Page 102 of The Premonition at Withers Farm

Jacqueline Withers.

The name was scrawled on the following page in pencil lead, with the tentative cursive of a young child.

“Was this one of the Withers sisters who was murdered by the Cornfield Ripper?” Sid ventured, a bit of awe mixed with leery caution lacing her question.

“No.” Gemma shook her head. “The Withers sisters were Eunice and Millie. I’ve never heard of a Jacqueline.”

“But they had an older sister, right?” Sid adjusted her body on the floor so she could better see the open book.

“Yes,” Gemma said, “but her name was Angelica.”

“Her daughter maybe?” Sid hypothesized.

Molly cringed. Daughter. Young girl. She closed her eyes, her hand splayed on the page of the book. Drawing in a steadying breath, Molly spoke. “There was a little girl. Here.”

“What?” Gemma frowned.

Sid had a cautious expression on her face.

“I saw her.” Molly’s admission came with a degree of doubt—in herself and in what she thought she’d seen.

“A ghost?” Gemma drew back.

Molly shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been struggling with...” She exchanged a look with Sid, then addressedGemma. It seemed unfair to mention her struggle to Gemma before ever confessing it to Trent, but the moment seemed to call for it. “I’ve been struggling. And, sometimes, I pass out.”

“Like the night we came for dinner, Molly?” This time, Gemma seemed more empathetic.

“Yeah. But when I do, I tend to see things. I’m not saying it’s a ghost, but maybe a premonition?”

“Do you believe in those?” Gemma’s question was frank.

“Do you?” Molly countered.

Gemma nodded. “Sure. I think we can have intuitions. I don’t know that they usually come withseeingthings, but everyone’s mind is different.”

“Do you believe in God?” Sid interjected.

Gemma looked between them, to the book still open to Jacqueline’s name, then back to Sid. “Yes.”

Sid accepted her answer with a smile. “I believe that sometimes God uses our circumstances to reveal things to us. Not necessarily in a vision, but who’s saying He couldn’t do that? My uncle lost his wife about twenty years ago. He was beyond grief and couldn’t sleep. He was worried about her eternal destination. He had no peace. And then one night he said he woke up, and she was in the corner of his room, surrounded by light and smiling and nodding at him to reassure him she had chosen the way of faith. That God was personal to her. That—”

“She recited the Nicene Creed?” Gemma teased dryly.

Sid smirked, clearly not finding Gemma’s remark funny. “No. But the sight of her was enough for my uncle to wake the next morning and give God the glory for saving my aunt.”

Gemma looked thoughtful. “And you believe that?”

“I do,” Sid responded solemnly.

Molly stared at Sid. She’d never heard Sid speak of her uncle’s vision before. But the idea that God was behind it—that it was a gift and not a spiritual manifestation or visitationor even interaction with the dead... “I do too,” Molly added quietly.

Gemma eyed them both as if she were interrupting some deeply important moment. And she was, Molly realized, but that was all right too. Funny how when a person took a step back from all the expectations they had on themselves, that grace stepped forward and picked up the pieces that made no sense. An explanation might not even be offered, but then faith meant you believed without fully understanding. Ignorance? Molly shook her head to herself. No. No, it wasn’t ignorance. Not when so much had been proven and so much evidence existed to affirm her belief that God was real, God was interactive, Godwas.

“Anyway.” Gemma gave Molly a direct look. “You saw a little girl. For whatever reason. What’s your point?”

Ignoring Gemma’s edginess, Molly ran her finger along Jacqueline’s name. “I want to know who she was. WassheJacqueline?” Without waiting for an answer, Molly turned the page.

The ink sketch of a robin covered the first half of the page. A scrolled title swirled in beautiful print. And then the words...