The Road to Chianti

By Kelly Hughes Roberts

Set in Italy in the year 1977, The Road to Chianti follows two young orphans as they struggle to find a place to call home.

When their parents are killed in a devastating accident on the eve of the Epiphany, nine-year-old Alessandra DeSantis and her older brother, Salvatore, are left alone. With no one to care for them, the children soon end up in a run-down orphanage far from their home in Chianti. Still emotionally scarred from losing their parents, they now face an even greater challengethe cruel Agostina, who works Alessandra and Salvatore to the point of exhaustion.

Deciding they must escape, Alessandra and Salvatore flee in the night and unknowingly embark on a harrowing adventure across the Italian countryside. With Agostinas goons hot on their trail, Alessandra and Salvatore vow to do whatever it takes to survive, and above all else, find their way home to Chianti. But one nagging question always hangs over themwhat will they find when they finally get home?

An action-packed journey through cobblestone streets, dark forests, and gorgeous piazzas, The Road to Chianti explores the power of love to triumph over adversity and the importance of having a place to call your own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Oct 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452559629

Kelly Hughes Roberts

Kelly Hughes Roberts is a freelance writer for numerous magazines and blogs. She has a bachelor’s degree in communications and spends her days cooking, gardening, and teaching about health and wellness. Her love and passion for food and Tuscany inspired her to write this book. Roberts lives with her husband and two children in Berlin, Maryland.

Book preview

THE

ROAD

TO

Chianti

KELLY HUGHES ROBERTS

BalboaLogoBCDARKBW.ai

Copyright © 2012 Kelly Hughes Roberts

Editor: Nick Fox

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-4525-5961-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-5963-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-5962-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012917970

Balboa Press books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Balboa Press rev. date: 10/12/2012

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

FOR LYLA AND KELLAN

What excites us or moves us to tears, what makes the blood rush to our head, our hearts skip a beat, our knees shaky, and our souls sigh?

-Emily Dickinson

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you to my dear friends and family—Brian Roberts for all your love, friendship, patience, and continued support. My incredible parents, for always believing in me, for always reminding me to follow my heart, and chase my dreams.

Leslie Cooley; the ultimate best friend, travel buddy, and my secret keeper in all things fun and fabulous in life! The ones most precious to me: Lyla, my sweet girl who reminds me every day to be free-spirited and to stand my ground. Kellan, my loving little man, who continues to bring a smile to my face and warms my soul.

My baby brothers, who instill creativity, success, and inspire me to achieve every thing my heart desires. And to my beloved Grams who demanded I finish this project so she could be the first to read it. You lit a giant fire that will never be distinguished. Nick Fox; the best editor a girl could ask for! You are the best!

Finally, forever love and gratitude to all my closest friends and family that always believed in me, pushed me a little harder, and always showed your support. I am deeply blessed!

PROLOGUE

A blanket of white snow slowly covers the vines. The sky has grown dark and the smell of wood burning in the fire warms my heart. This time of year is bittersweet for me. Christmas is the most beautiful and glorious time of year. A time to cherish with family and loved ones, a time to reflect on the past year, and the many that have come before. But Christmas also brings me such sorrow and heartache.

I watch my children run through the vineyard, chasing snowflakes, their laughter filling the air and making this time of year even more full of cheer and inspiration. The smell of chestnuts on the open fire warms the room with a nutty fragrance and sugar fills the air with the hope of dessert. I sit gazing through the window sipping my espresso and wondering where the time has gone. It seems like only yesterday that my older brother Salvatore and I were young children ourselves, playing in the vineyard, and waiting anxiously for Babo Natale, listening to Papa’s fantastic stories, and anticipating Mama’s glorious dinners.

Time seems to go by so fast now, and so much has changed since we were nine and twelve. Our lives were changed forever in Chianti, 1977. Salvatore and I still talk about that unforgettable year and the days of our incredibly scary and heart-wrenching journey. We discover a little more each time we retell our story—memories of how we felt, what we saw, who we’ll miss and never forget, and where our hearts lie. Salvatore and I lost our childhood that year, we learned to fight and survive, we searched for unconditional love, and found hope along the way. We grew up fast, but most of all we learned and taught each other how to stay strong, how to follow our hearts, and to never give up.

Now I sit and watch my children dance in the snow, embrace the vines, and live a life full of joy and spirit. It was the way Salvatore and I had lived not so long ago. Each year that passes, the wounds that cut so deeply heal a little more. And I will always cherish the memories, especially the love for my family that will never be replaced. Today reminds me so much of that year, that Christmas Eve, the day it all started.

