http://www.amazon.com/dp/B001B5PD80
A Rose by Any Other Name
Jill Parks and her husband Ray were moving into their first home together. It
was one of those sweet little houses with a white picket fence that every stereotyped
girl dreams of. They parked on the street so that the moving van could back
into the drive to unload. As they got out of their car, they noticed an elderly
woman watching from her screened porch across the street.
“She probably cut her husband up in little pieces years ago and buried him in
her garden,” Ray teased.
“I think she looks sweet.” Jill snapped at him. She loved old people and Ray
knew it. All her life she had always sought out the old people in the
neighborhood to befriend. “I can’t wait to go meet her.”
“You’ll have to wait.” Ray said as he guided her up the walk to their home,
where boxes were being unloaded. “You’re not leaving me stuck with the
unpacking.”
Oh geez, Ray.” Jill rolled her eyes at him. She had no intentions of allowing
Ray to decide where things were to go. “Men don’t know a thing about organizing
a home. I wouldn’t dream of leaving it to you.”
“Thanks. I wouldn’t dream of doing it.”
“You’re welcome.” She groaned as she waited at the front door to be carried
across the threshold of their first real home together.
“What’s up?” Ray asked and nudged her forward. “Why don’t you go in?”
“This is our first home together.” Jill tried to explain as she
emphasized the word “is”.
“So?” Ray curtly remarked and he walked around her to go into the house.
“How gallant,” Jill fumed as she followed him in.
A few days later Jill decided she needed to take a break from organizing and
decorating her new home. Ray was off to his new job in the city, so Jill set
out across the street to meet her neighbor.
The house was a large two and a half story with a full basement. It had
probably been built in the late 1800’s or early 1900’s. There were two large
yards, front and back, as well as ample space on the sides. It took up a half
block. The back yard was surrounded by a tall masonry wall that was carved with
floral designs in a two foot strip along the top. There were flowers everywhere
and Jill couldn’t help but admire their beauty and fragrance. The roses were
especially breathtaking.
Jill opened the screen door to the porch and went up to the large entrance. She
rang the old fashioned bell and waited for a reply, watching through the
windows on the door.
Soon her neighbor came into the entry from a curved door to the right of a
beautiful staircase. As the older woman glided towards the front entrance, Jill
noticed how tall and stately she stood. She was slender with perfect posture.
Her skin was smooth and unblemished and her hair was a beautiful silvery white,
with natural waves pulled up into a gentle bun in the back. Her smile presented
the face of an angel and Jill was instantly entranced by this beautiful lady.
“Hello dear,” the lady greeted her. “I thought you might drop by today. Please,
come in.” She stepped back to allow Jill to
enter.
“Oh your house is beautiful,” Jill said as she admired the carved detail of the
beautiful staircase and a large crystal chandelier that was centered above the
entry. “I’m Jill Parks. My husband, Ray, and I just moved in across the
street.”
“Yes, I know dear. I’ve been watching you since that first day, just waiting
for this visit. I have tea and cakes ready.” She led Jill into her sitting
room. “My name is Agatha Wallace. I’ve lived in this house all my life and I’m
ninety years old.” She smiled widely. “Isn’t that an awfully long time to live
in the same house?” Without giving Jill a chance to respond she continued. “It
used to be me and my sister, Clara, but she’s been gone for more than fifty
years now. Do you use lemon or honey? I have both you know. And fresh cream if
you like.”
“Ah, excuse me?” Jill said, confused.
“For your tea, dear. Do you use lemon or honey or fresh cream?”
“Oh, gee, I don’t know. I’ve never drank hot tea before.”
“Well, this should be a real treat then. Please sit.” She motioned for Jill to
be seated at an antique settee that faced a delicately carved mantle
surrounding the large fireplace.
“How beautiful,” Jill exclaimed.
“Thank you dear.” Agatha sat down
next to Jill. “You can call me Aggie. That’s what my sister called me. You
remind me so much of her. Would you like Tea Cakes? I’ve just taken them from
the oven.”
“Tea Cakes?” Jill had never heard of
them and was rather confused by Aggies’s ability to switch subjects so quickly.
She took a Tea Cake from the plate held in front of her and giggled. “It looks
like a fat cookie.”
“Basically, yes,” Aggie agreed with
a twinkle in her eye.
Jill surveyed the beautiful, old
fashioned sitting room as she sipped her tea and sampled the cakes. On the
mantle there were a number of antique ‘nick-knacks’ that caught her eye. Most
of all, she admired a collection of life-sized porcelain hands. Her favorite
was cupped to hold a delicate ruby rose. “Oh, do you mind?” Jill pointed to the
hand as she stood and walked to the fireplace.
“Go ahead dear.” Aggie beamed with
pride over her treasures.
“It looks so real.” Jill turned the
hand over and over to view its fine detail.
“Well, of course it does,” Aggie
said as she came to stand beside Jill. “It is real. That was Clara’s hand.”
“Clara?”
“Yes, you remember, dear. Clara was my sister.”
Jill carefully replaced it onto the mantle. “I’ve never seen anything so
beautiful. And that rose is so – oh, I don’t know; it’s just that you would
never see a real rose that perfect.”
“Of course you would.” Aggie just smiled. “Would you like to see my perfect
Clara roses?”
“Oh yes.” Jill said, as she followed Aggie to the greenhouse just past the back
porch. The greenhouse was reserved for only the most perfect, the most
exquisite roses Jill had ever seen. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered, as if
speaking in a normal tone might disturb the roses in some way.
“Oh, these aren’t the Clara’s.”
They continued through the greenhouse until they were almost at the very back.
There, protected in its own small glass room, as if to shield it from all the
other roses, grew the most perfect ruby roses imaginable. These were the Clara
roses.
Aggie opened the door for Jill to enter. She stood behind Jill as she allowed
her to bask in the beauty of the roses. Jill stooped down to get really close
and to enjoy their fragrance. “Aggie,” she asked, “why did you name these roses
Clara?”
“I told you dear.” Aggie leaned over with a pair of garden shears to clip a
rose for Jill. “Clara was my sister. She was so pretty and delicate, just like
these roses. In fact, this was her rose. She developed this one, not me. I’ve
only tended it all these years.”
Aggie stared down at Jill, who still knelt beside the beautiful bush. “You know
dear, you look very much like Clara. You have those same delicate features. She
was always the pretty one. Then she thought she would leave me. Can you
imagine?”
“What?” With eyes wide open, Jill caught her breath.
“Well, I simply couldn’t allow her to leave me. I did it right here. She was
kneeling down by the bush, just as you are now. Then I simply cut her up and
burned the pieces. Her ashes made such a wonderful fertilizer for her roses.
All except for her hand, of course. I just had to keep that. I am so proud of
the porcelain job I did with that, although I must say that I’ve done well with
all the hands in my collection over the years. It’s actually one of these roses
Clara is holding.”
Jill felt chills as she listened.
“It’s been such a long time since I’ve had any of that wonderful fertilizer. Clara
will be so happy.”
