Spring in Snow Valley

by Cindy Roland Anderson

  Silence followed her declaration. James shook his head, trying to grasp what she had just told him. “You mean you’re going to have another baby? Like Daphne?”

  She laughed. “Exactly. Except it might be a boy.”

  “When are you due?” James wasn’t sure what to ask, but that seemed like the next logical question.

  “Oh, don’t worry; it’s my deceased husband’s child.”

  “Actually, I wasn’t fishing for that at all.”

  She pressed her lips together, looking forlorn. “Thank you. Whenever the news comes out I get this look. As if I was cheating on my husband while he was overseas. He only left after the New Year. His second tour in Afghanistan, and he wasn’t there a week before the IED hit his convoy.”

  “April, I’d never jump to that conclusion. Just wondering how much time you have ahead of you.”

  “I’m about three months along. Due mid-to-late September. Hopefully I’m almost past the morning sickness.” April sagged against the armchair and James leaned forward.

  “You have a lot on your plate. And you’ve already gone through a lot of changes in your life in less than three months.”

  “It was stupid to move, I guess. Should have stayed with my parents I guess, but after living on my own I felt like a teenager again who had to obey curfew. I made the decision before I knew for sure about the baby. I just thought my upset stomach was due to grief, nerves, fear.”

  “Very understandable.”

  April reached out to clutch his arm. Her touch was warm and firm, not clingy. “How will I ever get a job or go to school, or support my family with a newborn? Death benefits only go so far.”

  “Pastor John and I will help you figure all that out. There are many people who care about you. You’ll get help with child care and other needs, I promise you. Snow Valley is a close and caring community.”

  James’s answer was so pat, so trite, and so unhelpful. It didn’t address the emotional distress at all. For April to carry and deliver a second child without her husband would be difficult indeed. Compassion filled him along with a strange sensation; the need to protect and help this vulnerable young woman.

  An instant family, he thought. Was this an answer from God? A way to heal after the break-up with Jessica?

  Except they hadn’t really broken up.

  He suddenly wished with a real fervency that Uncle John were here. He was desperately in need of spiritual counseling.

  “You have a funeral to get ready for,” April said, rising from the sofa. “I’m sorry to dump all this on you right now. Please forget about my problems and focus on giving the Morris family a beautiful funeral service.”

  “Honestly, don’t ever worry about asking for help. That’s why I’m here.”

  “I’ll see you later then?” April asked as he walked her down the hallway.

  “Of course.”

  After she departed, James sagged against the door, his mind scrambling over what he needed to do before leaving for the church in—twenty minutes!

  He grabbed his electric razor and shaved while he searched for his sermon notes. He’d forgotten to print them up. While they printed he shuffled through his desk, grabbing the black binder he usually used to store his sermons and notes, his briefcase, and his Bible.

  Pushing papers aside, he came across a list of church marquee signs that Uncle John had created a few months ago. One caught his eye and stopped him in his tracks.

  Feed your Faith and Your Doubts will Starve to Death

  That’s exactly what he needed to do. He could find the right path. He had to. He had to trust that the right path would open up, starting today.

  Chapter 11

  The choir finished singing How Great Thou Art, Aunt Sophie’s favorite hymn, and the rustling in the chapel quieted. I bowed my head for prayer, acutely aware of Alonso sitting next to me. Sitting close. Thigh to thigh.

  He’d tried to take my hand earlier and I’d yanked it away.

  After the Amen, James rose and shuffled to the podium, gave a slight cough and then stared at the stained glass window as though his mind was preoccupied. I could only imagine what he was thinking.

  My eyes flicked over to my parents sitting together. My mother’s eyes were slightly damp and she crumpled a ball of tissues in her fist.

  My lips parted when James’ eyes lingered on my face. Only I could recognize the pained expression when he spotted Alonso sitting next to me. Inwardly, I cringed. I wasn’t trying to hurt him or make it appear that I’d brought a new boyfriend home with me.

  I wanted to scream, “Alonso followed me to Snow Valley! He’s a pest. There is nothing between us!”

