The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb

by Melanie Benjamin

  “Nothing ever is personal with him.” I sniffed, then held my hand out for my book. Mr. Bleeker gave it back to me, but I still felt him staring at me. He even scratched his head, so deep was his puzzlement.

  Suddenly, however, he snapped his fingers and smiled; like an eager pupil, he tugged on my sleeve. Not in the mood to hide my impatience, I closed my book with a sigh and looked up.

  “But Vinnie, listen! I never did tell you what he told me after your wedding. All that day, he was proud as could be, but I tell you, Vinnie, after the reception was over, he asked me to drive back home with him. And he was sad, Vinnie—the saddest I’d ever seen him.”

  “He was?”

  “He sure was! You know he’s sometimes a crier—remember how he sobbed when the Emancipation Proclamation was announced?”

  “Yes.” And despite myself, I smiled; that was one of my most cherished memories, the January day when we all sat in his office and he read aloud Mr. Lincoln’s Proclamation from the newspaper, tears running unchecked down his pink face.

  “Well, that day in the carriage, he had tears in his eyes. Sad tears. And he said, ‘Bleeker, this has been the happiest day of my life. And the saddest.’ And I asked him why, and he said, ‘Because I’ll never have this great a success again. Those two little people, they’ve spoiled me. How will I ever top this?’ And you know, Vinnie, I don’t think he’ll ever stop trying, even though he knows, deep in his heart, that he won’t. But it’s just in him to keep going, that’s the thing you have to admire about him. You two, though—Charles and you—you brought him the greatest success he’s ever known, and he won’t ever forget that. Or you. The two of you, well—you’re special.”

  I stared at Mr. Bleeker for a long moment; he stared back, that anxious, eager smile upon his face. And I couldn’t help but nod, as his intentions were so obviously good.

  “Yes, of course. I know that. I’m just tired from this heat, that’s all.”

  “I’d give my favorite pipe for a cold bath tonight, but the manager said there isn’t any fresh water.” Mr. Bleeker nodded in agreement, and he settled back down with his pipe, content to watch an enormous moth that was determined to hurl itself, over and over, toward the oil lamp.

  I opened my book again, but I found myself staring at the same page for the longest time, before finally giving up and going upstairs to bed.

  AS OUR TRAVELS CONTINUED, OUR CLOTHING NEVER SEEMED TO be clean; the dust and dampness of travel was trapped forever within the folds of cotton, silk, and satin. We mended and remended until our fingers were sore; it’s difficult to contemplate what to pack for three years’ travel, and when clothing ripped or became worn, we could not replace it. For one thing, very few places where we traveled were adept at sewing Western fashions, complete with the new bustles and tight bodices in fashion. Sarongs and kimonos were plentiful, but of courser Minnie, Mrs. Bleeker, and I could not wear those! For another, particular items such as gloves, shoes, bonnets, etc., that had to be custom-made for Minnie and myself were impossible to come by. So we had to continually patch and repair.

  In some places, such as Japan and China, where there were few Americans or Europeans, communication was impossible, if not comical; we bowed and scraped a lot. Our size, however, never failed to bring a grin or a smile even to the most dour Chinaman or round Buddhist matron; this was always our entrée into different cultures, and it always assured us goodwill and hospitality. If few of the people we met had ever seen an American, they certainly had never seen a very tiny one, and so Charles, Minnie, Nutt, and myself had to put up with much patting and touching and petting. Never did I feel there was anything sinister or insulting in it, though—and, after all, we were just as curious about their strange costumes and manners as they were about ours. So it was more of a mutual curiosity; we patted and touched and petted right back, free to do so in a way we were not at home—and we enjoyed it.

  So used was I to seeing the world through a maze of table legs, wagon wheels, ladies’ skirts, and men’s trousers, I could only note, with pleasure, how much more colorful it was in these exotic lands. The vivid hues of the Orient were a welcome contrast to the more sedate—dare I say dull?—wardrobe choices of the West, such colorful silks in hothouse colors of pinks and oranges and greens!

