Free In the Shadow of Shakespeare by Ellen Wilson

her
elbows.  The sun was beating down on her face, heating it like an egg in a
pan.  She glanced at the clock.  She had overslept.   
    Alice
shut the shade and opened the window.  She let the soft breeze blow over
her as she sat on the edge of the bed.  The rustling of the tree tops
soothed her as she tried to make sense of things. 
    After
a quick shower she tried to eat some toast.  It stuck in her throat. 
She promptly threw the remains of the bread into the trash.
    As
she drove towards the restaurant she felt like she was inhabiting two
skins.  She was living in one world, and at the same time, another world,
which she could not see, or feel, but occasionally, visit, albeit, in a strange
disconcerting way. 
    I’m
losing my mind.
    She
shook her head.  No, it was different than before.  Before it there
had been a depression, then a quick dip into something dark and strange. 
And then she had met Albert.  My wizard, he walked me out of it.  
He had shown her the path through the dark forest; had given her a light, a
lantern back to reality.  But could he help her through this? 
    Her
mother had whispered that she had the secret madness of her grandmother on her
father’s side.  She had gone blind, but it only made her sight all the
more penetrating, all the more intense.  Alice knew little of this Russian
grandmother – the one who could feel the weather, the pain of other creatures,
and could see into the future.  Her father was dismissive, “It’s a bunch
of old wive's tales.”  Now, she wondered.
    She
parked the car in front of the restaurant next to a blue sedan.  Alice
walked into Magrite’s and saw him sitting by the window reading a paper. 
He smiled, beckoned to her.  She walked over to the table.
    “Hello
Ms. Petrovka.  Sit, sit.”
    She
sat.  She could tell he was accustomed to being in charge.  Instead
of the casual attire most people wore on the weekends, he was dressed in a
Kelly green sport coat with a white polo shirt underneath.  She thought of
Ireland and leprechauns.  He looks like a leprechaun, Alice
thought, suppressing a laugh.  He was short and compact; had reddish blond
hair, and slightly pointed ears.  His blue eyes twinkled at her.
    He
pulled a small cooler out from under the table.  “You have heard of the
War of the Roses?”
    “What? 
You mean the movie?”  Alice was taken back.  She thought of easing
into things with some small talk, not an instant quiz.
    “No,
no, no.  The history.  The Tudor-Lancaster war?”
    “Oh,
yes, vaguely.  Shakespeare refers to it in some of his history plays.”
    “Exactly. 
And what we have here,” He pulled the rose from the cooler, setting the cooler
underneath his feet. “is the merging of those two warring factions.  It
was thought to have been a myth, but then you produced it.” 
    Alice
looked down at the rose he had placed on the table.  “I’m sorry…Mr.
McGill, I don’t follow you.”  She felt like a dumb undergrad, not getting
the professor’s clues during an important lecture.
    “Please,
call me Jack.”
    “Okay,
Jack.  I’m all ears.” 
    “The
war of the roses was symbolized by the White Rose of York, or Rosa alba
Maxima , and the Red Rose of Lancaster, or Rosa gallica “Officinalis.”  As a sign of reconciliation, the victorious House of Tudor
chose a new type of rose with inner white and outer red petals as its heraldic
symbol.  Do you follow so far?”
    Alice
dutifully nodded her head. 
    “No
rose breeder has ever succeeded in creating a rose of that heraldic
symbol.  The closest anyone has ever come was with developing a plant that
contains both reddish pink and white flowers.  And at times, there are
even flowers combining both colors in one, but…never this.”  He placed the
flower in front of her.
    “So,
what is the significance of this?” Alice said. 
    The
waitress approached them, smiling.  “Can I get you something to drink?”
    “What
would you like my dear,