Larkspur Dreams

by Anita Higman

  Lark rolled her eyes at her friend. “It wasn’t a skunk. It was a squirrel.”

  Calli put her hand up. “I’m just messing with you. I suppose God could have planted Everett over there for a reason. Should be interesting to find out what it is.”

  Lark wanted to discuss the lonely plight of her hermit professor, Dr. Norton, but the time didn’t seem right, so she just sent up a prayer for her new neighbor instead.

  ❧

  The next morning, Lark followed Calli out the back door to her car and then paused for a second to take in what was left of the breathtaking leaves. I think the colors must get brighter every year. And they look especially pretty with a dusting of snow. She finally pulled her gaze back to Calli. “I wish you could stay longer.”

  “Me, too. But I’ve got to show some houses to a couple this afternoon, so I’d better get going.” Calli tossed her overnight bag in the backseat of her Mercedes.

  “We had a really good time, didn’t we?” Lark wondered if she’d ever get too old for slumber parties. She doubted it. There was nothing quite like staying up late eating a fresh batch of cookie dough while watching old black and white movies. But the best part was sharing the experience with her best friend.

  “Yes, we surely did.” Calli slid into her car.

  Lark really liked her friend’s power suit: tailor-fit, navy fabric, with a killer scarf. “Love that outfit.”

  “Thanks,” Calli said. “Hey, come visit me. Okay? And I’ll make you some homemade chicken and dumplings like my granny used to make. Best eating in Arkansas.” She shut the door and started the engine.

  “I know the roads are clear, but call me when you get in,” Lark said. “Otherwise I’ll worry about you.”

  Calli patted her hand on the car door. “Ladybug, I’m not going to worry you’re worrying. Cause you’ve never been a worrier. Besides, the sun has spun gold this morning, making the leaves into jewels. And that’ll keep me awake and singing the whole way. Thank you, Jesus.” Calli turned on the heat. “You’re turning into an ice cube out there. I’d better say bye.” She waved and pulled out of the driveway.

  Lark folded her arms around her middle and bounced to keep warm.

  “Now don’t you go and marry that next-door neighbor of yours while I’m gone. Do you hear?” Calli hollered back to her.

  Lark put her fists on her hips to try to appear annoyed with her friend but gave up when she felt a big smile spread across her face. She then waved until Calli’s car was out of sight. She glanced around at the spots of leftover snow, which had become like shimmering diamonds in the sun. All was so beautiful. Yes, Everett would miss another dazzling day laboring in his grotto. When she turned around, she noticed a sign hanging on his front door handle. What is that? She shivered but just had to have one quick peek.

  She took a few steps toward Everett’s house and peered up on the small porch area. Now Lark could read the sign clearly. DO NOT DISTURB. She couldn’t believe it. Just as she tried to clamp her mouth shut from the reality of it, a van pulled up in front of his house. The name of the company was written across the van in purple and gold. GOURMET TO YOUR DOOR. COOK NO MORE. Everett was having his meals delivered? Wow. Hibernation to a new and scarier level. She wondered if he’d ever come back out for human contact. Oh well, he was a big boy. Not a squirrel. Well, maybe a little squirrelly.

  Lark could smell wood smoke again. The scent made her think of cozy family gatherings around the fireplace, but since the cold wind was starting to seep through her sweatshirt and jeans, she scuttled back up the driveway and into the warmth of her kitchen. She immediately noticed her bowl of pomegranates on the counter. “Hmm.” She grabbed a sketchbook out of her drawer.

  Skelly had given her a bouquet of bougainvillea from his little hothouse, so she slid the vase of flowers behind the bowl and sat down on the kitchen stool. The petals had faded to an antique-looking peach and gave the fruit a nice backdrop. She added a tall bottle of olive oil to the scene. Not quite right. Less was more sometimes, but the balance looked off. A scene with an odd number of items always made a more pleasing picture though. To her, asymmetry was one of those mysteries of art. Lark glanced over at the sack of medjool dates she’d bought at the grocery store. Okay, that might be interesting. She added a handful to the scene. Yes. Just right.

