Praying for Peace

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  The mayor sat down next to me, his hardy belly squished up against the rim of the table. He examined the photos, carefully handling each one like a prized possession. “It sure would be nice to go back to a simpler time, don’t you think?”

  “In some ways, I do, yes.” I’d love it if the internet didn’t exist where Austin was concerned, but for work, it provided a wealth of information. I’d learned to have the good, the bad was a necessary balance.

  He eyed a specific photo for a long time. “Pastor Alabaster was a good man. Tragic story.” He shook his head. “Just tragic.”

  I agreed. “My mother told me it a long time ago, but all I remember is there was a fire, and the pastor died in it.”

  “Might could do you some good to ask around. ‘Course there’s a lot of fiction wrapped around it now, but the older crew in town, they’ll remember what happened.”

  “I’ll make sure to do that.”

  He reviewed the documents briefly. “I like what you’re going for, Chantilly. I think I can get the council to vote to provide some of the funding, but we’ll need to have a more detailed plan.”

  “That’s not a problem at all.” I gathered the papers, excited to get the go ahead to move forward with the project. “Thank you. I’ll get right on it.” I shook his hand. “Thank you, Mayor Tyson. Thank you so much.”

  Instead of going back to my office at the historical society museum, I headed straight for the church. When I said I’d get right on it, I meant it.

  The church wasn’t what I’d call beaten down, but it definitely needed some TLC. Church members had taken the time once a week to keep the lot clean, even tending to the small cemetery attached to the church, but the shabby state of the building itself drew attention to the eye over and above any of their efforts.

  The fire had destroyed most of the chapel, leaving some of the basic framework intact, but the majority of the space destroyed. They’d done their best to rebuild but hadn’t done so to its previous appearance due to time and money issues.

  I knew with a little effort, some good elbow grease, and funding from the city, the church could be restored to its original beauty and grandeur and be the thriving house of worship it was before the fire. I just needed to get my plan together for the council to approve the partial funding.

  I stepped into the main entrance of the small white building which opened directly into the chapel. I’d always loved the church. The wood pews, the narrow colorful stained glass windows running along the top of the side walls, and the beautiful all wood altar with the five rows of wooden bleachers behind it where the large choir used to sing were focal points I wanted returned to their original beauty.

  I’d been to the church several times over the years. My parents attended First Baptist, but the last time we’d all come together, there were only five people in the choir. The mayor had said the church had fewer and fewer members over the past years, and I wondered if the fire was part of the reason.

  I understood that most residents drove out to Cumming on Sundays to attend services at the mega church there. I wasn’t a fan of the drive, but Austin liked the youth program there, and often went with friends.

  I sat in the middle of the chapel to allow myself a moment of quiet before I began taking notes on the repairs. I’d also need to snap photos, and while the reason was justified, it made me uncomfortable, as if the flash would disrupt the peaceful, spiritual environment.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, sending up a prayer for my parents. Oh, how I missed them every day. A chill swept over me, and I opened my eyes, hoping they would be there in the pew next to me, but they weren’t. Instead, an older man smiled at me. His smile was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. At first, I thought he was alive, but with a closer look, I noticed that ethereal sense about him.

  I returned his smile. “Hello.”

  He rubbed the days old salt and pepper stubble that must have worked hard to become a beard when he was alive. I noticed how it perfectly matched his hair, both overdue for a trim, but somehow charming on his wrinkled, well-lived face. “I used to come here with my wife.” He smiled up toward the altar. “Oh, how she loved to hear the sermons.”

  “I loved them, too. I used to come with my parents.”

  “Yes, I remember you from when you were a child.”

  “Do I know you?”

  He nodded once.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. What’s your name?”

  “In time, dear. In time.”

  I shifted in my seat. “I guess I should ask you if there’s something I can help you with?”

  “I used to walk past here several mornings a month. I’d walk to town to purchase my wife a bouquet of flowers. She loved lavender and carnations.” He smiled at the memory. “My Dolly.” He leaned toward me, but his spirit did not touch my skin. “That’s what I called her. When the time is right, she’ll need to know I’m not gone. I’m waiting for her. When she’s done with her work here, I’ll be there to take her home. Tell her this isn’t the end of us, it’s just a pause. Can you do that for me, when it’s time?”

  “Sure, I can try, but I don’t—”

  Newton Alabaster, the church pastor, walked up and coughed. “Ms. Adair. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

  The man next to me disappeared.

  I stood and offered the pastor my hand. “Pastor Alabaster. It’s a pleasure.” I glanced around the small space, but the man with the graying stubble was nowhere to be found.

  “You’re here about the possible restoration project?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I was hoping to be able to walk around and make notes if that’s okay with you?”

  He clasped his hands in front of him. “Of course, that would be fine. I’ve got a sermon to prepare, but Alice Mae Kirk, our secretary, she will be happy to help you navigate to the less public areas.” He flicked his head for me to follow. “Come, I’ll introduce you, but first, I’ve got a box of photos from back in the day and a smaller box from after the fire until now in a closet just over there. I thought they might help you get a better feel for the church.”

