Spring in Snow Valley: A Snow Valley Anthology

by Cindy Roland Anderson

  It’s not about me.

  She repeated the phase over and over again, each time letting go of the insecurities that had plagued her over the last few months. She’d worried that she’d lost her youthful bloom and therefore Eli wasn’t interested in her anymore. Even though she’d dropped weight because of her decrease in expensive foods and increase in movement, the weight of the world seemed to burrow into the crow’s feet around her eyes, aging her faster than she cared to admit. Was she still pretty? Desirable? Could she make it on her own? Who was she, really, without Eli and the kids?

  Slowly, other thoughts filled her mind.

  I am a good person.

  It’s okay to find fulfillment at my job.

  I don’t have to feel guilty for enjoying life … my kids …

  I can laugh out loud.

  I am attractive. I am desirable.

  Somehow, along the way, she’d defined herself by what happened between her and Eli. His orneriness and disinterest in her had, in her own mind, been her fault. Mistakenly, she’d believed that by reducing herself, he would enlarge. As if they were in a glass bubble with only so much space for the two of them, and if she took up less room he’d be able to expand. According to Aunt Sophie, that wasn’t how things worked. Instead of becoming less or stifling herself, Natalie needed to get out of the bubble and breathe, really breathe in life. She could allow herself to be happy. Sharing Eli’s burdens in a marriage didn’t mean she had to let them weigh her down.

  This revelation poured into her soul and filled many of the cracks, leaving her head spinning like Aunt Sophie’s when she stood up too fast.

  She pulled into the school and killed the engine while she waited for Ryan. Freeing herself from the burden was one process; understanding how to move on from here was quite another. She didn’t want to leave Eli behind, but she was too tired to continue dragging him along with her.

  Chapter 8

  Natalie didn’t have time to work on the dress until the next evening, when Eli took her car to gather parts for their broken toilet and the kids were at the youth Sunday school. She enjoyed pulling out her old sewing machine, threading it, and hearing the gentle hum. Working with her Bernina 1000 transported her back to simpler times, when her biggest worries were her midterm English paper and the cute cowboy in geometry.

  The machine itself was loud compared to the newer, computerized models she’d seen in the stores. However, Natalie always felt a sense of achievement when her buttonholes turned out even and her zippers were straight. Learning to sew on an older machine meant she had to perfect her abilities instead of rely on the computer to do the work … although she wouldn’t turn her nose up if a Bernina 1230 fell into her lap.

  The first step to adjusting the dress was to remove the sleeves. They were slightly longer than a short sleeve. It was quite the look in the fifties, but shortening them would update the entire look of the dress. With careful snips of the thread, Natalie managed to save the fabric. Next, she pinned in each side seam and then removed an inch and a half of fabric; Hailey was still a stick of a thing and didn’t have the curves Aunt Sophie had had when she’d made this dress.

  After a while, Natalie’s hands took over and allowed her mind to return to the conversation she’d had with Aunt Sophie about men in general and husbands more specifically. She became curious enough about the common threads in their marriages that she decided to do an Internet search on depression in men. She twisted her seat to reach the keyboard on the computer desk better. Pausing, she listened hard to make sure she was still the only one home. Eli would have a fit if he knew she was sorting through psychology websites on his behalf. As much as he hated taking money from strangers, he would despise the idea of a shrink.

  This search was not about him, per se. Depression was treatable and not a permanent condition. Knowing that Eli was depressed would give her hope for their future together. Her logic was twisted, she knew that; being happy about having a depressed husband was … weird. And yet finding a reason for his behavior would allow her to make a plan and understand how to help him through all this.

  Gathering information was about her need to flush out her suspicions and, if she was honest, a smidgen of both validation and reinforcement. What she found as she sifted through sites soothed her troubled mind and confirmed her aunt’s words. It was not about her.

