vanish into thin air.
“Don’t you just hate it how they can make fools of us?”
Rosalia jumped at the sound of the voice. She’d been so preoccupied by the bird that she hadn’t thought to see where the whistling was coming from. A young man who looked to be about her age was standing a few feet away. He was grinning.
Rosalia stepped back a couple of feet, clutching her robe to her chest, which suddenly felt very restricted. She looked around the courtyard, but no one else was in sight.
“My name is Antonio. Antonio Bruni.” The young man stepped forward, extending his hand, but that only caused Rosalia to take another step back.
“You don’t have to be afraid. I just wanted to introduce myself.”
He pulled his hand back, placing it in his trousers pocket. He ran his free hand over his hair, which was a little long, but seemed to suit his face, accentuating his high cheekbones and large amber-colored eyes. He was a good seven to eight inches taller than Rosalia, and he was very thin.
Rosalia wanted to leave, but she remained fixed in place. She wished she could say something to him, but the fear that had taken hold of her would not budge. In her mind, she knew not every young man wanted to hurt her like Marco had, but her heart refused to let go of that notion.
“I know. You must be mad at me for chasing your little friend away.” Antonio smiled, locking his gaze onto Rosalia’s. She quickly averted her eyes and scanned the treetops, pretending she was looking for the bluethroat. But it was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m sure he’ll come back. I’ve seen him before.”
“You have?” Rosalia said softly.
Antonio nodded his head. “Every day since I’ve been here.”
Rosalia’s curiosity made her forget her fear, and she asked, “What do you mean since you’ve been here? Why are you at the convent?”
“Madre Carmela has brought me on as an apprentice.”
“But only women work here. I don’t believe you. What are you really doing here?” Rosalia’s brows knitted furiously; she was convinced he was lying.
“There are men on the grounds, gardening and bringing deliveries to the pastry shop.”
“Oh. So you leave at the end of the day.”
“No. I have a room.”
Rosalia’s heart skipped a beat, her fear returning.
“You don’t believe me.” Antonio laughed. “It’s in the abandoned chapel. Madre Carmela cleaned it out for me and put a cot in there.”
“There’s an abandoned chapel?”
“Si. Would you like to see it?”
Rosalia shook her head adamantly. “No, that is all right.” Her suspicions of the young man entered her mind once more.
They both remained silent until Rosalia asked, “How long have you been here?”
“Just a few days. I haven’t seen you. Are you one of the lay workers in the pastry shop?” Antonio then hit his forehead and laughed. “How silly of me. Of course you’re one of the lay workers. You’re not in a habit.” He then took in her clothes, and his face reddened when he realized she was in her nightgown and robe. “I’m sorry. You’re still in your nightgown. I meant no offense.”
Though Rosalia was still not quite sure what to make of Antonio, she couldn’t help but smile at his assumption. “Don’t worry. I am not a nun.”
“Ah. Meno male.” Antonio crossed himself, no doubt thanking God that he hadn’t offended a nun. “So you are one of the lay workers.”
Rosalia paused before answering his question. Naturally, she didn’t feel comfortable sharing with this stranger what had brought her to the convent.
“Si. But I’ve been sick and haven’t been in the kitchen. That’s why you haven’t seen me.”
“I see. What is your name?”
“Rosalia.”
“You have the name of one of Sicily’s most revered saints—and the patron saint of my city, Palermo.”
“You come all the way from Palermo?”
“Yes. It’s a beautiful city.”
“I have heard. Why did you come all the way over to Messina and to our small village of Santa Lucia del Mela?”
Now it was Antonio’s turn to look anxious.
“I’m sorry. It is none of my business. You don’t have to tell me.”
“I have nothing to hide. I ran away from home.”
Rosalia was taken aback. “Why?”
“My father and I did not get along. Besides, I am a man now. It was time for me to make a life for myself and not depend on him any longer.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.” Antonio smiled. He seemed proud of reaching this milestone. “It feels good not to be under my father’s thumb any longer and to be making my own decisions, especially about where my life is headed.”
Rosalia nodded thoughtfully. “And your mother?”
“She died when I was twelve.” Antonio looked pained.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Just an older brother. He’s still at home with my father, helping him in his shoemaker’s shop. My father wanted me to learn the trade just like Salvatore, my brother. But I had no interest in it. Food has always been my love.”
Rosalia took in his thin frame again and found his last statement hard to believe.
He noticed her assessing him and laughed. “While I love food, I also love to run and go swimming, which is good since I do eat a lot. But maybe I’ll put on some weight here with all these amazing pastries the nuns make.”
“Why do you love food so much?”
“I used to help my mamma cook. Papà hated it. Said cooking and baking were women’s work. He tried to beat it out of me, but that only made me angrier and more determined not to do what he expected of me. Funny thing is he didn’t mind that I cooked for him and my brother after Mamma died. But he still wanted me to become a shoemaker or at least do a manly trade.”
“How did your mother die?”
“She caught pneumonia.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It happens.” Antonio shrugged his shoulders and looked away. Rosalia noticed tears forming in his eyes.
“So what is your story? What has brought a pretty girl like you to a convent, of all places?”
