Page 44 of The Premonition at Withers Farm

“Ask for a ride?” George said.

Perliett pursed her lips again. She realized she did that a lot while George was present. “From whom? Their little boy had retreated to bed, and Patricia’s father was quite vexed. Of course, there were no magnificent heroes at hand to rescue me either, such as you imagine yourself to be, I suppose? Or Mr. Bridgers?” She added Mr. Bridgers merely to irritate George, and Perliett smirked when it did.

George’s countenance darkened at her mockery. “Jasper Bridgers. Youwouldsee fit to lump us together. I can only hope that your dislike of me means you feel thusly about him.”

“Hardly,” Perliett countered, folding her arms over her chest and tilting her chin up. “I barely know the man, whoapparently has chosen Kilbourn to be his new place of residence.”

George’s eyes narrowed. “Because Kilbourn is such a destination for the citified airs of a man like Jasper Bridgers.”

“Who doyoubelieve Mr. Bridgers to be?”

“I’ve no idea who the boorish man is.” George seemed offended she might suppose that he did.

“You’re the town doctor, aren’t you?” Perliett challenged. “Surelyallthe females with their medical concerns regale you with gossip during their treatments?”

George reddened. Whether blushing or angry, Perliett wasn’t certain.

“I’m very curious who he is.”

“Why?” George barked. “He’s the epitome of who a good Christian woman shouldnotbe concerned with.”

“Really?” Perliett teased him with a smile. “Am I a ‘good Christian woman’?”

George raised a brow. “Aren’t you?”

“Hmm, one might debate depending on whether they find mymothersuitable to set foot in church on Sunday while exploring the spiritual realm during the week.”

“You’re baiting me, Miss Van Hilton.” George’s jaw clenched.

“And you’re judging me, Dr. Wasziak.”

They were at a standstill.

Then, “Fine. The benefit of the doubt. Youarea good Christian woman,” George conceded. “Mr. Bridgers is obviously not.”

“A woman?” Perliett bit the inside of her lip to avoid laughing.

“A Christian,” George seethed.

“You see.” Perliett leaned casually against the doorframe, still refusing to invite George inside or to have him sit on the porch. “I find that to be juxtaposed with the Christian faith altogether. Don’t the Scriptures say that we should love one another, even our enemies? And drawing such blatantjudgment concerning another’s faith should be left to the Almighty?”

“Surely.” George nodded. “But not while throwing discernment to the wind! Loving another does not mean no discretion is involved. A mother can love her child while also not approving of their actions. I daresay even a mother could be wrathful were her child to act so arrogantly outside of her instruction so as to hurt themselves or another.”

“And what has Mr. Bridgers done to warrant that extreme of a censure?” Perliett bandied about her debate. She enjoyed it too much, seeing George fluster, defend, and if she was being honest, he was quite good at it. Hard. Cold. But good at it. “I have a difficult time, George, seeing you as the loving sort of man.”

Her words brought the conversation to an awkward halt.

George’s eyes shifted from dark to darker to darkest.

Perliett suddenly knew she had pushed too far. His judgmental nature—as she saw it—was no different from her own aimed toward him. Both were censuring but in different ways. It was radical to accuse anyone of not being capable of love. Perliett knew that she herself had taken this argument to a far more personal sort of nature than George had. She’d challenged not only his faith but his aptitude to care for another human being out of love.

George worked his jaw back and forth. His nostrils flared for a moment. Then he garnered control. He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut short when Maribeth appeared behind Perliett, snapping the morning’s newspaper with an emphasis that demanded the attention of both of them.

Perliett turned.

Maribeth’s face was white, making her reddened and chapped nose appear redder. Her voice was husky from congestion, but her violet eyes were brilliant with concern. “Did either of you read the paper this morning?” She completely ignored the fact that George was not a regular morningvisitor to their front porch and included him in the conversation without a second thought.

“I did not.” George seemed to have no problem shifting his attention to Maribeth.