The Clock Flower

by Barbara Casey

  A few minutes before eight o’clock, Dr. Hershell arrived, accompanied by an attractive Asian woman who looked to be in her forties with dark black hair pulled back from her face and fastened in the back of her neck, and dark brown eyes. With them were two men dressed in suits—probably her security detail. The pale jade jewelry she wore accented the delicate turquoise tones of her tailored suit and silk blouse. Mackenzie noticed particularly the bright yellow porcelain flower pinned on her jacket. It looked like a chrysanthemum, but on closer inspection, she saw that it was a dandelion. The attention to detail was unusual and it was beautiful. Mackenzie was glad she had worn her dress.

  “Ah, Ms. Yarborough. You are on time, I see.” Then turning to his companion, “Senator Xing-Ling Yi, this is Ms. Mackenzie Yarborough.”

  The moment he introduced them, Mackenzie felt a strange light-headedness. There was a fragrance—hardly perceptible—of lotus, and a long-ago memory, barely a memory at all, of being held—comforted. Senator Yi watched her intently and then gently took her hand. “I am so very pleased to meet you, Mackenzie. I have been looking forward to this day.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Senator Yi,” answered Mackenzie, slightly stumbling on the word “pleased.”

  “You must call me Ling,” she said. The Senator continued to look at Mackenzie, holding her hand. Then, “You said you have a private room where we can chat, Walter?”

  MIT President Hershell escorted Senator Yi and Mackenzie to a private antechamber just adjacent to his office. Coffee, juice, and pastries had been arranged on a small table under a window which was flooded with the early morning light. There was also a small conference table with four brown leather chairs, and two other occasional chairs upholstered in green and burgundy plaid off to one side. As though hoping to be invited to stay, Dr. Hershell lingered, trying to appear useful by slightly shifting a chair here—wiping a speck of dust there, until finally Senator Yi thanked him, walked him to the door, and closed it behind him, her two security guards remaining just outside.

  “These look comfortable,” Senator Yi smiled then motioned for Mackenzie to sit in one of the upholstered chairs as she sat in the other one. “Mackenzie… that is a pretty name.”

  “My friend Dara told me it is Scottish and that it means ‘born from a wise leader.’” Mackenzie normally would have felt uncomfortable and awkward discussing her name… or anything else that was personal, but Senator Yi’s smile took away the feeling of self-consciousness. And there was something about the way the Senator looked at her. “Dara also told me it has an urban meaning, and that is ‘beautiful princess.’”

  “Your friend Dara must be very intelligent.”

  “Oh, she is. And so is Jennifer, my other best friend. And Carolina.”

  “Tell me about your friends,” the Senator asked, and Mackenzie told her about moving from the orphanage in New York to Wood Rose, and how she, Dara, and Jennifer had become known as the three FIGs. And she told her about Carolina being hired to teach and mentor them just before their senior year, and how they were like a family. Senator Yi laughed when Mackenzie told her of some of their creative expressions, and then said she would like to meet Carolina and the other two FIGs some time. Mackenzie was drawn to this soft-spoken woman of elegance and refinement. There was something about her that Mackenzie couldn’t quite define, but it was there—like a comfortable familiarity of having known her somewhere, sometime before. It felt like the number 3.

  At one point during the conversation, Senator Yi poured each of them a glass of juice—Hawaiian papaya in honor of her visit—that had been provided for them. Then she began talking about the Clock Flower Project. Just as Mackenzie had suspected, it had to do with research involving the longevity gene.

  Senator Yi moved her chair closer to Mackenzie. “As I am sure you are aware, there are many legends and folktales concerning the dandelion. Many involve making wishes and learning if your loved one is true to you. But the ancients used it for other reasons, all of which related somehow to the passing of time. Some referred to it as a clock flower; that is, the number of breaths it takes to blow off all the seeds of a dandelion globe is the hour number. Others called it the rustic oracle because shepherds used it for telling time; its flower always opens about five a.m. and closes at eight p.m. The ancients also believed that the dandelion mirrored life… from birth to middle age to death as evidenced by the young dandelion sprout, the full yellow flower, and finally the white globe of seeds. As simple as that sounds, it was this belief that triggered the Clock Flower Project a few years ago. What has been discovered so far is truly amazing.”