Rosalia’s cheeks burned. Just when she was beginning to lower her guard around Antonio and even feel sympathy for him over losing his mother and having to fend for himself after running away from home, her discomfort returned.
“I should go. It’s cool out here, and I am still sick.” Rosalia turned and walked quickly away.
“It was nice to meet you, Rosalia! I look forward to working with you in the kitchen!” Antonio shouted.
Rosalia stopped upon hearing his last words but, realizing that Antonio was still watching her, she merely nodded and resumed walking.
Once she was back in her room, she climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. But she couldn’t stop shaking. Though her mind was telling her Antonio was harmless, her heart was telling her otherwise. Perhaps she could talk to Madre Carmela and Madre Carmela could send him away? Then Rosalia realized how absurd that notion was. She couldn’t tell Madre Carmela whom she could hire and dismiss.
Closing her eyes, Rosalia pushed all thoughts of Antonio out of her mind. She could not think about him right now. She felt spent, and she needed to focus all of her energy on finding her family. For the sooner she found them, the sooner she could leave the convent and not have to worry about being so close to Antonio.
11
Gli Occhi di Santa Lucia
SAINT LUCY’S EYES
December 13, 1955
Today was December 13th and the feast day of Santa Lucia. In addition to the pastry shop’s being busy preparing for Christmas, the past few days had been even more frenetic since they were also preparing the f
amous pastries that were made in honor of Saint Lucy—Gli Occhi di Santa Lucia or Saint Lucy’s Eyes. The nuns would be selling the pastries both at their shop and to the vendors who would sell them at the Saint Lucy festival. The festival was set to start this afternoon.
Rosalia had prayed to Saint Lucy this morning and asked her to give her strength. She had resolved to end her convalescence in her bedroom and join the nuns and the other lay workers in the kitchen. Over the past few days, she’d begun to feel guilty that they were working so hard while she lay idle in her room. She owed everything to Madre Carmela, and shame filled Rosalia when she thought about how she was repaying her and the other nuns and workers by letting everyone wait on her while they already had their hands full with the pastry shop. Although the thought of seeing Antonio again and having to work near him still made her feel slightly queasy, Rosalia knew she couldn’t stay locked away in her room forever either.
She twisted her long hair tightly and then coiled it into a bun at the back of her head, securing it with a few pins. Once she was done, she took a deep breath and made her way to the kitchen. Her heart beat faster with each step she took.
When she reached the kitchen, she paused a moment before entering. A row of nuns stood side by side at one of the work counters, each kneading dough with rolling pins that were no wider than ten inches. The shorter rolling pins allowed several workers to stand at the counter at a time, taking up less space and thereby ensuring more pastries were produced. At another counter, Anunziata and Mari were busy coiling dough to form the Saint Lucy’s Eyes. Once they were done shaping the pastries, they placed two almonds in the center of the coils to complete the saint’s “eyes.”
Rosalia scanned the rest of the kitchen. Antonio was nowhere to be seen. She felt herself relax a little and stepped into the kitchen. Everyone was too busy working to notice her. But just when she thought she could blend in without a commotion, Sorella Domenica barked, “Ah! I see your vacation is over!”
Everyone glanced up from her work and looked to where Rosalia was standing. Her cheeks burned, and anger filled every pore in her body. She wanted to lash out at Sorella Domenica, but was too embarrassed. She also felt she didn’t have a right to be mad at the nun since Sorella Domenica was right. Rosalia had in essence been on “vacation” while they were all working.
“Rosalia!” Anunziata ran over and embraced her. “It is so good to see you here. Are you feeling better?”
Rosalia nodded. Her embarrassment from a moment ago quickly vanished as the rest of the lay workers and the other nuns came over and told her how happy they were to see her. Rosalia glanced in Sorella Domenica’s direction. A big frown was on her face, and she resumed pounding the dough in front of her.
“Are you feeling up to working? We’ve missed having you here.” Mari placed her hand on Rosalia’s shoulder and gave her a small smile, her eyes showing she understood Rosalia’s pain. Once again, Rosalia couldn’t help but wonder what had happened in Mari’s past.
“Si. I would very much like to help you. It doesn’t have to be with the pastries. I can wash the pans. Whatever you need.”
Rosalia was through with the special treatment everyone had afforded her both after she’d been rescued and once she realized her family was gone. She was ready to work hard and earn her keep at the convent.
“And waste the talent you’ve shown us when you have helped us bake? Come. You can finish coiling more Gli Occhi di Santa Lucia. I must’ve done fifty already, and I could use a break. I’ll get started on something else.”
Rosalia followed Mari to the worktable where she’d been working with Anunziata. Mari showed her how to coil the eyes. Once the almonds were placed in the center of the coils, an egg wash was brushed over the pastry.
Rosalia and Anunziata worked quietly side by side. Rosalia was glad Anunziata was not bombarding her with questions. She just wanted to lose herself in her work and not think about her family for a little while.
“So, Rosalia, do you know why Saint Lucy is famous for her eyes?” Anunziata finally broke the silence.
“I seem to remember learning in school that she had been tortured, and her eyes were taken out.”
