Page 12 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
“Do as you feel is right.” Perliett left it to Maribeth’s discretion and hurried toward her room, leaving her mother behind with the young man.
Several minutes later, she’d slipped into proper clothes, rejecting her corset for reasons of time. Perliett gripped her apothecary chest and hurried back toward the front door. Maribeth waited there with the lad, who shifted his weight from foot to foot. His expression was worried and then relieved when Perliett came into his view.
Maribeth was still clothed in her nightdress. “I’ve decided to stay. My very presence may upset Mrs. Withers with the potential of what I bring with me. Perhaps it’s best if you find out her state of mind before I offer my ministrations.”
“Very well.” Perliett experienced a slight pang of disappointment. She would appreciate her mother’s company since it was the dead of night. Yet it was too urgent to voice that concern now. Besides, if she was being honest, nighttime house calls were few and far between for Perliett. Mostpreferred George—Dr.Wasziak—simply because of the letters following his name, the university education, and the fact that he was a man.
It did come back to bite when Perliett realized many considered her more of a health enthusiast than someone qualified to help. Certainly, for years, home remedies, scientific remedies, and even mystical remedies had assisted in an individual’s healing.
“Ma’am?” The lad waiting to take her to the Withers farm interrupted her meandering thoughts.
“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes. Urgency. I’ll need my cloak.” Perliett wasn’t wasting further time on justifying why she was qualified to make a middle-of-the-night house call. Mrs. Withers wasn’t injured, she was grieving. It didn’t take an M.D. at the end of one’s name to assist with grief.
Maribeth helped Perliett slip into it, buttoning it at her neck.“Take my hat.” Maribeth’s black veiled hat from the funeral still hung on the hall tree. Perliett accepted it, pinning it to her haphazard updo.
“I’ll be fine, Mother,” she reassured Maribeth. They met each other’s eyes, and Maribeth’s reflected her concern.
“I don’t have a good feeling...” Truth be told, Maribeth rarely had good feelings. Instead, she relied on her senses and influences, and Perliett respected that.
Then come with me. Perliett’s thoughts were too belated now to do any good. The waiting lad was dancing from foot to foot with impatience. “I’ll be fine,” she voiced instead.
The farmhand ushered her toward a buggy, and within minutes they were careening through the thunderstorm toward the Withers farm.
Lightning streaked the sky as they hurtled down the driveway. Perliett clutched the seat for fear of catapulting off, and while she appreciated her driver’s devotion to meeting the emergency, the speed at which he pushed the horse was breakneck.
They rolled to a stop in front of the farmhouse. Rain pelted Perliett, as she didn’t bother to wait but climbed from the buggy on her own.
“Thank you!” she called to the lad and hurried to the front door. It opened almost immediately, Millie’s pretty face greeting her with tear stains on her cheeks.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.” She ushered Perliett inside. “Papa is with Mama in their bedroom. Errol says that Angelica wasn’t in much better condition, only she finally fell asleep, so my sister is no help to us. Mama is inconsolable, moaning and writhing. We don’t know what to do!”
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Is the doctor here?” Mr. Withers’s deep voice rivaled the thunder for its low rumble.
Perliett met the frantic face of Mr. Withers as he appeared on the stairs. He froze. His graying hair stood out in spikes around his head from ruffling it with nervous fingers. His face was as white as a sheet, and his eyes darkened at the sight of her.
“I told that boy to get the doctor!” he barked.
“Miss Van Hilton is less expensive...” Millie started.
Perliett felt her face droop with hurt at the unintended insult. Less expensive. Mr. Withers was a well-known miser of a farmer, but the idea she was chosen because she cost less than George was disheartening. It had nothing to do with faith in her abilities. Equally disheartening was that the Withers family was even willing to consider cost at the peril of their mother and wife’s welfare.
“Take her to your mother.” Mr. Withers barreled past them and disappeared into another room.
Perliett exchanged glances with Millie, tightening her hold on her box of supplies. They maneuvered the stairs quickly, reaching the upstairs hallway. She tried to gather her wits after having her pride trampled on by Mr. Withers.
Mrs. Withers writhed on her bed, the sheets torn fromthe bottom of the mattress and rolled into a ball. Her body was damp with sweat, her graying dark hair sticking to her cheeks. She clutched a shawl and moaned, pressing it into her nose and mouth as if she intended to suffocate herself with it.
“It’s Eunice’s shawl,” Millie explained in a whisper. Her blue eyes grew more wide and more worried. “She won’t let it go, and she keeps weeping into it.”
“I understand.” Perliett moved to the edge of the bed, setting her box on a nearby chair. “Mrs. Withers?” she inquired.
The woman only moaned into the shawl.
“Mrs. Withers,” Perliett tried again, “I am here to help you. Are you in any pain?”
Mrs. Withers opened her eyes for a moment, focused a cloudy gaze on Perliett, then closed them again. Perliett bent over the woman, whose moaning only continued, muffled by the violet-colored shawl pressed against her mouth.
“I need to know if you’re in pain,” Perliett said.