  When travel became difficult, particularly in Australia, where we had to journey hundreds of miles in the desert with only a faint pair of wagon tracks to guide us, the four of us—Minnie, Nutt, Charles, and myself—trudged through the sand just like everyone else, to give the horses a rest. The horses sank to their knees, as did Mr. Bleeker and the others; we did not, although it was difficult to get our footing, as we never reached solid ground.

  Despite all the perils we faced—a typhoon on the way to Japan, pythons in Ceylon, wild kangaroos in Australia, fearsome spiders everywhere; despite the marvels we saw—the great Pyramids of Egypt, which inspired Mr. Bleeker to whisper that for once, he understood how we must feel, as he thought himself to be only about two feet tall at that moment—only once did I experience, keenly, my size and how vulnerable it made me. And that was in Nevada, before we even left our own continent.

  Minnie, Mrs. Bleeker, and myself were perched in a hired wagon; it had a cover on it, but the sides were wide open to the elements. We had stopped at an inn, where the men and the driver got out to ask for directions. We were on a mountain road with drops so steep as to not be believed; as we waited patiently inside the wagon for the men to return, something startled the horses and they took off, uncontrolled, around the bend.

  As the wagon careened faster and faster, the thundering of the horses’ panicked hooves ringing, like a blacksmith’s hammer, in my ears, Minnie and I bounced around helplessly; soon we were covered in bruises. I feared, desperately, that we would be thrown from the wagon. Our feet could not steady us, as they could not reach the floor, and our hands were too small to grip the rough wooden slats of the seats; at one point I looked down, amazed to see that my palm was cut and bleeding. Then I felt an arm around me; Mrs. Bleeker somehow managed to gather us both in her arms, grasping us tightly. And she began to pray, like the serene creature she was; she told us not to be afraid, even unto death.

  Death seemed like a distinct possibility, for we could not know when the horses would stop, and sharp boulders surrounded us on all sides. Had the wagon been smashed, we surely would have perished; as it was, the horses continued their wild ride until they rounded a particularly sharp curve—all three of us were thrown, together in a prayerful heap, down to the floor of the wagon—to a suddenly flat, fenced parcel of land. One of the horses swerved, with a wild whinny, directly into the fence; for one suspenseful minute, we slowed almost to a walk.

  “Quick, jump, before they take off again!” I cried, not content to pray. I grabbed Minnie and hugged her to me; closing my eyes, I pushed us both from the wagon, and we landed on a soft patch of grass, rolling over and over. Miraculously, we were mostly unhurt, as was Mrs. Bleeker, who landed only ten feet away. Gasping and blinking, we sat catching our breath until Mr. Bleeker came running up on his long, loping legs, his beard practically trailing behind him.

  “Julia! Vinnie! Minnie! To see you alive—didn’t think I would! You’ve had a providential escape!” He fell to his knees and fiercely embraced his wife.

  “I did not really think any of us would be killed,” his wife replied, although her lips trembled, as did her hands. “I was so busy holding the little ones so that they wouldn’t go flying out, I couldn’t be afraid.”

  “You saved us,” I told her, my own limbs shaking. “You kept us inside the wagon.”

  That was the one time, on the entire trip, Reader, when I truly felt vulnerable. Every other danger had been equal to us all. Indians, robbers, those terrifying sudden thunderstorms in the mountains that could wash away a road in the blink of an eye—any in our party could have perished because of them, regardless of size.

  But as that wagon careened down the road, and Minnie and I
were utterly helpless, unable to brace our feet against anything to keep us inside, I had felt, for only the first time since my days with Colonel Wood, physically vulnerable. Even more distressing, I had felt unable to protect my sister, despite my promises to Mama and Papa—and to myself.

  “Are you all right?” I finally looked at Minnie, who was still in my arms. “Oh, what a terrible blow it would be to Mama and Papa, had we both perished!”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Minnie answered, with an unexpected little laugh. “I thought to myself, Go ahead, horses, do your best; I can ride as fast behind you as you can run.” She laughed again; I stared at her as she gently but firmly unwound my arms from her shoulders and slid off my lap. She stood up and brushed her torn skirts briskly; my timid little sister did not appear to have been frightened in the least.

  “You did, did you?” I asked her, amazed.

  “Yes. For you see, Sister,” Minnie said with a suddenly wise, ancient look in her eyes, “I am not to be killed so easily.”

