Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop by Rosanna Chiofalo Read Free Book Online Page A

Folding her hands in her lap, she said, “I am ready whenever you are, Claudia.”
    â€œWhere did your inspiration for pastries come from? Naturally, as a nun here I know you would’ve had no choice but to help with the shop. But what I want to know is your true inspiration for taking this shop and turning it into the success it is today. I want to know when it was that your passion for the art of pastry making began.”
    Sorella Agata took a deep breath. “Well, it all started with a young woman by the name of Rosalia. I guess you can say she was my muse.”

3
    Lulus
    SICILIAN CREAM PUFFS
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    October 5, 1955
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    R osalia was back home. Her family surrounded her: Mamma and Papà, her older brother, Luca, and her little sister, Cecilia. Rosalia hopped up and down while her family held hands and danced the tarantella, circling around her first in one direction, and then in the other. Sicilian folk music played, and when the tempo picked up her family danced even faster, closing the circle in on Rosalia—her cue to switch places with another family member. Her eyes locked onto Luca’s and in a split second they made the switch. Now her brother was the one they circled around. Rosalia, her parents, and Cecilia could not stop laughing. Whenever Luca was in the center of the tarantella circle, he made a spectacle of himself as he contorted his expression into various silly faces and danced like a madman.
    Rosalia laughed harder and harder even as a fierce wave of vertigo took hold. But soon her laughter became a piercing shriek as she felt herself pulled out of her family’s embrace and sucked into a dark hole.
    â€œRosalia! Rosalia! Wake up, my dear girl. It is just a dream. You are here at the Convento di Santa Lucia del Mela. You are safe now.” Madre Carmela stroked the young woman’s long bangs, which were wet with perspiration, off her forehead. Her lush dark locks were braided, reminding Madre Carmela of two shiny pieces of black licorice. Working in the pastry shop for so many years, she had made a habit of comparing everything in life to food.
    Rosalia’s gaze wandered around the room. Then her eyes met Madre Carmela’s. She stared at her for a moment, but once familiarity set in she exhaled a long sigh.
    â€œAre you hungry? I’ve brought you something very special today.” Madre Carmela left Rosalia’s bedside and went over to the dresser, where a bowl covered with a linen napkin sat.
    Curious, Rosalia sat up in bed, straining her neck to see what delicacies the good nun had brought her today. These past few weeks, since Madre Carmela and the other sisters had found Rosalia by the cave, her only comfort had been in the daily sweets they brought to her. She had always loved her mother’s baked goods, but what the sisters had here was a whole new world of pastries Rosalia had never heard of. It was almost like La Festa dell’Epifania, the Feast of the Epiphany, where La Befana—or the good witch—brought gifts to all the small children. Rosalia remembered that her parents were always careful to save their money lest hard times fall on them. But they always managed to ensure that La Befana brought gifts to their children. The presents ranged from the ripest, largest oranges or pears to pistachios, almonds, and sweet dates to a shiny new red ball for Rosalia and a perfectly chiseled wooden car for Luca to race. One year, little Cecilia even received a porcelain doll that came all the way from Palermo, Sicily’s capital. Though Rosalia was no longer a little girl, she still felt that same sense of excitement whenever the nuns unveiled their pastries.
    Madre Carmela brought the covered bowl over to Rosalia. A subtle, sweet aroma reached Rosalia’s nose. Her mouth watered in anticipation of whatever culinary surprise Madre Carmela had for her today. Instead of waiting for the sister to unfold the napkin, Rosalia pulled