The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb

  “She thinks it will be a tiny, like she is. She doesn’t seem to recall that she and I were both normal-size at birth, and so far I haven’t had the heart to tell her. I’m afraid—if we tell her, and she refuses to abort the child, then she has to spend the next months in fear, dreadful fear. But if we don’t, she won’t understand the severity of the situation. I don’t know what to do—oh, I don’t know what to do!” And I wanted, so desperately, for Mr. Barnum to be here now; I trusted no one else to make this decision for me.

  The doctor looked at me in sympathy. Then he removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Placing those glasses, with his fine, manicured hands, deliberately back upon his face, he said, “There is nothing for you to do. We must tell your sister the facts as we know them, and she must decide.”

  “But you don’t understand, I’ve looked after her all our lives; she’s not as—as—” But I broke off, ashamed of what I was saying. Minnie wasn’t as—what? Smart as me? As quick? As perceptive?

  As cowardly?

  “I think your sister is of perfectly sound mind,” Dr. Feinway said gently. “But I do hope you can persuade her to see the medical facts. Even the soundest of minds grow soft at the idea of a child.”

  “If she were to—abort—the child, how is it done?” I was sick, sick to my stomach, sick to my spirit; I had already killed one child, and now I would soon have another on my hands. This irony fell upon me like a particularly ugly, ungainly costume; it turned me into someone else, someone I couldn’t recognize in the mirror.

  “There is risk in the procedure, I won’t lie. The usual way is a flushing out of the uterus with special waters, although I’ve read about a newer practice involving scraping.”

  I flinched at the words; my own abdomen tightened, and I felt bile rise up in my throat.

  “But if she carries the child to term?”

  Dr. Feinway hesitated. “I have been present when a large child was born to a small woman; it’s an impossible situation, but sometimes Providence provides a way. But I’ve never before seen a fully mature woman as small as your sister. There are instruments that can assist—forceps, primarily—but those would be of no use in this case. There are instances when the child can be cut from the womb, but only after—after all hope is gone for the mother.”

  “She must not be allowed to carry this child!” I balled up my fists, pressing them even harder against my legs. My entire body was filled with a cold, heavy liquid; it had replaced my blood, and I knew, from the bitter taste of it in my mouth, that it was terror. I had never experienced terror before, not even when Colonel Wood had tried to attack me.

  Only Minnie could make me feel it; only Minnie could make me feel so many things, love and affection, and now, finally, cold, debilitating terror.

  “Do your best to explain the facts, then. And don’t neglect to engage her husband,” Dr. Feinway said, rising. “Do you happen to have anything to drink? I could use a brandy about now.”

  I nodded and rose; ringing for the maid, I asked her to show the doctor to the dining room, where we had a small stock of fine whiskey in decanters. Neither Charles nor I drank spirits, but we had some on hand for guests. Although, at the moment, I had a longing to join Dr. Feinway; I had to go to Minnie now, and the temptation to have something strong in me for courage was great.

  But I did not; I walked back upstairs, down the hall, past Charles, who asked me, again, to look at his carving. I didn’t answer him. Instead I knocked on my sister’s door and let myself inside.

  “ANNABELLE?”

  “No, too silly.”

  “Amelia?”

  “Too serious.”

  “Sarah?”

  “Too plain.”

  “Guinevere?”

  “Too fancy!” Minnie laughed merrily, the shining tinkle of her laugh—like delicate bells—filling the air.

  It was the only recognizable thing about her now. Her laugh, the sound of her voice—those things had not changed. Nor had her temperament: by turns serious and trusting, patience itself, always hopeful. She had borne her penance with a peacefulness I knew I could not have, were I in her place. But I could never be in her place; I had made my choice long ago.

  Confined to her bed since the day that Dr. Feinway examined her, she had not complained. She had accepted it, not as her fate but rather as her privilege, almost as if receiving a benediction or blessing. So willing was she to obey the doctor’s orders, she scarcely moved from her back at all, as if for fear of dislodging the life that was so obviously overtaking hers.