  Lark chewed on a date as she made some sweeping outlines of the objects with a charcoal pencil. Mmm. Medjool dates. They looked a little like roaches, but they were always so sweet and creamy.

  She noticed some bad spots on a couple of the pomegranates. Oh, well. She’d draw them as is, blemishes and all. It reflected life, didn’t it? All things lovely still missed a vital connection to glory. In fact, wasn’t art of every kind reaching for something more—hoping, dreaming of knowing that Someone who was greater than oneself? Too bad some people refused to consider the grace that could reconnect them to their Creator.

  Lark continued her drawing, adding shading here and there. She held it up. Not bad. But soon her thoughts drifted back to Everett. Maybe he was reaching for something, as well, but didn’t know it. Perhaps in his case, he simply needed to be plugged back into life.

  Lark fingered her earlobe, because somehow it made her think more clearly, and then out of the blue she got an idea. Just a little idea, but she thought it might have real potential. Just below her in a cabinet, she’d stored away a brand-new box of mothballs. She put away her sketchbook and reached for the box. She took some ribbon from a kitchen drawer and adorned the box with a silky bow and streamers. Okay, pretty in an odd sort of way.

  Not bothering with a coat, Lark slipped out the front door and tiptoed over to Everett’s house. No sign of the Gourmet to Your Door van, so all looked clear. She then crept up onto Everett’s porch. The goofy sign still dangled from his door handle. DO NOT DISTURB. She set the box on his doorstep and rang the bell.

  Perhaps the gift would come off a little startling, but she would certainly want someone to do the same for her if she’d become a workaholic recluse. Everett needed to take his life out of storage so as not to have the same tragic ending as her dear, old professor. Symbols were powerful tools, and the mothballs could be just the humorous and persuading gift to bring him to his senses. Lark hurried back to her porch, rubbed her arms to keep warm, and slid through her front door without looking back. Everett will surely thank me someday.

  She completed her task and then plopped down on her bean bag chair for the next hour to get caught up on reading her new art magazines. Just as Lark finished absorbing one of her publications, the doorbell rang. She trotted downstairs and swung the door open, hoping it wasn’t Everett ready to pelt her with mothballs. But no one stood on her porch. Weird. Just before she shut the door, she found an out-of-the-ordinary kind of object sitting on her welcome mat. A gavel? Why is there a gavel on my welcome mat? It’s from Everett. She turned it around in her hand. Lark smiled even though she had no clue as to what it meant.

  Once back in her loft, she continued to ponder its significance. She looked out her office window and stood in amazement. The blind on Everett’s window had been removed. Yes, he must have figured out the mothball gift. He’d understood its meaning, and it had changed his life. Like an epiphany. A blissful, crocodile tear rolled down Lark’s cheek. Life was so good.

  She believed the gavel was indeed from Everett. He had apparently decided to give her a little funny present in return. How sweet. But now for the riddle. What could the gavel represent? Oh, she loved a good brainteaser. Okay. Gavels are made of wood. Gavels are used in courtrooms. The full meaning hit her as if she’d been smacked in the mouth by a giant, slushy snowball. What are gavels used for in a court of law? To silence those who are out of order!

  Eight

  The computer screen glowed in front of Everett, keeping him connected to the pulse of life like an umbilical cord. The analogy felt strange and slightly worrisome to him, but some days it felt true.

  Everett stared at the floor. The expe
nsive blinds he’d purchased the day before had fallen in the weight of their own gloom and now sat in a strangled mess. He’d been glad when they’d come crashing to the floor and decided to leave them there to remind himself of what could come from decisions made in haste. He’d just have to learn to toss a wave to Lark in the morning and then focus on his work.

  Everett glanced at the box of mothballs on his desk and broke out into another smile. He touched the soft ribbon tied on the box. After he’d heard the doorbell earlier, he’d brought the present inside and proceeded to waste an hour trying to figure out what the mothballs were for.

  Then he got the meaning. The day of the Igor-gift episode, his jeans had been full of holes. And the mothballs were meant to be comedic in some way. Sounded ludicrous when he’d said it out loud, but he couldn’t think of any other answer.

