Rosalia felt guilty. Every time they’d gone out, he’d insisted on paying for everything.
“I suppose I’m partly to blame for your lack of funds.”
“No! I want to treat you. Please! I’m happy when I can do things for you. I’m happy to buy you gifts. What kind of a man would I be if I let you pay when we went out? Don’t ever say that. I like seeing you content, Rosalia. It makes me sad when you look sad.”
Now it was Rosalia’s turn to look surprised. “Really?”
Antonio took Rosalia’s hands in his. “I care about you so much, Rosalia. And as you know from losing your own family, it hurts when you can’t be with those you love, and when they are in pain, it also brings you pain. That’s how I feel with you.”
Rosalia swallowed hard. She was moved by his words.
“Grazie, Antonio. I don’t know what to say. That is very kind of you.”
“I’m not being kind. I’m . . .” He turned his head. His gaze rested on one of the saints’ statues in the chapel.
Rosalia could not help but see the absurdity of their surroundings. Here she was sitting on the bed of a young man who made her weak whenever he kissed her, and all around them were statues of saints and even one of Jesus and Mary. And to think she was worried about the disrespectfulness of getting caught holding Antonio’s hand while they walked around the convent’s gardens or the few times they had stolen kisses. Where they were now was beyond disrespectful. She should leave, but her body remained rooted in place. She wanted to be with Antonio. The more time she spent with him, the more she found herself thinking about him when he wasn’t around and looking forward to when she would see him next.
Rosalia took her hand out of Antonio’s and traced her index finger along his cheek. She then let her hand wander up toward his hair, pushing back a few wisps of his bangs that always hung over his left eye. It gave him a mischievous, irresistible look she loved.
He turned to her, his eyes widened in surprise at her intimate gestures. She then rested her head on his shoulder.
“You’re a good man, Antonio. And you are so kind to me. Sometimes I feel I don’t deserve it.”
“Why? You’re such a sweet person.”
“I know I’ve held myself back from you, Antonio. That is why I feel I don’t deserve your kindness. I don’t know what of myself I can give to you, and besides, you are planning on leaving someday.”
“Nothing is set in stone, Rosalia. My plans might change. Besides, who is to say you couldn’t come with me?”
Rosalia was stunned. She lifted her head off his shoulder.
“You would want me to come with you—even if you go to Paris?”
“Why not? It would be wonderful. We’d be able to experience the city for the first time together.”
“I don’t know, Antonio. We haven’t even known each other for long. And then . . .”
“And then what?”
She remained quiet.
“You can tell me anything, Rosalia.”
“I don’t think I could be gone from here for a long time. This is my home now.”
Antonio searched her face. After a moment, he nodded. “Your family. You’re worried you would be gone if word came about them. But Madre Carmela could let you know. And we can come back. I’m not saying I want to move to Paris permanently.”
“This is going too fast, Antonio. Like you said, you’re not planning on leaving anytime soon. There is still so much about me you don’t know. And I’m sure there is much about you I don’t know. Let’s just enjoy the time we have now and see what happens tomorrow then?”
Antonio glanced down at his lap. His face looked pained, and Rosalia felt her heart cringe a bit. She thought about what he had told her about feeling sad when she looked sad. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she had to be honest with him. Besides, he had promised her he would take things slow.
“You’re right, Rosalia. We have plenty of time. I’m sorry if you feel I’m rushing things. I guess I just wanted to let you know that I care about you a lot, and this isn’t just a passing fling for me. In fact, I have been giving more thought to whether I still want to apply to Le Cordon Bleu. There is a culinary school in Palermo I could go to, and while that’s a long car trip from Santa Lucia del Mela, it’s at least in Italy and not in another country.”
“Oh, Antonio! Please, you mustn’t change your plans for me. You wanted to go to the best culinary school, and if that’s in Paris, then you should go.”
Antonio stood up, walking toward the statue of Saint Sebastian. The many arrows that pierced the statue’s body and the pained look on his face seemed to match Antonio’s miserable expression. He ran his hands through his hair before turning around. And Rosalia saw something she had yet to see in Antonio: anger.
