Page 10 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
Perliett.
To her chagrin, Mr. Bridgers mouthed her name, drawing attention to his fine mouth, his clean-shaven face, and her own name on his tongue, though the word had not been spoken.
The reverend had reached the “ashes to ashes” part of the eulogy, but Perliett barely heard him. She looked down at her shoes in a hurry, desperate to break the penetrating stare from the stranger, which was so much more unnerving than that of George Wasziak’s. At the thought of him, Perliett searched out the doctor, only to find he was eyeing Jasper Bridgers—no, he was surveying all the attendees. Perhapshis thoughts mirrored her own. That the murderer might have joined the mourners to gloat over his handiwork in anonymity.
That she might share a thought with the doctor irritated Perliett. She made the error of offering a soft snort of derision, which earned her quick looks from those around her. Their censure brought Perliett back to the reality that she stood at the graveside of Eunice Withers. Slain Eunice Withers. Death from tuberculosis would have been far more tolerable than this. Murder wasn’t palatable to anyone.
Finally, the reverend ended his sermon about eternal life, and a man at each corner lowered the casket into the open grave. It settled into the earth with a thud that made the finality of Eunice’s current condition that much more burdensome. Mr. Withers, Eunice’s father, tossed a handful of dirt onto Eunice’s casket, and then her other family members followed suit. Such a mournful sound, the dirt colliding with the lid that covered the woman’s corpse. Mrs. Withers appeared to barely stand as she hung on Angelica’s husband’s arm. Her son-in-law, Errol, was helpful to Mrs. Withers, and he even offered Angelica his other arm.
Condolences were mumbled next, embraces offered, handshakes, and the like. All habitual ways humanity offered some sort of physical connection to those left behind, who could no longer reach their loved one. Could no longer feel the warmth of their skin or the beat of their heart.
“It makes one wonder what her last thoughts were.” Jasper Bridgers’s voice rumbled in her ear and moved a curl at the base of her hairline. He had come from nowhere, or so it seemed.
Perliett didn’t gift him with the grace of her focus, mostly because she was a puddle of nerves. She let him interpret it as indifference.
“What a morbid thing to say, Mr. Bridgers.”
Her rebuke had little effect on him.
“And yet everyone considers it. That last thought, that moment before the soul slips away from the body and becomes what it was meant to be. Free. For eternity.”
“Or”—George Wasziak’s baritone burst into the moment with the rudeness of, well, George Wasziak—“the soul faces the good Lord only to find there’s no recompense great enough that can be offered and thus the person is rebuked from God’s presence.”
“To then burn in the lake of fire?” Mr. Bridgers’s tone didn’t change.
They sandwiched Perliett, both their shoulders almost touching hers with the three of them looking forward, observing the gatherers as they dispersed.
“Or perhaps such souls linger here, left with unfinished business.” Perliett’s offering to the conversation was met with a snort from George and a nod from Mr. Bridgers.
“Absent from the body is to be present with the Lord,” George said.
“Or to burn to a crisp in hell, according to your theory,” Mr. Bridgers goaded. “I prefer lingering with unfinished business.”
“As would most,” George didn’t hesitate to add, “were it an option.”
“Come now.” Perliett gave a small wave of her gloved hand. “Sparring about the afterlife is as ludicrous as assuming one can pinpoint the moment the world began.”
“Was created,” George corrected.
“Or evolved,” Mr. Bridgers said. “Darwin has his merits.”
“If you’re a fool.” George stiffened, and Perliett felt it. Felt the warmth of the doctor next to her and the searing heat from the presence of the man on the other side of her.
“For pity’s sake!” Perliett denounced them both and then clapped a hand over her mouth as several of the gatherers jerked their heads up in surprise at the outburst. “For pity’s sake,” she repeated, this time hissing at both men. “You aresparring like schoolboys. This is a funeral, and you should both respect it as such.”
Mr. Bridgers agreed to Perliett’s rebuke with a nod of his fine head.
George stared down his nose at her. “Who is thisfriendof yours?” He gave a cool tilt of his head toward Mr. Bridgers.
Perliett drew back. “He’s not myfriend, and I’ve absolutely no idea why he’s at Eunice’s funeral.”
“I’m hurt,” Jasper Bridgers said. “As a new member of the community, isn’t giving condolences, even to strangers, my due diligence?”
“He ... you...” Perliett fumbled for words.
“Due diligence or intrepid curiosity?” George said, echoing Perliett’s unspoken thoughts.
“Is it a sin if it were a bit of both?” Mr. Bridgers’s thick dark eyebrow quirked upward.
