“Yes,” I say. “Your mother has been very attentive. But as soon as O’Neill regains his strength, we will leave you. We do not wish to interfere with your routine.”
“You are no trouble at all, my dear. I for one find your presence inspiring, the adventure that brought you to us both providential and thrilling. Indeed, I hope you will stay with us long beyond O’Neill’s recovery.” He lifts my hand from my lap and folds his hands around it. His palms are warm but dry. “I deduce that you carry too many troubles on those pretty shoulders of yours. A bit of fun on the road would put the roses back in your cheeks and boost your sore spirits.”
I pull my hand away. Jasper is too charming for anyone’s good. “We have travel plans of our own that we must not delay,” I say. “But thank you for your kind offer.”
“You may yet change your mind.” He stands and brushes imaginary dust from his sleeves. “We move on this morning. Tomorrow night, we will perform in the next town. Marsburg, I believe it is called. You will surely be with us that long, at least.”
A man steps out of the smaller tent. He is short and stout and dressed in a perfectly tailored gray suit. His shoes are polished so that they reflect the sun. He shakes his silver-tipped walking stick at Jasper. “Son,” he says, “quit dallying and begin packing up the tents.”
“May I introduce my father, the great Dr. Phipps?” Jasper says. “Papa, this is Clara of the Conflagration.”
“Clara,” Phipps says. “Pretty enough. I am sure my wife can find a place for you in the show. Do you sing or dance?”
“No, sir,” I say. “But we—”
“No matter. Soraya will sort it out.” He speaks with authority, as a king who will not be questioned or opposed. “You may go find her now and ask her how you may assist in getting the show on the road, as it were.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. The doctor’s posture tells me it would be futile to disagree.
“Don’t just stand there, Jasper. Get to work, lad!” Dr. Phipps saunters toward the wagon, swinging his walking stick as if strolling a city street.
Jasper retrieves his mug and finishes his coffee. “Don’t mind the old bear too much. He is always grumpy in the morning.” He points toward the farthest tent. “You’ll find my mother in that direction, I believe.”
“Could I see my sister before we go?” I ask.
“Ah, yes. The mermaid. Mama told me you might inquire of her. She also said you must wait until tomorrow to visit. The mermaid needs time to recover her strength.”
“Her name is Maren,” I say. “And we have never been apart for more than a few hours. Surely a visit from me would be beneficial.” If only I possessed Maren’s allure, he would not think of refusing me.
“Jasper!” Dr. Phipps bellows from behind the wagon. “Come here, son!”
Jasper rolls his eyes. “Duty calls. It has been a great pleasure, mademoiselle. We shall meet again.” He bows and takes a few steps before turning back to face me again. “A word to the wise, Clara dear: hurry along to Mama and don’t get into mischief.”
His condescension irks me. I wish my manners did not prevent me from telling him that he is not half as appealing as he seems to believe he is. Instead, I lift the too-long hem of the borrowed sari and walk like a well-mannered young lady in the direction he recommended.
As I pass Jasper’s tent, I am tempted to duck inside to visit O’Neill. Feeling disobedient and rather reckless, I give in to temptation and push my way through the tent flap.
“Clara!” O’Neill says, seeing me before I see him. He is cocooned inside a hammock-like bed with only his head and arms free.
“Hush,” I say, moving closer so that he might hear my whispers. “I am forbidden to see Maren, and I did not ask permission to see you, so it might be best to keep quiet.”
“Why? Have you been causing trouble?”
“You know I have not. But that Dr. Phipps is a fearsome man, and his son is quite . . . perplexing. They visited Llanfair Mountain last spring, selling their sham cures. I do not trust them.”
“You worry too much, Clara. They saved us, did they not? Jasper risked his life getting us out of the burning caravan.”
“Yes. Well. I would feel much better if I could see Maren, even for a few minutes.”
“You will see her soon. And we will return to the road in a day or two at most, whether this Dr. Phipps fellow approves or not. Although I am sorry to tell you we will have to continue without Job and January. Jasper says they fled the fire, but I think they were stolen. They would not have run from me after all our adventures together.” He offers me his hand and I notice that his arm is swathed in gauze. “We must not count our losses now, not while Maren still needs our help.”
“Are they bad, your injuries?” Against my better judgment, I place my hand in his. My heart beats faster than I wish it would.
“My right leg is the worst. But it should be as good as gold in no time, thanks to Soraya’s poultices.”
“I am glad you are improving,” I say. I try to take my hand back, but his grip is firm. “Please. I should go.” I do not add that by holding my hand so sweetly, he makes me betray myself and Maren.
He smiles his crooked smile, his eyes full of O’Neill mischief, and lets go. “As you wish,” he says.
I do not say good-bye before scurrying out of the tent, tripping over the sari’s hem as I exit.
Such a jumble of feelings crowds my heart again: uncertainty and impatience, love and disgust.
Surely it would be easier to be a stork than a seventeen-year-old girl.
Inside the speeding wagon, O’Neill and I sit on woven mats. Soraya reclines on an upholstered couch, snoring most daintily. Apparently she is unbothered by Dr. Phipps’s wild driving, how he relentlessly urges the four horses onward with the crack of his whip and the lash of his tongue.
Following in our dusty wake, Jasper drives the smaller wagon, the one loaded with the doctor’s collection of wonders and rarities. According to Dr. Phipps, the mermaid is lucky to be traveling amongst such priceless treasures. I should remind him that she is not an object to be collected, but a beloved sister and friend. Yet I keep silent—out of wisdom or cowardice, or perhaps a bit of both.