  I laughed, surprise and relief chasing away my terror. And I believed her, all of a sudden. I believed her conviction, her defiance in the face of disaster. Or perhaps I simply wanted to believe her. Whatever the case, for the rest of the trip I did not worry at all for my sister’s safety, and it was a great burden lifted from my shoulders. No more did I feel guilt and anxiety for keeping her with me; she would be perfectly fine.

  How foolish I was! For it wasn’t kangaroos or snakes or typhoons or runaway horses that I needed to fear. It was nothing nearly so dramatic as all that.

  No, it was simply love, the desire to live a normal life, like any woman. This was what I myself did not have the courage to face. And so I did not think, even for a moment, that my sweet, simple sister did.

  But I was wrong.

  INTERMISSION

  From The Popular Science Monthly, February 1877

  TALKING BY TELEGRAPH

  On Sunday, November 26th, Prof. A. Graham Bell experimented with the “telephone” on the wires of the Eastern Railroad Company between Boston and Salem.… According to the account published in the COMMONWEALTH of Boston, conversation was carried on with Mr. Watson at Salem, by all those present, in turn, without any difficulty, even the voices of the speakers being easily recognized.

  From Scribner’s Monthly, October 1877

  NEW AND CHEAP ANTISEPTIC

  Bisulphide of carbon has been recently reported as possessing remarkable antiseptic and preservative qualities, but the offensive smell and inflammable character of this substance make it both dangerous and troublesome.

  FIFTEEN

  A Sister Act Breaks Up

  VINNIE, I’D LIKE TO SPEAK TO YOU.”

  “What is it, dear?” I looked up from my writing desk. Minnie was standing in the doorway to my boudoir, a charming little picture in her bustled dress, with her hair done up rather severely, although a few curls could not help but escape. With her matronly hairstyle and sophisticated clothes, she looked like a girl playing dress-up; her solemn face with those incongruously impish eyes still looked so childlike.

  “Is this a good time? It’s a bit—serious.”

  “Serious?” I couldn’t help but smile. “What’s serious, Pumpkin? Oh, I’m sorry—I mean, Mrs. Newell.”

  I still had a difficult time saying those words—Mrs. Newell. It seemed incredible to me that my little sister had actually gone and gotten married. How had that happened? It was almost as if she had done it when I wasn’t looking; as if I’d forgotten myself and gone to take a nap only to awake and find my sister had run off somewhere. And now, almost six months later, I still didn’t know where to find her.

  Yet she had gotten married in a perfectly respectable manner, to a man we met through Mr. Barnum, Edward Newell. He was not as small as we were—he was no “perfectly formed miniature man”—but he was not tall, either. He was a performer, originally from England; he started out with a roller-skating act for Mr. Barnum, and when Commodore Nutt decided to retire—and marry a normal-size woman!—Edward took his place in our troupe.

  He was also a perfectly nice man who adored Minnie. I hadn’t taken much notice of his affection for her at first. I simply had no expectation of romance for my little sister—even when Nutt had mooned after her, I hadn’t really thought it was a possibility, more like another of his pranks. And what did True Love look like? I did not know myself, so how could I recognize it in others?

  Soon after Edward joined the troupe, however, Minnie began to withdraw from me, ever so slightly. No more was it our happy threesome; even when she was with us physically, it was obvious her thoughts were elsewhere. And I had to wonder, then, if all those times when Minnie had played with Charles and peppered me with questions about home hadn’t been deliberate on her part. Had she been homesick—or had she worried that I was? Had she truly enjoyed playing with Charles—or had she seen that he was lonely?

  I honestly couldn’t say anymore. My sister was turning into someone I didn’t recognize; she was turning into a woman. A woman with sudden blushes, mysterious silences, longing sighs—a woman who did not want her sister’s protection any longer. For when Edward and I walked into a room together, it wasn’t me to whom Minnie turned. She no longer had any desire to hide behind her older sister; she no longer had any desire to hide, period.

