Isalene's Rose Petal Jam

By Karen Pierce Gonzalez

     I have been making platters of  candied fruit for years for the children; to  reward them for spending all day learning how to read and write. They love the quince and jellied orange peel and always empty the trays I bring;  little hands eagerly reach for all they can hold. 

     It has been this way for a very long time and I am glad to see them happy. Especially little Asher. He has his mother’s deep-set black eyes and his father’s thick-lipped grin. This young boy is proof that my rose jam is perhaps the sweetest:  it brought his mother out of her shell and into the arms of his father who longed to make her his wife. Although it took some time for her to be able to return his gaze, it took even less time for her to say yes. 

    But I did not start out them for the children. 

    It began when my hair was still chocolate brown and bounced on my shoulders; I wear it now in a bun. Back then my eyes were bright with hope. Today I squint against the day’s brightness and can not see far away.

    Ah, but if I close my eyes and think only of then, I can feel the sun’s warmth on my skin as I waited for him to come out of the schoolhouse. He would greet me with a warm smile then place the fruit, one at a time, into his mouth. He'd tell me how delicious they were, then say, "There is no one in all of Turkey like you, Isalene, no one.” 

     So long ago. He has since left this place for another. Hadn’t it been on a day such as this that he told me goodbye, breaking my heart into many, small pieces? Sometimes, I can feel the scars.

     “I have good news,” he began speaking quickly.

     “What is it, Raphael?” 

      A stout man whose high cheekbones rose above his beard, he said, “You are so helpful. The children are eager to do as asked because they know you'll bring them quince and orange treats."

 

     And what about the rose petal jam I made just for him? Had it grown love in his heart for me? Just thinking that, I blushed. Sure my face was red, I looked away.

     At first the fruit gave me a reason to see him almost every day and I wanted that more than anything else. I was a plain woman with no dowry to speak us. He was older than I, but I didn’t care. He was more handsome than any of the young men in our village. A widower when he first arrived, he barely spoke to me, and it was customary to wait for the man to make contact first. Until then, I busied myself with collecting fallen fruit I could cook with.

     “If only I’d known someone like you,” he would tease me when I first appeared with trays of sweet treats. Those days seemed easy and full of promise. Then came his news.

     “I am leaving," he paused to nibble on a quince.

     “Leaving? What has happened. Do your brothers need help?” He had gone to visit them in the fall shortly after I gave him my first jar of jam to take with him. I did not tell him that it was sweet enough to soften even the hardest of hearts.

     “Yes, in a way it is family, Isalene.” At that Raphael brought his gaze directly to me and cleared his throat. “I am getting married.”

     Without thinking, I reached out for the tray and grabbed it back. As I held it against my chest, fruit fell to the ground. 

     “Isalene, are you all right? You’ve suddenly gone pale.”

     I couldn’t move. I swiftly went over the possibilities: had he shared the jam with someone else? Perhaps the rose petals soured?

     “Isalene?” Raphael reached out for my hand but I took another step back. He stumbled over his own words. “I… I have said nothing until I was sure. She … she makes me very happy.”

    Tears filled my eyes. He dropped his voice to a whisper, “Oh, Isalene, I am sorry, I… I had no idea.”  I shook my head and walked away.

     Standing here now, waiting for the children, I know I will never forget the way my throat closed; not a sound escaped even when he tried to comfort me. 

     But  I still make the jam, mostly to feel the tender beating of my own heart.

Rose Petal Jam

2 cups of rose petals (deep red and very fragrant)

2 cups water

2 ¼ cups honey

Juice of a lemon

    Wash and drain freshly picked rose petals. Cut in ¼-inch strips, removing the base of each petal. Gently cook in water approximately 10-15 minutes until tender. Strain the liquid and put the petals to the side for later use. With the liquid make a syrup by mixing 1 cup of rose petal liquid with honey.

    Cook to a soft-ball stage. Add drained petals and cook over low heat about 15 minutes longer. Pour into sterile jars and seal with wax. Do not store in direct sunlight.

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