  For of course she refused to abort her child. I knew she would, but that hadn’t stopped me from dropping to my knees beside her bed and grasping her little hand, my tears punctuating my words.

  “Minnie, darling, you don’t understand,” I began, faltering; I had never wanted to mention Uncle’s little cow to my sister, as that was my own personal Gethsemane. I never wanted it to be hers. But then I took a deep breath, squeezed her hand, and looked straight into her eyes.

  “The child is not tiny, not like you think,” I made myself continue. “The child is most likely normal-size, just as I was—just as you were when you were born. The doctor was very certain that is the case.”

  Minnie’s eyes widened, but she did not flinch. She absorbed the news gravely, her hand going to her abdomen, stroking it, caressing it. She remained silent for so long that I feared she hadn’t understood me completely.

  “You do—you do understand the way babies are born,” I began, blushing. “You do understand how—how—”

  “Of course I understand.” Minnie’s eyes blazed at me. “Honestly, Vinnie, how young do you think I am? I’m a married woman, just like you!”

  I bit my lip and looked away. She was right, of course. I could have prevented this by treating her as I had always wanted to be treated myself—as a sensible adult, regardless of my size. But no, I had always wanted to protect her. And I had done my job too well.

  Or had I? For after all, I had willingly snatched baby after baby out of her hands, causing her poor, tender heart to break over and over again. I had allowed her to respond to all those condolence letters. I still had them somewhere; I hadn’t been able to throw them away, and I hadn’t known just why. But now I did; they were portents, weren’t they? Harbingers of what lay ahead.

  Concentrating on a worn patch of wallpaper next to the headboard, I somehow continued. “Minnie, I—I should have told you, oh, so much! It’s all my fault, and I—”

  I felt a hand upon my shoulder. Steeling myself against the accusation I knew I would find in her eyes, I took a trembling breath and turned to my sister.

  But there was only that now-familiar soft, hopeful light in Minnie’s eyes as she smiled and hugged me to her.

  “It doesn’t matter, Vinnie. I’m glad you told me, but—it doesn’t matter. You don’t understand, you can never understand, what it is to have life within you! I’m so sorry that you haven’t had this chance, but I’m so grateful that I am able to! Even if—but I know that God will find a way. I know that He will see me through this. And I promise, this baby will be yours as well as mine. You’re always looking out for me—still! You’re always doing things for me. Well, this is the one thing I can do for you, and I would not wish it any other way.”

  I had to leave the room then, coward that I was, that I now knew I always had been. I couldn’t bring myself to witness the bravery in those still incongruously impish eyes, the nobility in that dimple and faint, determined scowl.

  All were gone now; she lay, still so patiently, but her body was no longer her own. It was a puffy, stretched, swollen, throbbing vessel for the life within, the life that continued to grow and grow, so obviously not the “fairy child” that we all continued to talk hopefully about, regardless of the facts. Through eyes that were slits, a face too swollen to display a dimple; with hands that were so awkward and puffy, she could barely hold her knitting needles, but still she tried; over an abdomen that stretched
her skin as tight as a drum and made it impossible for her to do more than allow an extra pillow beneath her head—my sister prepared for the new life expected.

  “What if it’s a boy?” I asked her, as I knitted an absurdly tiny cap out of the softest wool; it was all for show, the tiny layette that Mama, Delia, and I were preparing for her, to ease her mind—as well as Edward’s. He refused to consider the possibility that the child would be normal-size, and forbade us from discussing it.

  “She is not a boy, I know it.” Minnie struggled with small knitting needles, trying to maneuver them upon her swollen belly.

  “How?”

  “Because she is very considerate about when she kicks. A boy would not be so thoughtful.”

  “What—what does it feel like?” I was hesitant to ask; I talked about the child in theory, allowing her to dream of it. But I did not like to discuss any of the practical—physical—aspects of what my sister was going through. It was almost as if I could wish them away by not giving them voice.

  But by the look of relief—of happiness—in Minnie’s gaze as she considered my question, I had to wonder who I was protecting in this way. Her? Or me?

  “Do you remember the time I swallowed a grasshopper?” she asked me.

