Larkspur Dreams - By Anita Higman Page 0,33
he appeared thinner. He looked like he needed a little more than tea. He needed some real food, but she knew he wouldn’t accept anything unless she ate, too. So while Skelly settled in with her newspaper at the kitchen counter, she snuck out her frying pan from below the stove and a carton of eggs from the fridge. “I haven’t eaten yet, so will you have some eggs with me?”
An anxious frown crossed Skelly’s face. “Well, as long as you’re having some.” Lark decided to whip up some of her best scrambled eggs. Once they were almost folded to perfection, she lowered the bread in the toaster.
Skelly insisted on helping, so she let him make the tea. He and Rose must have drunk a lot of the beverage because he seemed to know what he was doing. Lark set out some muffins from the local bakery and some pear slices, hoping Skelly would eat. When they’d sat down, Lark prayed out loud over their food and thanked God for the many good years of marriage Skelly had known with Rose. And she prayed the Lord would hold him close as he mourned his great loss. “Amen.” What a baby prayer, Lark thought. Why couldn’t she pray those steeple-raising prayers like Calli did? When her dear friend sent up words to heaven they seemed to move mountains and truly encourage the saints.
“Thank you,” Skelly said. “That was a mighty good prayer.”
“You’re welcome.” Well, maybe God can use baby prayers, too.
“This looks good.” Skelly took a sip of his tea. “Rose was a fine cook, too, and I liked helping her. In fact, we took some cooking classes together. But preparing food for myself just isn’t any fun. In fact, not much of anything is fun without Rose.”
Skelly paused with a wistful expression and then took a bite of the scrambled eggs. “I know your secret, Missy. You folded real whipping cream into the eggs. Rich and creamy. They’re good.” He ate some more of his eggs and toast. But when he reached for a pear his arms dropped to his side. “I can’t pretend anymore.”
Lark touched Skelly’s arm but said nothing. He felt so thin she wondered if he’d been eating at all.
“Things really aren’t going well,” he went on to say. “I’ve been having panic attacks in the night when I wake up without Rose by my side. I’ve never had anything like that in my whole life. I didn’t even know what had happened to me until the doctor told me what it was. People tell me it’s okay to grieve. But I don’t want to. I just want my Rose back.” Then Skelly was overwhelmed with heaving sobs. His hands covered his face as if he were embarrassed. One of his tears fell on her hand.
Lark knelt down beside Skelly. She really didn’t know what to do, so she begged God to help her say the right words. Just as she’d finished her silent prayer, her mind went blank. Tears came instead as she just wept with Skelly. He patted her head, and they cried until the eggs had gone cold.
After they’d both cleaned up their faces, Lark prayed silently for a way to help Skelly. Then gradually she got an idea. Just a little idea, but she felt it was an inspired thought this time.
Lark picked up her acoustic guitar from a stand she kept in the laundry room and said, “You know, I’ve been working on a love song for about five years. It never had a title, but now I know why. The song should be called Rose.”
Skelly put his fingers to his lips as if to stop a fresh flood of tears. “Will you play it for me?”
Without another word, Lark set the guitar on her leg. She felt the cool smoothness of the wood against her hand and then reached up to gently pick out her song of love. She’d never known where the tune had come from or why the lyrics had meant so much to her, but now it seemed as if all of the words and all of the notes had come together all these five years for this one moment in time. It was for Skelly. To celebrate his love. And to heal his heart. She finished her gentle picking as she sang the chorus one last time:
Sing now our love song,
That’s echoed through the years,
Words so sweet and clear.
I loved you, Rose,
And I love you still.
The name