Page 32 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
Mrs. Withers took another step, shrugging off George’s steadying hand. “I told you...” Her words ended in a wail. “Ohhhhh, I told you!” She dropped to her knees and shook Eunice’s shawl toward Kenneth. “Sin ends in judgment. Away from my daughter before you kill her!”
Kenneth released a guttural groan, and without pause, the man spun and ran across the churchyard away from them. His body was hunched as if he too were buried under the heaviness of grief.
Mrs. Withers reached toward Perliett, her eyes widening with earnestness. “Come. Come to me, my beautiful girl.”
Perliett mustered her gumption. Mrs. Withers was clearly at the point of grief where a mother lost her mind and could not translate death into something final.
“I’m here,” Perliett answered, hurrying toward the pathetic woman, every ounce of her heart aching for the loss Mrs. Withers experienced.
George scowled. “Perliett!” he hissed under his breath, clearly not a fan of her allowing Mrs. Withers her delusions.
It was too late. Mrs. Withers allowed the shawl to flop to the grass at her knees in a pile. She wrapped her fingers around Perliett’s wrist, squeezing tight enough to pinch the skin, pulling Perliett down to her own knees.
Perliett winced under the woman’s assertive grasp.
“Eunice...” Mrs. Withers’s eyes had gone wide. She was seeing Perliett, and yet she wasn’t. No. She was seeing her daughter. “Are you all right? Where have you been?” The woman lifted her free hand to brush cold knuckles down Perliett’s cheek.
Perliett fought back a cringe. “I’m fine,” she answered. She could sense George stepping closer to her. She knew his intentions were to stop the woman’s delusions.
Mrs. Withers yanked on Perliett’s wrist. Perliett bit back a whimper as the older woman sidled close, her mouth against Perliett’s ear. Her whisper was hoarse, meant only for Perliett,which she could ascertain as the woman’s warm breath traveled into her ear canal, along with words that crawled under Perliett’s skin like a thousand flies on a corpse.
“He likes girls like you. I didn’t know. I didn’t.” Mrs. Withers’s nails bit into Perliett’s wrist. Her cheek brushed against the stitches that George had left behind only days ago when Eunice herself had been summoned. “Don’t dare rest your weary feet, my darling. When he comes, you must be ready.”
Perliett drew back, searching the woman’s face. “Who? Kenneth?”
“Mrs. Withers.” George was at Perliett’s side, breaking the spell. He dislodged Mrs. Withers’s grip on Perliett’s wrist, but the woman refused to release Perliett’s gaze.
“Mind me, girl. Be ready.”
Perliett nodded. More because she needed to convince Mrs. Withers so she would back away and allow George to assist her to a safer place. A place where she could grieve and lose her mind in privacy. A place where she could follow delusions of seeing her daughter without mistaking Perliett for her.
Perliett wasn’t averse to speaking with dead people, but she wasn’t keen on being spoken to as if she were the next to die.
“This has gone far enough.” Maribeth ran her motherly hand down Perliett’s arm as if she were a young child instead of an independent woman. There were moments when Maribeth became a bit like a mother bear, and Perliett would be remiss if she didn’t admit it warmed her. Maribeth eyed Detective Poll. “Do you haveanyclues as to who is responsible for Eunice’s death?”
The churchyard had finally emptied after Mr. Withers had been called on to retrieve his wife, after the reverend finished calming his congregation with the reading of a psalm, andafter Detective Poll had reassured anyone who lingered with questions and concerns.
“We are following up on several suspicions.” It was all Detective Poll was going to offer them.
“Such as?” Maribeth insisted.
“It’s not for you to know,” Detective Poll said firmly. His wife sidled up next to him, her brown eyes soft and understanding. Perliett had always wished that they could become friends, even though Evangeline was ten years her senior.
“Itisso upsetting, though.” Evangeline attempted to soften her husband’s words.
George sniffed. “I find it upsetting you keep inserting yourself into the middle of it.” His stern focus leveled on Perliett.
“As if I purposefully made myself the center of Mrs. Withers’s attention?” Refusing to be chastised like a child, Perliett stiffened her shoulders. “Iwas brought into the middle of it when you requested my assistance with preparing Eunice’s body.”
Evangeline blanched.
“And when Eunice shattered our window,” Maribeth added, “which you all seem delightfully disposed to ignoring.”
“Eunice didnotshatter your window.” George rolled his eyes in no attempt to disguise his irritation.
“Then what caused it?” Maribeth challenged. She tipped her head and attached a patronizing tone to her voice that made Perliett wince. “Oh yes. That’s right. You believe a nail was putting stress on the glass and it suddenlypoppedafter years of pressure and atjustthe right moment.”
“Everyone stop! Immediately.” Detective Poll raised his hands, his expression commanding. “First and foremost, I must ask that you cease and desist from anyassistanceyou are trying to offer. We do not need to contact a dead woman for her advice.” A severe glance was leveled on Maribeth.“The law will continue to investigate her slaying without help from the outside. In the meantime”—he turned his attention to Perliett—“you are not helping Mrs. Withers’s state of mind when you allow her to believe you are Eunice.”
