Page 114 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
Mrs. Withers climbed down from the carriage, and Perliett realized her mistake.
“No, no, Mrs. Withers.” She scampered down, banging her inner thigh on the runner. Wincing, she limped around the horse, dragging her hand in comfort along the horse’s side and touching its nose as she passed.
Mrs. Withers was disappearing into the corn when Perliett reached the other side of the carriage.
“Mrs. Withers!” Perliett cried.
The cornstalks swallowed up the woman, hiding her from view. Fighting against fear and the need to help the obviously disturbed woman, Perliett forced herself to ignore her fright. She pushed at the stiff stalks of corn, waving her left hand as corn silk tangled with her fingers. She could smell the corn, its sweet, tangy scent mingling with the damp earth beneath their feet.
“Mrs. Withers?”
“Alden?” Mrs. Withers’s shaky voice traveled through the corn rows.
Perliett increased her speed, glimpsing the woman, who moved remarkably fast through the cornfield her husband had planted months ago in early spring.
“Alden!” There was panic in her voice.
It urged Perliett forward.
Mrs. Withers cried out again, only this time there was a twinge of relief in her tone.
Perliett plowed forward, seeing the form of the woman coming into view. She stumbled, her foot tangling with a cornstalk that had been broken and lay across the path. Perliett put out her hands to catch herself as she fell, but two enormous arms shot out, hauling her to her feet.
She stared up at the man, who had appeared out of nowhere. His farm clothes were worn and dirty from daily chores. His left eye was cloudy, blinded from birth. His graying hair stood in tufts from the top of his head, and his beard was untrimmed.
It was the Withers handyman. She knew him. In the pastshe had treated a farm injury he’d suffered. He’d been polite but withdrawn.
Hadn’t Detective Poll mentioned that the handyman was seen the night of her attack? They’d dismissed him due to his being half blind.
“Alden?” Mrs. Withers curled into his side like a lost child. His left arm came around her and released Perliett.
She tripped backward, her shoulder hitting a stalk and the corn leaves scraping at her face.
Alden. The handyman was Alden?
“Where is she? Is she safe? Is she all right?” Mrs. Withers was frantic, clawing at Alden’s shirt. Yet he was staring at Perliett with one cold blue eye. His expression was grave, his jaw set.
“You,” he declared.
Perliett was frozen in place.
A snap from behind caused her to whirl around.
“Jacqueline!” Mrs. Withers cried out in relief.
But there was no relief in Perliett’s heart. She stared into the face of the leering child from the night of her attack. The child no one seemed to know existed.
“My baby girl!” Mrs. Withers shoved past Perliett, gathering the child into her arms.
Jacqueline stood stiffly as her mother held her, her chin resting on Mrs. Withers’s shoulder, with the same blue eyes as her father’s staring coldly into Perliett’s face.
Then the girl smiled.
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Perliett had no intention of dying. Dying was a dreadful thing, and there was nothing appealing about the afterlife either. She charged back toward the carriage before Alden or the other two could stop her.
“Ho!” Alden shouted.