  Back to the screen. Amazingly, in spite of all the interruptions from Lark, Everett had still caught up on his work. Of course, he’d worked half the night to accomplish his goals, but he’d been pleased to get a complimentary e-mail from one of his clients, praising him on a job well done.

  So, in a flash of something he didn’t fully comprehend, he allowed himself a moment of revelry to celebrate. He’d decided to place a gift on Lark’s doorstep—an old gag gift from a party. He thought she’d appreciate the meaning. By giving her a gavel, he cleverly welcomed Lark to speak. In other words, she held the reins of speech now.

  Is that the doorbell? Lark. He headed downstairs with the box of mothballs. Once at the door, he was surprised to see his principal client, Zeta, standing there on his porch. Her extra tall height loomed over his medium frame. Everett smoothed his blue tie and found his vocal cords. “Zeta? Hi. This is a surprise. A good. . .one.” He wondered if he sounded wooden or anesthetized. He’d had little sleep and no client had ever come to his home before.

  “Well, so here you are. Look at this place. I wouldn’t have picked this enormous dollhouse as being quite your style. But it’s impressive nevertheless.” The angles on her face suddenly appeared sharper, and her dark eyes took on their usual narrowing glare. “In fact, maybe we’re paying you too much.”

  Everett tried to laugh, but it came off like a choking cough.

  “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” Zeta stuck a loose strand of black hair into her felt hat.

  “Would you like to come in?” Everett knew he sounded more like Igor than a highly paid accountant.

  “Maybe. . .just for a moment.” Zeta stepped inside, almost pushing him out of the way, and then looked around. “Hmm. Not too bad. But why do all members of the male species feel compelled to buy brown leather?”

  What could he possibly say? Everett cleared his throat.

  “I brought you the file we discussed.” Zeta threw her cape over her shoulder, revealing a blood-red suit. Kind of a post-Dracula look. “You were so close by, I thought I’d drop it by on my way to lunch.”

  Zeta pulled another frown out of her hat, but he had no idea why. He wondered if he were simply out of practice at reading human emotions since he spent so much time alone. Locked away in his office, dealing mostly with e-mail, maybe he’d lost some people skills. Or perhaps Zeta just needed some lessons in manners. He cleared his throat.

  “Do you need a lozenge or something?” Zeta set the file on his entry table.

  “No. I’m fine.” Just as he was about to ask if she’d like to sit down, the doorbell rang again. He felt some head pain creeping in.

  Zeta raised an already arched eyebrow as she stared at the box of mothballs in his hand.

  Everett opened the door. Lark stood in front of him looking radiant in a light purple sweater and white jeans as she clung to a rolled up newspaper. “Hi.”

  Lark smiled at Zeta and then held out the paper to Everett. “I believe someone left this paper on my doorstep. It must be yours.” Lark licked her lips. “Have a good day.”

  Everett took the paper, but wondered why Lark wasn’t her bubbly self.

  Zeta tapped her foot. “Are you going to introduce me to your neighbor, Everett?”

  Why not? What can I possibly lose? After he’d made the formal introductions, Zeta let out a yelp.

  “Are you the Larkspur Wendell?” Zeta clasped her hand to her throat like a starstruck teen.

  Lark hid her hands behind her back and glanced down. “That’s me.”

  Everett noticed Lark’s bashfulness. A new look for her. Kind of cute.

  “I heard you lived here in Eureka Springs.” Zeta pointed her red-painted fingernail high in the air with a flourish. “Everett, why didn’t you tell me you had such an illustrious neighbor?” She leaned down to Lark. “My daughter has all of Nissa’s books, but just between you and me, your illustrations empower them. My daughter has drifted off many a night while looking at those fanciful pictures. Especially the Electric Seeds series. We have them all.”

  “I’m so glad.” Lark backed slowly to the door. “If you’d like, I could personally sign some books for your daughter. I always keep a supply at home to give away.”

  Everett met Lark’s gaze, but she didn’t smile at him. She stared at the box of mothballs with a forlorn kind of expression.

  “Autographed books for my daughter! How wonderful!” Zeta clapped her fists together. “She’ll love it. Oh, and I will, too.”

