Peace - Chapter Five: "Absolution"

 The following is the final chapter of a five-part short story entitled “Peace.”  Chapter Four ended with Clarence Peace preparing to stage an accidental fire at his store in order to escape the family business that had consumed his entire life.

—-

Flat Rock
Fall 1983

After staring at the burning match for a few seconds, Clarence began to drop his hand toward the pool of kerosene on the wooden floor.  He closed his eyes and whispered, “Forgive me, Mama.”  At that moment, he heard a loud meow. Startled, he spun on his heel and saw Squirt sitting on the counter next to the cash register; staring at him with an unsettling, judgmental expression.

Agitated by the interruption and jittery about what he was about to do, Clarence yelled. “Get out of here, Squirt! You’re going to get yourself killed - stupid cat.” 

Squirt didn’t move and his head turned slowly to stare at the front door. Clarence followed his gaze to the door which was starting to rattle and shake. The orange glow cast by the burning match in his hand was gradually replaced by the familiar golden glow coming through the front windows of the store. Clarence heard the telltale squeak of the old metal hinges, and the front door began to swing open.

Clarence stood motionless as a very distinguished-looking black man in a brown three-piece suit with a high-collared white shirt walked through the open door. The stranger glanced around the store and then smiled at Clarence.  “Hallo, sir. Evenin’ to ya.”

In no mood for another uninvited visitor, Clarence shot back. “Who the hell are you?  What are you doing in my store? Get out before I call the cops!” 

The stranger’s smile never left his face, and he seemed unfazed by Clarence’s agitation. He walked slowly towards Clarence while staring intently at the burning match in Clarence’s hand. “My name is Henry Simmons, Sir. I’m here representing the Society of Necessity.  We heard tell you might need some help.”

Clarence scowled. “Do I look I need help?  If you want to help me, get out of my store. Get out now!”

Henry, still smiling, kept approaching. Despite the obvious danger of the situation, he moved deliberately and with a gentleness that disarmed Clarence.  “I founded the Society because we all need some help sometimes. Life’s too hard to try to get all the way through alone. Only way to get by is if we take care of each other.”

“I ain’t never heard of no Society of Necessity.” Clarence’s voice was insistent but less threatening.

“When money’s tight or when folks ain’t got ‘xactly what they need to get out of a bad spot, The Society comes to help. There ain’t nobody what can handle everything that life throws at us all by themself.  That’s why I’m here. We want to help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” Clarence’s voice was softer now with a growing resignation.

“Ain’t no shame in gettin’ a little help when you need it. That jes’ means you might have the chance to help someone else later.”  Henry was now standing beside Clarence and slowly reached up to take the match from his shaking hand.  He raised it to his face and blew out the flame. “Burning this place down ain’t gonna solve nothing, Clarence. 

Clarence’s eyes dropped to the floor and his shoulders slumped. “I can’t take this no more. I need to get out.”

Henry reached out and put his hand on Clarence’s arm. “We’re all gettin’ out soon enough, Clarence. Don’t need to go rush nothin’.”  Henry looked at the kerosene pooling around the stove and took a deep breath.  “Here. Let me help you clean this up. Do you have a mop?”

Clarence pointed to the apartment door at the back of the store and dropped wearily into one of the rocking chairs beside the pot-bellied stove.  Henry walked into Clarence’s apartment and reappeared a minute later with a mop and bucket of water. He began mopping the kerosene.  “Don’t want nobody to get the wrong impression when they come for their groceries tomorrow.”  The gentle Black man’s eyes radiated a kindness that Clarence could feel wrapping around his body like a warm blanket on a chilly night.

When he was through mopping the floor, Henry sat in the chair opposite Clarence. “Folks get so caught up in their troubles they forget other people need them. Mr. Clarence, people need you. Even if they don’t act like it sometimes.”

“Don’t nobody need me,” Clarence groused.

Henry stood up and pulled down the sleeves on his coat and adjusted his shirt cuffs. He smiled at Clarence.  “It ain’t no accident that you spent your life in this here store, Clarence.” He straightened his tie and laughed. “Heck, you do a sight more good for folks ‘round here than most preachers.” Henry swept his arm toward the shelves of the store. “You feed folks. You gets them the medicines they need. You make people feel welcome when they come here pretending they need something when really they jes’ looking for someone to talk to.”

Clarence shook his head. “This ain’t no church.”

Henry stood in the doorway now. “Maybe not a church ‘xactly. But you doin’ more to minister to people’s souls that you know.” Henry turned to wink at Squirt still sitting on the counter.” Clarence watched silently as Henry Simmons smiled, nodded, and closed the door.

