Spring in Snow Valley

by Cindy Roland Anderson

  He pushed thoughts of April and Daphne from his mind while he finalized the draft for the funeral, focusing on Christ’s love and the power of the resurrection and eternal life.

  Now to call Jessica. Her phone rang just twice before she answered.

  “Jess!” he said, pleased to hear her voice, grateful he didn’t have to leave another voicemail. “You home yet?”

  “Just walked in the door.”

  “You sound breathless.”

  “Carrying my costume to mend and my practice bag, plus juggling my purse and the cell phone, but I dropped the bags and answered. Only way to prevent breaking the phone,” she added with a laugh.

  “How was your day?”

  “Good, I finally finished memorizing the choreography for the dance with Alonso.”

  “Great to hear sweetheart.” If James never heard the name of Alonso again, he’d throw a party.

  “But now I’ll be dreaming dance steps all night.”

  “Well, don’t drink any Coke or Dr Pepper. I binged the other night and didn’t get to sleep until three in the morning.”

  “Watch out, you could get addicted.”

  “How do you push your body so hard every day and not need a Big Gulp every hour. Memorizing hundreds of steps has gotta be hard. I always sucked at memorizing.”

  “Why, Pastor James, you used a word my mother would wash my mouth out with soap for saying.

  “Hey, I’m not perfect yet.”

  “Please don’t try for perfection. I’d never catch up with you.”

  “Won’t happen in this life, believe me, sweetheart.”

  Jess harrumphed. “I think God makes it impossible on purpose. He gives us the commandment to be like Him, but throws stuff at us all the time to make sure we can’t.”

  “Maybe He’s got a wicked sense of humor?”

  “Sick humor, you mean.” Jessica laughed and it was so good to hear her laugh after almost two weeks away.

  “So, what are you doing this weekend?” He hoped she wasn’t going out on the town again with Alonso and Sierra and the other dancers. It was hard not to let it bother him.

  “I’m actually catching the red eye home tonight. To Montana.”

  James blinked. “Not sure I heard you right.”

  “You heard me correctly. I’m flying home for Aunt Sophie’s funeral. I heard you’re the preacher-man too.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Um, just a couple days ago. My mother called me and I guess I’m obligated.”

  Understanding dawned on James. “That’s right. She was one of your mom’s cousin’s.”

  “Second cousin I think, but who’s counting? At least nobody does in Snow Valley.”

  “Hey, that’s one thing I like about Snow Valley. We’re all family.”

  “I’m glad you weren’t born and raised in Snow Valley or I would never marry you, James Douglas. It would feel like marrying my brother.”

  “You mean there’s still a chance?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “There’s always a chance. But honestly, I don’t want to talk about this over the phone.”

  “I’ll pick you up at the airport. What time do you get in?”

  “You need your beauty sleep, Pastor, so you can do the preaching over the pulpit and make some sort of sense. Nobody would forgive you if you messed up details about Aunt Sophie’s quirks or forgot to say the right scriptures. Besides, I don’t get in until almost six in the morning. My dad’s coming to get me. I can sleep on the plane—I hope.”

  There was something nagging at James and he finally nailed down what it was. “I don’t understand why you would pay the high price for a last-minute flight right in the middle of dress rehearsals for Swan Lake for your mother’s second cousin’s funeral. Your mom could always send you a program and pictures.”

  “Well, normally I wouldn’t have come. Not just for a quick weekend, and especially not now. The timing is terrible. Maddox wasn’t too happy when I told him.”

  “So why?” James prompted. It was often hard to get information out of Jessica.

  “Turns out Aunt Sophie left me something in her will. I’m obligated to be at the lawyer’s office Saturday afternoon after the funeral luncheon.”

  James’ jaw dropped. “Well, I’d have never guessed that.”

  “Me, either. It’s all quite mysterious.”

  “Do you have any idea what she could have left you?”

  “Not a clue. And now, I will say goodbye and go pack a weekend bag.” She took a breath. “And I will see you at the funeral.”

