Chiacchiere
FRIED PASTRY RIBBONS
February 12, 1956
Carnevale had arrived, and as with other holidays, the pastry shop had been abuzz the past couple of weeks with preparing the special pastries made for the occasion. The most popular were Chiacchiere—delicate strips of fried dough dusted with confectioners’ sugar.
Rosalia could not get enough of them and kept sneaking a piece when no one was looking. Although she and the other workers were allowed to sample the sweets, they were encouraged to only try those that were burned or did not look perfect. But each batch of Chiacchiere that she fried were coming out perfectly. She didn’t feel too guilty for indulging since the season of Lent would begin in three days, and she, along with the other nuns and lay workers at the convent, would be abstaining from most sweets. They would only be allowed to have Piparelli—special biscotti that were made for Lent. Rosalia didn’t know how it would be possible to stay away from the other pastries since the workers were constantly surrounded by them.
She was excited about Carnevale. For Antonio was going to take her to the festivities held in Acireale, which had the reputation of having the best Carnevale in Sicily—maybe even in all of Italy. They were going to attend with Teresa and Francesco, the young man Rosalia had seen at the pastry shop window and at the Saint Lucy feast. She wondered if Teresa had been honest with her sister and told her Francesco would be accompanying them. Something told Rosalia that Elisabetta had no idea.
As Rosalia dropped a few strips of dough into the hot oil, her thoughts turned to Antonio, and she couldn’t resist a small smile. Ever since the day they had spent in Messina together, her uneasiness around him had completely faded. In fact, she felt their friendship had deepened—for he had helped her to inquire about her family, and he had even offered to phone the local authorities to see if they had any information. What amazed her even more was that he had done this without pressing her for more details as to why she’d been separated from her family.
Rosalia stepped back as a few beads of oil hissed and jumped up in the air. She had dropped her last batch of dough into the pan too quickly.
The past month she had looked forward to working by Antonio’s side as they learned more pastries and had their friendly competition. Though she still missed her family and wanted to be reunited with them, she was growing to accept and even take some comfort out of her life at the Convento di Santa Lucia del Mela.
Every day, Rosalia woke up as soon as the rooster crowed. She quickly dressed, made her bed, and then joined the nuns, Anunziata, Mari, Lidia, and Elisabetta, in the main chapel, where the sisters prayed and the town priest came to say Mass. The lay workers weren’t expected to join the sisters in morning prayer, just for vespers. But Rosalia and the others were usually present for the morning prayers. The only lay worker who was conspicuously absent was Teresa, but that came as no surprise to anyone.
Afterward, they had breakfast, which usually consisted of biscotti and caffè con latte, which they drank out of small bowls. Once breakfast was over, they began making their pastries. At eight o’clock, the pastry shop’s windows opened, and they quickly transferred the baked goods over to the windows and began selling to the customers who had been waiting patiently in line for the shop to open.
Last week, Rosalia had begun to sell at the window. She didn’t enjoy it, but hadn’t asked Madre Carmela if she could bow out of this duty. She didn’t want any special favors, especially after all the convent had done for her. But she felt a sense of dread when she looked at the customers’ faces. For she kept wondering if some day Marco would be one of the patrons waiting in line. While her mind knew the chances of Marco’s finding her at the convent were slim, her heart believed there was a very real possibility he might show up one day. Madre Carmela had assured her repeatedly that he must’ve gone far away to elude capture by the police. Rosalia only wished she could feel as certain as Madre did.
“Let me take over.” Antonio came over to Rosalia and took her slotted spoon out of her hand before she could protest.
“Grazie, Antonio.” She took her apron and patted the perspiration from her brow. She realized her pulse had quickened, probably at the thought of encountering Marco again.
“You looked deep in thought.” Antonio scooped out the last of the Chiacchiere and then cut more strips of dough with a pastry cutter and added them to the sizzling oil.
“And you have a habit of sneaking up on me when I am deep in thought.” Rosalia playfully nudged her elbow into Antonio’s side. She couldn’t help but marvel at how comfortable she now felt around him.
