"If I knew theirs, they'd be in trouble quickly," Orma assured her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Finny saw Rhea and Agnes marching with their eyes stiffly ahead.
"Walk away," two more boys taunted, " 'cause your mommy couldn't stay!"
It was strange, the menace Finny felt from the boys, and the thoughts they were emitting weren't nice at all, almost like a bad smell. There were pictures with them, ugly, naked pictures that made her shiver.
Orma noticed. "Close your mind," she muttered.
Finny thought about apples. It was very hard, with those horrible thoughts coming out of the boys, but she managed to think only of apples—and maybe a pear or two.
"That's right, don't bother with us," one of the boys called, "just like your mommy didn't bother with you."
Finny felt her face growing hot even though she didn't know why. She glanced up and saw that Orma's and Agnes's faces were red.
"Hey, love child, how about a kiss for me?" one of the boys taunted.
"All right!" Orma cried, and turned toward the boys. "Come on, Agnes!"
Finny stared in surprise as the girls ran at the boys, their lips puckered grotesquely, arms reaching out. The boys made noises of disgust, but their minds leaked fright as they turned and ran.
Finny crowed with delight and clapped her hands.
Orma and Agnes came back red-faced but smiling. "It's a good thing they were young," Orma said, taking Finny's hand again. "Don't ever try that with big boys."
"Why not?" Finny asked.
"Because they might kiss back."
"Ugh!" The thought of kissing somebody with a mind like that made Finny feel sick. She decided never to try it.
"So there you are!"
She looked up and saw Papa and the boys coming toward them, grinning.
"We sold the pigs for a very good price," Papa said, "and made even more on the grain! Come along! Candy for everyone!"
The candy was sweet and the whole family was laughing and joking as the big people drank from cups that foamed while they watched the acrobats performing in the town square. After the acrobats came a puppet show, then a minstrel who sang funny songs that made them all laugh. They had so much fun that Finny almost forgot about the nasty boys.
Almost. But in the wagon on the way home, a tired little Finny sat in Dory's lap and rested her head on her big sister's shoulder. She didn't know how to feel. Town was a wonderful place, the candy had been a rare treat, and everything had been so exciting—but there were the horrible names the town children had called them. "Dory," she asked, "why do they hate us?"
"Because we're not like them, dear," Dory said. "It's us against them, and they know it."
"Maybe they'd like us if we lived in town."
"No," Dory said, "because our real mothers left us on Mama's doorstep. They were too poor to keep us, you see. Then they married rich men in the village and kept the rest of their children. That's why those children jeer at us—it makes them feel better than us."
"It's so hard not to give them tummyaches or headaches!"
"Yes, but you didn't, and I'm proud of you. If you had, the whole village would have come marching out to our farm and tried to hurt us all."
That thought made Finny feel ashamed. "Dory—is there something wrong with being mind readers?"
Dory gave a sharp gasp, then tightened her arms protectively around her little foster sister. "Of course not, darling. Mind readers are special. The others call us 'witches,' but we aren't that at all. We don't really work magic, we just have special gifts—and we certainly don't have anything to do with the Devil!"
" 'Course not," Finny said. "Papa says the Devil is just another prince, and princes always hurt people."
"The Prince of Lies, yes. No, we'd never have anything to do with that. The village people wouldn't believe us, though. Their jealousy is so sharp that it would make them hate us if they knew we were mind readers—hate us so much that they would call us witches and burn us at the stake!"
"Burn us!" Finny sat bolt upright, horrified.
"But they won't, because we won't let them know," Dory said. "Will we, Finny?"
The little girl shook her head, eyes round.
"So all in all, it's better that they call us foundlings and feel that they're better than us, isn't it?"
Finny made an "O" with her lips as she understood.
Dory smiled. "That's right, dear. That's why we just ignore them when they call us names and don't try to hurt them— because there are more unpleasant names they could call us. There are worse things than being a bastard."
"Such as a villager," Jason said, and the boys laughed.
Finny didn't laugh, but she snuggled up against Dory again. All in all, she decided, the farm was much nicer than the rest of the world.
Forever after, though, she looked at the villagers, and the rest of the nonpsi world, as strange and threatening, even though she knew she was better than they were—though deep in her heart, she would also know that she wasn't even as good as they were. After all, she was a foundling.
There were many trips to town after that; they went four times a year, and the biggest girls took turns staying home with the babies and the toddlers. The town children were always mean to them. The girls would come out wearing their prettiest dresses right where Finny and her foster sisters couldn't help see, and talk about how horrible it must be to be poor. The boys just called them names.
That changed when Finny turned twelve and her body began to change, though.
Chapter 19
By the time she was fourteen, Finny had begun to take her turn disciplining and teaching the younger children. She had also developed some very pronounced curves and a face that made the town boys whistle when they saw her, but there was still something threatening about them. When they called for kisses, she didn't go chasing them anymore. Instead, she and the other girls scolded them, refusing to be treated with disrespect, but the attention gave her a glow and made her feel special. More than that, it made her feel powerful in a strange way. When that feeling came upon her, the boys stared, then began to talk to her in admiration, and her foster sisters began to be envious—but when the boys crowded close to try to fondle, the girls drove them away with slaps, the power of which was increased by telekinesis.
At home, she would catch her foster brothers watching her with open admiration now and then, though most of the time they only talked with her as they always had—after all, she was only Finny and they'd known her all her life. But there was a new note of respect in their tones now, something notably absent from the town boys' voices, and it kindled that warm, powerful feeling again.
Finister found that remembering that feeling and letting it build made her foster brothers vie with one another to help her with her chores.
"That bucket must be too heavy for you, Finny!"
"Oh, no, Jason. I can manage it easily."
"Nonsense. Here, I'll carry it. Aren't Mama's flowers beautiful this year?"
Then there would be a nice, close conversation that made her feel even more special. Finally she decided to try the effect of that feeling on her foster father. She waited until they were alone in the keeping room at the end of one cold winter day. Papa sat down by the fire and she said, "Here, Papa, let me pull your boots off!" She bent to tug at his boot, then smiled up at him, letting the special feeling grow.
"That's good of you, Finny," he said, then looked at her a second time, staring. "Why, Finny!" he exclaimed, "you're a projective empath!"
"A what?" Finny asked, confused, and the special feeling went away.
"Mama!" Papa leaped to his feet and went to the kitchen door. "Mama, come here! Our little girl is growing into a projective empath!"