“Don’t you see, Rosalia? I wouldn’t mind giving up Paris for you. That’s why I can think about staying here or even asking you to come with me to Paris. I can’t envision being without you. Before, you said I was being kind to you when I told you how it makes me sad when you’re sad, and happy when you’re happy. But I’m not being kind. I’m falling in love with you. Can’t you see that? I’m crazy about you, and it’s tearing me up on the inside. You’re all I think about when I wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night. You’re in my dreams. Even when I’m struggling over how to make a pastry better, you pop into my mind! I wonder what you would add to make it better. Then again, whom are we fooling? Your desserts are always better than mine!”
Rosalia lowered her eyes and said softly, “That’s not true. You’ve won a few of the contests we’ve had. Madre Carmela wouldn’t lie.”
“She’s getting old. Her palate is changing. I’ve heard the other workers who have tried your pastries express how good yours are and how they’re often better than everyone else’s.”
Rosalia folded her hands in her lap. He is falling in love with me. He’d said it! Though she was frightened to hear this, she couldn’t deny that she was also elated.
Antonio came back to the bed and sat down next to her. This time, he closed the space between them. He pushed her hair back behind her ear, and then took her face in both of his hands. She had no choice but to look at him.
“I love you, Rosalia. I know you say we haven’t known each other long, and we need to just think about today, but I’m tired of keeping how I feel about you inside of me. I love you. And nothing is going to change that. I’ll wait for you. Whenever you are ready, I will be here, and I promise you my feelings won’t change. Do you hear me?”
Antonio stared intensely into Rosalia’s eyes. She nodded.
He then kissed her gently. They held on to each other, letting their bodies recline back onto the bed. Rosalia felt very tired. Hearing Antonio’s admission of his love for her, and feeling all the emotions that came with hearing how he felt, had sapped her of her energy. She supposed she’d always known Antonio loved her. She just wouldn’t let herself believe it. But now there was no denying it.
She loved him, too. But for now, she must wait before she told him how she felt. Still, she wondered if he would still love her once he knew about her past. No. She could not tell him just yet that she had also fallen in love. For she still needed to protect herself.
17
Zeppole
SAINT JOSEPH’S DAY DOUGHNUTS
March 19, 1956
Antonio and Rosalia were rolling furiously down the hill, picking up weeds and dandelions in their hair. They laughed and screamed, fully giving in to childlike abandon. Antonio reached the bottom of the hill first, and soon after Rosalia tumbled on top of him. They continued to laugh. Once they calmed down, Antonio reached over and kissed Rosalia. She was blissfully happy. Ever since Antonio had revealed his love for her, the time they spent together felt different—magical.
Today was the feast day of Saint Joseph, and it also happened to be Monday, which was their day off from working in the pastry shop. Rosalia had packed panini and zeppole—the customary sweet that was made
in honor of Saint Joseph’s Day. Yesterday, she and the other workers had made several large batches of the fried sweet. Madre Carmela had told her she could take a few to share with Antonio on their outing.
“We’re going to look a fright when we return to the convent!” Rosalia laughed.
“I’m sure we’ll receive one of Sorella Domenica’s scowls.” Antonio grimaced, imitating the nun’s sour expression.
“Stop!” Rosalia laughed hard, wiping tears from her eyes.
“I’m hungry after all that rolling up and down the hill. I can’t believe we did it more than once. I’ll probably lose my balance once I stand up. Do you want a few zeppole?” Antonio stood up, wiping the weeds and dandelion petals from his clothes.
“I can never say no to zeppole.”
Rosalia stood up and pulled at a dandelion that was caught in her hair’s long strands. She mentally scolded herself for not wearing her hair up today. It would take her forever to get all the weeds and petals out. Then a thought flashed through her mind. What if their appearances led the nuns to believe they had been doing more than having an innocent picnic? She looked at Antonio with fear in her eyes.
