Not a Sparrow Falls by Linda Nichols

the heavy burden of ministry was what had driven Bill away. The longer she considered it, the more probable it seemed. There was no way the church could hire a third pastor to help the assistant. At Bill’s new church, he would have the same duties, but with an associate to help him. She felt a twist of regret that he’d been so unappreciated, and a twinge of worry when she thought of what might happen now that he was gone.
    “This morning I heard someone say that Alasdair’s healing process would be complete when he married again.” Fiona’s voice brought Lorna out of her reverie.
    Winifred snorted. “I’m sure there would be plenty of applicants for that position.”
    “I suppose,” Fiona said, smiling. Almost at once, though, her pretty face clouded. “By the way, I heard a rumor that disturbed me.”
    “What was it?” Winifred demanded.
    “That there’s a movement afoot.”
    “What kind of movement?” Winifred asked, seeming only slightly interested.
    Lorna understood why word of rumors didn’t bring an immediate panic. The three of them were veterans of their father’s years of ministry. These so-called movements could be motivated by the slightest of disturbances, from unhappiness with the color of the carpeting in the Sunday school rooms to major doctrinal concerns. They could be anythingfrom a quick shower to a devastating hurricane. She waited for Fiona to elaborate, the clenching of her stomach her only premonition.
    “A movement to have Alasdair replaced.”
    Her stomach twisted. This was a gale force wind.
    “Piffle,” Winifred dismissed. “Who told you that?”
    “Ruth Anderson said she heard it from Edgar Willis.”
    Winifred frowned, and with reason. Edgar Willis was one of the ruling elders, the senior ruling elder, as a matter of fact. “If it’s true, I lay it at Bill Wright’s feet. He should never have left.”
    Lorna thought perhaps they should be grateful Bill had stayed as long as he had, picking up pieces and smoothing the path for Alasdair.
    “I’m sure there’s nothing to it, though,” Winifred dismissed. “Just the usual gossip.”
    Fiona didn’t answer, just lifted one of her exquisitely shaped eyebrows.
    Lorna took a deep breath and tried to ignore her feeling of foreboding. She closed the refrigerator door and went to the sink to perform her final ritual. Neither of her sisters ever scrubbed it, and the food scraps in the drainer and yellow stains on the porcelain made the kitchen look even more grim and neglected than usual. She emptied the drain trap into the garbage, then shook the green cleanser and watched the granules turn dark as they hit the wet sink. She felt a frustration she couldn’t name, and suddenly she was angry with Winifred and Fiona. And she was angry with Alasdair as well, she realized with a shock.
    “What were you two arguing about?” Alasdair’s voice behind Lorna startled her, and oddly, instead of banishing her thoughts, the little surge of adrenaline from his appearance only increased their force. Her brother picked up the empty coffeepot and reached around her to fill it at the faucet.
    Winifred looked stricken, probably wondering how long he had been listening and trying to remember what she’dsaid. Alasdair didn’t even look at her. He reached up to get the filter and coffee from the cupboard.
    “I can’t remember,” Fiona said, laughing. “You know us.”
    Suddenly Lorna was hot, as if someone had lit a little fire in her chest. Why did no one in this family ever tell the truth?
    “They were arguing about how long it’s been since Anna died,” she blurted out. “How long has it been, Alasdair? Surely you know.”
    Winifred’s jaw dropped. Fiona’s eyes widened. Even Lorna was shocked, though the words had come from her own mouth. Alasdair stopped his coffee preparations and looked at her. For just a moment his eyes seemed unveiled, and she glimpsed the churning froth behind them.
    “I don’t remember exactly.” He