Larkspur Dreams (2 page)
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.
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.
Lark thought of Dr. Norton again and pulled down one of her yearbooks from the university. She flipped the pages back and forth until she found her professor’s photo. She studied the picture. So forlorn with a hint of something else. Desperation? She touched his photo. Rumor was, he’d not only lost his wife and friends because of his reclusive lifestyle, but he’d also died a lonely death. Only three people had come to his funeral, including herself. Strange, he’d willingly chosen his solitary way of life. Lark wondered what trauma in Dr. Norton’s past had made him so self-destructive.
But there was still hope for Everett. She vowed to rally round her neighbor. Whatever it took, she’d help him out of his solitary existence.
Everett woke up feeling as animated as dirt. During the night he’d conjured up his usual array of nightmares.
Is that the doorbell?
He realized the constant
ding-dong
ing had awakened him. He rarely slept in, but he’d stayed up late clearing out boxes. By the time he’d finished, he dropped from exhaustion. No time to grumble. He’d see to the door, get rid of whoever it was, and then get busy finishing up his office.
Everett stumbled over a shoe, nearly smacking his head on a bedpost. His brain whispered the word
caffeine.
And lots of it.
No time right now,
he told himself as he yanked on a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt. He made his way to the front door, but just as he opened it, a Pets Lovers of America van sped away from the curb leaving a trail of blue smoke. There on his porch sat a large cage. A parrot, the colors of a Hawaiian shirt, sat perched on a twig. Everett leaned down to the level of the bird’s eye. “Who are you?”
The animal scooted across the branch and crooked his neck upward as if to size him up. “Who are you?” the parrot repeated.
Great. A yapping parrot.
Was it a delivery gone awry? Well, maybe the feathery varmint really belonged to Larkspur, the lady with the duck. And if not, maybe she’d at least want to take it off his hands.
The last thing on his agenda, though, was to get entangled in Lark’s day. His head began to throb. He threw on a coat, picked up the parrot, and headed next door.
Everett’s attention turned toward the street. Okay, so why was there a Fayetteville television van parked in front of Lark’s home? How could he have missed seeing the vehicle before? Everett marched to Lark’s house, bypassed the bell, and hammered on her door with his fist.
A man with a goatee and a notebook opened the door. “Lark does have a doorbell. You must be Everett from next door. I see you brought Igor.”
Who is this guy?
“I’m afraid I don’t understand any of this—”
“I’m afraid,” the parrot repeated with a noisy mocking sound.
The man with the wimpy beard laughed. “Well, both of you come on in. Lark’s in her loft. We just finished the interview up there. We wanted to be where she creates.”
“Creates what?” He set the parrot down and glanced around inside. Sunlight poured in through the large windows. Immense paintings hung on every wall. Countryside scenes were filled with people caught up in everyday life.
Everett gazed at a painting of a girl wearing a sun hat and playing with a lamb. The word
realism
came to mind from a required art class in college. Even though the picture depicted life a hundred years ago, it looked welcoming and real enough to make him want to step into the landscape. And he also caught the unmistakable influence of the Ozarks in her work.
Fascinating.
Then he remembered what Lark had said about
joie de vivre
. In French it meant the “sweetness of life.” Those words seemed to describe the painting completely. He felt himself falling into some kind of emotional black hole.
Back to reality.
The goatee guy headed up the metal, spiral staircase.
She must have done some remodeling on this old house.
Everett heard laughter upstairs, so out of curiosity, he picked up the cage and followed the man.
“You mean you didn’t even know your neighbor was Larkspur Wendell, the illustrator?”
Everett felt annoyed with his cheeky attitude. “Illustrator of what?”
The goatee guy stopped midway and turned around just to frown at him. “You know—
When Dragons Fly
,
In a Giddy Pickle
, or
the
Electric Seeds
series?” The guy looked at him as if
he
were the creature in a cage.
Everett shook his head but wanted to pelt the guy with birdseed.
I should have had my coffee.
The goatee guy shrugged his shoulders and continued up the stairs. “I tell you, she’s one of a kind. I just love Lark.”
Before either of them could say another word, they arrived at the top of the stairs. The French doors were open, and Everett could see Lark sitting on a stool at an art table. Her long, dark hair flowed around her slender shoulders. Even in overalls, she was no doubt a beauty, but even more than that, Lark had a distinct presence in the room. He could barely remember why he was so irritated.
Lark didn’t see him as the two men stepped into the room. A female reporter chatted with her while some guy packed up his camera.
Lark turned around to him. Everett noticed the radiance in her eyes, akin to the sun coming up in the morning.
She jumped up and hugged him.
Everett brought his free hand up on her back for a pat.
“I just love Lark,” the parrot repeated and then squawked.
Everyone burst into laughter except Everett.
“I’m so glad you’re here. You brought Igor. By the way, he likes to repeat things.” Lark wiggled her eyebrows. “So be careful what you say.”
Everett frowned. “Well, I didn’t. I mean—”
Lark looked at him as if they’d always been friends. “He’s your housewarming gift. I had him delivered from Springdale. I thought since you were all alone, Igor could keep you company.”