Larkspur Dreams Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  Dedication

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-59789-387-9

  Copyright © 2007 by Anita Higman and Janice A. Thompson. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES.

  One

  What a scene! Lark sat in her Hummer. The move-in day of her rich neighbor certainly had a sitcom quality to it. She leaned in to watch him. Mr. New Guy gestured to the movers about his leather furniture, but they held to their standard modus operandi—the heave-ho method. And Lark could tell her dear, old friend, Skelly Piper, had the new guy cornered with his zucchini brownies and the highlights of his hernia operation.

  Is that truly a pair of boxers flying up in the breeze? Apparently they had blown out from an open carton and were doubling as a kite. The offending object finally landed in a tree and began flapping like a white flag. So how does a guy look manly while retrieving unmentionables from a blue spruce?

  Just as Lark was about to find out, her eyes followed a new addition to the bedlam. Oh, no. Not Picasso! Her pet duck had yet to be approved by the planning commission, and he was waddling about on her new neighbor’s walkway being loose in more than one sense of the word.

  I’d better go help Mr. New Guy out. She rolled the window down and let her Christian rock music soar free into the air. With her brightest smile, she waved to her new neighbor. Skelly Piper saluted back, but Mr. New Guy sported a croaking sort of smirk that seemed to be directed at her.

  Lark cut the engine and strode over to the two men. “Hi.” She hugged Skelly as he said his good-byes.

  “Oh, and see ya at the fall festival, kiddo.” Skelly shuffled off, bowlegged. His thick hair stuck up on his head like a clump of silver grass. But he had his usual warm smile as he glanced back at her.

  Turning to her new neighbor, Lark couldn’t help but notice God had been quite charitable with his appearance. He had a striking presence with his hazel eyes, short brown locks, and a “surely he must lift weights” kind of build. Hmm. Early to mid-thirties, same as me. Same medium height. But who wears a suit to move in? And his tie looked like it would work equally well as a tourniquet. Lark also took note that Mr. New Guy held the bow on the sack of brownies as if he were holding the tail of a dead skunk.

  Lark extended her hand to welcome him. “I’m Larkspur Wendell, your next-door neighbor.”

  “I’m Everett Holden III,” he said like a maitre d’ with an attitude. He slipped his Palm Pilot into his suit pocket and shook her hand.

  The word mannequin popped into Lark’s head, but his fingers and gaze lingered a moment longer than she expected.

  One of the movers sneezed loudly, and all at once the assessing moment dissipated. They quickly freed each other’s hand.

  Everett looked down at his ultra-polished wingtips.

  Lark wondered if he could use them for rearview mirrors. Picasso toddled over to her. “And who let you out?” She shook her finger at the duck as he dipped his head in shame.

  “You actually own that flying outhouse?” Everett asked without a speck of humor.

  “I’m sorry he left a bunch of his. . .doodling artistry all over your walkway. But you know, he doesn’t usually get out. Perhaps someone let him out.”

  Everett straightened his already immovable posture. “Well, I certainly didn’t do it.”

  A belch reverberated out of one of the movers. She tucked her giggle away, folded her arms, and nodded in the direction of the two guys lugging a couch up the steep steps to the house. “I rest my case.”

  “Okay,” Everett said. “Mutt and Jeff over there might have accidentally done it since our gates are next to each other, but generally you do keep that thing penned up, right?” His brows furrowed a bit.

  “I assure you, Picasso’s not been trained as an attack duck.” Lark could barely hold back her mirth. She took a treat out of her pants pocket and tossed it to Picasso. He rewarded her with a few happy mutterings.

  “So do you run a game preserve back there?” Everett asked.

  “No. Just one sweet, little mallard that thinks I’m his momma.” His face grasped her attention. “And what do you do, Mr. Everett Holden III?” I can’t wait to see what this amazingly uptight guy is going to say next.

  Everett smiled as if it were a new expression he was trying out. “I’m an accountant, and I’m going to work out of my home. I spend most of the day behind the computer, but it suits me. I like quiet. Well, actually, I require it.” He raised his head and made a little sniffing noise.

  Lark tried to smooth the folds of her angora sweater. She gave up and looked over at Everett’s gingerbread cottage. She couldn’t imagine him buying such a dainty, rosy-colored house. “You certainly bought a pretty place to live.”

  He glanced at his home and then nodded. “It should be an excellent investment.”

  Lark waited for him to say more, but he just stared at his house. Many homes in the neighborhood were Victorian with pocket gardens, but she also loved the charm of the whole town with its galleries, trolleys, and quaint shops. For now, though, she couldn’t help wondering if her new neighbor had also been captivated by the delight of Eureka Springs.

  Everett tapped his shoe against a rock.

  Okay, it’s time for me to leave. “I’ve kept you too long. I’m so sorry.” She turned to go. “By the way, we all have get-togethers around the holidays.”

  “Holidays?”

