Larkspur Dreams

Seven


After a shower and a few more hours of catching-up with Calli, Lark’s stomach began to growl.

“I heard that,” Calli said. “Now did you mention some homemade cinnamon scones, or was I dreaming?”

Lark tugged on her friend’s arm. “Come on. You weren’t dreaming.”

“I’m wearing elastic jeans so I can eat more than one.”

They both laughed.

Just before they headed down the stairs again, Calli glanced over at a canvas sitting on an easel. “Now what is this one going to be?”

Lark paused before going downstairs. “I’m not totally sure. I’ve sketched in some of it. A garden with a woman sitting on a bench. But something is missing. The balance is off. It needs something. . .or someone.”

Calli tapped her cheek. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” As she gazed out the window, her eyebrows creased, making angles on her perfect oval face. “Will you just look at that?”

Lark followed Calli’s gaze into her neighbor’s office. Oh my. She flipped off her lights and watched the play-by-play as a crimson-faced Everett trudged up a stepladder to fasten some monstrous, wooden blinds to his bare office window. He struggled with the blinds as if he were wrestling with an alligator. Without warning, Everett fell off the ladder.

Calli gasped.

“Should we call an ambulance?” Lark asked.

“Wait a sec,” Calli said. “Maybe he’s okay.”

Everett stumbled to his feet again, amazingly unhurt.

Lark and Calli sighed with relief and then sputtered some pent-up giggles.

This time Everett made it up the ladder with the blinds, a rock hammer, and some nails the size of railroad spikes.

Lark noticed he didn’t look all that chipper. She shoved her long hair behind her shoulders and cocked her head. “Go ahead, girlfriend. I know you’re itching to say something about my neighbor.”

“Owwee,” Calli said. “I love all God’s creatures, but who in the world installs wooden blinds in a three-piece suit and a button-down shirt?”

“Everett is kind of stiff,” Lark said.

Calli folded her arms. “Honey, if he were any stiffer, I think we’d have to bury him.”

Lark leaned against the window frame. “But I feel sorry for him.”

“Uh-oh. I can see what’s coming. Sure, you’ve got to love them in the Lord, but repeat after me, ‘Everett Holden is a handsome man, but he is not a wounded animal.’ He’s not that skunk you nursed back to health when you were twelve.”

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!