The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb

by Melanie Benjamin

  While this was, indeed, a once-in-a-lifetime experience (or so I imagined at the time; I’ve since been to the White House to meet every subsequent president), for me the highlight of our trip was the day after the reception. Mr. Lincoln himself bestowed upon the General and me a pass to drive over “The Long Bridge” that led from the capital out to Arlington Heights, an army camp where one hundred and fifty thousand soldiers were stationed. And among these thousands was my brother Benjamin, whose regiment had arrived from the front just the day before.

  I was so nervous that day! Of all the dignitaries and Society people I had met in my new role as the General’s wife, no one’s approval mattered to me as much as my brother’s. I had not seen him since that day five years earlier when I left home with Colonel Wood, that awful day when he had quit our house, as he had promised, simply because I desired something more for myself than he did. I had always keenly felt his embarrassment over my size, yet he was the sibling—other than Minnie—whom I missed the most.

  We were given a military carriage and a military escort to drive us through the endless rows of white canvas tents stretching before us as far as the eye could see. We had the windows down despite the cold, and the General and I kneeled on our seats and leaned out, waving at the troops, drawing cheers and enthusiastic shouts as we drove along. It warmed my heart so to see the joy we brought to our brave soldier lads, so many of whom would never come home; it brings a tear to my eye to think of this, even now.

  Finally we stopped, and our carriage was mobbed so that some tall soldier had to pick the General and me both up, and set us atop the conveyance. From there, we could better make out each individual face, some of them so young it made my heart constrict; they reminded me of my pupils, when I taught school. These boys should have been thinking of nothing more dangerous than what tree to climb, what hill to sled down. Yet they all carried guns with an ease that I found terrifying.

  The General and I were chatting amiably with the crowd, sharing details of our wedding, which, naturally, they had all read about, when suddenly I heard my name. “Vinnie! Vinnie! Over here!” Looking out, I spied Benjamin pushing his way through the sea of tattered blue; had he not called my name, I would not have recognized him. For he was a man now, not a boy, a hardened, muscular man with a beard and mustache and a set to his jaw that reminded me so much of Papa’s. I burst into tears at the sight of him—and at the joy in his eyes as they lit upon me. The last time we had seen each other, I had found only accusation and pain there.

  “Benjamin! Oh, Benjamin!” So overjoyed was I to see him, I tried to stand up, forgetting that I was perched atop a somewhat unstable carriage! A nearby soldier, however, instantly understood the situation and picked me up, placing me neatly on the ground just as Benjamin approached. My brother scooped me up in his arms, twirling me around and around so that my legs flew out and I was afraid the soldiers might see my petticoats. I wrapped my arms around him as best I could—I could not reach all the way around—and I buried my face in his chest. The fabric of his uniform was rough; he smelled like tobacco juice and sweat and smoked meat and some kind of liquor. Then he set me down upon the ground; the soldiers nearest us had respectfully stepped back, so that we were alone inside a circle of dirty, tattered blue legs and muddy black boots.

  Benjamin knelt and gripped my shoulders, gazing so piercingly into my face that I felt a moment of foreboding.

  “Vinnie, Vinnie—let me have a look at you! Why, how pretty you are, what a fine lady! I can’t believe it!”

  “And you, Ben—you look fine! Such a soldier—are you well?”

  “As well as ol’ Bobby Lee lets me be; he keeps us on the run, but we have good generals now, and I think the tide might be turning.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful! I can’t wait to tell Mama and Papa all about you!”

  “Are they all fine? The cows—is Papa able to keep up with the cows and all?”

  “Yes, yes—everyone’s well.”

  “And Minnie? Is she—is she still at home?”

  “She came up to New York for my wedding, but she went home after.”

  “So she’s not traveling with you?”

  “No.”

  He nodded, and I knew he was relieved to hear this. But then he swallowed and said softly, “Vinnie … about the way we left things … I don’t know what to say, still. I never understood how you could go off and—”

  “Is this my new brother-in-law?”

