Her thoughts were diverted to a woman who was sleeping on a nearby bench. She had stunning blond hair that rippled in waves, reminding Sorella Agata of the painting The Birth of Venus by the great master of art Botticelli. She wore a long, flowing white skirt that was very dirty and a mariner’s navy-and-white-striped off-the-shoulder shirt that had food stains. The woman’s face was covered with a balled-up crocheted scarf. She almost looked like a handmade doll whose face hadn’t been sewn on yet. Her head rested on a small suitcase.
Sorella Agata knelt by the woman’s side.
“Excuse me, miss. Are you not feeling well? May I offer any assistance?” Sorella Agata spoke softly, hoping not to startle her.
The woman turned her head to look at her, but then realized her scarf was still covering her face. She pulled the scarf away and sat up.
Sorella Agata was stunned. “Teresa?”
“Who are you?” The pretty woman scowled. “I don’t know any nuns, thank God!”
“Teresa, it’s me! Rosalia!” Sorella Agata frantically pointed to her chest, but then realized how absurd that action was since she now looked nothing like the Rosalia whom Teresa once knew.
“Rosalia?” Teresa leaned her face in closer. Her eyes widened. “Dio mio! It is you!” She laughed and pulled Sorella Agata to her chest, hugging her tightly. Then, she pushed her away and looked at her again. “Are you really a nun now or are you dressed up for something? Carnevale isn’t for another two months, so that can’t be it. You truly did it, didn’t you? You became a nun! Did my fanatical sister have anything to do with this?”
Teresa shook her head as if she were disappointed in her, but Sorella Agata could see she was smiling slightly. She looked just as happy to see her.
“No, your sister had nothing to do with my decision. I guess you should know Elisabetta now goes by Sorella Lucia—the name she chose after she took her vows to become a nun.”
Teresa slightly nodded her head. Sorella Agata waited to see if she would ask more about her sister, but Teresa remained silent.
“A lot has happened since I last saw you, Teresa. I know you had a horrible experience when you were a nun, but it hasn’t been that way for me, and, as you said yourself, the sisters are different at the Convento di Santa Lucia del Mela.”
“True, except for Sorella Domenica. Is she as mean as ever?”
“She passed away last year from a brain aneurysm.”
“Hmmm. I’m not surprised. That woman repressed so much anger and hatred. Has anyone else taken her place? Who’s the mean nun now?”
“No one. We do have more lay workers at the shop. They’re living in the old, abandoned chapel, but Madre and I renovated it so it doesn’t look like a chapel anymore. But that’s a long story.”
“What ever happened to Antonio?”
“He went to Paris. I imagine he must be a chef now.” Sorella Agata did her best to sound nonchalant, but she could feel the weight of Teresa’s stare on her.
“I’m sure that’s a long story as well, right, my friend?” Teresa placed her hand on Sorella Agata’s shoulder.
Sorella Agata smiled and placed her own hand over Teresa’s. “You don’t know how good it is to see you, Teresa! We’ve all missed you, and Sorella Lucia . . . Elisabetta . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Is she all right?” Teresa’s voice filled with concern. Sorella Agata had been troubled earlier when Elisabetta’s name had come up that Teresa hadn’t asked immediately if her sister was all right. But now she heard the worry in her voice. And she knew her old friend. Teresa had probably not asked about Elisabetta to protect herself from learning that her sister might be angry with her for eloping with Francesco and then leaving without saying good-bye.
“Si, si. She’s all right. But she misses you, too. I know she regrets how she acted toward you when you were still living with us at the convent. We came to visit you and Francesco, but you had moved. She was so saddened. Why did you leave without saying good-bye to any of us? I thought you had told me we would remain friends even after your marriage?”
Sorella Agata couldn’t hide the hurt in her voice. First, she had lost her family, then Antonio, although she knew she had been the one to push him away, and then Teresa.
“I’m so sorry, Rosalia. I never meant to hurt you, or Elisabetta either, but things got pretty horrible for me not long after I married Francesco.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Sorella Agata noticed once again how dirty Teresa’s clothes were. And she had found her sleeping on the bench like a vagrant.
“Are you living on the streets, Teresa?”
Teresa bit her lip and looked away. She nodded.
Sorella Agata reached over and hugged her. Teresa collapsed against Sorella Agata and sobbed so hard her whole body shook.
“It’s all right, Teresa. I’m here. You are not alone anymore. I will help you.” Sorella Agata stroked Teresa’s hair.
Sorella Agata couldn’t help remembering how once her own hair had been this long. She felt a momentary pang of sadness. Sometimes she still missed things from her old life, like running a brush through her long, shiny dark locks, the few pretty dresses she had owned before she became a nun, and of course, her family. While the ache had lessened a bit over the years, especially once she became a nun and devoted herself to helping others, she still thought about them every day. Once a year, she went to the police station and checked in with L’ispettore Franco, always knowing what his answer would be. While she contemplated giving up on asking him if he had received any news, something inside her wouldn’t let her, even though it felt like a thousand daggers had been pierced into her chest every time he shook his head and lowered his gaze. And, after that day she believed she’d spotted Marco, she had called L’ispettore Franco, but he had told her they had never gotten word that he had returned to Messina.