CHAPTER 1

Vigilia di Natale, Christmas Eve, in Chianti! Down winding roads and miles of hibernating vineyards, tucked away in a small, four-room stone villa with a terra cotta roof, Salvatore and I anxiously await our Christmas Eve dinner, the Feast of Seven Fishes. Some might be wishing for Babo Natale, but Father Christmas will have to wait in this Italian household; we’re too excited about the food!

Of course, we are excited about him visiting tonight, but most of Italy does not celebrate Santa Claus like kids in America. Italian children anxiously await the visit of La Befana, the kindly old witch. She delivers presents to all the good boys and girls on the Feast of the Epiphany, January 6th. Waiting another 12 days will be pure agony, but we have the most incredible dinner to look forward to, and Babo Natale always leaves us a little something for Christmas.

We’ve spent days preparing for the holiday season, baking and cooking. The tree is decorated, shopping is done, all the food and greens have been gathered for the table, the candles are lit, and invitations have been sent to neighbors and friends to come celebrate with us tonight and to wish them Buon Natale!

I love this night more than any other during the year! Finally, everyone begins to arrive. The Lombardis bring bottles of wine and Limóncello. The DeLucas bring small gifts for me and Salvatore, and the Giordanos bring gifts for Mama and Papa. Like fresh breads, struffoli¹ and my favorite pizzelle cookies. Mama has to hide them from me because I will eat them all in one sitting!

It’s beginning to get dark outside as the warmth of the winter sun slowly fades away Papa comes to the door with an arm full of chopped wood for the fireplace.

You can’t have Natale without a fire! He shouts as he walks through the front door shivering.

A gust of wind sneaks past him and chills the room.

Burrrr, it’s starting to get really cold now, Mama says, nodding in agreement.

I don’t know how Babo Natale can stand it being so cold on his one day to work, she says, smiling innocently.

He always finds a way. Don’t you worry Alessandra, he’ll be here tonight without a doubt, Salvatore chimes in.

As December’s full Cold Moon rises and, light begins to fill the vineyard with the most incredible glow. Christmas always feels so magical, that’s why I love it so much. Anything is possible at Christmas. Dreams come true and miracles always seem to happen this time of year.

I stare out the window and down through the rows where the grapes stood only two months ago. Now all that’s left is the carcass of vines. Time seemed to go by so fast this year. I wanted Christmas to come so badly, but soon I know I’ll long for the warmth of summer and eating the sweetened grapes off the vine. I miss my sun-kissed skin and even miss Dante, the stupid rooster that crowed so early every morning in the summer months. Now he lets us sleep in a little longer with the darkness of winter.

I finish setting the table, as Papa puts one more log on the fire. Mama continues to put her finishing touches on our Christmas Eve feast, and Salvatore brings out his guitar to play Tu Scendi Dalle Stelle, an Italian Christmas carol.

Soon we’d be eating Christmas Eve dinner; No meat tonight, though. Italians don’t eat meat on Christmas Eve, we save it for Christmas Day.

Salvatore sits down next to Papa and they talk quietly. Our neighbors and friends begin to take their seats around the table as I wait for Mama to sprinkle fresh herbs on each of the fish dishes. Within moments we are all sitting at our farmhouse table ready to gobble up every tasty morsel.

Mama brings each dish to the table with a perfect presentation. Our first dish is antipasto. I love this dish because it is a bunch of small bites, little munchies that get you even more excited about dinner. Olives, pepperoncinis, anchovies, roasted red peppers, marinated artichokes, sweet cherry tomatoes, and creamy mozzarella. Papa tells the legend of old Befana every year while we eat this course.

We devour our tomatoes and olives while the adults sip on Prosecco and share smiles and laughter.

Zuppa di aragosta, lobster soup, is the next dish. My mouth begins to water as Mama places it on the table. Steam swirls beautifully above the dish while pouring an intoxicating aroma throughout the room. I literally have to bring my napkin to my lips to prevent the drool from running down my chin. I can taste the cream before the spoon even reaches my tongue. We all savor the soup, as if it’s the last time we’ll ever taste it.

Next is spaghetti alle vongole². The clams are so fresh and tender. I watch everyone’s eyes close in enjoyment with each bite. The perfect al dente noodles sop up the white wine sauce. As I slurp each noodle into my mouth, it sends a kiss to my nose and cheeks with a zing of sauce. This is why I love Christmas so.

We take a little break before the next dish, giving us time to talk and enjoy each other’s company, while making room for all the dishes to come! We each taste some of the Christmas wine that our neighbors brought as presents. Of course mine and Salvatore’s is mostly water; there is so little wine in our glasses it’s just enough to change the water pink.