  Suddenly Charles was next to us, clasping Benjamin’s hand. Charles, ever sunny, ever simple, beamed up at Benjamin, completely unaware of any tension between us.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir,” Benjamin replied quietly. Then he colored, and seemed suddenly aware that he was kneeling on the ground. Hastily, he rose.

  Just then a soldier shouted, “General, I seen you once when I was but a lad, up at that American Museum. It sure is a pleasure to see you again.”

  Another chimed in, “Me, too. Saw him when I was just a little mite. Never thought I’d see him out here in all this muck.”

  “We wish you much happiness, General!” another voice called out.

  “You sure did make me laugh when I was little, with that tiny sword of yours! I’ll never forget that day!”

  Charles grinned and trotted over to talk to these soldiers, moving among them with ease, dancing, capering—bringing a smile to faces still filthy with the grime of battle. As he did, I looked up at Benjamin. He was gazing at my husband with an open mouth.

  “What do you say to that?” I asked my brother, with a triumphant smile.

  “Well, I guess he’s pretty popular, that Tom Thumb, isn’t he? I didn’t tell anyone in my regiment about you and him, but somebody found out, and you know what, Vinnie? They didn’t tease me at all. Matter of fact, I’m supposed to get your autographs for some of the men.” He scratched his head, unbelieving, still. “I guess you did all right for yourself after all, Vinnie.”

  “Do you really think so, Benjamin?”

  “I do.” He knelt back down and took my hand in his; I looked at his hand, so rough, the nails bitten off, bearing red scars from gunpowder, I assumed. I couldn’t begin to imagine all he’d been through, but still I could think of him only as the brother who had carried me to and from school whenever my legs were too tired. “Vinnie, you’re my sister and I love you, and I’m sorry I was ever ashamed of you. I was wrong in all that, ’cause look at you now! These fellows sure are happy you came out here. So’m I.”

  “Me, too!” I embraced my brother once more, my arms about his dirty neck. Then he joined the General and myself in our carriage as we continued to drive through the camp, the General, in particular, being greeted so warmly by those who had seen him perform. And it seemed to me practically every soldier in the Union army had done so; I was very proud of him at that moment.

  How proud I was, as well, to be escorted through that army camp by my brother and my husband; how touched I was to see the joy my husband and I brought our boys in blue, fighting so valiantly to preserve our Union! It was a moment I would never forget, and I was eternally grateful to Charles for making it possible. For I knew I would never have experienced it on my own, as Lavinia Warren Bump.

  And then we were back in New York, back in Society, the whirlwind of it all; every morning the silver tray next to our door was piled high with thick white envelopes of invitation. One morning, about two weeks after our return, I spied an envelope that was more ornate than the rest; opening it, I quickly read it, then laughed out loud.

  The pleasure of the company of the esteemed General Charles Stratton and his very popular wife Lavinia Warren Stratton is requested by their friend Mr. Phineas Taylor Barnum, that is, should the Astors, Belmonts, Depews, and Roosevelts decide they can spare them for a few minutes this afternoon. While Mr. Barnum has nothing to recommend him but his friendship and kind regard (as well as a contract), nevertheless, he would greatly appreciate it if the General and his Lady would deign to come
down to a little establishment called the American Museum (perhaps they have heard of it?) to discuss matters that might be mutually beneficial. The visit will not take long and soon enough, the esteemed couple will be back breathing the rarified air of Mt. Olympus—also known as the St. Nicholas Hotel—and cavorting with their fellow gods and goddesses on Fifth Avenue.

  Sincerely, Citizen Barnum

  “Charles!” I showed the letter to my husband, who was in his bedroom, being fitted for a new suit, as he simply did not have enough to keep up with our social engagements.

  “Old Phineas!” Charles read the letter and laughed, which made the tailor—a thin Italian man with a scolding look and ever-flapping hands—drop his tape measure in disgust.

  “I suppose we have been neglecting him. I’ll send word that we’ll be there this afternoon.”

  “Will we be back in time for dinner with the Vanderbilts?”