The store returned to darkness with only the light from the stove illuminating the room. As Clarence sat silently watching the flames through the stove’s open door, Squirt jumped down from the counter and sat at Clarence’s feet, staring.

“Stupid cat.” The anger in Clarence’s voice was gone. Squirt hopped up and settled into his lap, purring. Clarence sighed. “Now what?”

—-

Flat Rock
Winter 1984

Virginia stepped through the front door of Peace’s Grocery and smiled at the familiar sight of Clarence behind his counter while Wick and Albert sat slowly rocking in their chairs on either side of the sooty black pot belly stove in the middle of the store.

Clarence nodded and greeted his young customer. “Afternoon, Virginia.”

Virginia smiled brightly. “Hello, Mr. Peace. How are you today?”

Clarence wasn’t accustomed to customers who called him “Mr. Peace” but he appreciated Virginia’s friendly greetings, even if they did make him feel old.  “The usual?” he asked. 

“Yes, sir. A Dr. Pepper and some nabs, please.”

Clarence stepped around the counter and walked to a large red drink cooler at the back of the store. He slid back the grey metal cover, plunged his hand into the dark ice water, and pulled out a dripping bottle. As he returned to the counter where Virginia waited, he picked up a pack of peanut butter nabs from a metal rack standing against the wall.

Clarence placed the dripping bottle on the wooden counter between himself and his smiling customer. He produced a bottle opener from below the counter and popped off the metal cap. Next, he tore off a sheet from the paper towel roll standing next to the cash register and carefully wiped the rim of the bottle. Satisfied the bottle was clean, he selected a paper straw from a glass container on his counter and slid it into the neck of the bottle. Finally, he grabbed a second paper towel, folded it in half, and carefully wrapped it around the still-dripping bottle.

The ritual complete he pushed the nabs across the counter with one hand and handed the bottle to Virginia with the other. “That’ll be 45 cents.”

Virginia already had the correct change ready and dropped it into Clarence’s palm. Albert called out, “Virginia, why in tarnation do you come here all the time? All the other young uns flock over to that shiny new Minit Mart on Spartanburg Highway. They have every soda known to man and the nabs there haven’t been sittin’ on a shelf collectin’ dust since Ike was president.”

Virginia took a sip of her drink and smiled. “I love the way this place feels. There’s something special here.”

Wick laughed and sat up tall in his chair. “Well, can’t argue that. After all, here I sit. Can’t get no more special than that.”

Virginia raised her Dr. Pepper in salute and bid the gentlemen goodbye.

—- 

It was late afternoon and there was a lull in customers and occasional drivers stepping into the store with a map in hand and asking for directions to Hendersonville. “Clarence, are you asleep over there?” Wick roused Clarence out of his daydreams about a life that might have been. “Did I ever tell you the story about my grandmother traveling to Flat Rock by horse and carriage? 

Clarence had heard the story a dozen times. But there was no point in trying to dissuade Wick from recounting his favorite tall tales. Besides, he welcomed the distraction from the drudgery of totaling up customer’s accounts for the month.  He also felt worse than usual – his stomach felt like it was on fire. He took another swig from the open bottle of Pepto Bismol next to the register. If nothing else, Wick’s stories helped distract him from the pain that had become a constant and most unwelcome companion 

“When she was just a little girl, Grandmother Walker used to make the trip to Flat Rock from Charleston every summer with her mother and her siblings.” Wick was settling into his story and a couple of customers at the back of the store turned to listen surreptitiously.

“This was back in the years right after the Unpleasantness Between the States…”

“Call it what it was, Wick,” Albert interrupted. “It was the damn Civil War!” 

Wick ignored his friend’s rejoinder. “Course, those were the days before the railroad made it up the Saluda Grade to Flat Rock and beyond. Took pret’ near two weeks for horses to drag a carriage up the mountain from Charleston way and they had to spend nights at all manner of roadside inns. Some of them weren’t fit for man nor beast. But beggars and tired travelers couldn’t be choosy in them days.”

“Grandma told us about one inn in particular where the guests and the horses stayed in the same building. The beds were nothing more than sacks stuffed with straw and the blankets had more moth holes than that block of Swiss cheese Clarence has back there in the cooler. Anyways, they were trying to settle down for the night when Granny says her mama jumps up and starts a hollerin’ about all the bedbugs that were a bitin’ her and her chillins.