  This was a turn of events he’d never expected. Elation filled him. “I can’t believe I’m going to see you in about twelve hours.”

  “Me, too,” Jessica whispered. “Wear your cowboy boots. Aunt Sophie loved her men in cowboy boots.”

  “With a three-piece suit?”

  “That would be perfect.”

  “I love you, Jess,” James said, but she’d already clicked off.

  Chapter 9

  Blinking back the sleep from my eyes, I pulled my bag down from the overhead bin and swayed down the airplane aisle. I hoped Dad wouldn’t mind if I napped on the drive home. Sometimes he liked to talk—about everything. Work complaints, aggravations with a teenage son (my beloved brother, Sam), politics, religion. And this year was a presidential election year so watch out Snow Valley! Dad often spouted opinions to a patient during a filling who was unable to do more than mumble a response.

  I checked my watch. Was there time for another quick nap once I got home before the funeral started? Maybe. Depended on whether my mother held me captive in a “nice, long chat” in the kitchen.

  I bumped along the gangway, grateful there wasn’t a dress rehearsal this Saturday. The Orpheum Theater was undergoing a few minor repairs so the ballet company had the entire weekend off. Worked out perfect when the funeral came up.

  I cast my mind back to the times I’d seen Aunt Sophie over the years. One of those older ladies, a stalwart member of the grand community of Snow Valley. Always doing a bit of service, passing out hugs to anyone who needed one. I still remembered her gushing over my final ballet recital before I went off to college. Turned out she was quite conversant on the subject of dance and the traditional ballets of the 19th century like Giselle or La Sylphide.

  One would think Aunt Sophie was just a rancher’s wife, taken up with concerns about canning her garden, quilting, and baking cookies for the neighborhood, but she was well-read and had a culture hiding beneath that small-town exterior.

  I checked the overhead signs for the exit to the curb where Dad was picking me up—and bumped right into Alonso Bellomini.

  “What the he—!” I exclaimed. “Where did you come from?”

  “An airplane.”

  I shook my head. “You were not on my plane.”

  “Actually, I was. In the back behind a magazine.”

  “Why didn’t you say something, or wave? And why are you in Billings of all places? Do you have family here? Here I am—from Montana—and you never mention that you have relatives here?”

  “Slow down, mi amore,” Alonso said, laughing at the expression on my face. Except for a bit of stubble on his chin, he did not look as though he’d just taken a red-eye curled up into a cramped seat. “No, I don’t have family here.”

  I stared at him and he began to advance toward me. I backed up several steps, although I wanted to shove my finger into his chest. “You flew all the way here because of me?”

  “I had to come mourn Aunt Sophie with you.”

  “Whaaaa—” I spluttered. Words left me but then I gained control again, tempted to bruise his head with my suitcase.

  “I told you that I’ve always wanted to visit Snow Valley with you. I want to see your life, your hometown, through your eyes.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight, buddy. I did not invite you. You stalked me!”

  “A spur-of-the-moment weekend, you and me.”

  “T
his is not romantic in the least.” I spun on my heels, trying not to explode with fury.

  “Oh, but we could make it so very romantic. A hike in the hills. Candlelit dinner in Snow Valley’s best restaurant. Strolling Main Street.”

  “You—you are impossible!” I yelled.

  Hurrying travelers swept past us, embarrassed for me. Dawn cut across the tarmac and into the large windows, blinding me. My eyes burned from lack of sleep. My nerves were frayed.

  “Alonso Bellomini, I did not invite you to come meet my family and friends and I most certainly did not invite you to stroll down Main Street as if we are a couple.”

  “We can be friends. The rest will come.”

  My hair whipped against my face. “I don’t think you understand how furious I am.”

  “But fury can turn into love,” he said, steeping closer.

  “I am this close to shoving you in front of a speeding jet.”

  “The sign of true passion. I knew you had Latin blood in you. Oh, how I love you.”

