The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb - Melanie Benjamin [131]
I noticed her trying to stifle a yawn.
“Mr. Barnum, it’s time for Minnie to rest now,” I interposed gently but firmly, for he was not used to having his stories interrupted.
“Oh! Well, listen to me going on and on. I’m sorry, Miss Minnie. You must store up your energy, for when that baby comes, you will surely need it!” He spoke lightly, looking directly at her as he said this. Then he tried to rise from his chair and became stuck; standing, the chair clung to his behind like a burr, and Minnie giggled at the sight.
Finally, after much turning about, he managed to remove it, and so it was with cheerfulness and humor that he and Minnie said their farewells. Just as he bent over her bed to shake her hand, however, Minnie’s face grew serious; she tugged upon his sleeve, pulling him closer to her. She tried to whisper, but I could hear her, anyway; didn’t she know that I could always hear her? Her voice was ever in my thoughts, ever in my memories.
“Mr. Barnum, please look after Vinnie for me, won’t you? Sister worries too much, and I know that you’re the only person she’ll listen to. Try to amuse her—and just—take care of her, please? She’s always taken care of me, but nobody ever takes care of her.”
Mr. Barnum’s forced smile froze. He looked into my sister’s eyes and I suddenly feared what he would say.
“Come, let Minnie get her rest,” I said briskly from the doorway, pretending not to have heard—although my voice was suddenly unpredictable; I couldn’t quite stop it from quavering. “I’ll be back soon, dearest.”
Minnie turned her head away from me, but I saw her lips tremble as she nodded.
Resolutely, I led Mr. Barnum out into the hall, as Delia curtsied shyly to him and took my place by Minnie’s bed. Together we walked down the stairs; as always, he slowed his pace to match mine, without seeming to think about it.
Still not speaking, we walked through the front door; he didn’t have to ask if I wanted some air. We walked until we were far from the house, with all its open windows, and could speak freely. An iron bench, nestled among a patch of daffodils, beckoned, and we sat down upon it. I took in as much air as I could, breathing in greedy gulps, as if I were suffocating. Despite her open windows, Minnie’s room was growing unbearably stuffy, the air stagnant, full of sickbed smells; sweat and urine and vomit, and, most pervasive of all, fear.
“You look like something the cat dragged in, chewed up, and then spit back out again,” Mr. Barnum finally remarked, and I had to laugh. I had no idea how I looked—me, the perfectly groomed little Queen of Beauty! But it had been ages since I had spent any time dressing my hair, and I couldn’t remember the last time I looked in a mirror. I rose every morning, donned whatever dress was handy, did my hair up in a simple knot, and went to Minnie’s room. Edward always greeted me with a quick update—usually, she had spent a restless night, unable to lie comfortably, and now bedsores were becoming a worry—before stumbling off to Charles’s sitting room, where he might shave and bathe, but more often than not, collapsed on a settee and slept like a dead man. Edward was suffering, too; a good soul, so devoted to Minnie that he appeared unable to think ahead to the outcome of this ordeal. But I could not like him. I was jealous, jealous of his right to spend the nights with her, angry for his inability to keep himself away from her, for giving in to his animalistic urges and putting her in this situation. I knew it wasn’t fair to think of him that way—as a heathen who couldn’t control himself, just like a polygamist—but I did. He was a man, after all. And I knew what men were like.
I patted my hair, knowing that it was in a lifeless knot at the back of my neck, and agreed with Mr. Barnum. “I’m sure I look a fright.”
“You should think of yourself some, and take rest whenever you can.”
“I’ve spent