Corbin's Fancy by Linda Lael Miller

herself a moment of preening happiness at his use of her new title, but there were doubts gnawing at the edges of her mind as she sat down on the wagon tongue to enjoy her coffee. One casual, sweeping glance around the camp revealed that Jeff was nowhere in sight.
    “He’s gone into town,” Phineas explained, obviously having looked beyond her attempt at subtlety and seen the fear. “Asked me to tell you that he’ll be back before sunset.”
    Before sunset! Fancy was wounded. Was it customary for a groom to desert his bride so soon? For that matter, did Jeff intend to come back at all? It was entirely possible that he’d had second thoughts.
    Phineas suddenly thrust a bowl of oatmeal into Fancy’s hands, making her start. “Don’t be borrowing trouble now,” he urged softly. “Jeff loves you, Fancy. He’ll be back because he’s got no other choice.”
    There was no point in clearing up Phineas’s misconception by telling him that Jeff didn’t love her—he’d want to know why she had married him then and Fancy would have been too embarrassed to admit to the answer. Furthermore, annulling a marriage performed by a snake-man would probably be an easy matter for someone with Jeff’s money and influence. “I knew a singer in Port Angeles who married a sailor,” she reflected, after a while. “He went off to find a rooming house where they could live and never came back.”
    Phineas stirred the small morning fire and sat down again. That gray pallor she’d seen the day before wasback in his face, and his lips had the same vaguely blue tint. “I don’t think we’re dealing with a man of that sort,” he comforted quietly.
    Fancy had forgotten all her own problems in her concern for her friend. “Phineas, you look wretched. You’re ill, aren’t you?”
    “Just tired,” he sighed. “To tell you the truth, Fancy, a few weeks of rest at my sister’s house is sounding better and better.”
    Fancy took another sip from her metal cup, watching Phineas over the rim, then began to eat the oatmeal. “Does she live nearby?”
    “Near enough,” shrugged Phineas. “She teaches at a school for young ladies in Spokane.”
    Fancy looked down at her oatmeal and her coffee and was reminded of the debt she owed Phineas T. Pryor. If not for him, she might still be wandering the road. “I mean to reimburse you for all you’ve given me as soon as Mr. Stroble pays me.”
    “Nonsense,” sputtered Phineas, and there was a flush under the grayness of his skin. “If one traveler can’t help another, the world’s in a sorry state.”
    “Some people say it is anyway,” observed Fancy. “A preacher told me once that God was going to smite us all dead, except for the holy, of course. He said it would happen before this generation passed away.”
    Phineas chortled. “Every generation since the time of Christ has believed itself to be the last one ever. I think it’s a sort of vanity—there are always people, you see, who can’t imagine the world going on without them. There are others who’d like to see the judgment come because they’re too lazy or too scared to live—they’re afraid to fail, mostly.”
    Fancy pondered all the failures in her life and frowned. “I’m an expert at that,” she reflected, without wryness or self-pity.
    Phineas chuckled. “Better one grand, magnificent failure, I always say, than a lifetime of piddling successes.”
    Fancy was completely bemused by this remark. In any case, she had to feed Hershel, clean his cage, and get ready for another day of performing magic. After cleaning up the dishes—it was the least she could do, since Phineas was providing the food—she went about her tasks and tried not to watch the arriving crowds of carnival-goers for any sign of Jeff.
    The morning went well, with no more rebellions on Hershel’s part, and, at midday, Mr. Stroble came through the gathered spectators to pay Fancy her two dollars. His eyes kept dodging hers as he handed the