The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb - Melanie Benjamin [141]
“Yes.” I was kneeling next to a trunk, folding some of Minnie’s dresses away into it. I hugged one particularly dear white frock to me, remembering how sweet she had looked in it, just like a painting I had seen in France of a little girl carrying flowers in her apron.
“Where is it?”
“The necklace? With the rest of my jewels, in the safe, of course. Why?” I turned my best schoolteacher’s gaze upon my husband; he reddened and hung his head, just like a naughty student.
“I suppose you wouldn’t mind selling some of them? It seems that we’re a little out of money, at least this month.”
“ ‘A little out of money’?” I rose, shaking out my skirts. “Be more specific, please.”
“Well, the yacht, you know … and then the interest on the cottage’s mortgage increased, and some of my buildings in Bridgeport are no longer quite as desirable as they once were, and of course I do need some new clothes, you yourself said so the other day.”
“You wouldn’t need new clothes if you pushed yourself away from the table now and then,” I scolded. “I wouldn’t mind selling some of my jewels, I suppose—I have so many. But, Charles, you can’t let this happen again.”
“I know, I won’t!” He smiled, so grateful to be let off the hook; he ran back down the hallway to his study, and I went back to my packing. Two weeks later, when the clothes arrived, he showed off the two new top hats he couldn’t help himself from adding to the order, and made me a present of a silver fox muff, “to take the place of the jewels!”
Mollified, I did not inquire further into our finances. But I did suggest we consider touring again, not only to bring in more money but because I simply could not bear to be in this house, so empty without Minnie and Edward. I couldn’t bear to remain in Middleborough, with all the memories. And I could not bear to be alone with him any longer.
To get back out on the road, with Mr. and Mrs. Bleeker in their old familiar roles, with trains to catch and performances to make, new people to meet, distance to cover every single day—I almost wept at the thought of it! Then I gathered up my train schedules and hotel listings and repaired to my room.
“What about Phineas?” Charles asked me one evening, as I pored over my maps. How easy it was, these days, to plan a tour! So many train routes were now connected, and there were books that listed hotels by city—imagine! I could telegram reservations ahead of time, not take my chance on a letter getting lost or delayed. There were even rumors and rumblings about a new “standardized time” that would organize the country by geographical region; no longer would each individual village or town set its own clock by the sun. How much easier it would be, then, to arrange train schedules!
“What about Mr. Barnum?” I asked, bewildered. I licked the tip of my pencil and raised my arm, hovering over the map before me, ready to draw out a route. “He’s no longer our partner—heavens, Charles, don’t you remember? He resigned his partnership ages ago, after the world tour.”
“I know. I just thought that he could come for a visit and help us plan things. You know how much he enjoys that.”
“I’m quite capable of planning it myself. He’s very busy with his circus, you know, and that new Madison Square Garden, where he puts on those ridiculous shows. He has no time to visit.”
“But he does! He says so in his latest letter!” And Charles’s face lit up as he produced this letter; he had obviously been carrying it around in his pocket for all of five minutes. The paper was hardly creased.
“I don’t need to read it,” I murmured, looking down at my map, wondering if it was up to date. So many new states had joined the Union lately! So many new cities were still sprouting up, cities that had never before greeted General and Mrs. Tom Thumb.
“Vinnie, but he says to tell you, especially, that he could do with a good chat in front of the fire, just like old times.”
“How nice for him.”
“He said you’d say that! He wrote it, see here? He calls