Free Corbin's Fancy by Linda Lael Miller

sky.
    “Good morning!” sang Phineas, extending slender, fatherly arms to help her down from the seat of his garish wagon.
    For just a moment, Fancy stared at her new friend in bewilderment. And then everything came back to her—Jeff, her hasty departure from his brother’s house, her soiled virtue. She would have cried if Phineas hadn’t forestalled the action by chiming, “Come now, and have some breakfast. Fresh trout—caught it myself, in the river.”
    The scent of trout wafted toward Fancy from a nearby campfire and buoyed her spirits as well as herappetite. Broken heart or none, there was nothing wrong with her stomach.
    Sitting rumpled and groggy on the stump of a pine tree, she ate the pan-fried fish that Phineas offered and drank strong coffee from an enamel mug. Once the edges had been taken off her hunger, she assessed her surroundings.
    Though Mr. Shibble’s troupe was not there, as far as Fancy could tell, there was quite an assortment of entertainments, including a fat lady, a fortuneteller, and two elephants. Best of all, though, was the gigantic orange and white hot-air balloon that shifted against the bright sky, straining at the ropes and cable that held it to the ground.
    Fancy drew in a swift breath, her coffee mug poised between her mouth and her lap. “Is that yours?” she asked of Phineas, though her eyes would not leave the balloon.
    There was a beaming quality in his voice. “Surely is, Miss Jordan.”
    Fancy was spellbound. “What makes it fly?”
    “The inside of the balloon is heated with gas. Since hydrogen is much lighter than air, it naturally rises.”
    “How do you steer it?” fretted Fancy, still squinting at the wondrous vessel that could brave the skies.
    Phineas laughed. “You don’t steer her, little one. She rides the air currents, going where the wind takes her.”
    “Currents?”
    “Yes. You see, Fancy, the air around us is much like an ocean—it flows and swirls just the way water does.”
    At last, Fancy looked away from the magnificent balloon. “How much do you charge? For a ride in your sky vessel, I mean?”
    Phineas chuckled. “One thin dime, my dear. One thin dime. But for you—a smile.”
    Fancy knew a delicious terror. Fascinating as the prospect was, she didn’t believe she had the courage to leave the ground that way. What if the balloon deflated, as balloons will? What if it strayed far, far away?
    Again, Fancy felt dismal. It didn’t much matter where she ended up, did it? No one was waiting for her anywhere.
    “What is it, child?” Phineas asked directly, in gentle tones, pouring more coffee into Fancy’s cup. “What makes that terrible ache in your eyes?”
    Fancy trembled and took a steadying sip of the bitter coffee. How she wished that she could confide in Phineas—obviously he was a kind man—but there was nothing to be gained by letting him know what a wanton she was. “I–I’m just a little down on my luck,” she allowed.
    “He’ll come, you know.”
    “Who?” puzzled Fancy.
    “The man you left,” replied Phineas confidently. And then he strolled away to consult with a man who carried a monkey on his shoulder.
    After a moment of self-recovery, Fancy finished her breakfast and went off to explore. She found a clear stream near the carnival site and carried her plate and cup there, along with Phineas’s, to wash them. That done, she cleansed her face and hands, too, and then went back to the camp, gathering dandelion greens as she went. These she gave to Hershel, along with a tin saucer of water.
    She had brushed and repinned her hair by the time Phineas returned, chattering amicably with a tall, muscularman clad in a cheap suit and a bowler hat. Her gray woolen dress was rumpled for more reasons than Fancy cared to think about, and she tried in vain to smooth it.
    “I was telling Mr. Stroble here about your act,” her friend explained. “He’s in charge of this magnificent show we see around us.”
    Fancy smiled,