Judith is motioning for her men to go scout the premises, promising Therese that it won’t take more than an hour. Therese nods slowly, sitting down on the sofa across from Judith, still in a daze. Her expression is a combination of shock and martyrdom. 

Christopher has made his way to the doorway and stands on the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, rocking awkwardly back and forth on his heels. His eyes seem to be begging his mother to look over at him and tell him what he’s supposed to do with the prepared tray of food in his hands that nobody is going to eat now thanks to Judith's wooziness.

His eyes are looking at everything and nothing again, but he won't even glance at Judith and the men the way he sometimes glances at me.

It takes Therese about 20 seconds to notice Christopher George and smile her ‘mom smile’ in his direction. It’s a gentle, genuine, and affectionate expression which I’m sure Judith doesn’t fail to notice.

That wasn’t the part of ‘motherhood’ Alcott was thinking of when he called her ‘part mother,’ was it?

“You can go to your room, if you like, mon bebe, and play one of your little video games or draw something. We’ll enjoy the cheese board when your father gets home. Good?”

Christopher nods slightly at his mother's words, but he still seems hesitant to leave until he sees the way his mother’s eyes dart toward Judith ever so subtly.

I wish I knew what that look on her face, that single motion of her eyes, was supposed to mean.

But Christopher George seems to understand it well enough and he decides that obedience is the best policy, turning on his heel and disappearing back into the kitchen.

I wish I could go to my room too.

I feel like I’ve been dragged through a dozen rat holes. But I know that look Judith is giving me from beneath her dark eyebrows means that even a brief escape is definitely NOT allowed.

“Um, so…have you tried any of our town's specialties while you’ve been in the area?” Therese smiles when the silence has gotten too thick. Judith arches one of her eyebrows in a silent question but doesn’t seem to know what Therese referring to. 

Therese flushes with embarrassment, though I’m not sure what reason she has to be embarrassed.

“Our huckleberry donuts,” she suggests feebly, her voice seeming to fade before she’s even gotten a word out. “They’re sort of a little-known gem, but they’re considered a Montana delicacy.”

Judith nods slowly in acknowledgment, but her expression doesn’t change. I mean…she smiles, but that doesn’t seem to make her look any more amiable or relaxed.

What benefit could she possibly see in scaring Mrs. George?

Despite what the men at the Rookery say, Judith does know how to appear pleasant and sweet, even charismatic, when she wants to. So if she isn’t doing that right now that must mean that she thinks it’ll benefit her more to keep the Mrs. George on her toes.

But for the life of me, I can’t imagine why.

“I didn’t stop at all on the road,” Judith tilts her head about twenty degrees, a posture she has designed to look fake-pleasant, so Therese will feel the chill. “We brought our food with us.”

“Oh.”

The room grows quiet again. I can practically hear Therese’s heartbeat, Judith’s too, but something about her posture seems a little unnatural, even for her classic ‘icy’ persona.

Her eyebrows are furrowed slightly despite her business smile which spreads slowly as she looks toward the bay window in response to the sound of Mr. George’s truck door slamming.

“Oh, your husband is here,” Judith laughs brightly as if that statement is a joke, and Therese smiles slightly in response, wondering if Judith’s laughter is an invitation to relax.

“He’s a little early,” Therese’s eyes turn slowly to the window and don’t move again, as if her life depends on it. 

I can see Mr. George hurrying up the driveway and across the short concrete path to the front door with a forward-hunched posture like a frazzled man trying to dodge the rain.

“Miss Antos?” he smiles his greeting but accidentally mixes it with a question as soon as he steps through the front door. He doesn’t even take his jacket off before he comes over to shake Judith’s hand, and she nods demurely-

Back to 'polite librarian' mode.

“Verner George, so nice to see you again.”

Before he can look questioningly at Therese, Judith anticipates his question, folding her hands in her lap and tilting her head coolly again.

“My superiors asked me to swing by with some of our exterminators because of the snake issue yesterday, and I figured we had better get it done sooner than later for everybody’s sake. I say ‘swing by’ as if Larksborough isn’t several hours out of our way,” she laughs vibrantly, “But perhaps I should come to the area more often. Your wife has just been telling me that this part of Montana has a lot of little-known delicacies.”

