Page 58 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
“I fail to understand how one couldnotbe intrigued by the afterlife. Take your Dr. Wasziak, for example.”
“He’s not mine.”
“No, but he is Kilbourn’s.”
Perliett bristled. “I too offer medical services.”
“Of course,” Jasper said in a patronizing tone, making her bristles become sharper.
“Ido!”
His dark eyes deepened. “I never insinuated you didn’t, my dear Perliett.”
She blushed again—curse it.
“Now,” Jasper continued, “Dr. Wasziak believes in an almighty God.”
“As do I,” Perliett said.
“As do most. Or many, I should say. But those who do often discount the other elements of the spiritual world that are just outside our reach and our understanding. In their pursuing the knowledge of God, they dispense with the pursuit of the other. That limits what they know and narrowstheir perspective so that all is filteredthroughthe aspects of a triune God instead of through the panoply of other possibilities, which also hovers just out of reach.”
Stunning. His way with words was both poignant and terribly twisted. Perliett understood what he was saying, and at the same time it somehow sounded wrong. Which one was wrong, she wasn’t sure. The pursuit of God or the pursuit of a spiritual world.
“And why are you so persistent in exploring it that you seek out a small-town spiritualist like my mother? Surely you can find some in Chicago?” she challenged.
Jasper laughed. A deep, rumbling laugh that sent shivers through her. “Of course I can. I have. In fact, I’ve sat with Doyle, and together we’ve explored the spirit world. He’s tested it quite aptly. Some he has debunked as mere trickery, while others there is simply no explanation but that it is real. But that is my experience in Chicago. New York. London. I want to know how it transposes into the world of common man.”
“Common man?” Perliett raised an eyebrow.
Jasper had the decency to look apologetic. “I simply mean those outside the influence of big cities, big business, and big money. Does the spirit world have the same effect? Is it needed to the degree it appears to be in the upper echelons of American society? Or are men—common laborers, the bread and butter of the economy—in as much need for the same veil to be seen behind? Do they have that same insatiable desire, or are they somehow content with their lot in life as it is? Death included.”
Perliett studied Jasper for a long moment, and he remained steady under her frank gaze. Finally, she determined to speak her mind, because—well, that was what she normally did. “You give the ‘upper echelons’ far more credit than they deserve. They are not unique, Jasper. We all wish to connect with ones we have lost.”
“What about you?” His voice lowered. “Who have you lost, Perliett?”
For a moment, she was certain she was floating, maybe even sinking into the soft depths of his eyes. They were dark pools, not unlike—well, not unlike George’s—but somehow his were different. They compelled her instead of repulsed her. They made her very aware that she was a woman, that he was a man, and that—
Jasper took hold of her gloved hand and, with presumptuous assertion, gently tugged at each finger of her glove, coaxing it off.
Perliett swallowed. She watched as he removed it boldly and laid the glove across his knee. Then he threaded his fingers through hers, and his thumb explored the soft skin between her thumb and index finger.
“Who have you lost?” he repeated, his voice soft, understanding. Jasper’s eyes narrowed with emotion—with a caring—that Perliett hadn’t experienced since PaPa passed away.
She found her eyes welling up with tears, and she blinked them away.
“The pain lurks behind the façade you portray to all,” Jasper observed.
His thumb was purely intoxicating as it stroked her hand. Back and forth. Perliett found it hard to catch a proper breath.
“My father,” she admitted, almost in a whisper. A breeze lifted some tendrils of dark hair and swept them across her face as the oak leaves above them rustled like a tiny musical number playing in the background.“When he passed, nothing was ever the same again.”
Her admission aloud seemed like a betrayal to her mother. Perliett wished to declare that her mother had fulfilled the areas in Perliett that had broken when PaPa had died. “I want nothing more than to speak to PaPa. Even if it’s only to hear him say my name.”
“And you’ve never felt his presence before?” Jasper pursued.
“Once.” Perliett nodded. “Once, in his study, when my mother—well, I felt his hand on my shoulder. But nothing more. He is gone and ... it’s his silence that makes me question the most.”
“Question?” Jasper’s eyebrow rose.