  “Don’t you dare. You are going to be lucky if I even speak to you the next two days.”

  “I only yearn to be near you.”

  “You’re going to be staying in a hotel, buddy.”

  All of a sudden, my father was at my elbow. “Hello, sweetie-pie,” he said, pecking me on the cheek.

  “I am not a sweetie-pie.”

  Dad chuckled. “I know. That’s what makes it such a funny term of endearment.”

  “Not you too!” I growled and began marching toward the Exit.

  A shiver ran up and down my neck when I hit the chilly spring air of Montana. I wasn’t acclimated to the northern cold any longer and I was glad I remembered to bring a sweatshirt and a jacket. “Where’d you park, Dad? Thought I was just going to climb in at the curb.”

  “I got here early and decided to go ahead and park.”

  Alonso was trailing us and I was trying to ignore him.

  “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?” my father suggested, obviously trying to remember if he was supposed to remember that I was bringing someone home with me.

  “Dad, this is Alonso Bellomini. He’s in my dance company. We’re doing a tiny duet together in Swan Lake. He thought it would be funny to come to Snow Valley. The End.”

  My father raised both eyebrows, used to my sudden impatient rants. Then he popped the trunk and put my small piece of luggage inside. “So what are we doing with Alonso Bellomini? We are headed in the same direction. And he’s your friend and ballet partner.”

  I tapped my foot on the curb, staring at them both. “Temporary one-time-one-dance partner,” I clarified. “For about twenty seconds.”

  Dad looked uncomfortable. Of course he had no clue about my history with Alonso and he was probably wondering about James and where I stood with the man who was supposed to be the love of my life.

  Finally, he shrugged. “We don’t turn away visitors to Snow Valley. I think he’s harmless. Isn’t he?”

  Alonso smiled goofily. “Completely harmless and I’m in love with your daughter.”

  “Dad, he’s lying through his New York City teeth. His lips move, you can be sure he’s telling a whopper.”

  “When we get into town drop him off at a motel,” I ordered.

  Then my father allowed Alonso to throw his backpack into the trunk, too.

  As I walked around to the front of the car, Dad leaned in to whisper, “Well, Jess, seems like you got a lot to figure out the next few days. Two men dying to spend their weekend with you.”

  Unfortunately, Alonso caught the under-the-breath remark. He opened the front door for me with a flourish. “Tell me who my competition is!”

  “Quit the dramatics. You know perfectly well who it is.”

  “I’ve been trying to forget. Just as you have been trying to do, my sweet Jessica.”

  The truth of his words hit home a little too hard.

  Dad lifted his eyebrows at that and I glared at him, slamming the door. Shrugging his shoulders, my father stuck his key into the Pontiac’s ignition and revved the engine.

  “How far is the drive to Snow Valley?” Alonso asked from the back seat.

  Dad said, “’Bout seventy-five miles, mostly highway so not much more than an hour.”

  Alonso gave a brief laugh. “In Manhattan, that kind of distance would take all day.” He rubbed his hands together to stay warm, and then shoved them under the armpits of his black leather jacket. He stared out at the hills, pine and scrub brush dotting the landscape. “My first time in the country. I can’t wait.”

  Dad harrumphed and slid out of the parking lot of the Billing’s airport.

  I curled up into my sweatshirt, closed my eyes, and ignored them both.

  Chapter 10

  James was buttoning up his white shirt when a knock sounded at the door. He’d been practicing his talk for the funeral all through his shower. Now he scrambled into his suit jacket and hurried to the door.

  On the step was April Murphy holding a plate of cinnamon rolls. “So sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t sleep last night and then got up so early I started baking. Something I do when I’m nervous. I’ve been having a craving for sweets lately so cinnamon rolls just came out. They’re still warm.”

  “Wow, they look fantastic,” James said. The aroma of sugar and cinnamon and cream cheese frosting rose from the plate. “Please, come in.”