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  Alice Mae was an older woman dressed conservatively in a brown skirt and cream colored blouse with her gray hair wrapped into a bun on the top of her head. She reminded me of an elementary school teacher from back in my day.

  “Well look at you, Chantilly Hansard. Why, bless your heart, I knew you when you were this tall.” She held her hand down near her waist, which wasn’t all that far from the ground. “Such a tragedy, your parents. Addie and Hank were just lovely souls. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  I half-smiled. “It’s Adair now, and thank you. It’s been a rough road, but I’m doing okay.”

  Both of my parents had died over the past year and while I’d been cast into the deep throes of divorce after having been told my husband was in love with someone else by means of a note. My mother’s death was hard in ways I couldn’t compare to my father’s death, which was equally as hard for different reasons. Each hurt beyond belief, but I’d survived, and I was able to smile and laugh when someone mentioned them again, something I hadn’t thought possible in those days after they’d passed.

  I wasn’t quite ready to smile and laugh yet when Scott Adair, my husband, was mentioned. My ex-husband. I still struggled with saying that sometimes.

  “Oh yes, I knew you’d been married.”

  The fact that she’d said it the way she did meant she also knew I’d recently divorced. I appreciated that she didn’t mention that though.

  “Miss Kirk,” Pastor Alabaster said, “Chantilly is going to walk herself around the church to work on her plans for the restoration project. When she’s done on the main floor, I’d like her to come back to you so you can take her to the basement. Would you mind?”

  She smiled. “Of course, Pastor. I’m happy to help.” She directed her attention to me. “You just come and get me right quic
k, Miss Chantilly, and I’ll take you down there. It’s a little spooky sometimes, but it’s harmless.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said. “Thank you. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  The pastor saw me out, walking me first to his office, an outdated, sixties style decorated room with retro furniture that, if slightly updated, would sell for big bucks today.

  “This is lovely,” I said, and I wasn’t lying. “I love the retro feel.”

  “Yes, it’s a pleasant space. Reminds me of my father. Pastor Jeremiah used this furniture. The offices weren’t as badly damaged from the fire as the chapel and the rooms near it. We were lucky for that. Considering the loss, I appreciate having his things here.” He ran his hand along the console. “Makes me feel close to him.”

  I smiled. “I understand that. I live in my parent’s house and haven’t done much with a lot of their things yet for that same reason.”

  “Yes. Well, please, take your time touring the church, and if you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

  “Yes, I will. Thank you.”

  He guided me back out of his office. I turned on the recording app on my phone and began detailing out the structure, where I saw concerns, what I felt needed to be addressed, what could use restoration and updating, and what could be left be. It took me two hours to complete the main area, as I paid special attention to the areas repaired after the fire. I took photos of everything I could, crawling on the ground to get pictures of underneath the pews in case any of them had special markings regarding their builder, and the like.

  When I finished, I walked past a locked door I assumed was to the basement and back to Alice Mae’s office. She was wiping her nose with a tissue when I gently knocked on her opened door.

  “Chantilly, yes, I was wondering when you’d be ready.” She opened her top left-hand drawer and removed a set of keys on a large key chain. “Let’s go.”

  “Thank you. You don’t have to go down there with me though, Miss Alice Mae. I’m not sure how long I’ll be. If you’d prefer to just unlock the door, that would be fine.”

  “Heavens, I’d appreciate that. Between you and me, I don’t like going down there. It’s a little too damp and musty for my allergies.”

  “I completely understand. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m used to doing this kind of thing, and I’m on allergy meds, so I can do it without you.”

  She unlocked the door and flipped the light switch on the stairwell wall. “That’s perfect then. Thank you for understanding, sweetie.” She examined me from toe to head. “I just can’t believe how much you’ve grown up.”

  I stepped carefully down the old wood stairs guiding myself by the dim light on the ceiling. The basement was chilly, and at first, I thought there would be a ghost waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, but there wasn’t. It was just a cold dark space.

  The area was used mostly for storage and cleaning supplies and hadn’t been updated or modernized other than maybe new light bulbs in likely forever. I wasn’t as worried about the basement for the restoration as I was concerned about it being a proper foundation for the church itself.

  I maneuvered around the old file cabinets, storage boxes, and pews in various stages of disrepair, making verbal notes about the condition of the foundation, the brick and cement block walls and HVAC system. I knew nothing about HVAC systems, but knew the one in the church basement was years past its prime. I photographed it, including the brand and what I thought was the serial number.

  There were two closets in the large area, a large, spacious one that went further back than I’d expected, filled with holiday décor, and another one in the back right corner. The creepy back part of the basement. The kind the killer always came out of in horror movies.

  After photographing the holiday décor storage closet, I made a few notes on the creaking door because I knew it was an old solid oak kind popular back when the church was first built in the early nineteen-hundreds, and thought if there were others like it, it could be repurposed or reused upstairs somehow.