“Mad as a wet hen, she rousted the innkeeper out of his bed, shaking her finger in the old man’s face. ‘We aren’t paying you one red cent for a room with bedbugs!’ Granny said her mama was a tiny woman but when she got her back up, she was feisty as a little dog with a big bone.

“That innkeeper didn’t take kindly to the accusations and got hisself all puffed up with indignance. ‘Madame,’ he told her. ‘I can assure you that there is not a single bedbug in my Inn.’

“Well, Granny’s mama weren’t havin’ it. She got right up in the man’s face and said, ‘That’s right. There’s not a single bedbug in this place – ‘cause they are all married and have very large families!’

Wick laughed at his own story and even Albert nodded in appreciation. As the three of them shared a familiar moment, Clarence thought about what Henry Simmons had said about the store being a place for people to come together.  He had to admit, there were times when he took real comfort in the familiar surroundings of the only place he’d ever called home.

—-

The next morning, Clarence woke up feeling better than he had in a long time. The constant pain in his stomach was gone and the heaviness in his heart seemed to have abated. Looking outside, the winter cold was tempered by a bright sun. He opened the front door of the store and felt the crisp and refreshing air wash over his face. Squirt appeared from around the corner and meowed his greeting. Clarence smiled, “Hello, old friend. Nice day, huh? Why don’t we pop open one of those cans of sardines you like so much?”

Squirt followed Clarence back into the store and watched attentively as Clarence selected a tin from the shelf. Despite all the challenges of the last few weeks, Clarence felt like he might be turning a corner. Perhaps that visit from Henry Simmons back in the fall had been what he needed. Yes, life was hard, but there was still plenty to live for.

Clarence rolled back the top of the can and fished out a sardine which he placed on a folded paper towel and then placed on the floor for Squirt. As Squirt ate, Clarence glanced at the C&C Supply calendar hanging on the wall. It was Sunday, February 5th. Perhaps that was the reason he was feeling so much better. Sunday was his one day to relax and get away from the store if he wanted. He could forget about stocking shelves and overdue accounts and just enjoy the mountains for a day.

Clarence walked to the small closet in the corner of his bedroom to get dressed. When he opened the door, his only suit – a navy blue jacket with notched lapels and pleated pants to match – was hanging on the back of the door.  Clarence wiped the dust off the shoulder of the jacket and held the suit out in the light.  “I haven’t been to church in a long time,” he said to Squirt who sat on the floor just behind him, washing sardine off his mouth with a paw.

“It’s such a nice day.  It wouldn’t hurt a body to get out.”  He looked at the suit. “Father Roberts will be shocked to see me again.”  Indeed, he couldn’t remember the last time he attended church – a fact that he knew would have been very disappointing to his mother.

Squirt sat on the bed with Clarence as he shined his black patent leather shoes. He buttoned his jacket to conceal the yellow stain on the front of his white cotton shirt. He picked out a bright yellow tie with a dark blue diamond pattern and struggled to remember how to tie a Windsor knot. After a handful of attempts, the knot was sufficiently square to be church presentable.  He stepped into the bathroom and looked at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror. “Not so bad,” he said to Squirt.  

He picked up his car keys and walked out his back door where he parked his run-down white Chevrolet Nova. He opened the door and was about to get in when he changed his mind and decided to walk to the church. It had been years since the last time he’d been for a good walk. The air would do him good.

Clarence set out heading north on Greenville Highway. Traffic on a Sunday morning was light and the few cars that passed him as he walked on the shoulder of the road seemed happy to share the road with the old man in the blue suit. Arriving at St. John in the Wilderness, he paused for a moment in the graveyard that surrounded the hillside below the church. He read the names on the headstones as he passed by. Many of the people buried there had been long-time customers at Peace’s Grocery. The more names he recognized, the more he realized that he had been serving as the village’s grocer for a long time.  How had time passed him by so quickly 

On the sidewalk in front of the church, he nodded and smiled at the other parishioners walking into the church. The fact that they simply bustled past him without returning his salutations didn’t surprise him.  It happened all the time – people who saw him anyplace other than behind the counter of the store seldom recognized him. Now, wearing his suit and tie, it was even less likely that would know who he was.

Clarence slipped into the sanctuary and found a seat in the empty pew at the back of the church. He recognized Mrs. Rutledge playing the organ.  The board at the front of the sanctuary listed Hymn 208 and Clarence flipped open his hymnal to see what she was playing. He read the title, “The Strife is O’er, the Battle Done.”  He listened as the congregation sang the final verse:

Lord! by the stripes which wounded thee,
From death's dread sting thy servants free,
That we may live and sing to thee:
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

When the hymn was finished, the parishioners settled back into their pews and Father Roberts stepped into the pulpit.  He removed his glasses and addressed the congregation.

