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Overview
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.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781452559629 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Balboa Press |
| Publication date: | 10/18/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 214 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
| Age Range: | 9 - 12 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
THE ROAD TO Chianti
By KELLY HUGHES ROBERTS
Balboa Press
Copyright © 2012 Kelly Hughes RobertsAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-5961-2
Chapter One
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, struffoli 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 vongole. 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 vicino!" 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. It's almost a sin if you don't serve this dish for Seven Fishes. The one after that is, anquilla livernese, 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. Panforte, 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 midnight backdrop.
"It's snowing! We finally got a white Christmas!" I gasp.
I jump up from the table and run to the door, flinging it wide open so everyone can see the delicate flakes shimmy through the night air. I stand there in awe, taking in deep breaths of fresh air and the winter's beauty.
"Pure Christmas magic, can tonight be any more perfect?"
Mama, Papa, and Salve join me at the door and we watch the delicate snow fall to the frozen ground, gently sticking to the vines and our old wooden cart. I extend my hand and feel the dampness of each snowflake as it quickly melts in my palm. I'm smiling so big, it hurts my cheeks. We all stand and watch for a long time, while the fire occasionally makes loud pops and shoots small flames into the air.
Eventually we sit back down at the table and enjoy antipasto with Parma ham, ribollita, agnolotti, and the grand finale—the roast. Tonight we're having chicken with a lashing of vegetables—kale, carrots, onions, potatoes, cremini mushrooms, and beets. Mama and Papa enjoy a bottle of cabernet, while Salve and I drink fresh milk. We turn on the radio and listen to the Pope give blessings to the crowd gathered in Vatican Square. We finish the night, together as a family beside the fire, enjoying espresso and Christmas sweets of panforte, torrone, and of course, panettone, together.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from THE ROAD TO Chianti by KELLY HUGHES ROBERTS Copyright © 2012 by Kelly Hughes Roberts. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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