  Minnie and Edward had married, quietly, without Astors and Vanderbilts and Presidents, this past summer of 1877; it was now December. While Minnie and Edward made their home with Charles and me in Middleborough, they did not need our presence the way we needed theirs. I watched, both jealous and bewildered, as they took long walks together, immersed in conversation; as they sat quietly in a dark corner after dinner, content simply to be near each other; as they retired to their shared bedroom, to their shared bed, earlier than was strictly necessary. Sighs and smiles and murmurs and glances—they spoke in a language that was more foreign to me than French.

  Charles watched them, too. Sometimes, he then turned to look at me, confusion and hurt in his big brown eyes. But he never spoke to me about what he was thinking, to my great relief.

  “Vinnie, I have something to tell you,” Minnie repeated, drawing up a stool next to me, her earnestness pulling me out of my reverie.

  “Yes, something serious, I know.” I could not prevent a smile from playing upon my lips; goodness, but her manner was full of portent!

  “I’m afraid that I won’t be able to go back out on tour, if you were planning anything for this winter. Nor will I be able to go anywhere in the summer, either.”

  “I have no plans at the moment, but may I ask, dearest, why?” I brushed the back of her hand—so much smaller, even, than mine!—lightly, possessively; I was always reaching for her these days, clutching her hand, tugging at her skirts—trying, perhaps, to keep her from drifting further and further away?

  Still smiling, I expected Minnie to answer something innocuous, something adorable, like “We decided to get a puppy” or “Edward has a terrible cold” or “I don’t like trains, they’re so dreadful.”

  Instead, her eyes lit up with a soft glow, a glow that I had seen in her once before. I couldn’t quite remember when; I knew only that I recognized it, and a troubled, vaguely shameful feeling began to stir within my breast. As I struggled to recall the circumstances—as you do when you’re trying to remember a particularly terrible dream in the safe light of day—Minnie said, with a shy duck of her head, “I’m going to have a baby.”

  I stared at her for a long moment, the words bouncing around in my brain but refusing to fall into place, making absolutely no sense. Then, with frightening finality, they did click into meaning; my nightmare was recalled to me, that whole horrible, dreadful business of the baby, and the way Minnie had looked when she had held the French child—Cosette, wasn’t it?—in her arms. That same contented, dreamy look was in her eyes now as she raised them, uncertainly, to meet mine.

  “No!” I let go of her hands, as if she were contagious, as if hav
ing a baby was a disease that I could catch from her touch. “No! Impossible! No!”

  “Not impossible,” Minnie said with a brave little laugh. “Entirely possible, I’m quite sure. I’ve just had the doctor, who confirmed it. I haven’t told anyone yet, not even Edward. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

  “But how? But, Minnie, you—and Edward?” I was shocked, sickened. Yes, my sister was married. But so was I. I knew she and Edward shared a bed, but—didn’t she know the dangers of allowing a man to touch her, she who was so delicate, so vulnerable—even more vulnerable than me?

  “Oh, it would be dreadful, impossible,” I heard my mother’s stricken voice from across the ages. “Don’t you remember the little cow …” Didn’t Minnie know? Didn’t she understand how dangerous it was for her to even consider having a child?

  No, she didn’t. Because I had never thought to tell her—not even when she married Edward. For so long, my fears were her fears, her fears were mine, and I thought I could protect us both. But Minnie had changed, Minnie had grown—Minnie had become a real woman. Not simply a woman in miniature, like me.

  “But, Vinnie, of course it’s a perfectly natural thing, and I know how sad you’ve always been that you couldn’t have a child. And just think of it—we won’t have to give it back! This will be our child—for, of course, she will be just as much yours as she will be mine, as I’m sure I will need your help. She! Isn’t that funny, Vinnie? I already think of it as a girl!” And Minnie laughed, all seriousness, all gravity gone from her eyes so that they were the impish—innocent—eyes of the sister I thought I knew.

  “Minnie, listen to me.” I grabbed her hand again and held it tight; too tight, for she winced. “How far—how far along are you?”

  “The doctor said nearly three months, he thought.”

  “Three months.” I searched my memory, my vast storehouse of knowledge gleaned from a life so different from hers; the words prevention powders were recalled from some dusty, neglected corner of my brain. Carlotta—Carlotta, that poor girl from Colonel Wood’s boat—she had tried to give me those prior to my first private audience. What were they again? How did one use them?