Spring in Snow Valley: A Snow Valley Anthology

by Cindy Roland Anderson

  He could picture the sadness and loneliness the two shared. Life could be so unfair. It was one of the most frustrating aspects to most people’s lives—the question of why bad things happened to good people. Why did God allow death and pain and suffering to His children? Why did someone like April have to go through the loss of her true love, and now raise their child alone at the tender age of only twenty-five?

  He stared off across the bedroom, shafts of light from the streetlamp coming through the curtains to shine across the night stand and onto his set of scriptures. He needed to start reading up on the Easter themes. But right now he felt a deep sense of empathy for April Murphy. Hopefully, she would soon make friends here in Snow Valley. Find work and some semblance of peace.

  Did April’s life include him? Of course, he did as her pastor, but right now he was having a strange sensation. Was God bringing them together for more than a relationship of a shepherd caring for one of his flock?

  The timing was disconcerting. Two weeks after Jessica turned down his marriage proposal.

  James punched a pillow, stuck it behind his neck, and checked his phone for the tenth time. Jessica hadn’t called back and the disappointment hit him in the gut. Harder than he expected. When she needed her sleep Jessica went to bed no matter what else was going on. The demanding work of dancing as well as the stress to perform up to par with the other dancers took its toll on her physically and psychologically.

  But did Jess actually sleep, James wondered now. Or did she lie awake fretting like he did? He had a sudden craving to be with her. To hold her close and give her the confidence she often seemed to question.

  Could he convince Jessica that she could have her career and a family both?

  With him?

  Perhaps he was hoping for something that was impossible.

  Maybe he was the one living in a fantasy world because there were no answers to the logistics of marrying Jessica.

  A sudden pounding on the front door startled him. “Who’s knocking on my door at this time of night?”

  James jumped up, threw a shirt over his head, and pulled on a pair of sweats, knocking over the empty two liter of Coke and the crumbs from the empty chips bag all over the floor. He’d have to clean it up later. At this rate, he wasn’t going to be very useful tomorrow, that was for sure. Especially with a caffeine headache.

  When he opened the front door Pastor John was standing on the doorstep.

  “Uncle John, what are you doing?” Then quickly, he added, “Is something wrong? Aunt Cora—”

  “Cora’s fine,” John said, spreading his hand toward the entryway.

  James opened the door wider. “Sorry, come in, come in.”

  The older man stepped through and they sat down in the dusky living room while James turned on a few lights. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, no, I was just wondering if you’d received my messages.”

  “You mean phone messages?”

  His uncle nodded and James jogged into the bedroom and retrieved his phone. Sure enough, there was a missed call from earlier that evening and a more recent text message.

  “Sorry, I’m not sure how I missed these. I was at April Murphy’s house earlier for dinner—”

  His uncle raised an eyebrow.

  “—she wanted to do something to say thank you after we helped her move.”

  “Oh, there was a group of you then for dinner?”

  “Well, no,” James admitted lamely.

  Uncle John gave a half smile. “I’m not here to lecture a grown man on his social life. Even if I will be nosy and tell you to be careful. Mrs. Murphy is fragile right now. Keep it professional. You also don’t want anyone gossiping.”

  “I understand, don’t worry,” James assured him, even as a twinge of guilt pricked his conscience when he thought about what he’d been ruminating over in his mind about April. “But what’s so important you came out at this time of night?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Sophie Morris passed away earlier. You haven’t heard about it through the grapevine?”

  “No, but the people I’ve been with today didn’t know her.”

  “Cora spent the afternoon over there and then got a telephone call from her younger sister in Oregon that their older sister isn’t doing well. The Alzheimer’s has gotten worse and she’s in the hospital now with organ failure.”

  James blinked his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Wow, that’s a lot of news to take in all at once. Any word on funeral arrangements for Sophie Morris? Boy, she’s sure loved in Snow Valley.”

  “The family wants to do it before Easter, of course, so it will be this coming Saturday at ten.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Yes, but it does interfere with my schedule. I already put Cora on a plane for Portland and even though I’m going to sit tight for a couple of days while she keeps me updated they don’t expect her sister to last more than a few more days. Which puts us out of town for Sophie’s funeral.”

  What Uncle John was saying suddenly sank in. “You want me to do the funeral.”

  “When it rains it pours, Pastor James.” Pastor John gave a deep sigh. Frown lines etched his eyes and around his mouth. With his graying hair becoming more pronounced every year, the pastor suddenly looked every bit his fifty-nine years.

  “Any weddings scheduled?” James gave a small smile, thinking about the month’s sermons he’d need to take over, the Easter Pageant, and now a funeral to conduct. But it should all be over before Jessica’s opening night in early April. He made a mental note to check into flights.

  “None on the books except for May at the moment—and hopefully no surprise weddings,” John added, trying to lighten the mood.

  James gave a small snort. “I don’t think Sam and Lydia plan on eloping.” He paused, suddenly disconcerted. “But I may need to come up with a plan to ward off the possibility . . .”

  His uncle laughed, quieting when he discerned his nephew’s sudden sobering.