  Eli’s symptoms closely matched those listed on the mental health site. Lack of interest in life or hobbies. Trouble sleeping. Lack of desire for intimacy. It was all there, laid out in layman’s terms. The worry over trying to “fix” herself so she could “fix” him lessened with every sentence she read.

  Eagerly scanning ahead, she learned that treatments included everything from talking to a therapist to taking antidepressants—neither of which she believed Eli would consent to. An extremely private man, he would consider a therapist nosy and invasive and he would probably resent Natalie for asking him to go to counseling. His mother had been on antidepressants, and Eli mentioned several times that her dependence on prescription drugs had embarrassed him. Although Natalie didn’t equate her mother-in-law’s self-obsessed behavior with medication; she was a notorious drama queen who took public opportunities to draw attention to herself, which was probably why Eli was so adamant about his privacy.

  Now who’s analyzing things? She smiled.

  Feeling spent without having accomplished much on the dress, Natalie decided to check Tracie’s blog and see how the pleated dress fared. The twelve-hundred dollar creation was still listed for sale and the comment list continued to grow. The woman who wanted the dress in orange had apparently placed an order, and Natalie made a mental note to congratulate Tracie.

  “Whatcha doing?” Eli asked over her shoulder.

  Natalie jumped up, hitting her hip on the edge of the computer desk. The pain didn’t register, because her heart was beating too fast for her to notice much else. How long had he been there?

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Eli took a step back.

  “No, I didn’t hear you come in.” Natalie ran her hand over her hair and sent a quick thank you to the Lord that Eli hadn’t caught her browsing a website that had “MANOPAUSE” written across the top of the page. Sensing the coast was clear, and slightly light-headed, Natalie plopped back into her seat. “This is Tracie’s blog on sewing.”

  “Oh.” Eli set a white plastic bag on the counter with a sigh. Lately, his sighs seemed to involve not just his lungs but his whole body. She could imagine his toes sagging right along with his shoulders.

  Natalie glanced at the computer and then back at her wilted husband. She wasn’t sure she could pull Eli out of depression; one man had said he didn’t come out of his funk until he made the conscious effort to change. She could at least let him know she wasn’t giving up on him, that he wasn’t alone. Maybe sharing something from her life would open a door to further communication. “Tracie asked me to guest post for her.”

  Eli didn’t move. “If it makes you happy.”

  While his response was kind, his words lacked the enthusiasm she’d hoped for. Intent on reaching out to him, she asked, “What would make you happy?”

  “Money.”

  “You and me both,” Natalie muttered. Although, if we had a million dollars and Eli was this down, I don’t think I could be happy. Money is not the source of true happiness. “If you’re not happy now, what makes you think you’ll be happy when you have money?”

  Eli finally turned her way. “I’m not stupid. I know happiness is not something I can pick up at the IFA. But life would be easier, and I’m so tired of everything being so stinking hard.” He slammed his fist on the counter.

  There was the fire. Natalie did a mental fist pump. Even though her fleeting happiness was inappropriate and did nothing to soothe Eli’s irritation, she was grateful there was some fight still in him. Drawing on the wisdom she’d recently acquired on the Internet, Natalie offered him something to look forward to. “We got five more E
aster envelopes today. Which means we might be able to pick up your truck tomorrow.”

  Yanking open the fridge, Eli said, “I hate those things.”

  Natalie slid the dress fabric over the envelopes to hide them. Not exactly what I was looking for … “I love them. Each one is filled with love and a sense that all will be well in our world one day.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  Natalie gasped. She’d come to cling to the letters, especially in her low times and often carried one or two in her purse. Hurt and antagonized and angry at herself for pushing Eli, and frustrated that the Internet search hadn’t translated into a solution for her problems, Natalie shifted in her seat so she faced her sewing machine as she spoke over her shoulder to Eli. “They are a reminder that people care, and if people care, then God cares. Which has been pretty hard to remember when I pour my heart out to Him and received comfort but no change in our circumstances. You may not get much more than cash out of them, but to me the words are much more valuable.”

