CHAPTER 8 PSYCHIC SIGNS

As Penny and Mrs. Weems waited, the seamstress went to another room, returning with a stamped, slit envelope.

“Notice the postmark,” she requested, thrusting the letter into Penny’s hand.

“It was mailed from New York,” the girl observed.

“I mean the hour at which the envelope was stamped by the postmaster.”

“I make it 11:30 P.M. June fifteenth,” Penny read aloud. “Does the time and date have special significance?”

“Indeed, it does,” the seamstress replied impressively. “You tell them, Pa.”

“It happened three nights ago,” began Mr. Hodges. “Ma worked late stitchin’ up some playsuits for Mrs. Hudson’s little girl. Afterwards we had bread and milk like we always do, and then we went to bed.”

“At the time, I said to Pa that something queer was going to happen,” broke in the seamstress. “I could feel it in my bones. It was as if something was hovering over us.”

“A feeling of impending trouble?” questioned Penny.

“Nothing like that,” said Mr. Hodges.

“No, it was as if one almost could feel a foreign presence in the room,” Mrs. Hodges declared, lowering her voice. “A supernatural being.”

“Surely you don’t believe in ghosts...?” Penny began, but the seamstress did not hear. Unheeding, she resumed:

“Pa rubbed my back to ease the pain I get from working too long at the machine. Then we went to bed. Neither of us had gone to sleep when suddenly we heard it!”

“Six sharp raps on the outside bedroom wall,” supplied Mr. Hodges. “It was like this.” He demonstrated on the table.

“We both heard it,” added Mrs. Hodges. “It scared me nearly out of my wits.”

“Possibly it was someone at the door,” suggested Penny.

“No, it wasn’t that. Pa got up and went to see.”

“Could it have been a tree bough brushing against the wall?”

“It wasn’t that,” said Mr. Hodges. “The maple is too far off to strike our bedroom.”

“There’s only one explanation,” declared the seamstress with conviction. “It was a psychic sign—the first.”

“I don’t believe in such things myself,” announced Penny. “Surely there must be another explanation.”

“That’s what I told Jenny,” nodded Mr. Hodges. “But since the letter came, doggoned if I don’t think maybe she’s right.”

“What has the letter to do with it?” inquired Mrs. Weems.

The seamstress pointed to the postmark on the envelope.

“The hour at which we heard the strange tappings was eleven-thirty! Pa looked at the clock. And it was three days ago, June fifteenth.”

“Corresponding to the marking on this envelope,” commented Penny. “That is a coincidence.”

Mrs. Hodges shook her head impatiently.

“You surely don’t think it just happened by accident?” she asked. “It must have been intended as a sign—an omen.”

“What did the letter say?” Penny inquired, without answering Mrs. Hodges’ question. She knew that her true opinion would not please the woman.

“It wasn’t rightly a letter,” the seamstress returned. “The envelope contained six silver dollars fitted into a stiff piece of cardboard.”

“We figured it was another sign,” contributed Mr. Hodges. “Six raps on the wall—six dollars.”

“I wish some ghost would come and pound all night long on my bedroom door,” remarked Penny lightly.

“Penelope, you shouldn’t speak so disrespectfully,” Mrs. Weems reproved in a mild voice.

“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to,” said Penny, composing her face. “What else has happened of a supernatural nature?”

“Why, nothing yet,” Mrs. Hodges admitted. “But Pa and I have had a feeling as if something important were about to take place. And now Maud inherits six thousand dollars!”

“There was nothing psychic about that,” said Mrs. Weems. “Cousin David had no close relatives so he left the money to me.”

The seamstress shook her head, and an ethereal light shone in her eyes.

“Night before last when I went to bed I was thinking that I wished with all my heart something nice would happen to you, Maud. Now it’s come to pass!”

Even Mrs. Weems was somewhat startled by the seamstress’ calm assumption that her thoughts had been responsible for the inheritance.

“Don’t you see,” Mrs. Hodges resumed patiently. “It must mean that I have great psychic powers. I confess I am rather frightened.”

Penny arose and began to button her raincoat.

“Excuse me for saying it,” she remarked, “but if I were you, Mrs. Hodges, I’d spend the six dollars and forget the entire affair. Someone must have played a joke on you!”

“A joke!” The seamstress was offended. “People don’t give away money as a joke.”

“No, these days they squeeze the eagles until they holler,” chuckled Mr. Hodges.

“The letter was postmarked New York City,” went on his wife. “We don’t know a soul there. Oh, no one ever can make me believe that it was done as a joke. The letter was mailed at exactly the hour we heard the six raps!”

“And there wasn’t a sign of anyone near the house,” added Mr. Hodges.

“Well, at least you’re six dollars ahead,” said Penny. “Shall we go, Mrs. Weems? It’s after midnight.”

The seamstress walked to the door with the callers.

“I’ll get busy tomorrow on those new dresses,” she promised Mrs. Weems. “Drop in again whenever you can. And you, too, Penelope.”

Driving home through the rain, Penny stole a quick glance at the housekeeper who seemed unusually quiet.

“Do you suppose Jenny could be right?” Mrs. Weems presently ventured. “I mean about Cousin David and the inheritance?”

“Of course not!” laughed Penny. “Why, your cousin died a long while before Mrs. Hodges discovered that she was psychic. It’s all the bunk!”

“I wish I really knew.”

“Why, Mrs. Weems!” Penny prepared to launch into a violent argument. “I never heard of such nonsense! How could Mrs. Hodges have psychic powers? Everyone realizes that communication with the spirit world is impossible!”

“You are entitled to your opinion, Penny, but others may differ with you. Who can know about The Life Beyond? Isn’t it in the realm of possibility that Mrs. Hodges may have had a message from Cousin David?”

“She didn’t speak of it.”

“Not in words, Penny. But those strange rappings, the arrival of the letter—it was all very strange and unexplainable.”

“I’ll admit it was queer, Mrs. Weems. However, I’ll never agree that there’s anything supernatural connected with it.”

“You close your mind to things you do not wish to believe,” the housekeeper reproved. “What can any of us know of the spirit world?”

Penny gazed at Mrs. Weems in alarm. She realized that the seamstress’ story had deeply impressed her.

“I’ll stake my knowledge against Mrs. Hodges’ any old day,” she declared lightly. “I met one ghost-maker—Osandra—remember him?”

“Why remind me of that man, Penny?” asked the housekeeper wearily.

“Because you once paid him good money for the privilege of attending his séances. You were convinced he was in communication with the world beyond. He proved to be an outrageous fraud.”

“I was taken in by him as were many other persons,” Mrs. Weems acknowledged. “Mrs. Hodges’ case is different. We have been friends for ten years. She would not misrepresent the facts.”

“No, Mrs. Hodges is honest. I believe that the money was sent to her. But not by a ghost!”

“Let’s not discuss it,” said Mrs. Weems with finality. “I never did enjoy an argument.”

Penny lapsed into silence and a moment later the car swung into the Parker driveway. The housekeeper hurried into the house, leaving the girl to close the garage doors.

Penny snapped the padlock shut. Unmindful of the rain, she stood for a moment, staring into the night. Nothing had gone exactly right that day, and her disagreement with Mrs. Weems, minor though it was, bothered her.

“There’s more to this psychic business than appears on the surface,” she thought grimly. “A great deal more! Maybe I am stubborn and opinionated. But I know one thing! No trickster is going to take advantage of the Hodges or of Mrs. Weems either—not if I can prevent it.”