  Surely Everett hadn’t forgotten Thanksgiving would be arriving in just a few weeks. “You know, Thanksgiving and Christmas?” Lark said.

  Everett shifted his weight as if he were losing patience. “I realize what holidays. I’m just not used to spending them with anyone.”

  Lark could feel her mouth gape open. What could she possibly say in response to that? She looked back at Everett. “Oh, but to spend Christmas alone sounds so. . .I mean. . . wouldn’t it be lonesome?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve not spent a lot of time thinking about it.” Everett straightened the sleeve of his suit, making Picasso think he had a treat. As her duck waddled toward his shoes, Everett took a conspicuous step away.

  “I always have guests over around Thanksgiving, so I hope you’ll be one of them.”

  Everett looked up at the sky as if he were expecting bad weather. “I really hate to obligate myself right away. But thank you.”

  What a peculiar response. “You’re
welcome,” Lark said. “By the way, you’ll enjoy your new neighbors. They’re down-to-earth, generous, and practically like family.”

  “That’s nice. By the way, do you mind?” Everett pointed at Picasso’s handiwork. “You know, hosing that off my walkway?”

  Lark jolted back from her reverie. “Oh, yes. I’ll clean it up.”

  Everett nodded.

  “I’ll say bye for now,” Lark said.

  “Good-bye.”

  Lark turned to leave, but when she heard the pounding of piano keys, she glanced back. The movers lifted an old, high back piano down from the truck. “Do you play?”

  “Excuse me?” Everett asked.

  Lark motioned toward the instrument. “The piano. Do you play?”

  “No. I don’t.” His frosty countenance softened, giving him a boylike appearance. “It was my mother’s.”

  “Well, it’s a pity. With some lessons I’ll bet you could make it come to life.”

  “I don’t think I have enough aptitude.”

  “All you need is the passion. Then everything else falls into place. . .like colors on a canvas.” She wondered if the piano made him nostalgic. She could tell he had a smile aching to be released. A good sign. It meant Everett had a warm, beating heart under his cool, starched veneer, and a handsome man with heart would make good cocoa-sharing company on a cold evening.

  Lark wiggled her fingers in a wave and headed toward her backyard gate, which she could see had indeed been left ajar. Without any commands, Picasso followed Lark. She sang to him softly as he waddled next to her along the limestone path. Before shutting the latch, Lark glanced toward Everett. He’d been caught gazing at her. Why did his interest give her so much pleasure?

  Quickly Everett turned away and headed toward the delights of Mutt and Jeff.

  “Well, what do you think of our new neighbor?” she whispered to her duck. “I think he reminds me of my old university professor, Dr. Norton.” Picasso paused to look up at her and then toddled on his way with his tail feathers wagging. Lark recalled her professor had craved such a private life he eventually left his career. In fact, he’d become so withdrawn, one by one everyone left him to his lonely existence. “We’ll watch out for our new neighbor, won’t we, little fellow?” Picasso continued to have nothing to say on the subject, so she secured him in his large habitat and blew a kiss in his direction.

  A gust of crisp, autumn air turned Lark’s mind to the church’s fall festival. She wished she’d remembered to invite Everett. She could tell he needed to get out. Maybe I can ask him later.

  Lark scooted into her old tire swing and gazed up at the cornflower blue heavens. Such a nice color, God. She shoved off toward the sky.

  Just as Lark wrapped up her prayer, she realized she’d reached the highest point she’d ever gone in her swing. She felt suspended in midair like a cloud. As if the day had stopped just for her to enjoy a moment longer. Lark slowed her speed and then locked her arms to let her body drift low. She’d always loved swinging that way when she was growing up. Her parents did, too. Right alongside her.

  Lark stopped her swinging and shook her head. She pondered how one thoughtless act of an intoxicated driver could affect her life so deeply. Sending her mom and dad to heaven early. She sighed. I miss you both so much.

  Lark refused to dwell on the parts of her life she couldn’t control, so she released her sorrow as she took in a deep breath. The late October air smelled of earth and foliage and wood smoke. Mmm. Her favorite time of the year in Arkansas. And so magnificent with the autumn leaves setting the hills ablaze with gold and orange and crimson.

  She picked up an acorn from her little pile and then released it again. The nut struck the mound and then rolled off in an unexpected direction, making the whole stack of acorns scatter, as well.

  Lark thought having a brand-new neighbor was like her tiny acorn drama. She wondered how God would allow Everett Holden to change her life. Neighbors always did. At least, Lark’s neighbors always did. Or did she change their lives? She wasn’t sure in the end who influenced whom more. It appeared all of humanity bounced off each other, with each movement and word affecting the whole like a loose nut pouncing on a mound of acorns. Whether acorns or humans, the conclusion remained the same. Life was pure adventure. One never knew for sure what would happen next.

  Two

  Everett handed the movers a check and shut the door to his one-hundred-year-old house. Ahh. Quiet at last. He looked at the stone fireplace and polished wooden floors. In spite of the ornate qualities of the exterior, the home suited him well, and he liked the idea of moving to a quiet, woodsy village amidst the Ozark Mountains. Best of all was the convenience factor, since his biggest client lived in Eureka Springs.