  “Yes.” I laughed; I hadn’t thought of that in years. “You said you could feel it hopping about inside you, and then you started to hop, too; you hopped all through dinnertime, until Mama didn’t know what to do and was about to send for the doctor.”

  “Well, it’s like that. Only this time, it’s real; I do feel something hopping about inside me. As if I’ve swallowed a very large, very heavy, grasshopper. Oh!” She gasped, and her hand flew to her stomach.

  “What is it? Are you all right? Shall I send for the doctor?” I jumped out of my chair, my knitting falling to the floor. I was halfway out the door when I heard my sister’s happy laugh beckoning me back inside.

  “Vinnie—come, quick! She’s kicking right now! Come feel!”

  “Oh!” I turned back to her but remained where I was, in the doorway. My hands flew behind my back almost of their own accord.

  “Come!” Minnie patted the mattress, one hand still upon her stomach, which twitched, ever so faintly, beneath the sheets. I stared at it in horror.

  “No, I don’t want to hurt you, dearest—”

  “You won’t hurt me! I promise—come feel her, Vinnie! Come say hello to your niece!”

  “No, can’t you listen to me? I said no!” I couldn’t help it—my voice was rough with anger, and I flinched at the startled look on Minnie’s face. “I mean, I will another time. Oh, will you look at that! My yarn rolled beneath the bed!” And I fell to my knees to avoid her hurtful, reproachful gaze; I was grateful for the exertion it took for me to wiggle under the bed and retrieve my knitting.

  When I resumed my seat, I felt shyness and guilt, both, envelop me; I concentrated on my knitting with such intensity, the needles came close to poking out my eyes. My sister was a stranger to me now in so many ways; she had outpaced me, she who had always held docilely on to my hand while I led. Suddenly, our roles were reversed. And I knew Minnie wanted only to share her joy; I knew she wanted only to teach me the things she was learning with every passing day, every evidence of the child growing within.

  But I was as reluctant a pupil now as she once had been. For the lessons my sister wanted to teach me were lessons not of the mind but of the heart.

  “So no boys’ names, then? Not even one, just in case?” I returned to a safe subject.

  Minnie was silent for a moment; she turned her head away from me, staring out her window, but finally, after a soft little sigh, she replied, “No. But I do have an idea for a girl’s name. A perfectly lovely girl’s name.”

  “What?”

  “Pauline,” my sister said quietly.

  I dropped my knitting again, tears filling my eyes once more—oh, there was not even ten minutes a day, it seemed lately, that I did not cry!

  “Oh, Minnie, that’s too—too sweet of you. Mr. Barnum will be so touched.”

  “Indeed, he will,” said a familiar hearty voice. Minnie and I both looked up, startled; there, in the doorway, stood Mr. Barnum himself. A beautiful cradle, adorned with an enormous pink silk bow, was in his arms.

  “Mr. Barnum!” Minnie exclaimed; with a very feminine gesture she patted at her hair and smoothed the ribbons on her bed jacket. I ran to her and tried to prop her up a bit upon her pillows, but she was too cumbersome; she smiled and raised her hands helplessly.

  I glanced at Mr. Barnum; he was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide his shock at her appearance. His hands shook as he set the cradle down, and his gray eyes were misty with tears.

  “We didn’t expect you,” I told him, rushing over to take his hat, placing my hand upon his arm to steady him. He smiled and kissed me on the cheek; one of his tears fell upon my face, and I pressed my hand to it, absorbing it into my own flesh. Then I turned away, hoping he hadn’t seen.

  “Would you really like it if I named her Pauline?” Minnie asked him.

  “It would mean the world to me. I can think of no greater tribute.” Recovering himself, Mr. Barnum pulled up a chair next to Minnie’s bed and plopped himself upon it; in his shock, he must not have seen that it was a small chair, made for us. So he sat with his knees up to his chin, his fleshy body spilling over the arms; Minnie and I burst into laughter, and he had no idea why.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Nothing.” I signaled Minnie to keep quiet, and she did, with a look of such delight upon her swollen face that my heart lightened enough so that I was not, for one blessed, fleeting moment, aware of it.