“I was such a fool, Rosalia.” Teresa pulled herself away. “I can still call you Rosalia, can’t I? What does everyone else call you now? Sorella Rosalia?”
“Sorella Agata. Remember, we’re supposed to choose new names when we become nuns, just as Elisabetta chose Sorella Lucia.”
“I can’t think of her as anything other than Elisabetta.” Teresa’s voice sounded sad.
“You never did tell me what your name was when you were a nun.”
“Don’t remind me. I blocked that part of my life out of my memory so entirely that I don’t even remember what my name was!”
Sorella Agata laughed. “I see your sense of humor is still intact!”
“I’m sorry if I’m being disrespectful. I will call you Sorella Agata, if you wish.”
“Please, go on, Teresa. You were saying you were such a fool.”
“I was such a fool to have fallen in love with Francesco. He was nothing more than a drunk!”
Sorella Agata then remembered how much he had been drinking at the restaurant after their wedding. She had written it off to his celebrating his marriage, but she also remembered how Teresa had looked embarrassed a few times and had seemed to be scolding him.
“He had a drinking problem even before we were married, but I was too stupid to see it then. I thought he was just having a little fun whenever we went out. But after we got married, I saw it was a daily habit for him. At first, he just got drunk and kept to himself. But then he began attacking me, first with insults, then with his fists.” Teresa pulled up her skirt and showed Sorella Agata a three-inch-long scar.
“I have him to thank for this. He cut me with a broken beer bottle. He was convinced I was cheating on him, but he was the one cheating on me with every willing whore in the city of Messina. Finally, one day, he came home sober. I was shocked. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen him sober. He announced to me in a calm voice that he was leaving me for another woman. He told me I had a day to clear out my belongings and to leave our house. It was my turn to fly into a rage. I pounded him with my fists, but naturally, he overpowered me and threw me against the wall. He then stor
med out, but not before saying that if he found me there the next day, he would literally kick me out with his own two feet and with just the clothes on my back.” Teresa laughed eerily. “He actually thought he was being generous by giving me a day’s notice and letting me take my belongings. This has been my home for the past year.” She gestured to the bench she lay on.
“So you and Francesco never left Messina? Your sister and I just assumed you had left the city when we didn’t find you living at your old residence any longer.”
“We had to leave because the landlord, who lived below us, was tired of hearing Francesco yelling during his drunken bouts. We moved closer to the marina. Although Francesco was a drunk, somehow he was able to function at his job at the municipality, so we weren’t struggling financially. Before I left, I took all the money he kept in the house, but I was only able to rent a room with what I had, and I went through the money in just a few months. It’s so hard to find work. I was cleaning a man’s apartment, but then he wanted me to sleep with him, so I never went back. Now I pickpocket and take whatever charity strangers give me. Elisabetta was right. I should’ve stayed a nun. At least I would have had a roof over my head, and I wouldn’t have lost all sense of dignity.”
“Why didn’t you come back to the convent, Teresa? You should have known you would always have a place to stay there.”
“I didn’t know that. I thought after the way I left without saying good-bye to anyone that I wouldn’t be welcome. How was I to know that Madre Carmela wouldn’t think my actions were selfish and that I had just used her and her generosity, especially when she had been so kind and had taken Elisabetta and me in after I was thrown out of our last convent? And she would have been right to think that about me. I had been selfish, even toward Elisabetta. All I cared about was what I wanted and the wonderful future I was going to have. I turned my back on my own sister. I don’t blame Elisabetta if she never forgives me.”
“She will forgive you; she has already. I told you she was upset when she learned you had eloped with Francesco, but I think she was more concerned that you were making another mistake. She truly thought you would’ve been better off had you remained a nun, but she has told me in the years since you left that she realizes that was absurd and that you were never meant to take vows. She said she realized that the reason she was so insistent on your becoming a nun was that she was afraid she would lose you forever if you didn’t also take vows. Please, Teresa, come back with me to the convent. There are people there who love you. You can be my right-hand person in the pastry shop. And who’s to say you won’t meet someone more deserving of your love than Francesco someday? Don’t feel like your life is over.”
“Oh, Rosalia. I mean, Sorella Agata. I don’t think I can get used to calling you Sorella! You are now giving me the same advice I gave you once about not thinking your life was over after what that monster did to you in that cave. Isn’t it funny how life turns out, my friend?”
“As I’ve learned over and over again, we can never quite know what is in store for us. So will you come back home with me?”
Teresa nodded her head.
“Good. If you had said no, I would’ve dragged you back anyway.”
Teresa got up off the bench and took her suitcase. She linked arms with Sorella Agata and, while they walked, they laughed and exchanged stories from when they had lived at the convent together, even recalling when they had gone out on double dates with Francesco and Antonio. From behind, one could not tell that eight years had stood between the two friends. For they looked as close as ever.
27
Latte di Mandorla
ALMOND MILK
Morning of November 11, 2004
Claudia woke up with the sound of the rooster crowing as she did every morning, but today she didn’t immediately get out of bed. She had been up late with Sorella Agata the night before, listening to her recount how she had found Teresa on the streets. Though Claudia had been prepared to stay up the whole night to hear the rest of the nun’s story, Sorella Agata had insisted they go to bed.