He laughed. “That is true. Well, I know better than to press you as to the mysteries in your mind.”
Rosalia couldn’t help feeling a small stab of guilt. She wished she could share with Antonio what had happened to her, but she was still terrified of what his reaction would be.
“So are you looking forward to Carnevale in Acireale tonight?”
“I am. Ever since I was a little girl I have dreamed of going to Acireale one day and seeing the grand festivities.”
“Really? So I am making one of your childhood dreams come true then. That makes me happy.” Antonio’s eyes met Rosalia’s as he said this.
A light flutter rippled through her belly. Startled, she pressed her hand to her stomach and then turned her back toward Antonio, busying herself with making more dough for the Chiacchiere. This would be her job all day, for the shop was selling out almost as quickly as they were done making a fresh batch.
Besides trusting Antonio more and not feeling so awkward around him any longer, Rosalia had begun to notice what a handsome young man he was. She’d seen Teresa flirt with him, which made her mad since Teresa already had a beau. Rosalia had even noticed that a few of the female customers at the pastry shop window talked a little longer to him than was necessary. What surprised her a bit was that he had even cast a spell over the older women. But Antonio was nothing more than polite with all of them. His mother must’ve been a fine woman to have raised such an upstanding, good young man. He rarely spoke about his family, which she found odd since she couldn’t imagine leaving her own voluntarily. But then again, he had told her things had been strained between him and his father after his mother died. Suddenly, she found herself wanting to know more about Antonio.
“Antonio, what was your mother like?”
He turned toward Rosalia, surprise etched across his features.
“She was gentle, very much like you.”
Rosalia blushed.
“I miss her every day, but it is her memory and her dreams for me that give me the inspiration to make her proud of me one day. I hope she can see me wherever she is.” Antonio’s eyes held a distant look.
“I’m sure she is already proud of you. How could she not be? You’re a hard worker and a kind person.”
“You’ve noticed all of this about me, eh?” Antonio’s eyebrow arched, and a sly smile danced across his face.
Rosalia kept her eyes lowered, pretending she was concentrating on mixing her dough.
After a few minutes, she asked, “What were your mother’s dreams for you?”
“What most mothers want for their sons. She wanted me to be successful and to find a woman who would love me.”
Rosalia nodded her head before saying, “I remember when we met you said you didn’t want to work in your father’s cobbler shop and that food was your passion. I suppose you want to be a pastry chef since you are apprenticing here?”
Antonio shook his head. “While I love learning how to make pastries, ultimately I want to become a chef. I’m saving money and hoping that I will also receive a scholarship to study at a culinary school. I want to have my own restaurant some day.”
“That would be nice.”
“It would. And what about you? What are your dreams for the future?”
Rosalia paused in her work. She had never really considered any dreams for herself. She had been a dutiful daughter and had taken pride
in helping her father at the tailor shop. She knew someday she would marry and bear her own children, but other than that she had never given much thought to anything else. Besides, wasn’t that the way it was for most young women? They either married or decided to become nuns like Madre Carmela. But at least for Madre and the other sisters, there was more in their lives besides serving God and helping those in need. They ran a thriving business and created beautiful pastries for many people to enjoy. As Rosalia had discovered these past few months, there was a great sense of fulfillment in knowing you had created something with your own hands that others appreciated. But it was more than that. She felt like she served a purpose by working.
“That many dreams, huh?” Antonio asked.
Rosalia realized he was still waiting for her answer. She smiled. “I don’t really have any dreams. This is my life for the moment—until I am reunited with my family and then . . .” She let her voice trail; she didn’t know what to say, for she knew so little of how her life would end up. Feeling embarrassed under Antonio’s watchful gaze, she added, “I guess you could say I am content living for the moment. Whatever plans God has for me will be.”