  “I remember reading about the research being done involving the dandelion,” Mackenzie said. “Biologists found that the protein SIRT3 plays an important role in helping aged blood stem cells cope with stress. When they infused the blood stem cells of old mice with SIRT3, the treatment boosted the formation of new blood cells, evidence of a reversal in the age-related decline in the old stem cells’ function.”

  “That is right.” The Senator smiled, obviously pleased that Mackenzie was familiar with the research. “In the Shandong Province of China where my ancestors are from, the dandelion has been used for over 1100 years in treating breast cancer and other breast ailments, and is even used to treat hepatitis as well as various respiratory infections. It is only recently, however, that the research has started to focus on actually extending life.”

  This was all fascinating to Mackenzie. In fact, she had written a report on the subject for one of Carolina’s assignments. And wasn’t the Shandong Province where Dara said she would be doing her research? Senator Yi was smiling at her, and once again she felt connected to this woman in a way she couldn’t explain.

  “Mackenzie, I have been following you and your education with great interest for many years, and the reason I requested to meet with you is to find out if you would be interested in participating in this research involving the benefits of dandelions in extending healthy life. It is strictly confidential at this stage, but if you agree, funding will be provided to MIT to give you your own laboratory in which you can work. It will be small—only space for no more than two or three extra people—but you will have everything you need.” She watched for a reaction, but wasn’t sure if she was reading Mackenzie correctly. “Of course, your curriculum here at MIT will be relaxed in order to give you the time and flexibility you will need, but the research you do will be credited toward your advanced degree. You will also be brought to Washington, DC, possibly over winter break, in order to accompany me to China to meet with other researchers in this same field.”

  Mackenzie was at a total loss for words. Never in her wildest dreams, even when she said good-bye to her numbers as a young child all those late nights so long ago, did she ever imagine she would be considered for such important work. All she could do was look at Senator Yi with tears in her eyes.

  “Please don’t feel pressured to accept,” Senator Yi was worried now. “I thought… I hoped… this would be something…”

  But before she could finish, Mackenzie reached her arms around the Senator and hugged her. It was natural and instinctive, and the only way Mackenzie could thank the Senator at that moment. The idea of struggling through four years of boring classes, not to mention having to take that swimming class, had been causing Mackenzie extreme nervousness and anxiety. But this…

  “We will discuss it in more depth later, but now I must go and address the students,” Senator Yi said smiling and dabbing her eyes with a hankie beautifully embroidered with a tiny dragon on one corner. “I will see you at lunch?”

  Mackenzie nodded, still too emotional to speak out loud.

  On her way out, Senator Yi whispered something to one of her security guards who immediately went to Dr. Hershell’s office to give him the Senator’s message. When Mackenzie arrived for lunch in the beautiful private dining room that had been set up for the faculty, the board of trustees, and President Hershell in honor of their distingu
ished guest, she was immediately escorted to the seat next to the guest of honor, as the Senator had requested. Pinned on her blue dress was the beautiful yellow porcelain dandelion that Senator Yi had given her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She was returning. He didn’t know the exact date—she hadn’t told him; only that she would see him some time before the end of the year and that she wanted the zhuang yuan—the family estate—prepared. She would also be bringing someone—a guest, he assumed. As the Senator’s chief aide with the heavy responsibility of overseeing all of her matters, personal and otherwise, in China, her instructions were both lengthy and detailed. He could tell Sui De Long, Old Dragon, was not happy, but the Senator had instructed him to let her know as well. “She didn’t explain why she was coming or who is coming with her?” Old Dragon asked, then angrily slammed down the phone.