“What is it, Rosalia?” Antonio quickly came to her side.
“Look at us! What will the sisters think? We have to make ourselves look more presentable.” Frantically, she began shaking out her dress until Antonio stilled her hands.
“Rosalia, calm down. We will fix our clothes and hair. There is nothing to get so worked up about.”
Rosalia paused for a moment before nodding. She then felt embarrassed, realizing how crazy she must’ve sounded and looked.
“I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I don’t want them thinking the worst about me.”
“I don’t think that would happen. They all love you very much. You have nothing to worry about, Rosalia.”
Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head. “You don’t understand, Antonio.”
“Then make me understand. Please, Rosalia. I want to be here for you. I think you know by now you can trust me and open up to me.”
She hesitated for a moment. Could she finally tell him about Marco? Her chest suddenly felt constricted, and sweat began to bead her forehead. Breaking free from Antonio, she bent down and busied herself by laying out the blanket she had brought for their picnic. She then took out the panini of prosciutto and tomatoes she had prepared. Of course, Antonio had skipped right to their dessert of the zeppole before they had their midday meal. He had a weakness for sweets, and sometimes she wondered if he was right in wanting to become a chef rather than a pastry chef.
Rosalia was startled by Antonio’s kicking a few small rocks as he walked away. The way he carried his body, and seeing his lips drawn tightly together, showed Rosalia he was angry. She thought about calling after him, but decided to leave him alone.
She stopped preparing their picnic and clasped her hands in her lap. Naturally, he was upset with her. While he never had become angry with her directly, she knew that even Antonio, who was normally so even-tempered and thoughtful, had his breaking point. It was probably just a matter of time before he would grow tired of her refusal to tell him what had happened to her and why she was estranged from her family. Tears rolled down her face. She desperately wanted to open up to him, but every time she thought about doing so, the fear took hold. She’d heard stories growing up about what happened to young women whose innocence had been compromised. And she’d also heard stories about women who were engaged, but then were attacked by another man, and their fiancés had immediately left them as if it were their fault, as if they had asked to be violated. Rosalia began to get mad. She thought about her father. From what Signora Tucci had said, Rosalia’s father seemed to believe Rosalia had willingly left with Marco. Rosalia’s father believed she had been intimate with Marco and was pregnant with his child. Papà should have known her. He should have known she would never do such a thing, and that she would never bring shame upon her family. But he hadn’t known his daughter at all.
And here she was, desperately trying to find her family—not just to be reunited with them again, but also to prove to her father that she was not guilty of what he thought. She should have been angry that he had chosen to leave and that he had believed she really wanted to be with Marco. Papà had let her down terribly. If her own father had believed the worst about her, what would Antonio think—a young man who had only known her for a few months?
Rosalia noticed a shadow and looked up to see Antonio. He dropped down to his knees and took her hands in his. Tears were still streaming down her face.
“I’m sorry, Rosalia. Please, don’t be upset that I lost my temper.”
Rosalia shook her head, taking one of her hands out from beneath his grasp and placing it on top of Antonio’s hand.
“I’m not crying because you got upset. I don’t blame you for getting mad at me. I’m just mad at myself that I can’t open up to you. I want to. You have to believe that, Antonio, but it’s still very hard for me.”
“When I was walking toward you, I noticed you looked mad even though you’re crying. You can be honest with me, Rosalia, and tell me if you’re upset with me.”
“I was thinking about my father. I was feeling anger toward him—and sadness, too.” She sighed deeply before continuing. “I promise you, Antonio, I will tell you everything someday. I just need to do so when I’m ready. I hope you can continue to understand.”
“Of course, I can. Like I told you that day in the abandoned chapel, I will wait for you as long as it takes. I promise.”
A few flies swirled around the food Rosalia had laid out on the blanket. She swatted them away with her hands.
“Let’s eat and enjoy the rest of Saint Joseph’s Day.”