“Yeah. Huckleberry everything,” Verner smiles quickly, and the smile evaporates just as fast. I can tell he’s trying not to look uncomfortable, but he’s not succeeding. “Are the men still here? Looking around?”

“They’ve checked all the rooms already, I believe. Now they’re checking outside,” Therese’s voice is so quiet it almost sounds like it’s withering. 

She looks defeated. She feels humiliated no doubt. 

The privacy of her little home has been completely decimated and she has to try to smile and keep playing the role of 'elegant hostess.'

“They should be done in about twenty minutes,” Judith smiles at them reassuringly, raising her eyebrows with a slight, charismatic twitch at the edge of her lips which makes both Therese and Verner relax, whether they realize it or not. 

“Our men work fast, and they’re not much for sightseeing, so unless they notice something out of the ordinary, like the rattlesnake’s shedded skin, they aren’t likely to dawdle.”

“It wasn’t a rattler,” Christopher George says in a tone of unshakeable certainty and all the grown-ups turn their heads to see him sitting on the stairs.

“No?” Judith asks as if she’s actually curious. As if she doesn’t already know it wasn’t a rattlesnake. 

“What sort of snake do you think it was?”

“It was a horned viper,” Christopher says confidently, “About 80 inches long.”

Both his parents raise their eyebrows in dismay, and Therese begins fidgeting with her braid as if it’s a rosary or a talisman.

She must have brushed her hair with Fangsbane essential oil when she anointed the house this afternoon because the instant she touches her braid the scent raises into the air again tenfold. I nearly gag. I actually like the smell of Fangsbane, in moderation, but this is so overbearing it feels like all the oxygen has left the room.

“Do you mind if we talk out in the fresh air near the driveway?” Judith asks a little suddenly. “I don’t mean to be abrupt, but I’m still feeling out of sorts and a breeze would do me a lot of good.”

The George’s nod agreeably and follow Judith’s lead as she makes her way out onto the asphalt to stand next to her truck. I go with, grateful that I didn’t have to make an excuse to open a window.

Did Judith notice me wince?

She probably didn’t have to. Half the reason they assigned her to me was because she never wears perfume or scented soaps of any kind. The odds of finding another caregiver with a sense of smell even a hundredth as sensitive as mine was basically impossible. 

Alcott couldn’t even tell that Fangsbane oil had a smell.

Once at her truck, Judith takes out her keys and unlocks the driver’s side door to grab her little pink water bottle out of the cupholder. She takes a long drink, and the purple of her lipstick seems to glisten in the afternoon light as she carefully brushes the leftover dampness from her mouth with a single painted fingernail.

“You certainly like purple,” Mr. George observes, motioning to Judith’s purple-flecked ensemble, “Did the jewelry all come in a set.”

There are exactly 7 purple accessories, lipstick, and nail polish included, in Judith’s outfit, but she glances down at her ring specifically as if she forgot she was wearing it before shaking her head and answering the question.

“I collected them over time. The ring was the last one.”

Royal purple.

Judith laughs as she twists the metal band on her right ring finger, “I’m fond of the color but I think I’m pushing my luck just a bit. If I wear any more purple at once I might turn into Tinky Winky.”

“Tinky Winky…,” Therese mutters under her breath, a little surprised, as Verner laughs amiably.

“Goodness, I haven’t heard anyone mention Teletubbies since Christopher was a toddler, but I guess it would have been popular when you were growing up.”

He tilts his head with just the subtlest teasing squint of his blue eyes. You almost wouldn’t notice it, but it sounds like a challenge when he chuckles casually, “If you don’t mind me saying so, Miss Antos, you seem awfully young to be working this role.”

Judith grimaces ever so slightly, smoothing back the neat ponytail she’s spent ages trying to turn gray.

“No offense taken,” her smile is crisp, but she tilts her head right back at Mr. George, as if she’s double-dog daring him, “I hope you won’t mind me saying so, but so do you.”

There’s an unmistakable falter in the glow of the blue eyes, and for one second the light almost seems…angry.