Free The Body in the Wardrobe by Katherine Hall Page

It didn’t diminish what she knew had happened, but it was most certainly taking her mind off the event.
    An event that came crowding back the moment her head sank into the down pillows. She closed her eyes and watched it all again, as if pushing rewind on a remote. Rewinding further to all the nights she’d spent alone in the house this week. The noises she’d heard. Not ghosts, but now she was certain, very much alive human beings.
    Giving up, she drank the cocoa, and slipped into oblivion.
    All week long Faith had been going over her conversation with Tom on Sunday night—“We need to talk”—to the point where she could almost describe it in picture-perfect detail. The problem being that the recollection wasn’t helping her understand, or come any closer to terms with what he’d said.
    The first thing she’d done was switch on a light. It was so not Tom to sit in the dark. “What’s wrong? What do we need to talk about?”
    He’d run his fingers through his rusty brown hair causing it to stick straight up, a gesture when he was agitated or worried, but he hadn’t responded right away. She’d filled the silence.
    â€œThis is such a hard time of year for you, so much holiday joy; so many sad people . . .” Suddenly she’d realized why he must be depressed. “Have we lost someone?” Several parishioners were close to death, and Tom had been called to these bedsides with greater frequency in the last few days.
    â€œNot yet, but I’ve been expecting to hear from Charles Frawley’s family soon. No, it’s not the parish. Or rather it is the parish—and another one as well.”
    At that point, Faith had been thoroughly mystified. “Another one? Here?” Aleford’s clerical community was remarkably congenial and had not engaged in the turf wars that had been known to occur among religious institutions in other places—no turning of cheeks there.
    Tom had started to raise his hand to his hair again but lowered it, taking his wife’s instead. “The search committee from a church on the South Shore has been in touch with me several times lately, urging me to throw my collar in the ring.”
    This happened with some frequency, and Faith was never surprised. Of course her husband would be in demand.
    â€œThat’s always wonderful for you, darling,” she’d said and turned her thoughts to dinner. Sunday nights meant a simple supper. Describing the Lowcountry boil to Sophie had turned Faith’s appetite south. Maybe grilled pimento cheese sandwiches with a big salad.
    â€œI’m thinking of taking it.”
    Faith had immediately tuned back in. “You mean moving?”
    Tom nodded. “At least I’ll go talk to them and guest preach—get a feel for the congregation.”
    There had been so many questions on the tip of Faith’s tongue that she didn’t know which to give voice to first. Uppermost was the notion that Tom had been thinking about something so majorfor God only knew how long (and of course must), without this representative on earth telling his nearest and dearest. They didn’t have that kind of marriage—the kind where one spouse kept things from the other. Maybe Faith had on occasion for Tom’s own good, but he wasn’t supposed to follow suit. She’d tried to keep her voice calm.
    â€œI thought after the sabbatical in Cambridge, you had decided to stay in Aleford.”
    â€œI decided to stay in a parish ministry, but I never said I would always be in Aleford.”
    Faith had noted that it was the kind of semantics she would have expected from her teenage son, not her grown-up husband.
    Tom had continued, “I’ve been thinking about how long I’ve been in Aleford for some time. I was here for a year before we were married, remember. I’m not sure it’s the best thing for the life of a church to have one minister so