Free The Body in the Wardrobe by Katherine Hall Page Page A

embedded. What First Parish needs is new blood. Rattle the pews maybe.”
    Ignoring the wildly mixed metaphors, Faith had said, “Well, they do that on their own.” First Parish dated back to the eighteenth century, and not only were the benches hard, but the pews also had doors that closed from the aisle—the better for a captive audience? Over time the hinges had loosened and were apt to emit audible creaks as the congregation stood up and sat down.
    â€œThe new parish would be near Norwell. After last summer, I think we should be closer to my parents.”
    Marian and Dick Fairchild were a forty-minute drive away, less without traffic. Tom’s sister, Betsey, lived in the neighboring town. Faith had also been shaken by Marian’s cardiac surgery in July, but her mother-in-law had made a full recovery and was talking about a trip to Cuba.
    Faith thought back to her own next words, chosen carefully. “Both good reasons, but how about a third? Maybe it’s you who need the change?”
    Tom managed a slightly lopsided smile. “Maybe.” He’d pulledher in for a hug. “They have an interim, so the job wouldn’t start until June, maybe the end of the summer. We’d have time in Maine together. And from what the two people who have contacted me have said, it’s a church that is struggling. An older congregation, although it’s a town that has seen an influx of young families in recent years.”
    â€œRipe for the picking,” Faith had said as she reflected on the problem that was facing all denominations. Dwindling numbers. Even the arrival of young families didn’t mean an increase in a congregation. Weekends for families meant precious break time, a respite from the work and school week, which kept families on such different schedules that few ate dinner, or even breakfast, together. Saturday and Sunday meant a somewhat slower pace—soccer and other activities to attend, but it was together time—a different kind of together from attendance at services. So far First Parish had a very active Sunday school, and the congregation was diverse in age and other respects.
    â€œSo, what do you say? Should I go for it? I know it’s a big change,” Tom had said.
    What she saw then was as clear now. Her husband’s face—somewhat like that of a kid who has found a new bike from Santa under the tree. Faith had replied, “Yes, and they’d be lucky to get you, darling.”
    Tom had left the house to go to his office at the church, where he had the phone number of the search committee head, to arrange to preach in January, and Faith had headed for comfort in the kitchen. This was all happening fast. Too fast, she thought. Could it be that after all these years, Aleford had well and truly become her home? She was filled with a deep reluctance to leave. Well, not the parsonage itself. It dated back almost as far as the church, and coping with the uneven floors, small windows that let in precious little light, plus a Vestry that funded only basic repairs made Faith appreciate the smaller house on Sanpere that at least was completely theirs. She could paint it bright pink if she wanted.The parsonage’s clapboard had always been white, and its interior walls had always been neutral colors—world without end. After dinner she’d resolved to Google the South Shore church. Maybe their home page had a photo of the parsonage. Or maybe, with luck, there wasn’t one and Faith could go house hunting. She’d stopped dead still, a lump of cheddar in one hand, a grater in the other. House hunting! Moving!
    The outside kitchen door had opened and the tall handsome stranger with the deep voice that her son had so quickly, and alarmingly, become strode into the room, dropped his knapsack, grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table, and said, “What’s for supper, Mom?”
    â€œAnd yes, I’m fine thank you. Toasted