Soon, Mama announces the next dish from the kitchen, "Fritto misto di mare e vicino³!" Each breaded morsel melts in your mouth. I chew every crispy, crunchy, golden bit slowly, hoping to make it last a little longer. A squeeze of lemon makes it even more divine.

Papa’s favorite is next, baccalà alla vesuviana.⁴ It’s almost a sin if you don’t serve this dish for Seven Fishes. The one after that is, anquilla livernese⁵, which I don’t care much for. Salvatore loves this dish, but eels freak me out! They’re slimy, ugly, and they look like snakes. Everyone else can eat my portion! My nose wrinkles as I watch everyone else at the table take a bite. I can feel my stomach turn as I glance over at Mama. She only shakes her head. She doesn’t have to say anything and I understand that my face must say it completely. Salvatore looks around and waits to make sure no one is looking then he opens his mouth and shows me it’s full of eel. I purse my lips together and swallow hard as I look away towards the tree and the fire, trying to compose myself. When I look back he’s laughing. Sometimes I can’t stand my brother!

Finally, the last dish comes to the table. I have been waiting all night, scampi alla griglia, langoustines or prawns dripping in a scrumptious marinade of garlic, butter, shallots, parsley, olive oil, and lemon. Mama also puts a heaping bowl of fresh Christmas Broccoli on the table, just to make sure we get our veggies. I just love the presentation of scampi alla griglia. The heads and long arms of the langoustines stay on while they’re grilled and placed on the plate and then smothered in the best marinade I’ve ever tasted. I always beg for seconds, and usually get them since I don’t eat any eel.

I lick my fingers clean, sucking the tip of each one, making sure not to miss any part of the scampi. Mama apologizes for my rude manners and I feel my face flush with embarrassment.

Sorry! I must have forgotten there were other people here.

Salvatore busts into laughter again. I lower my eyebrows and shoot him a look. He laughs harder. I glance at Mama, still embarrassed.

Now Salvatore, be nice to your sister, it’s Christmas!

I glance back over, now with a smile on my face, but he just rolls his eyes at me.

Everyone sits at the table for a long time, unable to move. We just sit and listen with heavy eyes. The adults tell stories and we all revel in the spirit of Christmas and how blessed we are to share it with so many loved ones.

After what seems like a long time, some make their way over to the fire. Papa throws another log on, sending sparks of red and orange into the air. The crackling and my full belly make my eyes even heavier. I lay on the floor, on the rug closest to the fire. The warmth quickly sends me into a deep sleep.

I awake to Mama’s voice. I’m a little confused because everyone is still here and it’s still Christmas Eve. I must not have slept too long; desserts are being passed around the room. Panforte⁶, gingerbread made with hazelnuts, honey, almonds, and spices. A tray of candied almonds, dried figs, roasted chestnuts, and marzipan fruits breeze by my nose. I snatch up a handful of warm chestnuts. The struffoli and pizzelles try to whiz by me, but I intercept. I wrap my hands around a stack of pizzelles and see Mama’s eyes begin to widen from the across the room. Busted!

I retract my hand from the stack of pizzelles so I only take five cookies. She mouths thank you to me, and I smile back at her. She raises an unopened box and mouths these are all yours later.

I smile even bigger. Salvatore is shaking his head at me again. I stick my tongue out at him and Papa lets out a belly laugh.

Oh, my sweet Alessandra, you make me smile every day!

I sashay over and kiss him sweetly on the cheek. Salvatore makes a gagging noise and I run over and jump on him, knocking him onto the floor. I snatch the last pizzelle from his hand and shove it into my mouth.

Who’s laughing now? I say with crumbs of pizzelle pouring out of my mouth.

Papa lets out another belly laugh and everyone joins in, even Salvatore. I’m startled at first, not realizing everyone has been paying attention, and then I laugh, pizzelles still caked to the sides of my mouth and teeth. Mama comes into the room with a tray of grappa and hands a glass to everyone except me and Salvatore. We call it fire water. It’s a grape-based alcohol that’s so strong. Papa says it’ll put hair on your chest. I think I’ll be avoiding that! What girl wants hair on her chest?

After a couple more hours of merriment, Papa announces it’s time to head over to church for midnight mass and the living nativity scene. At midnight mass, the altar is decorated with white and red poinsettias, while taper candles and greenery decorate the rest of the church. Amid the smell of incense, the choir sings, families are together, and everyone is full and happy. Every year we get to hear the incredible story of baby Jesus.

After mass, everyone parts ways and heads home for the evening. What an incredible night it has been. Food, wine, love, friends, and the spirit of Christmas—I can barely stand up I am so exhausted. Papa carries me on the long walk back home; I lay my head on his shoulder and close my eyes, falling fast asleep in a matter of seconds.