“When she was still quite young, she made a pledge to God that she would remain a virgin. But her mother promised her in marriage to a pagan. When she rejected him, he denounced her as a Christian to the authorities. The judge sentenced her to a life of prostitution, but apparently her body became immobile, and guards as well as a team of oxen couldn’t move her. Then the judge had her tortured, putting her eyes out, but miraculously her sight was restored. He then attempted to burn her, but the fires were mysteriously extinguished. She finally died after they stabbed her in the throat with a sword. There is another story that claims she put out her own eyes and carried them on a tray to dissuade any suitors from looking at her. That is why statues of her often show her holding a tray with eyes.”
“How horrible. The poor girl suffered so much.” Rosalia thought about how so many young women had suffered over the centuries for wanting to protect their virtue. She shuddered as her mind inevitably went to the cave where Marco had held her captive and inflicted his own torture on her.
“Are you all right, Rosalia?” Anunziata asked. Then realization dawned on her, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Rosalia. I shouldn’t have told you that story.”
“It’s all right, Anunziata. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Rosalia nodded. “Let’s just finish here.”
When they were done preparing the pastries, they placed them in the oven.
“I think we could use a break. How about we each get a glass of water and step out for some fresh air?” Anunziata began untying her apron.
“But it seems so busy.” Rosalia looked over in Sorella Domenica’s direction. She didn’t want to give the impression that she was taking it easy once again.
“We all take breaks, Rosalia. If we didn’t, we would never last. Come on.” Anunziata took her by the hand and led her toward the icebox. She took out a glass pitcher and poured two glasses of water. She handed one glass to Rosalia and then led the way outside. They walked, arm in arm, slowly around the courtyard. Lines of patrons were beginning to form in front of the seller’s windows. It was a cloudy day, but everyone seemed excited. Rosalia could hear the patrons talking about the Saint Lucy festival.
“You must come with us to the feast later. All the lay workers will be heading over as soon as we’re done with lunch,” Anunziata said as she raked her fingers through her hair.
“Maybe.”
“I insist, Rosalia. You can’t miss it. The Saint Lucy feast is one of the best our town holds.”
Rosalia didn’t say anything.
“I saw you talking to Antonio the other day. Isn’t he nice?”
Rosalia was stunned for a moment, having thought no one had seen them outside that day. “Where were you? I didn’t see you.”
“I was standing behind the window and noticed.”
“He told me Madre Carmela hired him to be her apprentice. Is that true? I didn’t see him today.”
“Si. He’s at the markets, buying eggs and a few other groceries we needed. He is an extraordinary baker and a very hard worker. We’re lucky to have him.”
“He mentioned that he’s sleeping in the abandoned chapel. I didn’t know there was a chapel other than the main one where the sisters pray.”
“It’s at the back of the property. It’s very old and needs repairs, but Madre Carmela has preferred to put the money she’s made from the pastry shop back toward the business. She says someday she will make the necessary renovations in the chapel. I can’t imagine anyone’s sleeping there.” Anunziata giggled. “Imagine that! When you go to sleep all those statues are staring at you, and when you wake up, they’re in the same fixed position, still staring at you!”
Rosalia laughed. It felt good. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed. B
ut then, in an instant, she remembered it had been with her family. Pushing away the sadness that was threatening to surface, she said to Anunziata, “He told me Madre had the chapel cleaned out for him. Perhaps the statues are no longer there?”
“I’m sure they are. Where would she put all those statues? You’ve never seen the chapel, right?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Come on. I’ll show you.”
“But shouldn’t we be getting back to work, Anunziata?”
“No one will notice how long we’ve been gone. They’re all too busy.”
“Sorella Domenica will notice.”
“That witch. I don’t know why she became a nun. She doesn’t have a compassionate bone in her body. Thank God the other sisters aren’t like her or I would’ve been gone from here a long time ago.”
Rosalia followed Anunziata. Though she was reluctant to take a longer break, she was also curious about this abandoned chapel. Anunziata was right. Rosalia couldn’t imagine anyone’s staying in a chapel.
They approached a grassy area. Wildflowers and weeds surrounded a small wooden structure. Rosalia was surprised the grounds were so unkempt here since the rest of the property was immaculately landscaped. As they approached the chapel, she could see how weak the structure looked. It was a simple little building that still held some charm even though it was in obvious need of repair.
Anunziata walked up the three broken steps that led to the chapel’s entrance and was about to open the door when Rosalia stopped her.
“Should you be going inside? It is after all Antonio’s home now.” Rosalia looked around in case he was returning home.
“That’s true. I’m accustomed to coming to the chapel and taking a break. The door is probably locked now that someone lives here.” Anunziata twisted the doorknob, but to their surprise it turned.
“I guess he doesn’t mind if anyone goes inside.” Anunziata smiled slyly and opened the door.
“Anunziata! Come back! I’m not coming inside with you.”
But Anunziata ignored her pleas and stepped inside. Rosalia paced back and forth a few feet away from the chapel, keeping watch in case anyone came by. After a couple of minutes, Anunziata came out.
Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop Page 13