With much effort, Claudia forced herself to sit up. Stretching her arms overhead, she hit her hands on the wooden cross that hung above her bed. Claudia got out of bed and gently straightened it. She noticed a small tag dangling from beneath the purple silk roses that were tied around the cross. Taking a closer look, Claudia read the small handwritten note in Italian that translated to: You will always be my rose.
Was this perhaps a gift to Rosalia from Antonio? Claudia remembered noticing the cross when Sorella Agata had taken her to her room on the day of her arrival. She also remembered the sad expression Sorella Agata had had when Claudia had commented on how beautiful the cross was. Sorella Agata had mentioned that it had been a gift, and it was obvious whoever had written the note was referencing Sorella Agata’s birth name, since the name Rosalia was derived from the Latin word for rose. Claudia also noticed that the silk roses were purple. Hadn’t Sorella Agata mentioned that purple was Rosalia’s favorite color? Yes, Claudia now remembered it was.
She sighed deeply. Sorella Agata had been through so much in her life. Who would have thought that this slightly plump nun who took such pride in her pastries and seemed to live such a simple life had had so much heartache in her past? And then to learn about the shelter she’d founded for women who had been abused or were homeless. She truly was amazing. Claudia respected the way the nun had managed to find purpose in her life after suffering so much loss.
A half hour later, Claudia was in the kitchen watching the nuns at work. They were making Latte di Mandorla—almond milk. From the almond paste that was used to make marzipan and so many cookies and pastries to sherbet and drinks such as Latte di Mandorla and even the almond syrup known as Orzata, the almond truly was front and center in much of Sicilian cuisine.
One of the older lay workers was holding a strainer lined with two layers of cheesecloth while Veronique, the inquisitive, young apprentice Claudia had met on her first day at the convent, poured almond puree through the strainer. The lay worker instructed Veronique to press on the puree with the back of her wooden spoon so they could extract as much of the liquid as possible. The lay worker wore her hair up in a bun. The gray in her hair was quickly overtaking the blond color it once was. When Veronique was done pressing the puree, the older woman said something to make her laugh, and then the woman struck a pose as if she were still young and was flirting with someone. A thought occurred to Claudia. Could this possibly be Teresa?
“You are a clown, Teresa! Now get back to work.”
So it was Teresa. A nun with a few wisps of black hair that peeked out from under her habit joined her and Veronique.
“Dai, Elisabetta! I am the older sister, so if anyone should be scolding it should be me!”
And this was Elisabetta, Teresa’s sister, who had become a nun and now went by Sorella Lucia, but Claudia saw that her sibling still chose to call her by her Christian name. Claudia watched the two sisters, who soon broke out into laughter. Claudia could see that the rancor that had once existed between them when they were younger was now gone. Sorella Agata had been right in telling Teresa when she found her on the streets that Elisabetta would be happy to see her again.
Claudia had met most of the workers in the kitchen, but she had never been good with names, so she hadn’t remembered, when Sorella Agata had told her about Teresa and Elisabetta, that they were still here at the Convento di Santa Lucia del Mela.
The two sisters instructed Veronique to pour the almond milk with a ladle into Mason jars. Claudia wondered how much longer the young apprentice had to go until she would be well versed in the art of pastry making. She could see that what Sorella Agata had told her was true: They all thought of Veronique as a little sister. But it wasn’t just Veronique. In her time at the convent, Claudia had noticed there was a strong sense of sisterhood among both the nuns and the lay workers.
Her eyes rested on the elderly Madre Carmela. She was seated in a tall
wooden chair at a counter. She almost looked like a child in a high chair, waiting to be fed. One of the younger nuns placed a tray of Tetù, Clove-Scented Chocolate Cookies, and a bowl filled with icing in front of Madre Carmela. With shaky hands, the old nun dipped the baked cookies into the warm glaze and placed them carefully onto an empty tray lined with parchment paper. Claudia saw the glaze drip onto the nun’s habit and onto the floor, and she noticed the younger nun noticed, but instead of pointing it out to Madre Carmela, the younger nun complimented her on her work.
Tears came to Claudia’s eyes. She felt silly to be moved by seeing the younger nun treat Madre Carmela with respect. But it was this kind of behavior, which she had witnessed over and over again at the convent these past few weeks, that made Claudia feel like something was missing in her own life. Being here had forced her to reflect on her life back home in New York, and watching these women, who it was obvious cared so much about one another and shared a communal bond of respect and sisterhood, made Claudia realize how lonely she’d been in New York. She had acquaintances, but she was so consumed by her career that she didn’t make the time to form more lasting relationships, just as she hadn’t made the time for the men she’d dated. Now, she realized she wanted more lasting relationships. Perhaps it was hearing Sorella Agata’s story as well that had made Claudia realize how important the bonds of family and good friends were. She found herself phoning home and speaking to her family, which she could tell had surprised them since when she was in New York she only spoke to them a few times a month, if that. She made a silent promise to herself that she would make some changes when she returned.
Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop Page 31
