Chapter 79 - The Weapon of Holy Condemnation
Pastor Thomas tried to calm her, placing his hand firmly on her arm, but Clara jerked away from him in sheer hysteria.
"Sister Clara is merely overcome by grief and spiritual warfare," Pastor Thomas announced quickly, attempting damage control for the parishioners.
"We must remember that Satan uses family divisions to attack the righteous."
Elder Jenkins nodded vigorously, holding his Bible like a shield against the chilly mountain breeze.
"We have brought the church prayer team to cast out the spirit of greed from this household today," Jenkins declared loudly.
Sister Martha began murmuring a rhythmic, chanting prayer, rocking back and forth on the damp grass near the driveway.
The other elders joined in, raising their palms toward the second-story windows of my house as if performing an exorcism.
It was an old, familiar circus; Clara had used this exact ritual whenever anyone challenged her reign of terror at home.
When my cousin Mark refused to cosign a fifty-thousand-dollar church loan, Clara had organized a prayer vigil outside his workplace until he was fired.
When her younger sister discovered Clara had embezzled from their mother's estate, Clara held a public service to pray for her sister's "demon of jealousy."
She weaponized holiness because it made her victims look like monsters if they dared to defend themselves.
The lead mover turned off the engine of the truck, crossing his arms and leaning against the fender with an annoyed sigh.
"Look, lady, I ain't getting involved in no church feud or breaking no padlocks without legal paperwork," the mover grunted.
Clara whirled on him, her eyes bulging with venomous impatience.
"I paid you five hundred dollars to do a job, not to give me a moral lecture, you idiot!" she barked.
The mover’s face darkened instantly, taking a step away from her and unhooking his radio.
Pastor Thomas looked visibly mortified by Clara’s sudden outburst, glancing nervously at Sister Martha whose prayer had faltered mid-sentence.
"Sister Clara, please, let us maintain Christian decorum," Pastor Thomas pleaded in a tight whisper.
"Decorum won't get me inside my house, Thomas!" Clara shrieked, pointing a shaking finger directly at my chest.
"She’s sitting up there laughing at us! She’s squatting in a three-million-dollar waterfront property while I live in a mortgaged subdivision!"
I stood completely motionless at the top of the porch steps, watching the mask slip completely from her face.
"Tell them the truth, Clara," I said, my voice echoing across the courtyard with sudden, cutting clarity.
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"Tell Pastor Thomas why you desperately need this lake house sold before the end of the month."
Clara froze, her pale face draining of what little color it had left.