  I stared and sighed at the other closet. “I really don’t want to end up like a horror movie actress. Or Johnny Depp in Nightmare on Elm Street.” I laughed nervously. “So, I’m just putting that out there for y’all to hear just in case.” As I walked to the other closet, a chill crept over me, and I froze. “Come on now, I was polite.” The chill deepened, and I held my arms tightly around my chest, rubbing them to ward off the chill. “Hello? Is someone here?”

  A man appeared in front of me, but it wasn’t the same man as upstairs. This one I recognized from photos I’d seen in the church.

  “Pastor Alabaster?”

  He turned around, walked toward the closet door in the scary section of the basement, and waited for me. I sped up my step and stood next to him. “You can talk to me. I can hear you when you speak.”

  The door to the closet swung open.

  And inside was the body of the church’s janitor, Acel Grimes with a dent in his head, dried blood caked onto his skull as well as all over the top of a candelabra lying on the ground next to him.

  “Oh no.” I glanced back at Pastor Alabaster.

  “Do you know what happened?”

  The pastor opened his arms up to the sky and disappeared in a flash of light.

  “Well, goodness. That’s not helpful.”

  3

  I couldn’t get a cell connection in the basement, and I ran back up those stairs faster than I’d run in years. I called 9-1-1, and detective Jack Levitt arrived with a team of officers and the fire department in under ten minutes.

  When Jack, detective by day and my son’s lacrosse coach by night, saw me, he just shook his head.

  I shrugged. “It’s not my fault I have a knack for finding dead bodies.”

  “Maybe not a fault, but it’s definitely a habit.”

  “Not one I enjoy, I promise.”

  He asked me what happened, and I filled him in, minus the visit from the original Pastor Alabaster, of course. Both Alice Mae and Pastor Newton Alabaster sat in the first row of the chapel’s pews while I did.

  “It’s just tragic,” Alice Mae said. “Acel was well-loved around here.” She blew her nose in the tissue I hadn’t seen leave her hand since I’d arrived. “Just so tragic.”

  “Pastor Alabaster, I’d like to talk with you for a bit about Acel and his status here at the church,” Jack said.

  Jack and I had an interesting relationship, and though we’d talked a while back about the details of that relationship, nothing much had changed, and I didn’t know how to handle that. Were we friends. Something more? Something in between? I felt like I was in that in between zone, hanging there by a thread not knowing how to act or what to say in his presence. It reminded me of when I liked boys in high school, and I hated that.

  Several months before, I’d sort of happened upon another dead body, and after some amateur sleuthing on my part, along with the help of a ghost no one but me could see, I figured out what happened ahead of the police. Ahead of Jack. We’d just begun re-establishing our childhood friendship, but that fell flat from what I assumed were my actions and the end result of that murder, and when I finally got the nerve to talk to him a few weeks ago, he’d told me he had feelings for me but he just didn’t know how to handle them.

  He wanted to stay friends until he figured it out. I was okay with that, because even though butterflies flew around my stomach every time I saw him, I wasn’t sure I was at all ready to date. I did want to foster our friendship though, I just wasn’t sure how to do that, and apparently since he’d gone back to practically ignoring me again since that conversation, he wasn’t either.

  “Do you need me to stay?” I asked.

  “No, but I may need to send someone to ask you more questions. You going to the museum?”

  “With a stop at Community Café first, but I’ll be at practice tonight, too.”

  “I’m probably not going to make that,” he said.

  “Understa
ndable.”

  I sat at my favorite corner table at the café and did some research on the church waiting for the news to make its rounds about Acel’s untimely demise. I was tempted to bring it up, but Del was busy behind the counter, and I didn’t want to disturb her when she was in restaurant owner mode.

  There wasn’t much on the internet about the church, but I’d been able to gather articles from the past that filled me in on what happened before I was born.

  The building was practically destroyed in the fire, but with church funds, a lot of community donations, and a steady stream of volunteers, it was rebuilt. Pastor Jeremiah Alabaster died that night, and though the case was never solved, it was never formally determined to be arson, though everybody in town had their own opinions about that.

  A candle had been knocked over, igniting the church in flames in a short time. Pastor Alabaster was inside, and though he tried to escape, he was taken by the smoke before he could make it out.

  Two suspects were accused in the court of public opinion, but no arrests were ever made. One of those suspects, William Chamblee, was a local man who volunteered at the church and was a member of the financial and advisory committees. Word around town was that he’d had a disagreement with Alabaster about use of church funds, and while they argued, the candle fell. He’d escaped but left the pastor to die.

  The second accused was the now deceased janitor, Acel Grimes. Rumors were rampant that Acel was going to be fired, or at least thought he was, and because of that, he’d also argued with the pastor the night of the fire. The argument went down similar to the rumored one with William Chamblee, ending with the candle somehow on the ground, igniting the church in flames which Acel escaped, and again, without Pastor Jeremiah.

  I tapped my pencil onto my notepad as Del brought over a tall glass of sweet tea and a pimento cheese on rye sandwich with a side of fresh fruit. “What’s got your face looking like that, sweetie?”