Larkspur Dreams Read online

  “And the Valentine’s banquet is coming up, and I’d like you to play that song you entitled ‘Rose,’ ” Skelly said. “Would you?”

  “I’m a little rusty,” Lark said. “Maybe you can sing harmony with me.”

  “You bet.” A shadow passed over his face. “You know, I think my taking this job would please Rose. I thought maybe she’d be upset with me if I sort of just wasted away down here. Maybe she’d want me to do something more useful than just throwing pots and pans.”

  Lark smiled. “I think Rose would be very proud of you. Just as I am.”

  “You gave me the courage to do this. I guess what I really came over to say this morning was. . .thank you.” Skelly wiped his eyes.

  They hugged again, and then Skelly hurried down the stone walk but this time with purpose in his step. What a difference a week can make.

  Skelly mentioned the word courage. In fact, that word had been popping up a lot lately. Lark glanced up and noticed the bracelet Calli had given her. It sat on the entry table as a reminder of her pledge. How odd to push Everett toward bravery, and yet she didn’t have the guts to follow through with her promise to Calli. She slipped the delicate pearls on her wrist. Such lustrous beads from the stress and strain of humble creatures. Something so lovely coming from so much pain. Life was just that way sometimes. For Everett and for her and for everyone.

  Well, she certainly couldn’t force Everett to fall in love with her. She could only apologize for her rambunctious spirit, love him, and pray for him. In the meantime, she would follow the path the Lord had made clear. What had Calli said? “Your art is a gift from God, and He expects you to share it.”

  Lark nodded as she headed toward the kitchen. After all, how could she encourage others to follow their dreams when she kept hers at a safe distance? She wondered how she’d allowed such a large facet of her life to become so weak and cowardly. Was it from being an only child? Too pampered growing up? Or had she known too much success too soon, and now she secretly required all life-journeys to be easy?

  Whatever the reason, the time had come. Lark pulled out the kitchen drawer that contained the small directory of galleries—a list she’d been avoiding for a long time. Today, I will follow through with my future, even if it doesn’t include Everett.

  Her last thought gave her some real heartache, but she knew she would keep her pledge no matter what happened. Lark blew out a puff of air. She reached for a backup package of licorice from the pantry and stuck two more twists in her mouth. On the other hand, she thought, maybe when Everett put up the birdhouse, it was a sign of change.

  The doorbell rang again. Everett? This time a shy-looking stranger stood on her porch. He stuttered a bit and then handed her a huge bouquet of lavender roses. She thanked him with a tip and a hug. He looked at her funny, blushed profusely, and scuttled back to his van. Lark opened the card. It read, I am a lone vase, and you are the bright flowers that fill it. Affectionately, Everett. P.S. All is well between Marty and me now, thanks to God and a little neighbor lady I know.

  Guess it’s my turn to cry. Lark kissed the card as she blinked away the tears. She looked up at the Almighty and thanked him for helping Everett. If he had ever been on the same road as her old professor, Dr. Norton, he certainly wasn’t now.

  Then Lark got an idea, but this time she knew it wouldn’t muddle anyone’s life, another step to being more responsible in all areas of her life. She finally realized what had been missing on the canvas in her studio. The young woman had been alone in her garden. She’d been content and had even donned a faint smile on her lips, but the path to the garden had also been empty. If Lark sketched in a gardener coming up the path toward the young woman with his hands full of lavender roses, people would be moved. Well, at least Lark knew she would be stirred by the scene. Yes. Two people, poles apart, coming together for a lifetime. Loving each other even when everything seemed against them.

  Lark put the roses in a vase and trotted up the stairs to her loft. Once she’d sketched in the gardener, it would complete her vision for the painting. And she prayed it would be her finest.

  Just as she reached for her pencil, the doorbell rang again. This time about ten times in a row. I’m coming. I’m coming. Couldn’t be Everett. He would never ride the doorbell like that. A deliveryman the size of a grizzly bear, spewing some pretty creative adjectives, handed her a big box with a lavender bow.

  She accepted the gift and handed the man a tip, but he continued to stand there as if he were waiting for something else. Surely he didn’t want to know what was in the box.

  Isn’t this supposed to be a private moment? Oh well. Maybe he was friendless and never got any presents. So Lark decided to rip open the box in front of him. She never could open boxes with dignity and patience. In fact, she felt like some squealing was in order when she tore back the tissue paper and gazed at the gift inside—a starched, white shirt all folded up neatly. She pulled the shirt out of the box and laughed. Everett actually remembered what I said.

  “Must be a private joke of some kind,” the man said.

  “Yeah. It is.” She pulled out the card and read it out loud. “I was never good at giving gifts to women. Until now. You inspire me! Yours, Everett.”

  The big guy nodded. “That’s real nice.”

  Did he actually sniffle?

  “Well, have a good day,” the man said, giving her the same strange look as the other delivery guy. He lumbered off the porch and back into his flow of delivering objects of importance from one life to another. Lark recognized his lonesomeness and breathed a prayer for him.

