Read Online How It Happened in Peach Hill by Marthe Jocelyn - Free Book Online

Gwendalen,” I said. “I felt her slip into my body, as though I were a merino sweater. She told me she was born in 1214. Or, well, she didn’t exactly tell me, because she didn’t speak using words. She seemed to transfer her thoughts to me.…”
    “Bosh!” said Mrs. Newman.
    “She lives in a convent,” I continued. “She showed me scenes from her life, as though I were sitting at the moving pictures. Her father was very cruel and sent her away whenhe could not find her a husband. She said that if I provide her with ink and parchment she’ll communicate through me to write down her story.”
    “What utter nonsense!” snorted Mrs. Newman. “I have never encountered such drivel! Your imagination borders on insane. Missus—Madame—how can you put up with this?”
    “It is not unheard of, Mrs. Newman,” said Mama quietly, “when there has been a cataclysmic occurrence such as the healing of my daughter, that other magnetic forces come into play. She could easily be a conduit! The living, breathing conduit for a spirit who is trapped between worlds.” Mama’s voice rose with excitement. “If this is the case, we can all rejoice! If Annie has been selected as a vessel of spiritual power, it is something to celebrate!
    “Peg! Peg!” Mama began to shout.
    Mrs. Newman’s mouth dropped open in a gape of disbelief. “Both of you,” she muttered. “Like mother, like daughter.” She stepped away from us, her hands up as if to fend off an attack.
    “Yes’m?” Peg appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel.
    “Please find paper and a fountain pen in the drawer of my writing desk and bring them to the front room.”
    “Yes’m.”
    “You’re going to indulge your disobedient and truant daughter in this way?”
    “Gwendalen said parchment, Mama.”
    “This is absurd,” said Mrs. Newman.
    “She likely didn’t have paper, darling heart,” said Mama. “In the twelve hundreds, did you say?”
    There came a knock at the door.
    “Oh!” cried Mama. “The callers are here already. Peg! Never mind the paper! Peg! Answer the door!”
    “I’ll get it, Mama.” I stepped around Mrs. Newman and opened the door. Two young women were there, both wearing wool jackets with thick raccoon collars turned up. The sky had turned gray since I’d come in, and a blustery wind was blowing. Behind the ladies was Mr. Poole, smirking like a well-fed Persian cat. I glanced at Mama. Did she think he was handsome?
    “Hello, Annie.”
    “Come in,” I said. Peg bustled up to help with the coats.
    “This is the miracle child,” Mr. Poole told his companions. “Observing her now, it’s hard to remember that she was no better than a drooling moron last week.”
    If only I could arch my eyebrow like Mrs. Newman’s!
    “I hope I have not offended you, my dear. It was none of your own doing. And now, you see? Here you are, greeting us like a perfect little hostess.”
    “We’ve had the most thrilling thing happen,” gushed Mama. “Just this afternoon, it seems that my Annie has had the honor of becoming a vessel for a spirit caller.”
    She was greeted with a trio of blank faces.
    “There are rare occasions,” Mama said, trying to explain the unexplainable, “when a restless spirit seizes the chance to inhabit a living person and gives voice to centuries of wisdom and poetry—”
    “Well, well,” said Mr. Poole. “Another marvel.”
    “Please, step in,” I said.
    “This is my wife’s niece, Claudia Weather,” said Mr.Poole, putting his hand on the shoulder of the taller girl. Taller because her shoes had higher heels. She also wore too much rouge, like buttons painted on her cheeks. “Noisy,” my mother would say.
    “Good evening, Miss Weather.” I bobbed a curtsey and backed up, trying to make room in the crowded hallway.
    “This is Claudia’s good friend, Sylvia Torn, who lost her husband in the Great War. She’s visiting from Springfield.”
    “Oh, dear,” I said. “That’s the