  Dong Jianjun Zhiqiang, who was called simply Jian, immediately left his office after his phone conversation with Old Dragon and drove out of Jinan, the capital of Shandong Province. It took him just over two hours to reach Puli, the little village on the peninsula that bordered the Yellow Sea to the east and the Confucian woods, temple, and home to the west. A short time later, just beyond the village overlooking the Yellow Sea, he drove up the steep incline of the narrow tree-lined drive to his destination. Hidden by the trees and wild vegetation, the magnificent estate had been boarded up since she left; only the grounds continued to be maintained. Still, there would be much to do. For the next several hours, until darkness fell, he walked around the home making a list of what needed to be done. It was in remarkably good condition, considering the length of time it had been empty.

  He would spend the night in Puli, and early the next morning he would start contracting workers. The zhuang yuan would be ready when she returned, whatever her reason. Perhaps he needn’t worry. The research laboratory was making good progress; maybe she only wished to see first-hand. But why would she want to stay at the estate? After all these many years? Something had changed—of that he was certain.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The tribe of Black Gypsies had made good time. So often in their travels, there were delays—a broken wagon wheel, a lame horse, a sudden storm, illness. But this time the zee had watched over them and protected them on their journey south. Once they arrived at their destination that was located on the heel of the boot which described Italy, they were able to quickly set up camp.

  The small southern town of Specchia, located on the Salento peninsula of Puglia, was perched on a hilltop surrounded by countryside overlooking the Mediterranean. The seaside town dated back to the 9th century with its narrow streets, quiet alleyways, and humble courtyards. Although not as populated as Frascati, the people who lived there valued the old ways and had an appreciation for what the gypsies offered. It was good to be re-settled again and back in the comfortable familiar. Optimism ran high within the camp as the women prepared their wares to sell, and the men took care of the animals.

  Lyuba, however, didn’t share in the overall feeling of contentment within the tribe, for she had other concerns on her mind. She quickly arranged her glass jars filled with herbs and oils on the shelf where they would be gently warmed by the early morning light; and outside her hut, where they would receive the direct rays of the sun, she spread out the leaves of the dandelions that she had picked before leaving the Old Villa onto the fresh straw. Once they dried, she would infuse them in a special mixture of lavender, basil, and olive oil. She didn’t have any time to waste.

  She now understood part of the magpie’s warning. The Tarot had been more generous and although it didn’t reveal everything, at least it was what she needed to know. The night before when she had laid down the cards, she had been surprised when the Six of Cups, referring explicitly to the past and of memories experienced there, was the first to appear. It was quickly clouded, however, by the Magician, the conduit and manipulator for a higher power which commands the material world. The High Priestess precariously offering balance to the Magician, Three of Swords suggesting rejection, sadness, loneliness, heartbreak, betrayal, separation and grief, and finally the Empress caught in the struggle for good over evil—all appeared. Her reading extended late into the night, and at the approach of dawn, she reached a deeper understanding of the challenges and dangers facing Carolina and the FIGs. And she was fearful.

  Rather than accompany the other women into the village to spend the day offering their wares, Lyuba hurried down the dirt goat path toward the sea, for it was there, near the massive rock, where she knew she would find the small cowrie shells. Called bèi in Chinese, they had been used as money since before 2000 BC. She would prepare them in a brine mixture together with the egg shells Mother Granchelli had given her before she left. Then, in the darkness of night before the waning blood moon appeared, she would offer a gift—a single dandelion—to the giant rock by the sea, the rock where she had buried another gift, another time. For she believed as good gypsies did that everything had a spirit, even the stones on the ground; and everything could bring good luck or bad. That was all she could do until the Tarot revealed more.