At home, Mama gets me into my pajamas and I crawl into bed. She kisses my forehead good night. I whimper in exhaustion.

Buon Natale Mama, Papa, and Salve too. I love youuuuu.

I breathe out the last bit and fall into a deep sleep.

The next morning comes way too quickly; I am so tired. I can feel someone’s hot, smelly breath in my face. I make out the outline of someone standing too close, I can feel them holding my pinky, and I know it’s Salvatore. It’s our secret handshake. I swing my head to the left to get some space and focus on this annoyance first thing in the morning.

What? My voice is groggy and irritated.

Wake up…wake up… I know you’re dreaming of pizzelles, but it’s time to wake up.

Get away Salve! It’s too early and I’m too tired to play games with you.

It’s almost 8:30 and you’re too tired for Babo Natale?

Babo Natale? It’s Christmas? I totally forgot!

I jump out of bed, nearly knocking Salvatore over, and head straight for the tree. Why didn’t you wake me earlier? I yell behind me.

Salvatore follows me into the room.

Yeah, like that was going to happen. You wouldn’t even wake up with me breathing two inches away from your face. You really think we would’ve been able to wake you earlier? I was about to start drooling on you if you didn’t wake up soon.

Ewww, that’s disgusting Salve! Mama, tell Salvatore that’s gross. I don’t need his germs dripping on my forehead while I’m trying to sleep.

Alright you two, it’s Christmas morning. Can’t you get along for the day?

She stands with her hand on her hips and Papa stands behind her, mimicking her every move. We bust out laughing and Mama spins around, catching him red handed.

And you, Mr. Wise guy, Babo Natale can come and take back everything you’ve got under that tree. Don’t forget La Befana can still bring you coal.

She smiles coyly at him and then swats him in the arm with her dish towel as she walks by. Papa puts another log on the fire. We cozy up next to it, waiting for Mama to finish preparing for dinner tonight. It is only a little after 8:30 and she is almost completely ready for dinner. After all the work from last night I don’t even know how she is awake at this very moment.

Mama joins us by the fire with a cup of caffé for each of us. I load mine with sugar and cream, otherwise it’s too bitter. Mama, Papa, and Salvatore kick theirs back, completely black.

Yuck! They all look at me. Then we each take turns opening the presents that Babo Natale left for us.

I get a new doll, crayons, and my favorite… a large box of pizzelles, which I immediately begin eating. Mama shakes her head with a smile. It’s not the most nutritious breakfast, but hey, it’s Christmas!

Salve gets new tools, which he doesn’t seem too thrilled about, probably because he knows now he’ll have to help Papa make repairs to the tractors and barn. Papa, on the other hand, is very excited about Salvatore’s new tools.

I love Babo Natale! He knows exactly what Salve wanted!

We all laugh except for Salvatore, who flashes a quick smile and then rolls his eyes. He goes back to opening his presents and finds a remote control rocket and a large bag of caramels. He’s jumping up and down with excitement.

That is only done outside and away from the villa, vines, and trees. No exceptions! Do you understand Salve? Mama says.

He nods with a giant smile on his face. Can I go try it now?

Can’t you stay in here and spend sometime with us, it’s Christmas morning? Mama replies.

His bottom lip protrudes as he pouts.

Go! But be back in forty minutes for breakfast.

Salve jumps up and grabs my arm, dragging me towards our room.

Hey! I’m eating here.

Bring them with you!

He is yelling, throwing on his pants and sliding on his boots. I shove the cookie that I’m trying to savor into my mouth and grab the box, running to the room to throw on a sweater and my boots. In seconds we are racing through the villa and heading for the front door.

Hats, gloves, and jackets! It’s freezing out there! I think it may snow tonight. Mama yells as we’re knocking over chairs and benches to get out the door, our arms full of winter clothes, my cookies, and Salvatore’s brand new rocket.

Later that night we are sitting down to Christmas dinner, just the four of us, enjoying family on Christmas Day. Papa has the fire burning strong; the blaze fills the room with warmth and brightens the room with oranges and yellows. The crackling of the fire is comforting. I’m curled in a ball, nestled like a baby on the floor. In that moment, I wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else in the world. I love tonight’s quietness— the tree, candles, and greenery seem more beautiful than they did last night.

Papa makes sure the Yule log continues to burn. Another tradition, the Yule log must stay lit till New Year’s Day. It is said that the purifying and revitalizing power of the fire destroys the evils of the past year.

Through the small window in the kitchen we can see the brightness of the moon fill the vineyard and sky with gleaming white light. I can see snowflakes cascading down against the