  “Well, I’ll go and get them now. I’ll be right back.” Lark turned to leave and then whirled back around. “What’s your daughter’s name?”

  “Amelia Stone. Thank you so much.”

  Lark hurried out the front door, while Zeta turned to Everett. “Well, aren’t we full of surprises?”

  Everett frowned. Even though Zeta was his most important client, he didn’t like being talked to in the third person like a toddler. He set the box of mothballs on the entry table.

  “So what’s with the mothballs?” Zeta spoke in her usual brusque tone.

  Everett swallowed his exasperation. “It’s just a funny gift somebody gave me.”

  Zeta stood silent for a second, looked confused, and then burst into laughter. He’d never heard her laugh before. Guess he’d better count that as a blessing.

  “How very clever,” Zeta said. “I love it. Mothballs. Definition. A condition of being in storage. You know, you really are too much of a hermit here in your home office.”

  The conversation felt way too personal and more than annoying. Everett glanced in the entry mirror and noticed his face had reddened to a rich, tomato hue. Zeta’s rudeness was more than he could stand sometimes, but he was determined to keep his cool. “Larkspur Wendell left the mothballs on my doorstep.”

  Zeta eyeballed him like Igor’s assessing parrot gaze, and then she detonated with another round of laughter. Directed at him. Again. This brief meeting was racing downhill fast. And worst of all, he’d gotten the meaning of the mothball gift all wrong. Maybe it had been more of a putdown than a lighthearted gift between neighbors. His leg began to twitch all on its own again.

  Lark tapped on his door and let herself in with a stack of books. She set them in Zeta’s waiting arms. “Oh, thank you, Larkspur. May I call you Lark?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ve personally autographed each one and added a little special note in the top one,” Lark said.

  Zeta’s fingers clutched the pile of books as if she were afraid someone would take them from her. “You are a peach for doing this for my daughter.”

  Everett tuned out for a moment and then suddenly noticed the gavel in Lark’s back pocket. She pulled it out and set it on the entry table with all the other assorted items.

  Guess Lark didn’t think the gift was witty after all. Then as she stared at him, her lovely, brown eyes softened. “Gavels are meant for silencing people. Aren’t they?” Her voice sounded more hurt than angry.

  Everett turned to Lark. “That’s not what I—”

  “Okay, I’m lost here,” Zeta said. “I tell you what. You can finish this peculiarly stimulating conversation tonight. E
verett, why don’t you bring Lark with you to our company party? I read that Lark is single, and you have nothing important to do tonight.”

  “Company party?” Everett asked.

  “You know,” Zeta said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Ozark Consulting?”

  He’d totally forgotten. But then maybe he’d meant to forget it.

  “You mean you hadn’t planned on coming tonight at seven?” Zeta asked.

  “I’ve been busy with the move, so I—”

  Zeta touched her fingers under her chin in a dramatic gesture. “It’s a stylish affair at the Majestic Hotel,” she said to Lark. “I can already tell you’d love it. Then I’d get a chance to visit with you some more.”

  Is she arranging my dating life? He chose not to lash out at Zeta, but he had to admit his job and its handsome salary were being worn down by her edges.

  Lark’s expression continued to soften when she glanced at him. He thought the look might be one of pity. Please, any emotion but that one. I may look like a toad next to my boss, but I still have my pride.

  Then Lark smiled at him, a warm and effervescent one. The kind he was growing very fond of. Something thawed between them like two blocks of ice left in the afternoon sun. Everett decided to set his aggravation with Zeta aside and just ask Lark to the party. “I have to admit it’s a good idea. Lark, would you accompany me to the party this evening?”

  Lark hesitated and then stared at him as if trying to read his expression. “Yes. I’d love to.”

  Zeta stomped her foot as if she were starting up some Irish dance. “Good. It’s settled. I’m off. See you lovebirds tonight.”

  Everett rubbed the back of his neck.

  “By the way, Lark, this is supposed to be our company Christmas party. Everett suggested we schedule it in early November on a Monday evening. Saves money,” Zeta said.

  Everett groaned inside as he walked Zeta to the front door. With one last salute to her, he shut the door.