The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb (38 page)

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

T
ALKING BY
T
ELEGRAPH

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

N
EW AND
C
HEAP
A
NTISEPTIC

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

V
INNIE
, 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 having 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?