They ate ravenously, making comments here and there about how good the food was. Rosalia’s thoughts turned once again to her father. Regret began to fill her heart—regret that she had become angry with him and on Saint Joseph’s Day of all days. Saint Joseph was the patron saint of fathers. On this feast day, she should have been thinking of all the good memories she had of her father. How he had shown her how to sew when she was a little girl . . . the pride he had instilled in her when she worked alongside him in his tailor shop . . . the gifts he would give her whenever he also gave one to her mother so that she wouldn’t feel left out. Still, like Antonio, she was only human. She had been angry with her father for believing Marco’s lies and for abandoning her. She was even a little mad with her mother and Luca for agreeing with Papà’s decision to leave their hometown. But she had not been letting herself feel anger these past four months since discovering they were gone.
She then remembered Madre Carmela’s words, explaining that her family had no choice but to leave if they hoped to make a living since the townspeople were no longer frequenting Rosalia’s father’s tailor shop. They needed to go on living—even without Rosalia. And she supposed she needed to go on living, too, without her family. But how could she when she had no idea what had become of them? Were they still struggling financially? Had her father been able to successfully set up shop somewhere else? How was Mamma faring without one of her children by her side?
No, Rosalia could not go on living until she knew that her family was safe and sound.
18
Pane di Pasqua
EASTER BREAD
April 1, 1956
Rosalia watched Madre Carmela as she quickly braided several loaves of Easter bread dough. Rosalia was still amazed at how quickly Madre worked in the kitchen. Maybe someday Rosalia would be able to work just as quickly. Her job was to insert hard-boiled eggs into the holes within each loaf of bread. Rosalia had chosen brown and white eggs to add some color. Once she was done inserting the eggs, she brushed an egg wash over the bread to make it glisten after it was baked.
Today was Easter, and the lay workers and nuns would be celebrating with a large dinner. Rosalia was glad the season of Lent and abstinence was over, and she could once again ha
ve the many sweets tempting her every day at the pastry shop. Madre Carmela had bought a lamb at the butcher shop in town and had been marinating it overnight in white wine, fresh oregano, rosemary, and thyme. She was going to roast it and prepare a special red wine sauce to drizzle over the lamb while it was cooking.
After dinner, Rosalia was going to spend the rest of the afternoon with Antonio. They were planning on taking a stroll along the beach. The temperature was expected to reach in the mid-sixties today. While it wasn’t exactly beach weather, it would still be nice enough to enjoy a walk by the shore. Rosalia would just make sure to bring a light sweater. She was looking forward to going to the beach and spending time with Antonio. Though she had tried to rein in her feelings for him since she didn’t know what the future held for them, she found it near impossible. Every day they spent together, she found herself admiring him more. And she even looked forward to his caresses and kisses. He was still being the utmost gentleman and had not tried to take their physical relationship further, which relieved Rosalia tremendously.
“Will you and Antonio be going out after our Easter dinner?” Madre Carmela broke in on Rosalia’s thoughts.
“We will. Since the day is so nice, we were thinking of taking a walk at the beach. Antonio is borrowing his friend’s car so we can drive there.”
“That will be nice.” Madre Carmela knitted her brows as if she were deep in thought.
“Maybe Antonio will ask Rosalia to marry him, and they’ll go live somewhere nice.” Anunziata, who was using molds to shape lamb marzipans, which were popular during Easter, chimed in.
“Please, don’t say that.” Rosalia blushed, anger filling her. Why couldn’t Anunziata just keep her mouth shut and not have to embarrass her?
“Why, Rosalia? You don’t see yourself marrying a nice boy like Antonio?” Madre Carmela asked, surprising Rosalia.
Until now, Madre had not inquired much about her growing friendship with Antonio except to ask if they would be spending their free days together and where they would be going. Now Rosalia realized Antonio was right in thinking Madre suspected they were more than just friends. Still, she was surprised that Madre would be so direct, especially where Rosalia’s personal life was concerned. But though she could be angry with Anunziata, Rosalia could never be mad at Madre Carmela.
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