  Immediately on shutting the door, Lark put the shirt on over her sweats. Nice. Crisp and fresh. Then she reminded herself not to paint in it.

  The doorbell rang again. Boy, maybe I should just prop the door open with my shoe.

  This time the delivery guy was a teenaged girl from one of the local grocery stores. “Hi. Are you a”—she stopped to look at the clipboard—“a Larkspur Camellia Wendell?”

  “That’s me.”

  “This is for you then.” The girl handed her the box. “We don’t usually do deliveries, but I offered to come. I already know what it is. I made up the box a few minutes ago.”

  The young woman looked desperate to tell her what she knew. “Okay,” Lark said. “So what’s inside the box?”

  “S’mores. Can you believe it?” The young woman went at her gum like a cow chewing in fast motion. “I mean, guys used to call the flower shops and have flowers delivered, you know what I mean? Now they call the grocer for cheap candy, marshmallows, and graham crackers. I mean, hello? How cheapo is that?”

  “I think it’s perfect.” Lark handed the teenager a tip.

  The young woman motioned to her mouth. “Well, I sure hope you love this guy is all I have to say.” The girl’s grin showed almost all her teeth. She walked off, still chatting. “Men. It’s like they don’t get it. They’re from Pluto. Or is it Mars?”

  Okay, that was a semi-weird encounter. In spite of the cold weather, Lark left the door open this time. Just in case Everett showed up as her next surprise. She opened the box with one tearing sweep. Sure enough, inside the box were all the makings for s’mores as well as a few packages of cocoa. She read the card that came along with the gourmet s’mores. Please invite me to your church. I’ll bet you’ll get a different answer this time. He’d signed it, Love, Everett.

  Lark did a little jig. Guess she had a few things to share with Calli. But when Lark pulled the goodies out of the box, two folders fell out. She opened them. Oh my, my, my. Two airline tickets to Paris? I can’t believe it. No wonder the delivery girl was grinning from ear to ear when she walked away.

  At that thought, the man of her dreams, who also happened to be the boy next door, came striding up the walk wearing a tux. When Everett arrived at the front door, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her before she could even let out a single thank you. And among kisses, it had to be a ten. What Lark would really
call a crying-in-your-popcorn, chick-flick kind of kiss, intended to make all the females in the audience cry a river. “You are so my guy. I guess this means you forgave me for all my impetuous meddling. My silly games.”

  Everett pulled away for a moment. “Well, what happened with my brother was long overdue.”

  “But I am sorry.”

  “You are forgiven.” Everett picked her up and kissed her. “By the way, did I get it right? The romantic thing?” he asked with a bashful grin.

  “Oh, you got it very right.”

  Everett tugged on the tail of her starched shirt. “I like your shirt.”

  “Me, too.” Lark cocked her head at him. “Hey, you must have been taking a crash course in romance lessons.”

  “Not really. I think it was all there. Just didn’t want to waste it on all the wrong women.” Everett grinned.

  “But Paris?” Lark shook her head. “Tres bon!”

  “Well, since you’re learning the language and all.” He shrugged and grinned.

  Mist stung Lark’s eyes. “I’ve never been to Paris before, but I’ve always wanted to go.” She let out a big breath of air.

  “And of course, there is the Louvre in Paris,” Everett said. “I thought you might have a bit of interest there.”

  “Interest? The paintings! The sculpture!” Lark bit her lower lip. “I’ve dreamed of going there ever since I was a little girl. I suppose that’s why I’ve been learning the language. But I’m not sure why I’ve never gone.”

  Everett pulled her to him. “Because you were waiting to see it all with me.”

  “Yes. I suppose that’s it, and I just never knew it, until now. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather share Leonardo’s Mona Lisa with than you.” Lark absorbed all the love of the moment. In fact, she felt certain this very scene would wind up in a painting someday. “Thank you so much.” Lark kissed him again, just to make sure the moment was real. “By the way, you look very fine in your tux. Are you wearing it for any particular reason?”

  “I wanted to ask you out tonight. . .only I wanted to do it in style since I’m taking you to the Whitestone Bistro on Beaver Lake.”

  “Really?” Everyone in the area knew Whitestone was the restaurant for serious romance.

  Everett looked down at her lips and grinned. “Your lips are extra sweet, but they are the color of my tux.”

  Color of his tux? His tux was gray. Lark pulled back in horror. She glanced in the mirror. She’d forgotten that her lips were tinged dark gray from eating licorice sticks. Lark laughed. “And you still kissed me? So that explains why the delivery people kept looking at me funny.”

  Everett threw his head back in laughter.

  Lark liked the way he looked down into her eyes with such tender love. “I got your note about Marty.”

  Everett shared all the revelations of the night. Then Lark’s heart soared with joy when he told her of his apologies to his brother and their reconciliation. “I’m so happy for you both.” She squeezed his hand.

  “Oh,” Everett said. “And I discovered some essentials.”

  “And what are those?” Lark kissed him on the chin.

  “Well, the important stuff can’t be found in the hard drive of a computer, but right here.” He lifted her hand up to his heart. “Do you want to know what else I see?”