  “Yes, dear,” I said distractedly, as I mentally went through my wardrobe; the pink satin had a tear where someone had stepped upon my train (people were always stepping upon my train); the green silk was clean, but I’d worn it just last week. The gray flowered satin with the lace overskirt might do well. And had my new order of gloves arrived? I certainly hoped so, for I could not dine out without gloves, and I simply could not send my maid out to Stewart’s to buy some; mine had to be custom-made.

  “Make sure that you have a fresh shirt,” I reminded my husband. “And don’t forget that Mr. Vanderbilt likes Cuban cigars; you must bring him some tonight.”

  “Yes, dear,” my husband said absentmindedly, as he began to fuss with the tailor over the fit of his jacket.

  And I left him in his bedroom, while I went off to my own.

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE IT, NOT EVEN WITH MY OWN EYES. THE FAMOUS General and Mrs. Tom Thumb—or is it Stratton only, these days?”

  “Our friends call us General and Mrs. Stratton. So, too, may you, if you promise not to be vulgar.” I nodded regally, bestowing permission.

  Mr. Barnum stared at me; then he allowed that twinkle in his eyes to sneak out from behind its gray curtain, and we all laughed.

  “What a life you two are living now! Why, Charles, what’s this I hear about a yacht?”

  “Mr. Belmont suggested I purchase one, and he invited us to race with him on the Sound this summer. I think it’s a good business decision, don’t you, Phineas?”

  “I don’t know about a business decision—those things depreciate terribly. But it sure will look good, and I can use it in some publicity. So go ahead, enjoy yourself—or rather, selves. For I take it you’re not sitting at home while Charles is out smoking cigars in smoke-filled rooms, are you, Vinnie?”

  “No, I’ve been so touched by how gracious Society has been to us, how eager they are to befriend us. Of course, being a Warren of Massachusetts does help, you know.” I sat up straight, tilted my nose—and caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection from one of the glass-encased bookshelves along Mr. Barnum’s office wall. Goodness, but I looked just like my mother! Stifling a cough, I turned away from my reflection.

  “Society later, business first. No, actually—remember, I’m just a sentimental old father asking this—any notion of the pitter-patter of little feet? Very little feet, that is? You wouldn’t believe the letters we get here at the Museum, asking—we’ve even had baby blankets and toys sent in. Your adoring fans are most eager to see the most popular couple in America become the most popular family.”

  Charles blushed, and I consulted my hands, folded primly in my lap. I was aware of the intense interest in our family plans. It insulted my sensibility, but I also had to allow it, since we had married in such a public way. Logically, it would follow that we would be expected to present an infant Thumb to the public sooner rather than later.

  “Vinnie says—Vinnie says she is unable to—Vinnie says that we should count our blessings and enjoy life, just the two of us,” poor Charles sputtered, his face reddening with each heartbeat.

  I blushed as well; while I was not surprised that we were having this conversation with Mr. Barnum—nothing surprised me about him any longer—that did not mean I enjoyed it.

  “I see. I’m sorry to hear that, Vinnie. You must be devastated,” Mr. Barnum murmured.

  I could not return his sympathetic gaze. I knew I could not deceive him, as I had managed to deceive my husband.

  I had told Charles, that first night, that I would never be able to have children. He was disappointed; he so loved children, and at first I felt much guilt in my deception.

  But I could not silence the memory of that horrified gasp of Delia’s as she contemplated the little cow that had died. I also remembered something, something that was such a part of our family lore that we all ceased to understand the ramifications of it. But I had been a normal-size baby, as had Minnie. We were not fairy creatures at birth; we were healthy-size infants whose growth was not slowed in the womb but long after we had emerged from it. That was the fact I could not forget; that was the realization that had chilled me on our wedding night. I would die in childbirth, I knew it as well as I knew the freckle on the back of my left hand. It was a fact of me, one that was present at my own birth, the one part of me that needed fixing, but how? I simply was not made to bear children without great danger to myself. And so I told my husband that I could not—not that I would not. In my mind, they were one and the same.