“Welcome to St. John in the Wilderness on this beautiful winter day. We give praise to God for the gift of life and this opportunity to share the good news of our Lord with each other.”  He paused for a moment and looked down at the lectern. “Of course, even on such a glorious day as this, our hearts can be heavy with sadness and loss. As I am sure most of you know, today we mourn the sudden passing of Clarence Peace earlier this week. 

Hearing his name, Clarence’s head jerked up from the pages of the hymnal and he stared incredulously at Father Roberts. What is he talking about he thought? Did he get Clarence confused with someone else in the village?

Father Roberts continued. “Brother Peace had been in poor health for several months and sometime on Monday night he entered into the nearer presence of God. While we grieve the loss of Clarence’s presence here with us, we take comfort in the promise of eternal life.”

 Clarence could feel the familiar sense of aggravation washing over his body. It wasn’t enough for them to treat him like one of the fixtures at the store. The old feeling of being taken for granted swelled up in his chest. And now they were mocking him. In church. He started to stand to leave when Father Roberts continued.

“Clarence’s passing is an important reminder of the fragility of life. So often we assume that life will continue as it always has – until it is too late. We’ve all shopped at Peace’s Grocery – some of us for decades. And it was easy to assume that we always would.”

“It was easy to assume that Clarence would always be behind his counter to greet us. That he would be there to find the exact item we needed, to pump our gas for us, to hand us our bottle of soda wrapped in a paper towel.

“We took comfort in knowing that he was there – even when we didn’t fully appreciate what Clarence gave to our community. What he gave to our community literally his entire life. Clarence Peace was a gift. But too often, sadly, he was a gift that we struggled to recognize simply because he was always there.

“Clarence’s legacy is to help us remember to acknowledge and celebrate all those who walk through our lives – even if only for a moment and in the most ordinary of circumstances. We all have worth. We are all equal in God’s eyes. We are all to be celebrated.”

Father Roberts returned his reading glasses to the bridge of his nose and looked down at the book in his hand.  “When I think of Clarence, I think about his quiet and unassuming manner. And I think about a poem Carl Sandburg wrote that speaks to me about Clarence’s impact on our lives.”  Father Roberts read from the book in his hand.

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Father Roberts closed the book and removed his glasses. “Clarence’s life was often like Sandburg’s cat feet.  So quiet that sometimes we didn’t realize he was there. But his presence, like the fog in the poem, wrapped itself around all our lives. He touched all of us. He enveloped all of us in the welcoming embrace of Peace’s Grocery. Clarence Peace and his store stood  - literally and figuratively  - at the very heart of our village.”

Father Roberts sighed and fell silent for a moment. “Now Clarence has moved on. Silently. Without fanfare or turmoil. Leaving us with the lasting memory of his important presence in each of our lives.” 

Clarence looked around at the people assembled in the pews. He could see heads nodding in agreement with the Priest in the pulpit. A few of the ladies were sniffling and dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs. One man, a few rows ahead of him and on the other side of the aisle, removed his bowler hat and turned around to look back at Clarence. It was the first time all morning that anyone had acknowledged his presence. It was young Carl Sandburg. He smiled at Clarence and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

Clarence sat in stunned silence. How could this be? What was happening? The events of the past several months had been a swirl of anxiety and confusion.  Now this.

As he sat trying to comprehend what he was experiencing, the side door to the sanctuary opened, and in walked a young woman. Resplendent in a flowing white dress, her long dark hair tied back with a white satin ribbon. Her lips a blaze of red. She stepped gracefully into the center aisle and walked toward the back of the sanctuary where Clarence sat. In the background, Father Roberts was still talking and seemed unfazed by the woman’s sudden entrance. As she slowly walked down the aisle, no one in the congregation reacted to her presence. She was staring straight at Clarence.

As she approached, a memory of spring morning 40 years earlier washed over Clarence. They were the same eyes. When she smiled, he could once again feel the radiance of her being. Clarence stood as she drew nearer. When she arrived at his pew, they stood face to face silently.  She held out her hand.  He looked at the beautiful, graceful fingers and slowly raised his hand to take hers. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. “Hello, Clarence.” A radiant smile spread across her face as she spoke his name. Clarence returned her smile, “Hello, Emma.” 