  But of course, I had to sit there and stifle my emotions. Sit on my hands. Stop my knee from bouncing. Glue my toes to the carpet. Not go running across the chapel and fling myself into Pastor James’ arms.

  I missed him more than I’d realized.

  How painful it was going to be to say goodbye once and for all.

  I couldn’t give him what he wanted and I knew I had to let him go. If we were truly meant to be together perhaps we’d find each other again in a few years when the timing was better.

  But I had to let James go out of my life—at the risk of never seeing him again.

  He didn’t look at me again and I found myself biting back tears. If anyone saw me they’d think I was crying over Aunt Sophie. And I was, but I was also crying for me. I’d probably never have the kind of life Sophie Morris had. A large family, loud, busy, boisterous, and in love with each other. The kind of family that filled a person’s heart with unconditional love, happiness—and fun.

  God had given me a different life, a different talent, and I had to figure out what I was supposed to do with it.

  But a sign from heaven would be really helpful about now.

  I was disappointed to learn that Pastor John was out of town with his wife on his own family crises. It would have been good to meet with him and get his perspective. He always had a lot of insight and wisdom to shine on a person’s problems.

  James glanced at me when Alonso crept his arm around my shoulder in the pretense of comforting me and quickly averted his face to the far side of the pews.

  We listened to the young girl, Hailey, sing Amazing Grace and then after the final prayer the congregation of family and friends moved slowly past the coffin to pay their final respects.

  After that, the casket was carried out by the pallbearers to the hearse waiting in the church parking lot. Aunt Sophie would be buried here in the church graveyard. Right next to my Matthew. The very spot I’d met James Douglas for the first time. His feet had crunched across the crisp snow while I shivered on my knees crying over my lost best friend.

  James and I had come a long ways over the past year plus. Fallen in love over Christmas, had a long distance relationship, talked on the phone for hours, and now it was over.

  I guess it shouldn’t have taken me so long to realize the end from the beginning.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Dad said, giving me a hug in the foyer amidst the crowd of people.

  “I love that,” Alonso said. “My abuela used to say it when I was a boy. So quaint.”

  My mother and father and I just looked at him.

  “So what nationality is your family, Alonso?” my mother asked, getting right to the point as she liked to do.

  “Oh, well, my father is Italian and my mother is some sort of Spanish so I steal from several cultures. It gives one’s life a certain flair, don’t you think?”

  “Well, bless your heart,” Mom told him, fluttering her eyes at him. She’d actually been raised by a southern woman from Alabama. Sometimes it came out in steely methods.

  “Alright, Mom,” I whispered. “Tuck your claws back in.”

  “Oh, he’s such a nice boy.”

  “I think he’s almost thirty.”

  “That’s my point, sweetie.”

  “Touché.”

  We kept on the perimeters of
the group while the casket was lowered into the ground and the grave was dedicated with a prayer and a few comments by family members.

  After that the family went back inside the church for a luncheon provided by the women of the church.

  “I took my cake into the church kitchen from the back seat of my car, didn’t I?” Mom said now to my father.

  “You did, Marilee,” he assured her.

  “What time is the lawyer appointment?” I asked.

  “Not until three. Shall we have lunch somewhere?” Mom suggested.

  Dad rubbed his hands together. “Let’s take Alonso to Snow Valley’s finest, Big C’s.”

  “Snow Valley’s finest?” Mom said. “Honestly, Dr. Mason, you’re such a big spender.”

  “Dad’s teasing,” I informed Alonso as we headed to the car. “It’s the local burger joint. Nothing fancy at all.”

  “I’m not insulted,” my ballet partner said. “I’d love to see more of the town. Bask in this new world.”

  “Don’t patronize, Alonso,” I said under my breath.

  I glanced back at the church, hoping for a glimpse of James, but he was busy talking to several ladies, and others were waiting for his attention, although he was trying to herd them all back inside from the graveyard.