  As far as the physical aspect of our arrangement, well—I’m afraid I did not ask him how he felt about that. I told him that most couples did not share a bed, as they were together so much during the day; I think he believed me. And the times when we did have to share a bed—such as our wedding night, and naturally during our honeymoon tour, when every hotel had ridiculously provided us with the most enormous bed possible—I managed to pat him away after a quick embrace and kiss.

  Did he have needs? Again, I did not ask him. Did I? My longings were of a more profound nature than simply skin against skin; they were for intimate conversations, long into the night; lazy days spent reading together, debating topics small and large.

  They were for a union, but not merely of flesh. A union I would never have, and that was by my own design. But then again, it was not a fate that I had ever thought would be mine in the first place. And so, as time went on, my longing faded. As I hoped any longings that Charles possessed would as well.

  “Well, that’s that, then.” Mr. Barnum sounded disappointed, as Charles and I exchanged uncomfortable glances. Then—deliberately avoiding my gaze—Mr. Barnum cleared his throat and said, “Charles, I promised Nutt you’d drop by and see how he’s doing. Poor fellow has been rather down lately. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he was pining over Miss Minnie—I think he was quite smitten with her when she was up here. But why don’t you go see him? Vinnie can stay here and keep me company; it wouldn’t do to have her taunt the poor lad with her loveliness.”

  Charles nodded eagerly and trotted off to seek Commodore Nutt. I watched him go, nervously; then I took a breath, summoning up my courage. I pulled my chair over to Mr. Barnum’s, and we sat knee to knee, eye to eye, just like old times.

  “What is it? Why did you send Charles away? Is something wrong?”

  “Not wrong, not exactly. But Vinnie, I have to say, I never thought I’d see the day when you would lie to me.”

  “ ‘Lie’?” I colored; I truly did not wish to have this conversation with him. “Mr. Barnum, please, you must not make me explain. I simply cannot have children, that’s all, and I wish you would leave it at that.”

  “What? Oh, no—no, that’s not what I was talking about, no.” Mr. Barnum looked as mortified as I was; he even deliberately dropped his tobacco pouch to give himself a moment to collect his bearings. “Vinnie, I am sorry about your, er, situation. Forgive me for not having considered something of that nature before I blundered on. However—well, first things first. No, I’m talking about the fact that you were still under contract to someone else
when you signed with me.”

  “Oh.” I sank back into my chair and allowed my feet to dangle, something I generally tried very hard not to do. “Colonel Wood. He contacted you.” It was not a question; I knew it was true. I had always known it would be true, someday.

  “Yes, he did. Tell me, Vinnie, why didn’t you mention it from the first? It would have been no problem at all—I would have paid the scoundrel off with a pittance, and no more would be heard. But now you’re famous, you’re Society—you’re worth so much more. And this Wood, whatever he may be, is no fool.”

  “No, he’s not, although he is an evil, evil man!” I spat the words bitterly, for they were bile in my mouth. All the humiliation, all the times he had kicked at me, threatened to pick me up, throw me across a room—and then the ultimate mortification of trying to sell me as if I were a slave—it all came back, washing over me so that I felt my very skin turn grimy and dirty with riverboat muck once more.

  “Is he—he is the one who you told me about? Who tried to sell you?” Mr. Barnum’s voice was very gentle; I longed to look into his face, knowing that I would see absolution there. But I could not bring myself to. I simply nodded.

  “I see. Rest assured, next time I see him I will thrash him with my own cane. However, before I thrash him, I have to pay him off, and he is demanding quite a sum not to go to the papers and complain that the dastardly Barnum has cheated him out of a livelihood—not to mention, he made some ridiculous threat to tell stories about you that would make Mrs. Astor’s hair stand up on end. Now I understand what he was alluding to—although no one would ever fault you, of course. Still, talk of it would be damaging. So you see, Vinnie—come, look at me, friend.” Mr. Barnum hooked his finger beneath my chin and lifted my face so that I could not look away. His eyes were kindness and understanding, both; I searched and searched, but could not find one hint of accusation or disappointment in them. And so I was able to nod and bravely smile back, ready to follow him into battle.