When a Rake Falls by Sally Orr

saved her life; now he could lose his.
    She moved toward him, but before she could reach him, she watched in horror as the basket hit another tree. Parker flipped out of the balloon like a rag doll. She screamed. A flash of light off the sole of his boot was the last thing she saw before the dark undergrowth swallowed him.

Seven
    The balloon finally lifted above the treetops, and Eve grabbed the rough wicker edge to catch her breath. In the middle of the crash, her mind had been fixed upon the book, but now there was only one matter of importance—Parker. If he were to die, her vaulting ambition to be the first female to cross the Channel would be to blame. Her stomach churned, and she almost cast up her morning biscuit. Despite Parker’s expressed fears that he had lost his father’s respect, the marquess’s actions revealed he may not have been pleased but in no way had forsaken his youngest. He didn’t cut him out of his living, for example. How could she explain Parker’s loss to his father? How could she find Parker quickly? How could she ever forgive herself? She wished she had used her wits to note their location or elevation at the moment he fell from the basket. Now she had no data to determine where to start her search or if his fall could be a survivable one.
    Below her, at least a hundred feet of woods remained, and beyond, she could see another broad stretch of cultivated fields. She would have to wait until she reached the safety of open ground before she could release any more gas. Turning back to examine the spot where Parker had likely fallen, she memorized every detail in the hopes that an odd tree or unusual landscape feature would help her find him in the future. She noticed a dead tree with a completely brown canopy amongst the green trees. Parker must have landed within yards of that tree, so she’d use it later as a marker to find him.
    Once over the cultivated field, she was pleased to find it was a very broad one. A stand of woods loomed in the distance, but she would land before she reached the trees, barring any more freak winds.
    This time she managed a rapid and controlled descent. No sudden gusts caught the balloon. The shimmering silk above her merely undulated in the breeze. Thankfully, the plowed rows of turnips below her would provide a relativity soft landing. Within twenty feet of the ground, she noticed a man in his wagon heading in the direction of her landing. She had no idea whether he rushed to assist her or attack the balloon as some giant monster.
    In readiness to land, she widened her stance and held on to the side.
    The basket hit the field with a soft thump. At first it remained upright, but after the silk balloon landed on the ground, it spread out upon the field and still retained enough power to pull the basket onto its side.
    There was nothing for her to do at that point except continue to hold on and pray. If she fell out, the basket might run over her, grinding her into the dirt. All she could do was wait until the remaining gas escaped.
    After several minutes, the silk balloon collapsed enough so that the basket dragged through the turnips at a fast walking pace. She managed to exit the basket and pull the edge in an effort to stop its forward momentum.
    The farmer sat upon his wagon pointing out the balloon to a young boy. “Ah, well, would you look at dat, Jem. A young miss.”
    She tugged on the basket again, but her efforts produced very little effect.
    All of a sudden, she noticed the boy on the other side of the basket doing his best to help her. The slim lad was around twelve years, but she knew every little bit of opposing force helped.
    â€œCome away, Jem,” the farmer shouted. “Don’t want yo’ getting hurt. Let de lady handle her own problems.”
    The boy smiled at her and pulled the basket with greater effort, grunting in the process.
    She returned his smile. “On the count of three, let’s give