  After making some serious money as an accountant, Everett looked forward to reaping the benefits. But he wasn’t about to lose what he’d gained, so that meant no distractions. Living in a smaller community would help. His Realtor had promised him that in spite of all the tourists, the neighborhood was so quiet, one could hear a pin drop. Perfect.

  Except for that woman next door. Larkspur Wendell certainly could be a potential distraction. And attractive enough to cause a traffic pileup. What was it with those brown eyes of hers anyway? She had a probing gaze, which made one wonder if she knew everyone’s shadowy secrets and fully intended to use them. Yes, there was mischief written all over her lovely face. If he ever planned to get any work done, passive resistance and neutrality would need to be his watchwords when it came to Lark. He almost chuckled, but instead walked over to the piano and closed the lid.

  Everett heard the doorbell and thought it might be the movers coming back to give his furniture one more bash with their crowbar, but a quick peek told him it was his neighborly distraction instead. He opened the door with his passive resistance intact. To his surprise Lark stood before him dressed in a bee costume. “May I help you?”

  Lark smiled as one of her shoulders came toward her cheek in a shy kind of shrug. Was that her perfume drifting over to him?

  Everett loosened his tie a bit.

  “Hi. I know you’re unpacking and all.”

  Good calculation.

  Lark reached up to adjust one of the antennas on her head. “But our church is having a fall festival later this evening. And I wanted to invite you.”

  “It’s hard to take you seriously. You’re dressed. . .like an insect.” He held back a chuckle.

  “Tell me, Mr. Holden. What do you really see?”

  What does she mean? “I see a lady dressed like an insect.”

  A warm smile inched its way across Lark’s face. Her hair floated around her in the breeze as she wiped the strands from her eyes. “Well, you also see a neighbor who wants you to feel welcome.”

  “Okay.” It was a struggle for him to drum up any animosity since Lark seemed so sincere.

  “I give away candy and run the win-a-goldfish game,” she said. “That’s why I have on this costume. I have to be there early to get set up, but here’s the address if you decide to come. We’ll also have a cakewalk, a white elephant sale, and plenty of hot dogs.” She offered him a folded piece of paper along with a packet of chewing gum.

  Everett accepted both items, but he wasn’t going to bother asking why she was dressed like a bee instead of a goldfish. He figured her answer would be as tangible as her gauzy wings.

  “You’re certainly—”

  “Listen.” Was that one of his headaches coming on? “I will be looking for a church in this neighborhood, but right now I’ve got to get my office set up and get back to work. Maybe some other time.” Do I really mean that? He’d been a Christian since childhood, but sometimes he had to admit his church attendance had taken a backseat to his work.

  “No problem. But don’t work too hard. If you’re not careful, Mr. Holden, you’ll miss the joie de vivre.” Lark whirled around, just missing his face with her wings. Oblivious to her near hit, she headed down the walk humming something he’
d heard in Sunday school when he was a kid, “Go Tell It on the Mountain.”

  Everett watched her go as he placed his hand on his arm where she’d touched him. What did she mean? He’d miss the joie de vivre?

  Before he closed the door, he noticed a man sporting a bomber jacket and a ponytail rumble up to Larkspur’s house on a motorcycle. He looked like something off a billboard promoting filterless cigarettes and a tattooed lifestyle. Why did some people generate noise just by existing? The thunder from his bike echoed through the canyons. Who does he remind me of anyway? Oh yeah. My brother, Marty. He hadn’t heard from him in years and suddenly wondered what had become of him.

  The revving of the engine forced him to refocus his attention on Lark. She slipped on her suede jacket and hopped onto the back of the guy’s bike as if she’d done it many times. Must be her boyfriend. He told himself that when he did have the time to date again, it would be with a woman who had her feet firmly planted on the earth’s surface.

  Everett put a stick of the gum in his mouth before he remembered he hated candy. Hmm. He hadn’t chewed licorice gum since he was a kid. Kind of an odd, sweet flavor. He stuck the packet in his shirt pocket and headed to the stacks of boxes in his office. But the second he hit the office door, he knew what he would do next. He’d look up the meaning of joie de vivre in his French-English dictionary.

  ❧

  After the festival, Lark removed her coat and bee wings. She smiled, remembering how the faces of the children lit up when they’d won a goldfish. And I still can’t believe The Salt and Light Band played all my favorite songs. She’d also been pleased to see so many new people in the crowd. And some were interested in checking out the church on Sunday morning. What a success. She sank into the couch, exhausted but content.

  Lark closed her eyes for a moment and thought of Everett. At the festival she’d glanced around looking for him, but she knew he had the perfect excuse for not attending. He was still busy unpacking. I wonder if he’ll ever become a part of the community. She certainly couldn’t imagine him wanting to spend the holidays all alone.