Page 29 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
Jasper cleared his throat, and the room rushed back into view, leaving Perliett staring helplessly at George as he turned a shoulder to her to dig in his bag.
“I’ll need to administer a stitch or two.” George straightened, needle and thread in hand. He directed his attention to Jasper, but his eyes visibly darkened. “Then I will see to your hands.”
“I’m sure there’s not much to tend...” Jasper redirected all their attention to the door. “They need to be taken home, and I’m their transportation.”
“Fine.” George didn’t seem to care about Jasper’s condition too terribly. He nodded. “Miss Petra, would you mind cleaning off his hands? Swab the wounds and verify there’s no glass embedded.”
“Certainly.” Miss Petra rounded Perliett and motioned for Jasper to rise. “Come. We’ll run water over your hands in the kitchen sink.”
Jasper followed Miss Petra, giving Perliett a formal nod. There was something about his expression that drew Perliett toward him, sucking her into the depths of whoever Jasper Bridgers was. Mysterious. Intriguing. Desirable. Altogether—
“A pompous oaf,” George muttered under his breath as Jasper and Miss Petra exited the room.
Perliett snapped her focus back to George. “You’re quite rude.”
“At least I don’t pretend to be otherwise. I don’t weasel my way into people’s lives who are grieving or infiltrate the home of two single women,” he groused. Then, “This will sting.” The needle poked into Perliett’s cheek.
She bit back a whimper.
George pulled the thread through.
Heavens, Perliett was growing clammy. The last thing she wanted was to faint under the ministrations of George Wasziak.
He seemed oblivious to the fact that Perliett was measuring her breaths to maintain her stability of mind.
“Aside from the ever-present Mr. Bridgers, I’d say your little gathering didn’t go as expected?” George’s words brushed her cheek, following the path of the thread.
Perliett closed her eyes, biting the inside of her lip. It hurt worse than she’d imagined stitches would. “Spirits aren’t always pleased to be disturbed,” she retorted through gritted teeth.
Another poke. “Or maybe you’re testing spirits entirely different from what you believe them to be.”
“You truly cannot give my mother any credibility, can you?” Perliett winced.
George paused, waited for her to straighten her face, then continued with the second stitch. He was leaning close, and she couldn’t help but notice his mouth. Lips carved and bordered by whiskers.
She realized he had stopped. Perliett lifted her eyes.
George was studying her, the needle and thread in his hand, already cut with her cheek sewn.
Perliett sensed a furious blush creeping up her neck, going to war with the cold desperation of feeling faint.
George raised an eyebrow. “Your mother ... is none of my concern.” It was a cool dismissal, but for some reason it did not convince Perliett that he was as detached as he made himself out to be.
They emerged from the room where George had embroidered her face. Perliett dabbed the stitches and wondered if he’d ever practiced by needling a sampler.
He gave her a sideways glance as they reentered her father’s study. It perplexed her that George felt the need to follow her. She was well now, and it appeared Jasper had left with the considerably shaken Withers family.
Maribeth stood in the middle of the mess, the night air blowing through the shattered window. Crickets were chirping again and seemed especially loud without glass to separate the outside from the indoors.
Detective Poll circled the room, eyeing the broken glass that littered the floor. “You say it just exploded?”
Maribeth nodded, her hand clutching her throat. Her hair was in disarray. Thankfully, she had not been harmed, although glass had most definitely dotted the back of her dress in small tears, and Perliett was positive there had to be some tiny slivers stuck in Maribeth’s hair.
“It was an unseen force hurtling angrily toward us.” Maribeth’s eyes were wide with conviction and terror. “I’ve never seen anything like it before in my life.”
George joined the detective, and Perliett frowned at how they so quickly excluded them. The women. The ones who had been there for the event itself.
“Have you found a rock?” George’s question made it to Perliett’s ears. She exchanged a look with her mother. No paltry rock had caused such a chaotic scene!