  Eli shut the fridge hard enough to rattle the bottles in the door. He snatched the bag off the counter and stomped to the kids’ bathroom. The door slammed behind him.

  Natalie harrumphed and took her seam ripper to the hem. As she removed stitches, she wiped a stray tear. Eli’s depression might not have been about her, but this sure felt personal. Maybe because this time she’d snapped back and let her aggravation show.

  It’s okay to have feelings. For so long she’d stuffed them away because Eli’s seemed so much more important. Now, she wasn’t so sure. If she didn’t value her feelings, who would?

  Chapter 9

  Eli stayed in the bathroom, tinkering with the fill valve and float, until he heard the kids come in from the youth Sunday school class they attended once a week. He slipped into the kitchen and took his place at the table amidst their excited chatter over the upcoming barn dance. Natalie had packed away her sewing machine. Several light blue threads scattered under the table. The dress didn’t look like much when he’d come in. No doubt Natalie would whip the pieces into shape. He should have told her how much he appreciated her efforts or how he admired her talents—she had so many. Instead, he’d focused on his own insecurities, and with a few well-aimed words he’d ruined what could have been a nice evening together.

  Natalie’s need to rely on the words of strangers for comfort, for a break from her life with him, pierced Eli. There was a time when he had been able to calm her troubled heart, to hold her through their trials and provide the strength she needed. The idea that she no longer saw him as her Superman left him feeling deflated and alone, and in his hurt, he’d called her delusional. Which was ridiculous, because Natalie not only saw things clearly; she saw things others missed. Like the kindness of people being an echo of God’s love. She could see that! Yet to him, finding hope was like looking into a dirty trough.

  For a guy who wanted to be his wife’s hero, he hadn’t been acting like a pillar of strength lately. He’d lost track of how many nights he wasted in front of the TV until he was too bleary-eyed to make the short trip down the hallway to their bedroom.

  He remained silent for most of the meal, answering only when spoken to, and stayed in the kitchen as everyone prepared for bed. His plate had barely been touched, and when he finally came out of his daze, it was after eleven. How did he manage to do that? Waste hours staring at nothing, thinking nothing, feeling nothing? Was that how he wanted to spend the rest of his life—existing like a shadow or a piece of furniture his family stepped around to live?

  Placing his plate in the sink, Eli had no desire to turn on the television and listen as laugh tracks placated comedians or soak in another rerun. What he wanted to do was regain his purpose and become an active participant in the house. Mostly, he wanted to apologize to Natalie for saying words that poked holes in her sweetness. The need to repair the damage he’d done propelled him across the kitchen, where his feet stopped at the line between tile and faded oatmeal-colored carpet. Why did the line in the floor stop him? Eli stared down, noting that the tile was cold against his feet and the carpet would be warmer, and suddenly realizing he had a say in whether his feet stayed cold.

  Treading quietly to his bedroom doorway, he was met with another line, this one drawn by his pride. He placed his hands on either side of the doorframe, wrapping his fingers around the trim, and pulled himself past the invisible barrier constructed by his self-hate and the sense that he wasn’t worthy to lay next to a woman such as Natalie.

  Changing quietly into his pajamas, he lifted the blankets on his side of the bed and noted that Natalie still slept closest to the wall. She hadn’t moved to the middle or taken over the mattress. It was like she was saving his place, and it meant so much to him that he dared put his arms around her and pull her close. She didn’t fight him or shrug him off as he’d expected, and his chest swelled.

  With a sleepy sigh, she burrowed into his chest, her warm breath on his neck.

  “I—” he started.

  “Shh.” Natalie placed a finger over his lips. She slipped her arm over his side and softened into him, and for the first time in months, Eli was able to lay his burden aside and appreciate the moment.

