Page 96 of The Premonition at Withers Farm

Perliett obediently extended her arms. There was no use arguing with him, and if she showed him her arms, then she would have a better opportunity to resist when he asked to see her bare legs. Absolutely not. Never again would George Wasziak lay eyes on the bare skin of her legs and feet.

George took hold of her wrist and pushed her sleeve up.

Perliett watched his face instead of his hand. His fingers were scorching and probably branding her skin, and she did not know why her stomach was reacting so curiously toward him. It never had before. Or had it? And she’d only had the strength at that time to argue back in order to still it, unlike today when she felt completely defenseless?

George was studying her bruises—clear blue ones made by fingers. Whoever had attacked her had manhandled her. The same marks were on her other arm as well. He rubbed his thumb over them absently, as if he’d forgotten she was watching him.

“George?” Perliett asked softly.

George started and cleared his throat, resting her arm back on the blanket. “They’re healing well.”

“What is it?” Perliett could read something on his face. Something that showed he was pondering her bruises.

“Those marks,” George said, pointing to her arm, “were not made by a little girl.”

“Are you questioning what I saw?” she challenged him.

“Not at all.” George didn’t even try to apologize. “I question instead who was with the little girl that night.Howis a girl involved, andwhy? Detective Poll is turning Kilbourn upside down and shaking it, but nothing is falling out. Not even a crumb.”

“If you ask my mother, she would be happy to contact either of the Withers sisters, and perhaps you can ask them yourself—if something horrific doesn’t happen like shattering windows or my mother losing consciousness.”

George must have heard the slight edge to Perliett’s voice. He glanced at the open window. They could hear the murmurs of Maribeth and Jasper Bridgers as they discussed—enthusiastically—just that topic.

The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “You’re skeptical, aren’t you? You have to be—I can see it in your eyes every time we spar with words.”

Perliett looked away from him.

George waited a moment and then said, “It’s all right if you don’t believe as your mother does.”

“That’s just it!” Perliett’s gaze flew to meet his, and for once she didn’t see censure in George’s eyes. “I believe there’s an otherworld.”

“As do I,” George said.

“I thought you didn’t?” Confusion spiked through Perliett.

“I just don’t believe in trying to connect to anyone in the otherworld besides God. And why would we seek a sadly limited perspective of a dead person instead of an unlimited one of a very much alive Being?”

“But if He were to use the spirit of Eunice—”

“To what end? To shatter windows?” George laughed skeptically. “I hardly believe God is limited to using any spirit but His own.”

“Spirits were used in the Bible,” Perliett challenged.

“Mmm, yes.” George nodded. “At detriment to the kingship, the throne, and also to the man’s soul.”

“King Saul, you mean?” Perliett knew her Old Testament, thanks to PaPa.

“Summoning the spirit of the dead prophet Samuel did not please the Lord,” George concluded.

“But Samuel’s spiritwasthere to be summoned.” Perliettwondered if they would continue to debate or find some resolution between them.

“True,” George conceded. “But again, it was ill-advised, unapproved, and condemned. We are not to seek the spirits unless it be the Spirit of God.”

“Why?” Perliett had to ask. Even though he’d already supplied his answers, she felt them lacking. Narrow-minded. No, hurtful. He discredited her mother’s beliefs while espousing the same faith in God that PaPa had. Could they not both be merged and be compatible?

George’s eyes were heavy-lidded, and he studied her as he brooded. “If your father were to be summoned by your mother, would you continue to pursue meeting with him, or would you instead pursue an understanding of God?”

“What a silly question,” Perliett laughed.