We sat close together on the edge of the bed at last, as I worked and moved my arm, one of us more in awe of what had happened than the other. It was weak—with those flabby, unused muscles, it had to be. But I could move it, to any normal position.
"I never done like that before," she breathed. "Jest small ailin'."
"You're a healer, all right," I said. "And a prophetess, too, from what I saw at the dice table. You know what a Psi personality is?" I asked her. "Say, what is your name, anyway?"
"Pheola," she said. "Yes, I've heard of them," she said.
"You're one," I told her. "You can heal many people."
She shook her head. "Only could do it because I love you, Billy Joe," she said.
"We'll teach you," I promised her. "Would you like to learn? You've heard of the Lodge, haven't you?"
"Lordy!" she gasped.
"You're as good as in it," I told her. "Now tell me, what am I going to do tomorrow morning?"
She got up and started to pace the room, sniffling. "Why would you do that?" she said at length. "You are going to the bank, first thing. You've got all that money. It's thousand dollar bills! And you're writing on them." She frowned at me, sniffling again. "Do I really see it?" she asked. "Is that right?"