“Living for the moment. That’s an interesting thought. I’ve never imagined doing that for myself. All I’ve ever wanted was to reach a certain milestone. When I was a boy, I longed to reach eighteen so I could leave home. Then I longed to land an apprenticeship so I could begin to realize my dreams of becoming a chef. Now I long for the day I am accepted into culinary school and finally become a chef. But I respect you for appreciating what you have right now and being able to surrender control over your life.”
Rosalia’s face clouded over upon hearing his last words. If only he knew how much fate had already dictated the course of her life and just how much control had been taken away from her.
“What is it, Rosalia? I said something to upset you. I can see it in your face. I’m sorry.”
She held up her hand. “It’s not you. Please don’t apologize.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost time for lunch. Let’s finish frying these last Chiacchiere and head over to the dining room.”
“Are you sure you’re fine?”
“Si, si.” Rosalia tried not to sound frustrated. After all, he was just concerned for her.
“We’re going to be so tired by the time we go to Acireale tonight.” Antonio heaved a long sigh. Thankfully, he decided to drop the subject of what had upset Rosalia.
“Are you saying you’d rather go to bed, Antonio?” She smiled playfully in his direction.
“I’m only eighteen. Not eighty. Being tired has never stopped me from having a good time.”
Several hours later, Rosalia and Antonio were seated in the back of Francesco’s car as he drove to Acireale. The drive took them along the coast of the Ionian Sea. Rosalia kept her eyes fixed on the blue waters. It was so beautiful. But her serenity was short-lived as her thoughts inevitably turned to her family. Whenever there was a holiday, she always wondered what they were doing. Had Mamma also fried a batch of Chiacchiere, letting little Cecilia help her dust the powdered sugar on top? Did Mamma think of Rosalia and how they used to work side by side in the kitchen or even in the tailor shop, laughing like the best of friends? Was Luca remembering how the two of them as children would wait with anticipation in the piazza for the village’s small Carnevale parade to begin? And what about Papà? Did he have fond memories of Rosalia? Or had he completely pushed her out of his mind, believing she had dishonored the family and let him down? She closed her eyes tightly at this last thought, fighting back tears. The pain was too much to bear. Though she had plenty of distractions at the convent, they were never enough to completely block out how much she still felt the loss of her family.
“You’re going to love Aci.” Antonio’s voice broke through Rosalia’s thoughts.
She kept her head turned toward the sea for a moment longer as she composed herself.
When she was ready, she turned toward Antonio and did her best to look calm. But worry was written all over his features. She should’ve known there was no hiding how she felt from him. He seemed to often be in tune with her emotions. And now, he was trying to steer her thoughts to a less painful place by talking about Acireale.
“Why do you call it ‘Aci’?”
“That’s what the locals call it. Some even call it ‘Jaci.’ ”
“So you’ve been there before?”
“I have. The churches are stupendous, and the views of the sea just add to the city’s charm.”
“You’ve traveled a lot.”
“I guess you can say I’m a bit of a nomad.” Antonio winked.
“So Santa Lucia del Mela is just another temporary stop for you?”
Rosalia didn’t know why, but she felt sad thinking Antonio would some day leave when he got bored with the pastry shop and town.
“I already told you, Rosalia, that I want to go to culinary school. There aren’t any in Santa Lucia del Mela, and even if there were, I need to become the best chef, so I must go to one of the best schools.”
“That’s true. You did tell me of your plans to go to culinary school. Where would you go then? It seems like you already have a place in mind.”
“I would love to go to Le Cordon Bleu. It’s in Paris.”
“Paris? You would go all the way to France? Why not stay in Italy? Surely, there must be culinary schools in Rome or Milan.”
“Le Cordon Bleu is the best. But there’s a good chance I might not be admitted. And even if I am admitted, I can only go if I receive a scholarship. I know it’s a long shot, but I must try.”
“Of course. You must not abandon your dreams.”
Just as Rosalia could not abandon her own dream—of being reunited with her family someday. She thought about how Antonio had asked her what her dreams were, and she could barely answer his question. But she could not think more about what she wanted from life until she was with those she loved most.