  Lark nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  “I see you and what you are to me,” Everett said. “My joie de vivre. . .my sweetness of life.”

  Okay, now is that romantic or what? Lark swallowed a giggle.

  Everett gently caressed her lips with another kiss.

  She wiggled her eyebrows. “Oh, this is way better than a chick-flick.”

  Lark suddenly remembered the little acorn drama in her backyard when she’d first met Everett. She knew God would somehow allow their lives to bounce off each other, touch each other, and change each other. But whether acorns or humans, she knew the conclusion would always remain the same. Life was pure adventure.

  Epilogue

  Lark was pleased to discover that Whitestone Bistro had all the romantic delights everyone had boasted of. She enjoyed many more evenings there with Everett as well as sunny afternoons hiking and heart-to-heart talks about their faith and their future as they strolled the downtown shops along with the tourists.

  Then one morning Lark took another joyride on her tire swing. When she slowed to a stop, warm hands covered hers. She turned around to see Everett standing over her. He held a small, velvet box in his fingers.

  Lark put her hand to her mouth. “Is that for me?”

  “It is,” Everett said. “Unless you think Picasso might like it more.”

  She laughed as she accepted the gift. I can’t believe this is finally happening to me. Let the earth know that on this glorious Arkansas day, Larkspur Wendell will say “yes” to Everett Holden. She slowly raised the lid. The hinges made a little crackling sound before the box snapped all the way open. Lark gasped. Sitting cozily in the black velvet rested the most eye-popping, marquee diamond ring she’d ever seen.

  Tears welled up in Lark’s eyes as she looked at the ring and then back at her Everett. “You leave me breathless.”

  He touched her cheek and wiped away the tear. “I hope that is a good thing.”

  “It is. . .a very good thing.” Lark ran her fingers over his arm as she looked into his golden-brown eyes.

  Everett knelt down on one knee in front of her. “I guess I’ve been waiting for you all my life, and here you were. Right here.” He took in a breath and smiled. “Larkspur, will you be my one and only? I’ve never known anyone like—”

  Lark hopped out of her swing and kissed Everett with fervor. She hadn’t formally said yes, but Everett seemed pleased with her response. Even Picasso waddled around in his pen with more gusto.

  Over the next few weeks, Lark and Everett planned a simple, but elegant wedding. The ceremony would take place in a chapel nestled on a hill not far from the famous Christ of the Ozarks statue. They also chose the church for the magnificent scenes in the stained glass windows, which they hoped would remind all in attendance of the greatest love gift of all.

  On the big day, Skelly proudly escorted Lark down the aisle to give her away. When Lark arrived at the altar, the pastor asked, “Who gives this woman in marriage?”

  Skelly sniffed a bit. “I do.”

  Lark squeezed Skelly’s trembling fingers as he lifted her hand toward the man she adored. She met Everett’s gaze. He looked so handsome and loving she thought her heart might burst from joy. Oh, Mom and Dad, I wish you were here.

  Later at the reception, Lark lifted her bouquet to an eager crowd of single women. She aimed the flowers at her dearest friend and maid of honor. Calli caught the flowers intended for her with one hand. Lark also pleasantly took note that several of the single ladies seemed to be clustered around Everett’s brother and best man, Marty.

  When the day’s festivities had come to a close, Lark and Everett dashed through a rain of pelting rice and into a white, stretch limo waiting for them by the chapel. The next morning they caught an early flight to Paris. First class.

  Their honeymoon in Paris was full of delights with leisurely walks down the Champs Elysées, visits to the Louvre, lunches at the local bistros, and the services provided by their hotel, including the sign Lark enjoyed hanging on the door that read, PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB.

  About the Authors

  Anita Higman hopes to give her audience a “gasp and a giggle” when they read her stories. She’s the award-winning author of eighteen books. Anita has a B.A. in speech communication and is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers. Anita enjoys hiking with her family, visiting show caves, and cooking brunch for her friends. Please drop by her book café for a cyber visit at www.anitahigman.com.

  Janice A. Thompson is a Christian author from Texas. She has four grown daughters and the whole family is active in ministry, particularly the arts. Janice is a writer by trade, but wears many oth
er hats, as well. She previously taught drama and creative writing at a Christian school of the arts. She also directed a global drama mission’s team. She currently heads up the elementary department at her church and enjoys public speaking. Janice is passionate about her faith and does all she can to share it with others, which is why she particularly loves writing inspirational novels. Through her stories, she hopes to lead others into a relationship with a loving God.

  Dedication

  To three amazing women. . .Kim Watson, Kristen Lawrence, and Sylvia Thompson.What treasures you are to this world.

  Much gratitude goes to my daughter, Hillary Higman, for her honest input and support.

  Thanks goes to Val Vogt for helping me understand the life of an artist.

  Anita Higman

  ❧

  To all of the “Larkspurs” in my life. You know who you are. Your creative spirits uplift, encourage, and bring a smile to this face when I need it most.

  Janice A. Thompson

  A note from the Authors:

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  Anita Higman and Janice A. Thompson

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