money over, but she didn’t give much thought to his curious manner for there were already people gathering to watch her next performance.
Late in the afternoon, a massive, thick-shouldered young man pointed to the signboard resting in front of Fancy’s table. “That says you sing and dance, too. How come you don’t sing and dance?”
Fancy’s stomach tightened; if there was one thing she’d learned to recognize in her travels around the territory, it was trouble. She smiled broadly and went on with her act.
The young farmer meant to be persistent. “I want to hear you sing,” he called out over the sea of calico bonnets and straw hats.
“Leave the lady alone, Rafe,” put in a man’s voice, from near the front. “She’s doin’ just fine.”
“This here’s fraud, that’s what it is,” argued Rafewith a scowl, muscling his way closer to the canopied table. The pinkness of his round, plain-featured face testified that he’d been drinking.
Fancy took up the tiny, sulfur-filled vial that was easily hidden in her hand and made flames leap from her fingertips. The crowd in general was delighted, but Rafe was not appeased.
“I say she sings and does a jig or two!” he growled.
At that moment, Phineas came from out of nowhere, looking affable and guileless in his plaid suit and bowler hat. He approached the mountainous farmer without the slightest hesitation, his hands in his pockets, his smile broad. “What seems to be the trouble?” he asked.
Rafe turned toward him with a lumbering motion that chilled Fancy to the marrow of her bones. “I say it’s a lie, that there sign. I paid good money to see this show and this lady ain’t sung a note!”
Phineas was unruffled, his gaze shifting to a nervous Fancy. “Do you wish to sing, my dear?” he asked politely.
Fancy was terrified, but she shook her head.
“There you have it,” shrugged Phineas, still smiling. “The little lady prefers not to sing today.”
Rafe flung a dangerous, petulant look in Fancy’s direction. “She’ll sing,” he said.
Fancy was just opening her mouth to comply when Rafe suddenly raised his meaty hands and gave Phineas a hard shove, sending him sprawling into the rocky dirt and trampled grass. Phineas winced and grasped at his chest with one hand.
“Phineas!” Fancy wailed, rounding the table to rush to her friend. “Phineas, are you all right?”
Phineas was not all right; his grimace of pain told herthat much, along with the absence of color in his face. “I’ll be—just fine—”
Fancy looked up at Rafe, whose overall-clad frame loomed against the sky, blocking out the sun. “How dare you?” she hissed, furious beyond all good sense. She rose to her feet and advanced, and Rafe actually retreated a step. “Apologize this minute, you hulking beast!”
Rafe stopped. The realization that he was being backed down by a tiny woman, and in front of all his friends, to boot, dawned ominously in his face. He reddened and his bright little eyes narrowed. “No goddamned tramp travelin’ with a freak show tells me what to do!” he spat.
“Rafe—” ventured some tentative peacemaker, from the gaping crowd.
Fancy had never been more frightened in her life, but she was prepared to fight if she had to. She crossed her arms over her bosom and waited.
Rafe bent toward her and she felt his fetid breath in her face, smelled it, even tasted it. Her stomach turned within her, but she stood her ground.
“What else do you do for a penny?” drawled the brute, smirking now. “Whatever it is, maybe you’ll do it for me—in them bushes over there.”
Fancy drew back her foot to kick him—the distance between them allowed her a target other than his thick shins—but before she could make contact at all, Rafe was spinning around, a surprised expression on his face. Peering around him, Fancy saw Jeff, and the look of white-hot rage in his eyes scared her more than Rafe ever could have.
“Would you mind repeating
Late in the afternoon, a massive, thick-shouldered young man pointed to the signboard resting in front of Fancy’s table. “That says you sing and dance, too. How come you don’t sing and dance?”
Fancy’s stomach tightened; if there was one thing she’d learned to recognize in her travels around the territory, it was trouble. She smiled broadly and went on with her act.
The young farmer meant to be persistent. “I want to hear you sing,” he called out over the sea of calico bonnets and straw hats.
“Leave the lady alone, Rafe,” put in a man’s voice, from near the front. “She’s doin’ just fine.”
“This here’s fraud, that’s what it is,” argued Rafewith a scowl, muscling his way closer to the canopied table. The pinkness of his round, plain-featured face testified that he’d been drinking.
Fancy took up the tiny, sulfur-filled vial that was easily hidden in her hand and made flames leap from her fingertips. The crowd in general was delighted, but Rafe was not appeased.
“I say she sings and does a jig or two!” he growled.
At that moment, Phineas came from out of nowhere, looking affable and guileless in his plaid suit and bowler hat. He approached the mountainous farmer without the slightest hesitation, his hands in his pockets, his smile broad. “What seems to be the trouble?” he asked.
Rafe turned toward him with a lumbering motion that chilled Fancy to the marrow of her bones. “I say it’s a lie, that there sign. I paid good money to see this show and this lady ain’t sung a note!”
Phineas was unruffled, his gaze shifting to a nervous Fancy. “Do you wish to sing, my dear?” he asked politely.
Fancy was terrified, but she shook her head.
“There you have it,” shrugged Phineas, still smiling. “The little lady prefers not to sing today.”
Rafe flung a dangerous, petulant look in Fancy’s direction. “She’ll sing,” he said.
Fancy was just opening her mouth to comply when Rafe suddenly raised his meaty hands and gave Phineas a hard shove, sending him sprawling into the rocky dirt and trampled grass. Phineas winced and grasped at his chest with one hand.
“Phineas!” Fancy wailed, rounding the table to rush to her friend. “Phineas, are you all right?”
Phineas was not all right; his grimace of pain told herthat much, along with the absence of color in his face. “I’ll be—just fine—”
Fancy looked up at Rafe, whose overall-clad frame loomed against the sky, blocking out the sun. “How dare you?” she hissed, furious beyond all good sense. She rose to her feet and advanced, and Rafe actually retreated a step. “Apologize this minute, you hulking beast!”
Rafe stopped. The realization that he was being backed down by a tiny woman, and in front of all his friends, to boot, dawned ominously in his face. He reddened and his bright little eyes narrowed. “No goddamned tramp travelin’ with a freak show tells me what to do!” he spat.
“Rafe—” ventured some tentative peacemaker, from the gaping crowd.
Fancy had never been more frightened in her life, but she was prepared to fight if she had to. She crossed her arms over her bosom and waited.
Rafe bent toward her and she felt his fetid breath in her face, smelled it, even tasted it. Her stomach turned within her, but she stood her ground.
“What else do you do for a penny?” drawled the brute, smirking now. “Whatever it is, maybe you’ll do it for me—in them bushes over there.”
Fancy drew back her foot to kick him—the distance between them allowed her a target other than his thick shins—but before she could make contact at all, Rafe was spinning around, a surprised expression on his face. Peering around him, Fancy saw Jeff, and the look of white-hot rage in his eyes scared her more than Rafe ever could have.
“Would you mind repeating
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