The Purse

(Vol. 12 | Spring 2025 - Cowley Alumni)

           

Walter Price sat alone at the breakfast table. His 78-year-old body had endured cold winters, hot summers, dirty, laborious jobs, working from dawn until dusk on the farm for fifty-odd years. His wife, Clarice, had stood by him in all of those years, providing moral and spiritual support whenever needed. She was the joy of his life and nothing made him prouder than to see her waiting for his arrival from the day’s work at the back porch screen door; her smile of confidence and approval awaited him.

            The funeral had been yesterday afternoon at 2P.M., and the Pastor had done a wonderful service, relating stories of Clarice’s compassion and the joy of sharing her talents with the community and their church. Walter had received many friends and neighbors after the service, and all of them said how much they were going to miss Clarice and let him know if there was anything they could do…

            Walter peered out the window, pulling the checkerboard curtains aside, and tried to imagine her coming from the hen house with a dozen eggs held in the bellows of her apron; she gathered with her hands. When he turned back to the table, he began to empty the purse she had carried for the last several years. It had been her favorite and showed signs of wear and tear on the leather strap and the creases that let her purse expand as needed. Why hadn’t she bought a new one? He asked himself. He laid the purse on its side and slowly opened the closure strap to gain entry. He reached in gently to grasp the first object he glimpsed. His aged, callused hands withdrew a small wallet that had a clasp on one side for change, and the other side opened to reveal twelve dollars folded over. The outside of the wallet held her driver’s license, credit cards, membership, and reward cards to various stores and companies they did business with. Walter glanced at the photo on her license and felt the lump in his throat swell. Clarice was looking back with the same look she always had for him. A crooked smile that indicated she was up to something. The little photo didn’t reveal her blue eyes very well, and the high cheekbones that came with her Swedish heritage. Still, there was that something in her face that he always loved and admired- the hint of mystery. He reached for another item and found her hairbrush, laden with her grey strands, clutching the bristles of her yellow brush. Yellow was her favorite color. He enjoyed the many yellow blooms that sprang from the ground around their home each year as she tended the planting and weeding to provide a pleasant and beautiful yard. Walter lifted the brush to his nose and smelled. Her essence was still there and he inhaled her aroma, knowing he would never see her brush her hair again. Once again, he felt for another item and withdrew a small picture wallet that carried photos that she obviously felt were precious to her and could look at from time to time as she waited in doctor offices, or at church socials, showing anyone who cared to look. He scanned each one, gently feeling the edges of the plastic covering, as he’d seen her often do. Most of the pictures were of him, their children, some of the flower beds, her quilts, or their close friends. He allowed more time to gaze at a picture of the two of them taken at their fiftieth wedding anniversary. They were standing in front of a table with a large decorated cake, and holding hands. She was in her favorite white dress and he in his best blue suit. They were smiling, with fifty years of love behind them.

            Walter wiped a tear that had formed from his eye and reached back into the purse another time. His hand felt a round, slick object and as he withdrew it, he saw the silver compact that she used to apply makeup to her face, a face that showed many lines of aging but she called them lines of joy. She was like that, always putting a positive spin on anything that she could. Walter tried again and felt a plastic sack of some sort. He found that she had put several hard-wrapped candies in a little plastic ziplock bag. She would offer him one whenever they were out and about together as a method of covering any breath problems that might occur if they were in mixed company. He took one and placed it in his mouth.

            Returning to the purse, he removed a linen handkerchief that was folded neatly. An embroidered yellow rose was in one corner; her favorite flower. She saw the utility of having it on hand should something spill on his or her clothes, or to wipe away a tear at a friend’s funeral. It was soft and pliable, like Clarice’s cheeks. He put it to his lips and gently kissed it.

            Feeling for any remaining objects, Walter felt none and raised the purse to gaze inside for any hidden pockets that were zippered or covered by flaps. He found a long zipper that covered a pocket the length of the purse. He gently opened it and saw an envelope tucked neatly within. After removing it, she had written his name on the outside in handwriting that clearly showed her palsy had taken a toll on her motor movements. The letters would have been graceful and neatly written with a slight slant before the terrible disease overtook her. Walter lifted the flap and pulled the single, folded, typewritten page from the envelope. He considered how long she must have spent trying to press each key.

            Dearest Walt,

                        I have dreaded leaving you on this earth alone but am forced to deal with the hand that has been dealt. I do not fear death, but fear what happens to you after I’m gone. You have been my rock all these years and I know you have felt equally about me. We made a fine pair if there ever was one. Know that I have always loved you and am thankful for the love, trust, and friendship you gave me. As you gain your footing after my leaving, I encourage you to find companionship with others, whether at our church, at the coffee shop or at the senior citizens center. You are too fine a fellow to live alone and not share your wonderful personality with those around you.

            I am finally at peace now and have no more trials or pain to face. Rest in that fact. One day, when you join me, we will smile in each other’s eyes again and hold each other forever.

            As ever, with love,

            Clarice

            Walter refolded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, then put it against the salt and pepper shaker by the window to read each morning at breakfast. He bent forward, clasping his cheeks with his hands and wept.