Clarence stepped out into the aisle and offered his right arm. She slipped her arm through his. He could feel the warmth of her body as she leaned against him and put her free hand on his arm as they turned to leave the church. Walking slowly, the couple passed by a mirror in the vestibule used by the church ladies for last-minute adjustments to their hair and hats. In the mirror, Clarence saw a young man standing next to Emma. His skin was smooth again. The deep dark bags under his eyes had disappeared. His hair was full and dark. Next to him in the mirror was the same beautiful young woman in the photo taped to the back of his painting of Markely’s Blacksmith shop.

As they stepped out onto the front steps of the church, they were greeted by an unusual trio of smiling men, hats in their hands and over their hearts. Clarence smiled and stopped to greet them. “Carl. Squire. Henry.” He nodded as he spoke each of their names. He glanced down and saw Squirt sitting at their feet with a look of casual indifference. Clarence reached down to scratch the top of his head. “I should have known you were in on this.”

The distinguished-looking Black man stepped forward and held Clarence with his gentle gaze. “I done told you. Things they just have a ways of workin’ out ‘ventually.  You jes’ have to trust in the goodness of the heart.”  Henry tapped his chest as he spoke to Clarence, then he stepped aside and swept his hat toward the granite steps leading away from the church. “Welcome.”

Clarence and Emma walked slowly down the steps. “Where shall we go?” asked Emma. Clarence smiled. “I know the perfect place.” 

The couple walked arm in arm through the churchyard and down to Greenville Highway. Crossing the road, they strolled up the long winding driveway through the hemlocks to Elliott Place.  They walked past the elegant home with the wide front porch and stately columns and down a path that took them through Mrs. Whaley’s garden ablaze with colorful blooms. 

At the back of the house, the trees surrounding the home opened up to reveal a long expanse of beautiful green grass covering a hillside that sloped down to Highland Lake. Clarence and Emma walked halfway down the hill and then sat together in the grass. Clarence’s elbows rested on his knees as he gazed out across the lake. Emma’s arm still held his as she rested her head upon his shoulder. In the middle of the lake, two swans gracefully floated the placid blue-green waters. Above, clouds floated silently through the sky like cotton balls on a river of blue. Majestic trees stood as silent sentries guarding either side of the hillside.

Clarence turned to look at Emma and she met his gaze with a shy smile. He leaned forward and kissed her. The warmth of her lips sent a surge of euphoria coursing through his body. As their lips parted, Clarence felt as if time was standing still and the world around them was falling away. Looking back at the lake, Clarence smiled and spoke quietly. “So, this is what it feels like.” 

Emma squeezed his arm a little tighter and studied Clarence’s face. “What does it feel like, Clarence?” Clarence looked back at Emma. His eyes probed the depth of her dark eyes. She was smiling with an expression of anticipation.

Clarence returned her smile and said softly, “Peace.”

 —-

Flat Rock
September 2024
The Wrinkled Egg

Virginia stood at the register totaling up the purchases of the customer on the other side of the counter. As she entered the items into her register, the woman asked. “What does the name “The Wrinkled Egg” refer to?” 

Without looking up from her task, Virginia grinned at the inevitability of the question from any first-time customer. “When I opened this store, my daddy said I need an unusual name to grab people’s attention.”

The woman chuckled. “Well, it certainly is unusual. It looks like an old building. Has it been around for a while?” 

“It’s over 120 years old. It was the old Peace’s Grocery store for the first 80 years.” Virginia took the woman’s credit card and swiped it through the terminal. As the woman was signing her receipt, the front door to the store suddenly swung open by itself. Virginia looked up at the empty doorway and casually called out, “Hello, Clarence.”

Confused, the woman looked at Virginia and looked at the empty doorway. “There’s no one …” She looked back at Virginia.  “There’s no one there.”

Virginia grinned. “That’s just Clarence. He stops by every once in a while. To say hello.”

Confused the woman furled her brow and looked back at the empty doorway. “But there’s no one there. Why are you talking to someone who’s not there?”

Virginia placed the woman’s purchases into a bag with a bright yellow ribbon and handed it to her customer. “It’s a long story.” 

Virginia walked over to the open door and looked out at the sunshine of a beautiful fall day in the mountains. As she stood in the doorway, she thought about the thousands of people who had passed through that door for more than a century. From the very famous to the anonymous. From the wealthy and privileged to the humblest of mountain folk. The young and the old. The triumphant and the tragic.  It was as if the whole world had stepped through that doorway at one time or another, leaving behind faint echoes of lives lived, journeys ended, and beginnings yet to unfold. 

As she gently closed the door, Virginia looked back at her customer and smiled.  “It’s a very long story.”

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