  His eyes lifted to mine and we stared at each other for a moment. Not a word. Not a smile. As though we were already saying goodbye.

  I wanted to go home and cry into my pillow. Except my old bedroom was now a guest room.

  “Your church even has a white picket fence,” Alonso said, staring at the marquee sign.

  There was an admonition about coming to church on Easter Sunday but it had been moved to the bottom space and a new one had been added to the top, which was unusual.

  Feed your Faith and Your Doubts will Starve to Death

  I felt a prick in my heart. James always did the signs. Was it a message for him—or for me?

  We got a table at Big C’s and Alonso was in small town heaven, pointing out the old jukebox, the greasy walls, the checkered tablecloths, and the Christmas tree with its drooping ornaments still sitting in the corner from two months earlier.

  Sometimes it took a while to get the tree taken down and the decorations put away, but nobody really minded. Just like the Hansen’s who left their Christmas lights up all year. Alonso would probably guffaw at that.

  The warmth of the cozy diner and the smell of onion rings was a warm blanket wrapped around my heart. I let out a sigh and smiled at my parents. Despite how crazy they often made me, I suddenly missed them terribly. The jokes, the teasing. Late night movies with popcorn and blankets with a roaring fire in winter. Arguments over chores. And fights over who got the last slice of cake.

  My family with all its quirks and quibbles.

  “Where’s Sam?” I asked after our food arrived. My younger brother had given me a big hug when we first arrived at the church but then disappeared between the funeral and the graveside service.

  “He took off with Lydia and some friends in Dad’s pickup.”

  “I bet this town is great when it snows,” Alonso said, grease dripping down his chin. Quickly he dabbed a napkin and stared out the window. “Just like the movie It’s a Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart.”

  “Yeah, it was filmed here, actually,” my father said with a completely straight face.

  “Really? How cool,” Alonso gushed. “Were you guy’s extras or anything?”

  “Alonso,” my mother said, laying a hand on his arm and giving him her best sympathetic look. “That movie came out in 1942. Jimmy Stewart is dead.”

  “Oh, man, really? That’s too bad.”

  “Eat your burger,” I said, stealing one of his onion rings.

  “Hey.” He bumped at my shoulder like we were all cozy. “We’re sharing onion rings. We’ve never done that before.”

  “Don’t get any ideas. It’s just a basket of onion rings.”

  “Hey, look at that guy with the spurs on his cowboy boots. Now that I’ve never seen before in Real Life.”

  “’Real Life’ takes many forms,” I told him, giving a quick wave to Nick Walton. Dad rolled his eyes and then Mom poked him.

  “But it’s like out of a John Wayne movie.”

  “Alonso, you’re getting annoying. I’ve known Nick Walton my whole life. He’s one of the best ranchers in the state and his family probably has more money in the bank than you do.”

  “Whoa,” Alonso said, impressed.

  “Citizens of Snow Valley may be uncultured and have a Montana twang, but we aren’t stupid or uneducated.”

  He held up his hands. “No offense meant. Hey, let’s take a romantic drive into the hills after lunch?”

  Dad’s eyebrows shot up. “Not with my daughter you’re not.”

  “Dad,” I chided. “Alonso just wants to feel like a cowboy for an hour, not go parking.”

  “Is that where the teenagers go to make out?” my ballet partner asked.

  “Not so fast, buddy. And don’t overdo the accent. You are trying way too hard. I’ll drive you around town before dinner. Right now, go wander Main Street, buy a cupcake at the bakery, and I’ll see you after the appointment at the lawyer’s office.”

  “Your wish is my command, mi amore.” Alonso kissed my hand and tossed a wave back at me while I slid into the car with my parents.

  “You’re a saint,” Mom said when the door shut and Alonso was checking out Tina’s Bakery window of fine donuts.

  “I honestly don’t know whether the man’s conversation and declarations of love are serious or he’s just putting on a show,” I admitted.

  “And did you see Pastor James’s face at the funeral, Jessica? I thought he was going to march down from the podium and physically separate you from Alonso. What is going on with you two?”