“Don’t worry. We will be friends forever.” Antonio tipped Rosalia’s chin up with his index finger, forcing her to meet his gaze.
She was surprised by the action and by his words.
Seeing her surprise, Antonio said, “I can tell you’re sad at the thought that I will have to leave the convent someday.”
Rosalia blushed. Silently, she cursed herself for always letting her emotions show so easily, especially when she was embarrassed.
“It’s not that. It’s just . . .”
She didn’t quite know what to say. He was right. She did feel sad at the thought that he would leave some day, but she couldn’t understand why she felt this way. True, they had become good friends, and she no longer was afraid of him. If anything, Antonio had shown her she could come to trust men again—although she didn’t know if she could ever be alone, truly alone, with a man. She had always thought she would marry someday and have her own family. But that was before Marco had disrupted her life. Now the thought frightened her terribly.
“So you won’t miss me? Here I thought we were the best of friends.” Antonio looked somber.
“Of course I’ll miss you, and we are good friends.”
Antonio’s face glowed, and in that moment, Rosalia knew he had only been pretending to look sad. He had wanted to hear her say she would miss him.
“We’re here!” Francesco yelled out, saving Rosalia from another awkward moment with Antonio.
Francesco and Antonio helped Teresa and Rosalia out of the car. Teresa then linked her arm through Francesco’s as he leaned over and kissed her. Rosalia quickly looked away and walked a few steps ahead of Antonio. Perhaps this was a bad idea coming here with them? If only Anunziata or the other women from the convent had joined them, Rosalia wouldn’t feel weird about being with a couple and Antonio. She stole another glance in Francesco and Teresa’s direction. They looked in love, and she couldn’t help wondering what that must feel like.
“Hey! Wait up for me!” Antonio quickened his steps
.
“I’m sorry. I’m just taking everything in.” She felt her face beginning to burn at the lie, but did her best to turn her head and take in the festivities that were already under way in Acireale, or Aci as Antonio had called it.
He glanced at his watch. “If we hurry, we might make the last show at the Teatro dei Pupi, before the Carnevale parade begins. Would you like to see the puppets? They’re quite something.”
Suddenly, a memory flashed before Rosalia’s eyes. She was maybe no more than eight years old, and her father had brought home a little Pinocchio puppet made of wood. She had kept that puppet, and it had hung on one of the knobs of her bedroom dresser. Papà and Luca would take turns making Pinocchio dance, which always made Rosalia laugh.
“Si, I would like that.”
“We’re going to catch the last puppet show. Do you want to come?” Antonio called out to Francesco and Teresa.
“I hate puppets! They scare me!” Teresa laughed and tossed her golden hair back over her shoulder, glancing seductively at Francesco. In return, he gave her a strange look. He then laughed and pulled her toward him, giving her a quick kiss.
“We’ll meet you by the cathedral in the Piazza del Duomo, say in an hour? Will that give you enough time to see the show?” Francesco asked.
“That should be plenty of time. Ciao! Don’t get lost!” Antonio waved.
“Ciao!” Teresa waved back and winked in Rosalia’s direction.
Rosalia waved, but avoided meeting Teresa’s gaze. Why had Teresa winked at her? Rosalia was actually relieved they would be apart from them for a little while. Francesco and Teresa’s overt gestures of love were making her feel very uncomfortable, especially in Antonio’s presence.
“Let’s go.” Antonio took Rosalia’s hand, leading her toward the puppet theater.
She felt herself stiffen slightly, but then when she saw the large crowds everywhere, she relaxed. It would be easy to get separated from Antonio if she didn’t hold his hand.
A few moments later, they were watching the puppet show play out. She watched knights, kings, queens, and court jesters interact with one another. The puppets were beautiful. Rosalia laughed with the audience at all the jokes in the show. At one moment, she saw in her peripheral vision that Antonio was staring at her, much the way Francesco had looked at Teresa earlier when she had tossed her hair over her shoulder. Rosalia swallowed hard and kept her attention on the puppets. Her stomach fluttered lightly.
Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop Page 19
