The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb - Melanie Benjamin [146]
One day I left our tent, looking for Charles. He had taken to disappearing between performances, but I knew where he went—the Punch and Judy show, about five tents down from ours. My husband never tired of watching the antics; he laughed heartily whenever the crooked-nosed Punch, in his red jester’s cap, hit one of his foes with a stick and a cry of “That’s the way to do it!” Charles was also attracted by the children; he watched them wistfully as they held tightly to their parents with one hand, sticks of rock candy in the other.
“Vinnie? Vinnie Bump?” a voice called out behind me. “I thought it was you! See, I told you I knew her!”
Turning around, I saw a stout woman standing before me, her hands upon her hips. Next to her were two small women, about my height. But they were not like me—not at all. I glanced uneasily at them, then looked up at the woman who had spoken.
“Excuse me? Are we acquainted?”
“ ‘Are we acquainted?’ ” the woman mimicked me, then gave a low, admiring whistle. “You haven’t changed one bit, except for all the fine clothes! Don’t you remember me?”
“I’m sorry …” I began to apologize, automatically; I’d met so many people in all my travels. This happened quite often; someone who had shaken my hand on one tour would appear on the next, asking if I remembered him. Usually, I nodded and said I had, and that sufficed. But I did not think it would with this woman, who stood there, smiling so strangely down at me, her bright yellow hair so badly dyed that a line of gray arched above her forehead, like a sad crown.
“Carlotta?” The words flew out of my mouth before my brain had finished identifying her. “Is it you?”
“It sure is! Oh, Vinnie, Vinnie, it’s so good to see you!” And she dropped to her knees, holding out her arms; with a smile, I walked into them. I hugged her tightly; it was good to see her!
“I can’t believe it’s you! Did you ever marry your young man on the river?” I stepped back so that I could get a better look; her hair, of course, was the same, a riot of yellow piled atop her head in blowsy curls, but her face was no longer so desperately made up. In fact, she wore no paint at all; with her soft, malleable features, a few missing teeth, and wobbly chin, she looked like any country woman. She was wearing a plain beige dress, homespun but not patched; it was clean and pressed.
“Oh, no. No, he was killed at Chickamauga.” Her pale blue eyes blinked, but there were no tears.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
“That’s all right, it was a long time ago. Lawd, I ain’t the only woman who lost her man in the War. So I’m still in the business, same as you!”
“You are?”
“I’m traveling with the company as a seamstress. I always was good with a needle! It’s been a spell since I could kick the way I used to—oh, remember, Vinnie? How high I could kick! But I still can’t stay in one place, I guess. Same as you!”
“Well, yes, I suppose—did you know I’m married now?”
“Married? For God’s sake, do you think I live under a rock? Of course I know all about you and your little General! I been reading about you in the newspapers for years! Look at you, little Vinnie, all dressed up, a married woman! And all them places you’ve seen! Oh, I’m sorry about your little angel, though. And your sister.”
“Thank you.” My voice wobbled a little; how ironic that Carlotta, of all people, was offering her condolences for my “child” and my sister. After all, she was the one who had spoken so plainly to me about the dangers of relations with men; I remembered those awful gray “prevention powders” she tried to give me. How long ago it was now!
“Curious, isn’t it?” Carlotta mused, pulling me back into the present. She still remained on her knees before me; those eerie women hung back behind her, eyeing me suspiciously.