Thieves and Passions

Tara knew that she had not been a bad little girl. At least never as bad as her father made her out to be. She had always tried to be a very good little girl, always doing her seven-year-old best at home and at the old wooden country schoolhouse she attended in Pokems Hollow. She was always polite and respectful to grownups, just as her mother had taught her to be.

She even held up as best she could at the funeral. She had been made to understand that her mother did not mean to go away and leave her. It was just that she was tired and had gone to live with the angels, and that one day she would see her again if she remained a very good person.

Tara believed this because her Sunday School teacher told her so, and Sis Clare didn't tell lies, plus she was a very kind, wise, and understanding woman who knew about such things. Tara could always see the goodness in her wide smile that shown bright on her lined and wrinkled face. A face full of goodness. Tara just knew.

Clare Boggs, "Sis Clare," as she was affectionately called, was an old woman of seventy-eight who had been a member of the Pokems Hollow Holiness Church since only God knows when. She was white-haired, and that she wore in a tight bun that seemed to stretch her brown skin to the limits. Her frail, thin frame was bent over by the weight of hard work and her many years on earth. Even though she carried herself with a righteous dignity, she was a no- nonsense person when it came to preaching against wickedness and the Devil. Although very stern, she always could find a kind word and a prayer for everyone, especially her "sweet li'l Tara."

But why had her mother gone first? Surely Sis Clare would have been invited to live with the angels first. Not to say that her mother had not been a good person. Just as good and kind as Sis Clare. She had cried up a storm as she asked Sis Clare why they were putting her mother in the cold was down there, and only people like her father went down there. Not good people like her mother.

Tara remembered that Sis Clare had hugged her close. She remembered the sweet smell of lilac powder. She remembered Sis Clare saying through a tear choked voice, "The Devil won't git your moma, child. The angels will come 'long soon. No, my darlin' li'l Tara, she's not the one the Devil's gon' git."

Tara's father stood solemnly staring down at his wife's grave. He had heard the old woman's words, and when he looked up at her his heart felt as if struck with a hammer. Sis Clare was looking straight at him.