  “Well, only for a minute,” April said, stepping inside the door and rubbing her hands together.

  James shut it against the morning cold, stepping into his tiny kitchen to put the plate on the counter.

  “I know you’re in a rush. With the funeral and all.”

  “I still have an hour. And my commute is pretty short.”

  April smiled and James realized that her daughter wasn’t in tow. “Where’s Daphne?” He slid off the clear wrapping paper and got out two plates, cups and milk.

  “She spent the night with her little cousins. Maybe that’s why I didn’t sleep very well. I’m not used to her absence. She helps me get through the nights.”

  “I can imagine,” James said gently. “Here, let’s have a cinnamon roll.”

  “I made them for you.”

  “I can’t possibly eat an entire plate full.”

  “They freeze well.”

  “Okay, let’s share a second one. This will save me breakfast-making time.” He got out the milk. “Would you like coffee or tea?”

  April shook her head. “Honestly, I have a penchant for baking when I’m feeling . . .” her voice trailed off and James knew what she was implying. “And I wasn’t planning on staying. I don’t live that far and the brisk walk helped to clear my head. The cold air manages to clear out the cobwebs.”

  “Maybe I should try it,” James mused, chewing thoughtfully. “Hey, these are most excellent. Thank you again.”

  “A pastor doesn’t need to clear out any cobwebs.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that,” he said wryly.

  “Well, keep that a secret or your congregation might have a crisis of faith.” April glanced up at him and her eyes rested on his face.

  James leaned back in his chair. It was disloyal to Jessica, but this was how he imagined Saturday mornings when he—they—got married. A lazy breakfast together, planning out their weekend projects, cooking together, making love.

  He blinked when that last part ran through his mind. To hide his reddening faced, he jumped up to put the dishes in the sink. He hadn’t seen Jess in three weeks since the proposal and he had no idea what reception to expect from her. His stomach twinged with nerves when he thought about the details and expectations of the funeral. Seeing Jessica in the congregation before they’d even had a chance to say hello would be difficult, a metaphor for the distance between them.

  And here was a woman sitting in his kitchen who embodied the marital fantasy he’d always wanted.

  Which was the fantasy? Jessica as a homemaker, mother, and wife—or placi
ng those expectations on April Murphy, a woman who obviously loved womanhood and home life?

  He rubbed at his temples and April suddenly touched his hand. “Are you okay, James?”

  “Sorry, lost in thought. Over these cinnamon rolls,” he added lamely.

  She tsked her tongue, not believing his fib. “A moment ago you looked like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  “Just life and death,” he quipped.

  April’s mouth quirked into a grin. She was pretty with those green eyes and her long wavy hair tucked behind her ears. All of a sudden her pale skin turned ashen. Her eyes widened. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she gasped.

  James took her hand and pulled her down the hall into the bathroom that was still steamy from his shower. He shut the door and heard her retching.

  A few moments later, he heard the water running, a moment of silence, and then the door slowly opened.

  April let out her breath and ducked her head. “I am so embarrassed. I never intended to come over here and get sick in your bathroom.”

  “Don’t be. Maybe you just ate too much sugar and dough on an empty stomach. I should fix scrambled eggs to settle your stomach.”

  “Really, I can’t stay. I shouldn’t stay. Picking up Daphne in just a bit. I only meant to share the three dozen rolls I made. Taking some to my cousin’s house, too. She’s got three boys so they’ll be wolfed down by lunchtime.”

  “You should go home and lie down. I hope it’s not the flu.”

  April shook her head and her hair fell across her eyes for a moment. All of a sudden her eyes watered.

  “April?” James said. “Tell me what’s wrong. Is it Daphne? Your health? What’s going on?”

  “Will you make me come to your office for confession?”

  “I don’t do confession unless someone insists. That’s between you and the Lord. Come sit down for a moment until you’ve got your sea legs back.”

  “James, actually I’m perfectly fine. Unfortunately. The only problem I have is that I’m pregnant.”