  As she approached the rock on the edge of the sea, she reached into her pocket and felt for the paper Lucia had given to her before she left the Granchelli farm. On it she had written the name of a distant cousin, or was it an aunt?—Alessandra—who ran a small bakery in the small seacoast town of Specchia. She had also written down the telephone numbers of anyone who might be able to help Lyuba contact Carolina if she needed to—Larry, Mrs. Ball at Wood Rose, Mrs. Killebrew in New York City, her own number and the number there at the Granchelli farm, and, of course, Carolina’s number. “Go to Rosarrio’s Bakery,” she instructed Lyuba. “Alessandra will help you. I will call her and tell her you are coming. She will help you,” Lucia repeated, hugging her friend.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “But why didn’t you tell me?”

  Larry had been trying to explain to Carolina his reason for not letting her know that Mackenzie had asked him to help her find her parents. “Carolina, she wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet. Not even Dara and Jennifer.”

  “But she told you!”

  “Only because I was able to help out a little when Dara decided she wanted to find her mother. Mackenzie thought since that worked out—sort of—that maybe I could get some information about her parents.” He had driven over from Chapel Hill that morning on the pretext of taking Carolina out for brunch. In fact, he needed to tell Carolina what he had been able to find out about Mackenzie’s birth parents because he really didn’t know what to do with the information.

  Carolina refilled their cups with coffee then sat back down. She was hurt that Mackenzie hadn’t confided in her, but she also understood. After all, she had kept her little wooden box—her special treasure that she had inherited on her eighteenth birthday—hidden from everyone for years before she finally was able to talk about it. And even then, she only told Larry and the FIGs. Suppose Larry hadn’t been able to find out anything, then by not letting anyone else know what she was doing, Mackenzie wouldn’t have to acknowledge the disappointment to anyone but herself. It was Mackenzie’s way of trying to protect herself, just like playing with the numbers.

  She took a deep shaky breath. “All right. I think I understand.” Then looking at Larry, “So what did you find out?”

  This was going to be a lot harder than Larry thought it was going to be. “Aren’t you hungry? We could go to Wolfie’s and eat first. You can get your favorite—eggs benedict.”

  Carolina knew that he was stalling. “No, not until you tell me what you found out.”

  Larry sighed and cracked his knuckles, a sure sign he was anxious. “I don’t know everything yet, but from what I do know, Mackenzie’s father was from Scotland—some sort of businessman who raised sheep and exported wool to China. He became involved with a young Asian woman while on a business trip to China. The young woman became pregnant with his child—Mackenzie. The mother-t
o-be was ostracized and sent to the United States where a few months later she gave birth to a daughter, Mackenzie. The baby was immediately taken to the orphanage in upstate New York.”

  “She must have loved the father of her baby very much to have given her a Scottish name, don’t you think?”

  “I am sure she did,” agreed Larry knowing that Carolina needed something positive to hang on to. “And obviously Mackenzie must take after her father, because she doesn’t look Asian. Or perhaps by giving her a Scottish name, the young mother was trying to hide the Chinese connection. In those days, having a baby out of wedlock was such a source of guilt and shame. Even today, unmarried mothers who give birth are fined in many places across China.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound too bad, does it? I mean, I think it is something Mackenzie would understand. These are things she has probably already thought about—although I doubt if she has ever thought of herself as being Chinese.” She sipped her coffee, thinking about what Larry had just told her. “Where do you think the name “Yarborough” comes from?”

  “That’s a good question. It is Anglo-Saxon, and more than likely it was just a name put on her birth certificate, again to deflect the true information about her parents.”

  “Someone certainly was determined to keep anyone from finding out about Mackenzie’s connection to China—at least that is how it looks.”

  “And this is where it gets tricky. The Adirondacks Orphanage in upstate New York, which is where Mackenzie was taken as an infant, received its payments for Mackenzie from a big law firm that has several offices across the United States including one in Washington, DC. The payments, which came from a substantial amount held in a blind trust, were deposited automatically each month into a special bank account for the orphanage. When Mackenzie was moved to Wood Rose, the money continued to be deposited automatically each month into a special bank account and made payable Wood Rose. As far as I have been able to find out, the law firm didn’t have any other connection to Mackenzie other than to make sure the funds were sent to that account and made payable to the orphanage.”