  “Well, Miss Minnie, it’s good to see you so cheerful, anyway.”

  “I have our Vinnie to thank for that. She never lets me get bored or anxious. And she tells me wonderful stories every day about all the things she’s seen.”

  “You’ve accompanied her on all her travels; surely there’s not much she can tell you?”

  “Oh, but there is! It’s almost as if I haven’t been in the same places she has, for she remembers things I didn’t even know happened! Like the time the Maharaja tried to give her a purse of rubies—I had no idea!”

  “You were too shy, Pumpkin. You wanted to remain behind in our rooms and have your dinner with Mrs. Bleeker, remember?”

  “I know. That’s why I love hearing your stories; I get to live my life all over again, through different eyes!” Minnie smiled at me, and I had to look away; I didn’t like to recall how long she had been in my shadow. I didn’t like to hear her talk of living her life again, as if she had a premonition about the future.

  “Well, I may not be as good a storyteller as your sister, but I’m no slouch,” Mr. Barnum said hastily, catching a glimpse of my face as I busied myself with arranging a bowl of forget-me-nots on the windowsill; it was spring now in Middleborough. Life was bursting out all around us: flowers and tender grass and birds singing, newborn calves, foals, the first sprouts of Mama’s kitchen garden. Sometimes I felt hopeful; with all the vigor and optimism of the season, how could Minnie not survive her upcoming ordeal? Surely the same pulse, the same spirit that carried the scent of new-mown hay through her window, always open now so that she might hear the birds, would see her through, safe and sound?

  Other times, when I heard her moan softly as she sought a comfortable position, as I watched Dr. Feinway’s increasingly grave countenance when he left her room (he came every two weeks, arranged by Mr. Barnum), I felt the cruelty of the season. It wasn’t fair! Life should not come so easily to the dumb creatures of nature, when my own sister did not have the same chance.

  “Have I told you about my elephant?” Mr. Barnum asked Minnie. She shook her head, her curls—dull now, changed like the rest of her—ruffling her pillow. I pulled up a chair on the other side of her; both of our faces turned, like flowers to the sun, to Mr. Barnum as he began his tale.

  “Jumbo is his name,” he said, shifting a
bout uncomfortably in his tiny chair, still unaware of its proportions. “Well, he’s not mine yet—but he will be! He’s in a zoo in London now; he was found as a baby in the deepest, darkest jungles of Africa. He’s the biggest animal of his kind, I’d swear it! Well, between you and me, I wouldn’t exactly swear it in a court of law, but I’m confident the public won’t hold me to that. He’s really a stunner—his legs are ten feet high! One of my giants could easily pass under him! Yet he’s the gentlest animal soul I’ve ever seen; right smart he is, they say. He can count to three by stomping his foot, and when he does, the whole earth quakes! Minnie, I would love to see you curled up in his trunk; he loves to cradle things. One time at the zoo, one of the monkeys was missing, and finally they found him sleeping in Jumbo’s trunk, that elephant rocking him back and forth just like a baby!”

  “No!” Minnie exclaimed breathlessly. “Didn’t he hurt the poor monkey?”

  “Not a bit! Gentlest animal ever—they even let children ride him! Some of those elephants can get pretty ornery, but not Jumbo. Shh, don’t tell anyone yet, but I’m planning on buying him and bringing him over here. I can build an entire circus around him. I’ll put him in a special train car, bright red with his name in big yellow letters, so that when we come to town he’s the first thing folks want to see!”

  “Oh, I’d love to see him. Can I? Can we, Vinnie?”

  I believe, at that moment, Minnie had forgotten her condition; she was a girl again, about to embark upon a new adventure with me. I was so grateful to Mr. Barnum for giving her that moment of respite, for I knew, despite her cheerfulness, she was worried about her confinement. If I couldn’t talk to her about it, Mama could, at least a little; I overheard Minnie asking her once how much it would hurt. Mama told her only about as much as it hurt to have a tooth out, but that she’d forget about it the moment it was over and she held her baby for the first time. Yet when Mama left the room, she broke down sobbing in my arms, and I heard Minnie crying softly in her bed.