  James caught John staring at him. “You sure you don’t want a drink, a cup of coffee? I’ve got cookies, too. Out of a package.”

  “Sounds good, but I’d be pacing the floor until dawn.” There was a pause and then Pastor John asked, “Anything on your mind, James? Not like you to miss calls and messages.”

  James shrugged and sank into an armchair, leaning his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Nothing I can do a thing about.”

  Uncle John perched on the edge of the sofa. “Jessica?” he asked carefully.

  James gave him a look through slitted eyes. “How’d you guess?”

  “When a man mopes around it’s usually a woman.”

  “I’m not moping. At least not exactly. Frustrated with no solution in sight.”

  “There’s always a solution. Often it just takes time to find it.”

  James leaned forward, clasping his hands together. He had to talk to someone and his uncle was unbiased and nonjudgmental.

  “I asked Jess to marry me when I was there two weeks ago.”

  Uncle John nodded. “I had a feeling you were planning something.”

  “Was it that obvious?”

  “So why aren’t you the happiest man in Snow Valley right now?”

  “You know very well why not. Jessica said no.”

  “I’m sorry, son. That hurts.”

  “The problem is that I put her in a hard spot. What’s she supposed to say? Yes, I’ll give up all my life’s dreams to marry you and live in Snow Valley and be completely miserable for the rest of my life?”

  John eyed him. “She wouldn’t be miserable if she loves you.”

  James shook his head. “But she would be. After awhile it would turn into resentment. I’m asking her to give up everything. And if I tell her, you don’t need to live in Snow Valley, stay in New Orleans and keep your career, dance for as long as you want to, or need to. Indefinitely. But what kind of marriage is that living two thousand m
iles apart? Maybe seeing each other once a month. I—I can’t do that. And you know that a pastor shouldn’t do that.”

  “Why not? It’s a modern and lenient age we live in now.”

  James frowned. “Never expected that from you, Uncle. Me and Jessica living apart—for years—would look odd to the outside world. People, especially new members, would gossip. Allude to all sorts of various scenarios about our relationship. There may even be members who would try to oust me because it was inappropriate.”

  Uncle John gave him a bemused smile. “I didn’t say I believed in the whole lenient age of modern times. I wanted to see what you would say. I want to know what you truly think.”

  James heaved a sigh, tossing the empty bag of chips into the trash bin just inside the kitchen door. “The potential for gossip is huge, isn’t it? I’d need to go visit members of the congregation and if I was seen with other single women, no matter their age, inside their homes . . .” his voice trailed off.

  “Rumors or gossip about a pastor and another woman could be a basis for dismissal—even if the rumors aren’t true.”

  “This is dangerous ground, isn’t it?”

  John solemnly nodded his head. “I’m sorry, James. This isn’t an easy decision.”

  “So I keep my career or Jessica keeps hers and neither the twain shall meet.”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s that cut and dried.”

  “Living apart would be incredibly lonely,” James went on, thinking out loud. “I want to be with Jessica. I’d want a true wife, closeness, physically and emotionally. Relationships suffer when a spouse has to travel a lot for work.”

  “All the things you say are very true,” Uncle John said.

  “And children,” James added. “We could never have children. I mean, how, when? It would be like taking a year off for Jessica, especially with an infant. Trying to raise a child would become like a divorced or separated couple shuttling kids back and forth between cities and homes.”

  “Many couples marry later and have children closer to forty.”

  “I’m sorry to say you’re not making this any easier.” James got up and paced the floor. Was he asking Jessica to give up her dancing?

  “Welcome to the bane of adulthood. Choosing your direction. Choosing life’s path. Even when life throws two good roads at you.”

  “I’m thinking it was really unfair of me to propose to her. I wasn’t thinking. What a stupid thing to do.”

  “You’re a man in love,” John said. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  “No wonder she’s acting distant. I boxed her into a corner. Pretty selfish.”

  John stood up, preparing to leave. “I think it was time you two talked through this. Even though it’s hard, these are decisions you and Jessica need to figure out and eventually make a decision about. As they say, ‘time to fish or cut bait’.

  “This is my life, not a fishing competition!”

  “I’m not trying to make light of it. But you and Jessica couldn’t continue on for another year or two pretending these important issues aren’t lurking.”

  “You’re right. As always. As painful as it is, Jess and I need to make some decisions. I don’t want to fight and argue with her. I don’t want to ruin the love I feel for her.”

  “That’s the current road you’re walking. But I know you’ll make the right decision. Weigh the issues. Pray about it. And try to think unselfishly.”

  James lifted his head. “That’s an interesting piece of advice.”

  “It often helps.” Uncle John grinned, but he looked tired, his tall shoulders stooping under the glare of the overhead light. “Go global, big picture.”

  “Right. Thanks for stopping by. Now I’m not sure I even remember why you showed up on my doorstep at midnight.” James glanced at the clock. “Creeping toward one a.m.”

  “I’m following Cora to Portland for the next week or two. Won’t know how long until I actually get there so you’re holding down the fort. Easter. Sophie Morris’ funeral. I have some sermons from over the years if you think they’ll help you. At a funeral, focus on the family’s needs and grief. You’re their minister, but also their comforter and friend. Don’t be afraid to be personal, to bridge their grief with God.”