  “It’s complicated and there’s no time to give you any details. Are you coming to the attorney’s office?”

  “We weren’t invited, only the beneficiaries. Just call when you’re ready to be picked up.”

  A minute later, I stood in front of Snow Valley’s Attorneys-at-Law.

  Chapter 12

  Memories flooded me as I gazed down Main. Melted snow dripped from the rooftops. A group of kids in sweatshirts were playing a pick-up game of basketball in someone’s driveway.

  I smelled fried doughnuts wafting from the same house. Good memories of a great childhood. Those laughing kids used to be me and Matthew. With a start, I realized that I could think of him and not feel the deep painful sorrow I used to. We’d had a good life. Been best friends.

  My childhood ballet teacher, Madame Dubois, had inspired me and set me on my life’s course, giving me passion for the beauty of dance.

  It was a peculiar feeling to miss home so starkly—and to miss New Orleans at the same time. Was this a sign I was finally a mature, Real Adult—as Alonso would put it?

  I didn’t have to run away anymore, from myself, from my faith, or my future.

  But where did I belong from this point on for the rest of my life?

  I had to make a choice that would hurt in one way or another forever. I could nurture my soul in dance or I could have James, but not both. That was the bottom line.

  I pulled out my cell phone and texted James. We need a chance to talk.

  Since I was a few minutes early for the appointment, I waited for a response and it came fairly quickly.

  I’ve been hoping to hear from you.

  Sorry about the delay. A sightseeing visitor tagged along from the airport.

  Is that what you call him?

  No sarcasm in text messages, please.

  Sorry, Jess. I’m dying to see you, of course. Where did you go so fast afterward?

  Lunch with parents and the visitor. At the attorney’s now.

  Oh, right. You’ll be at least an hour. Did you know there’s an Easter Ball tonight?

  Nope.

  Can I entice you to attend the dance with me?

  Is danc
ing with the Pastor after a funeral kosher?

  Indubitably, my silly girl.

  I’ll see you there, then. Save a spot on your dance card.

  I should be the one to say that! You’re breaking my heart.

  Hmm. Not so sure. I had my eyes on the crowd at the church today.

  Jess, that’s not fair.

  It isn’t? Gotta go.

  After a deep breath, I pushed my way inside the small dark-paneled foyer.

  Mr. Lloyd Orville and members of the Morris family were already there, quiet and subdued. I offered my condolences and then it was all brisk business.

  “I know it’s been a long day and please accept my deepest condolences,” Mr. Orville offered. “But there’s no point in waiting until next week. And there’s a lot of paperwork to be signed. In addition to all of her wonderful attributes, Sophie Morris was also an organized woman. Commendable.”

  Heads around the room nodded. One of Aunt Sophie’s daughters leaned in to whisper, “Where’s your mother? I thought perhaps she’d be here.”

  “She didn’t want to intrude,” I whispered in return. “I have no idea why I’m here.”

  “My mother probably has a keepsake she wanted to give your family.”

  I nodded, wondering if it was a quilt or access to her canning collection, despite the fact that I’d expressed no interest in either of those pursuits.

  Mr. Orville read from a document full of legalese and then began to itemize Aunt Sophie’s assets and property and which relative or descendant was receiving her beloved possessions.

  I was slightly embarrassed to be listening to it all.

  Finally, the lawyer looked at me above his glasses. There was a moment of anticipation, a collective holding of breath.

  I sucked in air while Mr. Orville read from the document that Aunt Sophie had signed with witnesses two years earlier.

  “Sophie Morris has bequeathed the sum of $2,000 dollars to Miss Jessica Mason of Banner Drive, Snow Valley, to be used to begin a school of dance for young people. When the time is right.” Mr. Orville lowered the papers and gave me a smile. “It appears that Sophie Morris always dreamed of becoming a ballet dancer and was never able to pursue it in her youth. She attended every one of your recitals and performances when you were growing up. She saw your talent and was most tickled pink when you were offered a position with the New Orleans Company.”