  Soon, he was breathing deeply, and then he slept.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning Natalie woke to an empty bed and the hazy memory of being wrapped in Eli’s arms. He’d wanted to talk last night, and she couldn’t let him. For one blissful minute, she wanted to believe and feel as though everything between them was normal and happy and settled once again. Apparently, her weakness had chased him away.

  It’s not about you.

  The phrase came with force and was a reminder to not be easily offended—especially without knowing if any offense was intended.

  Scrubbing her face, she ripped off the covers, wrapped up in her fluffy robe, and shuffled out to make sure the kids had their lunch money and a coat before they left for school. She heard them in their rooms, no doubt gathering their notebooks and scattered school supplies. Neither of her children were known for their organizational skills.

  Eli came in from the garage at the same instant she entered the kitchen. They stared at each other, neither one knowing what path to take to cover the awkwardness that stretched between them.

  “I need to get another part from IFA,” offered Eli. “I’ll be back before you need to go to work.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered. She hadn’t intended to sound breathy, but she couldn’t help but remember the smell of his skin and the feel of his whiskers on her cheek the night before.

  Eli gulped, crossed the space in two long-legged strides, wrapped one arm around her back, and pulled her in. He paused, searching her eyes for the briefest of moments before pressing his lips to hers.

  Shocked, Natalie froze, and then … her body sparked to life. Heat flooded her tummy and ran like bubbles in a soda can. Her heart hammered, filling her ears with a boom-boom-boom giving her a high akin to cranking the radio when her favorite song came on—only this was so much better! She was barely able to catch a moan before she let her passion for Eli escape.

  Eli released her just as quickly as he’d gathered her up, and she found herself grasping the kitchen counter for support as he disappeared through the garage door.

  “What was that?!” she asked the empty room. Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she grinned.

  ***

  Eli slammed the car door and jammed the key into the ignition. He hadn’t premeditated kissing Natalie. He’d simply acted out of a need to feel.

  When he’d woken up this morning with Natalie curled against him, he’d longed to stay right there, to awaken her with kisses and watch her eyes brighten. Recognizing that the effort at tenderness would have been hollow if she hadn’t been happy to see him, he’d retreated in fear. But his need to feel loved by her—to feel anything, really—was strong enough that it propelled him across the kitchen and into dangerous territory.

 
The kiss had worked exactly like he knew it would. Natalie had always had that effect on him. The second their lips touched, his heart picked up and thrummed powerfully, sending heat searing across his skin and making him feel like a man who could slay dragons. The attraction between them was as awe-inspiring as ever, and he hated himself for taking from their well without having anything to give in return.

  Chapter 11

  Once Natalie got dressed and made sure the kids were out the door on time, she decided to work on Hailey’s dress until she had to leave for work. For better or worse, the dress had become a symbol of her determination to find the best in life no matter what she was handed. This morning she’d been handed something sweet, and as she hefted the heavy appliance onto the kitchen table she had a grin as wide as Snow Valley itself.

  Setting up her machine only took a few seconds. Even though she moved forward at a steady pace as she worked on shortening the sleeves, her mind wasn’t on the presser foot, the armhole, or the tension on her bobbin.

  Letting her thoughts drift back to Eli’s kiss was as effortless as putting a pin through satin. Instead of allowing her daydream to follow Eli out the door, she pictured herself wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. His hands were in her hair, tipping her head so he could deepen the kiss as he pressed her back against the fridge.

  BANG.

  Natalie jerked out of Eli’s imaginary arms and stared in horror as her sewing machine came to a shuddering stop. A quick inspection revealed the broken needle. She cursed under her breath as she twisted the hand wheel backwards to inspect the damage. The machine fought her all the way, and she worried that more than the needle was broken. With a lot of tugging and a little cursing, she was able to get the fabric out of the mechanism and inspect the damage. In her starry-eyed haze, she’d run right over a pin. The pin was bent at a ninety-degree angle, and she tossed it into the garbage. Disgusted with herself for not paying better attention, she replaced the needle in the machine and rethreaded it.