  “Good advice, thanks.”

  “Now get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

  Chapter 8

  Two days later, James bid Uncle John goodbye and waved as the older pastor pulled out of the driveway toward the airport in Billings. He’d offered to take him, but John had refused. He was going to park his car at his married daughter’s house in Billings so he didn’t have to pay parking fees. His daughter would drop him off for his flight this afternoon. Besides, he loved seeing the grandkids.

  When it was a bit warmer and the ice crystals had thawed from the church lawns, James swapped out the letters in the church marquee. Easter was still ten days away but it couldn’t hurt to remind the general population.

  Easter Comes Once a Year. How Often Do You?

  The previous evening while driving back from Dove’s to pick up a few groceries, he’d passed the small Snow Valley Catholic parish. Their sign gave him a chuckle.

  Easter Mass next Sunday: Come Hear a Zombie Story with a Lot Less Annoying Bickering than the Walking Dead.

  “Trying to guilt your congregation?” a friendly voice said behind him.

  James turned with a jerk. The speaker was April Murphy, Daphne’s mittened hand gripped in hers.

  “Well, hello,” James said. Pleasure came over him to see a friendly face. He’d been stewing and worrying all morning about the upcoming church events. “Sometimes everyone needs a little bit of guilt. It prods us into evaluating our lives and making changes if necessary.”

  April smiled up at him, a teasing look on her face. “My, you’re in a serious mood.”

  James laughed self-deprecatingly. “Sorry about that. Life’s throwing curve balls lately.”

  “If you can play baseball you can deflect. Or run into outfield.”

  “Ha! Or get hit in the head.”

  “Only if you’re out there daydreaming. But I don’t think you’re out on the field of life chasing butterflies, Pastor James. You’ll figure it out.”

  “That’s what my uncle told me the other night after binge eating the contents of my refrigerator.”

  “You mean Pastor John?”

  “The one and only.” James got down on one knee and held out his hand. “Hi Daphne, how are you today?” He shook her hand with the pink mitten, noticing that the little girl had the deepest brown eyes he’d ever seen. Inherited from her father. The father she’d never play hide n’ seek with, or enjoy snuggling in bed with a book or a story in the dark. The father she’d never remember except for the stories her family told her.

  “Good,” Daphne said in a small, shy voice.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Home from school.”

  “It’s that time already?” James squinted up at the sun overhead. “There must be a time warp between my front door and the church lawn.”

  “I assure you that aliens didn’t just steal three hours of your day,” April said, her green eyes shining at him. “It’s only noon. Preschool is just a half day.”

  “Ah, right.”

  “I’d suggest you walk down to Big C’s and get lunch with us, but since we just did dinner so recently, I won’t try to compromise your pastoral reputation.”

  James blushed, wondering how she knew about the conversation with Uncle John the other night. Intuition, he guessed. Or he saw the thought flash across his face just now.

  “You’re not compromising my reputation, Mrs. Murphy,” he said, trying to sound casual, but it came out much more stiff and uptight than he’d wanted it to. He didn’t want April to think he was embarrassed to be seen her. Or that there was something wrong with grabbing a burger with one of the members of his congregation.

  He gave a slight shake of his head. He was probab
ly way over-thinking this.

  “Is something wrong, James?” April asked, searching his face. “Or should I call you Pastor James?”

  “Usually it’s the kids who call me Pastor James, but you can call me anything you’re comfortable with.”

  This situation had never come up before. He’d never actually asked Uncle John about it. Most people just used the title of Pastor and added their first name. They were in small-town Montana, not Chicago or Boston.

  Where did the line of minister and friend cross? Why hadn’t he ever worried about this when he met Jessica? His banter with Jess had been casual and easy and natural.

  He was more confused than ever. Too bad Uncle John was gone so he couldn’t talk to him some more about this issue.

  “I’m actually on my way to visit the Morris family in preparation for Sophie Morris’s funeral on Saturday. Can I take a rain check on lunch?”

  “Sure,” April said. Her eyes watched him, ascertaining probably more than he was willing to give up, but she was sharp. “I’m sorry about Mrs. Morris. I didn’t know her, of course, but my cousin was telling me stories. She was an icon here, everyone’s favorite.”

  “She was certainly that,” James said, bending over to add, “And you, Miss Daphne, enjoy your lunch with your mother.”

  The little girl’s head bobbed up and down, her nose red from the chill in the air. She was awfully cute. He wanted to scoop her up and protect her. James’ heart twisted. How could he put off having children with Jessica for the next ten years or more?

  His remembered something Uncle John had said when he first graduated from the seminary. “The compassion and charity of Christ will fill your heart—breaking your heart and mending your heart over and over again.”

  It was happening more often as he got to know the congregation here.

  “Pastor James, you seem very preoccupied,” April said now, her voice gentle and understanding. “Good luck with everything, I’ll see you later.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Murphy—I mean April.”

  “Thanks for calling me April. I’m younger than you and the Missus title really feels weird.”